Wildflower Bay (14 page)

‘As I said,’ Isla cut in, shooting Jinny a look, ‘comb, conditioner, let’s give it two weeks to be sure, and then you can pop back and we can sort you out.’

‘Have I got mice in my head?’ Lucien patted his thatch of dark hair.

‘Not quite, my angel.’ Lily picked up her bag. ‘How much do I owe you?’

Isla shook her head. ‘Nothing at all. Sorry for the inconvenience.’

She locked the door behind them as they left. ‘Right, you two: you know the drill, I expect?’

Jinny gave a gusting sigh of exasperation. ‘Oh, yes, we ken the drill.’

Shannon put the kettle on again.

‘We don’t need boiling water yet, Shannon – we need the disinfectant solution first. Let’s get this stuff cleaned. We’re going to have to do the entire contents of
these trolleys and bleach the floor.’

‘Aye, I know that.’ Shannon reached into the cupboard, pulling out three fresh mugs. ‘I’m no’ doing anything until we’ve had a cup of coffee. After surviving
the demon child we deserve it.’

Isla laughed, surprising herself. ‘You’ve got a point. Don’t suppose you picked up any biscuits at the shop?’

It was funny, Isla thought, that something like this, which would have utterly horrified Kat Black – who had a ‘strictly no children’ policy for just that reason –
actually made work quite fun. The girls laughed and joked together as they cleaned up the salon, and somehow, Isla found herself drawn into it.

The date was emblazoned on the clock above the counter.
Not that long to go
, she chanted to herself again. She wasn’t here to make friends with anyone, she was
just here to do a job, get herself through the gardening leave, and meanwhile – she’d really better think about looking for something else. Maura, the one stylist she’d liked at
Kat’s place, had moved to run a beauty salon in Edinburgh’s West End. They weren’t the best of friends – Isla didn’t really do best friends, after all – but it
was worth a try. She’d give Maura a shout via Facebook when she got back to the flat.

She’d realized that no matter how hard she wished, an M&S wasn’t going to pop up on the disused piece of land behind the hoardings by the dilapidated old church. And whilst the
cafe – she grudgingly admitted – did a pretty good flat white and a goat’s cheese panini that would put an Edinburgh cafe to shame (and for half the price), it still wasn’t
the same. But she could certainly handle another few weeks – unless, God forbid, Pamela fell over and broke her other wrist. Frankly, if she did, Jessie would be on her own. This place was
manageable when the end was in sight, but eight full weeks was enough for any sane person to spend here.

Keeping her head down, eyes set firmly on the pavement to avoid getting into conversation with anyone, Isla slipped out of the side door beside the salon entrance and got into the car. The
supermarket was walking distance away, really, but she was planning to take a drive round the island on the way back to charge up the car battery – it had been sitting all week outside the
shop, flanked occasionally by small curious children who would edge up to it, stroke the glossy bonnet and hurtle off at speed when Isla gave them The Look. Years of growing up on the estate had
perfected that look, and it worked every time.

‘Morning, lassie.’ An old man nodded to her as she pulled out a trolley. Isla smiled vaguely in reply. If she’d thought about it, she would have brought headphones – that
way she could have kept herself a step removed. As it was, she focused hard on the products on the shelves, hoping not to draw attention to herself. But as she made her way through the shop she
felt glaringly conspicuous – everyone seemed to know everyone wherever she went, and the whole place was so bloody claustrophobia-inducing. She kept picking up snippets of conversation as she
shopped.

‘And I said to him . . .’

‘You know Jennie Morrison’s been up to the school about what happened?’

‘Morning, Jim.’

‘Braw day.’

She closed her eyes in the dairy aisle, imagining for a second the blissful anonymity of the huge supermarket close to her dad’s place where she could amble up and down, picking up
whatever she needed, switching off her ears. This place was a permanent hive of gossip and activity. It was suffocating.

‘Morning,’ said the woman at the checkout. Isla managed a faint smile. ‘I’m not that keen on the natural yoghurt myself,’ the woman commented as she passed it over
the scanner. ‘Oh, apricots – now I love them . . .’

Just let me out of here
, thought Isla,
and I will quietly escape back to the flat, close the door, and speak to nobody for a whole thirty-six hours. And then I’ll be another two
days closer to leaving.
She gritted her teeth and made the appropriate noises before heading out to the car.

She’d just loaded up the boot and was returning the trolley, when she heard a muffled crash.

‘Och, for goodness’ sake!’

It was Mrs Mac, the client who’d come into the salon for a shampoo and set the other day. She was standing on the pavement, the broken handle of a cloth shopping bag in one hand, the
contents lying around her feet – which, Isla noticed, were quite swollen, her ankles puffed up thickly. She bent over stiffly, managing to scoop up a tin of beans that was rolling towards the
edge of the pavement.

‘Let me help you with that,’ Isla offered instinctively. She couldn’t leave her standing there, no matter how desperate her need for solitude.

Mrs Mac looked up at her gratefully, her eyes crinkling in a smile. ‘This blooming bag. I had no idea it was on the way out.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you another.’ Isla bent down, capturing three tangerines that were heading slowly towards the drain.

Ruth watched as Isla ran quickly up and into the supermarket, returning with a handful of plastic shopping bags. She couldn’t help smiling at the girl’s back as she
scooped up the spilt groceries, and placed them back into two bags. Then she unfolded gracefully and handed the torn bag over.

‘There you are.’

She clearly didn’t want to help – it was written across her face – but the words ‘Let me take them back to the house for you,’ were out of her mouth before she
could stop herself.
Well brought up
, thought Ruth.
She’s a nice girl despite herself.

‘It’s fine, I’ll be all right from here.’ Ruth reached across, trying to take hold of the two bulging bags.

‘I insist.’ Isla’s voice was firm. ‘In fact, I’ve got the car. I’ll drive you home. Where do you live, Mrs Mac?’

‘Oh, that would be lovely. But it’s Ruth, please.’

Well, the girl seemed to be quite determined to give her a hand, thought Ruth, and the glossy red convertible was a far cry from her usual lift in a beaten-up, mud-covered Land Rover.
Isla’s little convertible was a lot harder to climb in and out of, mind you – but it was much more fun.

‘This is a bit fancy, isn’t it?’ Ruth gave a little shimmy of her shoulders against the expensively upholstered seat. ‘I could get used to this.’

Isla turned to her with a smile, pausing at the junction to let a flock of schoolboys on bikes hurtle past.

‘I always promised myself, by the time I was thirty I’d have a decent car. And we maybe don’t get as many sunny days in Edinburgh as you’d want with a convertible like
this – but when we do, it’s lovely.’

‘You’ll get a fair few here on the island.’

It was funny how the weather went. Ruth’s dad had always joked that living on Auchenmor meant you often got four seasons in one day. As far as Isla could see, the focus was fairly strongly
on winter. Isla smiled politely.

‘Where am I going?’ Isla looked ahead at the road that ran parallel to the rocky beach.

‘Just here.’ Ruth motioned to a little stone cottage sitting back from the pavement, fronted with two neat squares of lawn and bordered with primly gathered geraniums.

‘Oh, this is pretty,’ smiled Isla. She was a good-looking girl in any case, but her pale, fine-featured face took on another level of beauty when it relaxed and softened.
‘I’ll just give you a hand in with this shopping, and I’ll let you get on.’

‘You’ll stay and have a cup of tea?’ Ruth, pulling herself out of the low seat of the car, looked up at Isla, who extended a hand in support. Doubt flashed across her face for
a moment, her brows gathering together in thought before she smiled again.

‘I’d like that.’

Isla lifted the shopping out of the boot of the car, and followed Ruth inside.

‘Can I give you a hand?’

‘No, sit yourself down.’ Ruth motioned to the velvet-covered sofa. ‘I’ll just put the kettle on.’

Leaving Isla in the sitting room, she pottered about the kitchen, opening the packet of nice biscuits she’d just bought – luckily they’d survived, and weren’t all
crumbs.

She laid them on a plate, setting a tray with teapot, milk jug, and her favourite cups and saucers. Isla seemed like the sort of girl who’d appreciate good china, instead of the thick mugs
Ruth brought out when her grandson popped by in the afternoons between forestry jobs.

‘Here we are.’ She laid a tray down on the sideboard. ‘I always think tea tastes that bit nicer from a cup and saucer, don’t you?’

Isla, who’d been looking at the photos on the mantelpiece, sat down with a guilty expression. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t being nosy, I just –’

‘Don’t worry. I always do just the same. Most of my family have flown far away now, though. I’ve got them all up here to keep me company.’

Isla glanced up at the picture of a tousle-haired toddler and a teenage girl that stood on the side, propped there after the other day when Ruth had knocked it down. Ruth motioned to the sugar
bowl, milk jug in hand.

‘Just milk, please.’

‘So tell me how you’re finding life on the island.’ Ruth sat back with her cup and saucer, and looked at Isla with interest. She was cut from a very different cloth to her Aunt
Jessie: quiet and guarded, but she seemed to be making changes in the salon that were the talk of the town at the moment. Ruth had heard a couple of young ones in the supermarket saying
they’d decided to give the salon a go instead of heading off island. That had to be a good thing, given the state of the island’s economy.

Pausing to gather her thoughts, Isla picked up her tea, looking out of the window and across the water towards the distant mainland.

‘I’m only here for a short time. I thought I’d be back to Edinburgh more often than I have been, but it’s not quite so easy to get away, is it?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Ruth found herself chuckling. ‘I’ve been here almost all my life. I think this place gets under your skin.’

‘It seems to,’ said Isla, politely.

‘I left for a few years, made my way to Inverness – but all roads lead to Kilmannan, we say. You can’t get yourself away from the place.’

‘My dad says the same about Edinburgh.’ Isla smiled. ‘I’ve managed to make it from the outskirts of Edinburgh to a flat in the New Town, and that’s about it. I had
plans to travel –’ she shook her head as Ruth offered her a biscuit – ‘but I haven’t quite made it yet.’

‘Plenty time yet. You’re a young thing. Your whole life is in front of you.’

‘I keep telling myself that.’ Ruth picked up a cushion and held it on her lap.

‘As long as you’ve got something to aim for, you’ll be fine.’

‘Oh, I do,’ said Isla, suddenly animated. ‘I have a school reunion coming up. I always wanted to be able to turn up there and have a decent job and prove that I’ve made
something of myself.’

She was a nice girl. So earnest and determined.

‘I wish my boy had some of your drive.’ Ruth looked across at the photograph on the mantelpiece. ‘He’s got an amazing talent for art – he won all the prizes at art
school – and I’m still waiting for him to make something of it.’

Finn had been full of ideas when he’d headed off to Glasgow, determined to make his mark. When he’d specialized in sculpture and woodcarving she’d loved watching him fill the
house with all sorts of gorgeous, ornate work, beautifully tooled hand-made shelves, wooden picture frames he’d carved and the like. But over time his artwork had dwindled, and the furniture
side had taken over. In latter years the forestry work with Roderick had taken up so much of his time that there had been long periods when he hadn’t made anything creative at all, and Ruth
mourned the loss of that side of him. When he was creating, it fuelled a drive in him that otherwise seemed to get lost in partying and hanging out until all hours, DJing at the local pub and
messing about. She knew he’d developed a bit of a name for himself. Really, it was time he settled down.

‘I’m sure he will in time,’ said Isla, politely.

Ruth gave a vague nod of agreement. ‘So tell me more about this reunion. Any old flames waiting in the wings?’

Ruth had read a lovely book a while back, before her eyes got weaker, all about a woman who’d headed back to her school reunion and met the love of her life.

Isla’s pale cheeks flushed pink suddenly. She hid her face in her teacup.

Ah
, thought Ruth,
I’ve hit on something here
.

‘I always wonder what happened to my first love. He left the island when he was sixteen, and his family moved down to Essex. We didn’t have things like Facebook and all that internet
stuff in our day. No way of knowing what happened to people when we lost touch.’

‘I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse,’ began Isla, thoughtfully. ‘Everyone seems to be getting so excited about this reunion, and all I can think about is
how they used to pick on me when I was at school for having the wrong clothes, and the wrong hair, and—’

‘You certainly look the part now, though,’ said Ruth, reaching across and patting her on the arm. ‘You’ll be wowing them.’

‘Do you think?’ Isla’s brow wrinkled with doubt.

‘Och, yes, absolutely.’ Ruth took a bit of a gamble. The joy of getting to this age was that you could say what you liked without beating about the bush. ‘So, who’s this
old flame you’re after?’

‘Oh, he’s nothing.’ But Isla gave a smile. ‘He used to tease me, call me names – I had a thing about him for years, but he really had no idea.’