The Uisge Beatha pub was warm and inviting. The assorted wooden tables fitted in with the random features on the walls and shelves. Books, lamps, stuffed animals, a bike, a typewriter, assorted brass bric-a-brac. The chaotic disorder was softened by the candle glow. McEwan sipped his Laphroig, committing the heresy of having it on ice. Kate had a coffee.
“I would have thought you"d be seeing how far along the shelf you could get with the bairn inside of you,” McEwan said, indicating the long row of whisky bottles along the top of the bar. The bottles were from distilleries all around the country.
“I"m trying to keep it off drink until I"m ready to go on a four week bender. Too much alcohol and I"m afraid I"ll lose control completely and not come back. I don"t want to encourage it any mor
