Wildflower Bay (21 page)

‘Well, yes, I—’ she began.

‘Lindenflower and honey tea?’ Not waiting for a response, Lily poured a sludge-green liquid into a chipped mug and handed it across the table. ‘Have a seat. I do love it when
everyone gathers here in the kitchen. So important for the house to have a real
soul
, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, I—’

‘Oh, look, there’s Finny now, having fun with Lucien.’ Lily motioned outside, where Isla could see Finn, dripping wet and covered in mud, carrying a flailing Lucien under one
arm and the wooden phallus in his other hand. It didn’t look particularly enjoyable.

‘
So
good for him to have an adult male to sport with,’ beamed Lily. ‘Not that I want him to grow up with unnecessary prejudices about gender, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Isla sipped the tea. It was utterly revolting.

‘Just give me two moments,’ trilled Lily. ‘I’m going to pop outside and see if Finn needs any help.’

I bet you are
, thought Isla.

‘Excuse me.’ A voice came from outside so Isla left the kitchen.

A plump and very pretty blonde-haired woman of about thirty stood with her partner – at least, Isla supposed they were together, as they were clamped side by side, looking uncertain.

‘Are you here for the silent retreat?’ the man whispered to Isla, first looking from side to side, a guilty expression on his face.

‘Matthew, it said on the email – we’re not
in silence
until after dinner.’ The woman looked at Isla, shaking her head with an all-men-are-idiots expression before
turning back to him. Definitely together. She hissed at him crossly, ‘I told you that already in the car. Honestly.’

‘Oh.’ His voice was unexpectedly deep. He was, Isla noticed, dressed in a manner that suggested an overgrown toddler, or as if his mother had suggested he make an extra-special
effort for the occasion. Dark beige chinos were neatly ironed, the hem doubled over above spotlessly clean navy boat shoes and the kind of almost-invisible socks you wore to the gym. His top half,
complete with a childlike, slightly rounded tummy (Isla couldn’t help wondering if he’d growl if she poked it, like her old teddy bear) was clad in a very new, very neat blue and white
striped cotton top. He looked very sweet, very earnest and utterly sexless. Especially, Isla was surprised to find herself thinking, in comparison to Finn, who’d strode off towards the Land
Rover a moment ago, flashing her what had looked like a grin of complicity. He’d swung up into the back of the trailer, having thrown a pile of log offcuts in carelessly, vaulting over the
back on tanned arms, T-shirt hitching up to show that muscled back which clearly had no need of gyms or – Isla shook herself.
For goodness’ sake.

‘So,’ said the woman, rousing Isla from her thoughts, ‘if you’re not here for the retreat – d’you work here?’

‘Me?’
God forbid
, thought Isla, suddenly very grateful for the salon, with Jinny’s mad ramblings and Shannon’s gruff manner. ‘No, I’m just here to
visit. I’m not from the island. I –’ She paused for a moment, noticing that Lily was climbing back over the gate that led down to the paddock full of Highland cows. What on earth
was she doing now?

A bucket in one hand, long skirt trailing almost to the ground, clad in a rainbow T-shirt and wellies, she was marching back across the drive.

‘Ah! Wonderful.’ Lily’s clear voice reached them.

‘Is
this
the owner?’ The man looked at Isla with an expression of concern. The woman reached across wordlessly, lacing her fingers through his.

‘You must be Felicity and Matthew.’ Lily stamped towards them, putting down the bucket a few feet away with a clatter of metal on gravel.

Felicity nodded. Matthew pulled at the neck of his Breton-striped top as if adjusting a non-existent tie.

‘Splendid.’ Lily motioned to the bucket. ‘Cowshit. Wonderful for the roses.’

Isla caught Felicity’s eye. The split-second expression said more than enough.
Get me out of here
, it said.
Who is this woman?
it said.
I could have been on a spa week in
Berkshire with luxury treatment rooms
, it said.

Isla gave a sympathetic grimace that she hoped expressed what she was thinking, which was, ‘Beats me, I should be having breakfast in Starbucks right now.’

‘Lovely Isla is not just a hairdressing
artist
, but she is an absolute walking
encyclopaedia
of natural hair products, aren’t you?’

Isla, feeling slightly panicked that if she didn’t escape soon she might end up railroaded into taking part in a silent retreat, smiled vaguely and stepped sideways, trying to look for
Finn. It was a long walk back to her car, and he was her only other source of escape.

‘Right, then.’ Lily actually clapped her hands, like a schoolteacher. ‘Why don’t you two come along and meet the others who made the earlier boat.’

Felicity and Matthew followed her, expressions slightly guilty. ‘I told you we should have left earlier,’ Felicity hissed. Matthew glowered back at her.

Lily had already picked up the bucket of manure and was marching towards the house, singing a folk song completely unselfconsciously, and completely off-key.

‘Phillip, Ann-Marie, Paul, Sandy –’ Lily began, waving a bangle-jingling arm in an arc towards the four people who were sitting at the kitchen table, with the pot of
Lily’s revolting-smelling leaf and herb tea in front of them – ‘this is Matthew.’ Where were the others? She guided him with a firm hand in the small of his back to a chair
on the far side of the table. He sat down with an obedient plop, like a well-trained Labrador.

‘And this –’ with a well-practised movement, Lily had somehow detached Felicity from her partner’s side – ‘is Felicity.’

Felicity sat down, looking deeply uncomfortable and giving her partner a wide-eyed silent glare of horror.

‘If you’d all like to take a moment to introduce yourselves.’ Lily reached across to the wooden dresser behind Isla, which was festooned with fairy lights and an assortment of
religious icons, feathers, and smouldering incense cones. She handed Stewart a painted wooden stick decorated with sparkling threads and glitter. ‘Stewart, you have the talking stick.
I’ll just sort things out with Isla and I’ll be right with you. Two shakes of a mermaid’s tail.’

Isla, trying not to giggle, caught Claire’s eye as she turned to leave. ‘Help me,’ mouthed Claire, silently.

Lily had clearly been hoping they’d hang around for the whole day, but there was only so much yoghurt knitting Finn could take. She’d let them go on the condition
that he and Isla promised to take part in the wishing ceremony at the Clootie Well at the end of the week. They’d both nodded dutifully, before grabbing their things and jumping into
Finn’s Land Rover with indecent haste.

‘Well, that was . . . unexpected.’ He put the car into gear and they crunched down the drive, wheels spinning.

He looked across at Isla. An afternoon in the sunshine had brought out a smattering of freckles on her high cheekbones and her pale face was flushed with colour. It had been a pretty weird
experience. He’d only stayed because he was strangely drawn to this prickly, standoffish girl who seemed to have nothing good to say about the island he loved so much.

There was irony in her voice as she spoke, a half-smile playing on her lips. ‘You aren’t a fan of “nurturing the goddess”?’

He snorted with derision. ‘Not when it seems to consist of doing Lily’s gardening by the light of the moon, no. You?’

‘I’m all right for gardening, I think.’ Her tone was dry.

‘Yeah.’ He looked across at Isla. She had a still quality that reminded him of one of the deer he sometimes came across in the forest when working: silent and watchful, huge dark
eyes fringed with long, sweeping lashes. At any second she seemed likely to dart away – and yet she was as far from a country girl as you could get, dressed even today in a close-fitting
black vest top, cropped black jeans and an expensive-looking pale cardigan.

‘You city types don’t go in much for that sort of thing, do you?’

She laughed. ‘I’ve been known to “nurture the goddess” in my dad’s back garden, but only under duress. I’m not exactly a gardener.’

‘You didn’t fancy “nourishing your surroundings as an offering to the goddess Kali”?’

Isla flashed him a genuine smile. ‘You mean painting the hall of Meadowview House? Whilst listening to whale music? Or making herbal tea from cowshit?’

‘Or dancing naked under the moon whilst playing the drums? Or wrapping yourself in ribbons and offering yourself to the sea goddess?’

Isla burst out laughing. ‘No. None of the above.’

She shook back her hair as she spoke, so it fell back into place. He noticed that it shone like a fresh conker, perfectly cut – somehow, despite having lain on her back in the middle of a
field, she still looked immaculate.

‘Lily isn’t stupid, is she? She’s got them paying for a retreat
and
doing her house maintenance. I might try something like that at the salon.’

Underneath that prickly exterior was a sharp sense of humour. He liked her. Staring into her eyes, he’d found himself wondering what was going on inside her head – despite the
closed-off impression she gave, there was a depth of emotion there beneath the surface that fascinated him.

‘D’you fancy it, then?’

Isla recoiled in surprise. ‘Redecorating? No, I think I’m all right for that this weekend, thanks.’

He shook his head briefly, frowning. If Roddy could see him now, he’d be pissing himself laughing. All the usual well-worn lines he’d worked over the last however many years (and,
God, he realized, it was a lot of years) – they were deserting him, and he was clutching at straws like a clueless fifteen-year-old, tripping over his words.

‘I meant that drink.’ He shifted the steering wheel slightly, avoiding a huge rut in the driveway. ‘The Fisherman’s Arms in Port Strachan. It’s quiet this time of
day.’

Why on earth had he said that? It made him sound like he was on the pull and he was definitely, absolutely not on the pull. Not this time. He didn’t quite know why but what he wanted to do
was sit down and talk to her, find out more about what made her tick, find out what she thought of the island—

‘Oh.’ She looked flustered, eyes darting from side to side, back stiffening. She was searching for an excuse not to come: he recognized the signs clearly enough.

‘If you’re busy, it’s fine, don’t—’

‘Yes, yeah – I – just—’

He killed the engine. They’d reached the halfway point where Isla’s car sat tucked neatly to one side in the lay-by.

‘Another time, perhaps?’ She turned, the car door half open. Her eyes darted up to meet his for a second, and then she slipped out of the Land Rover and was gone.

Finn pulled back and waited, watching as Isla’s little convertible bumped cautiously down the rutted track. He ran a hand through his hair, heaving a sigh of irritation. He’d no idea
what had just happened there, but he was in no mood to go home. Roddy wasn’t around, he didn’t fancy a drink on his own, and all Lily’s hippy-dippy shit had left him feeling
decidedly weird. That circle meditation thing had made him feel like he was on another planet and he’d found himself thinking about childhood, and memories of Shona, and things from another
life – things he’d kept locked away safely for years. And the eye-gazing thing had been completely freaky – maybe Isla felt the same way he did. Seven minutes in silence, looking
into her eyes, had left him with more questions than answers. Behind that guarded mask she wore there was so much lurking – Lily had been right about that, saying Isla had so much to
offer.

It was insane that he was even thinking about all this stuff. He still couldn’t work out why on earth he’d hung around when Lily had offered him the chance – he shook his head.
No, all right, he knew exactly what was the reason – or who. What he couldn’t work out was why he felt like this.

Maybe spending the rest of the afternoon down at the workshop would clear his head – yeah, that was it. He started the engine, turned on the radio loud enough to blast out the unwelcome
thoughts that were crowding in, and headed back. It was probably all this stuff with Roddy and Kate and the baby, messing with his head.

‘Sit yourself down over there, Netty, I’ll be with you in a moment.’

Shannon waved her next client in the direction of the two chairs, speaking with two hair grips pursed in her lips (
unhygienic
, thought Isla, reminding herself that she must point out to
Shannon that it wasn’t acceptable practice).

The woman collapsed onto the chair with a grateful sigh, tucking her shopping bags to one side. She closed her eyes for a moment, rubbing circles on the skin of her temples.

Not waiting to be asked, Isla fetched a cup of tea from the pot Jinny had just made a few moments ago.

‘Oh, thanks, hen,’ Netty looked up with a smile. ‘You read my mind.’

‘All part of the service.’

Isla returned to the desk. The salon was quiet this morning, probably because the sunshine was pulling the usual pop-in clients away from their day-to-day routine. Everyone seemed to be out in
their gardens, making the most of what had so far been a pretty dull, grey start to the summer – which was unusual, everyone kept telling her. Jinny was busying herself with a stock-check of
supplies, planning to make an order. Isla, meanwhile, was attempting to make the computer booking system as simple as possible, in the hope that when Aunty Jessie returned she might make use of it,
rather than ignoring it and scribbling everything down in pencil in the scruffy-looking diary that sat on the reception desk. It was covered in doodled flowers and patterns courtesy of Jinny, and
the pages were curled and dog-eared – it was hardly the most professional piece of equipment.

As the weeks passed it was becoming clear to Isla that the salon, which had previously just ticked along nicely, could in fact be bringing in a lot more money. Both Shannon and Jinny were keen
to learn, worked hard, and had some good ideas. Of course, there was always the possibility that Jessie would get back and be appalled by the changes that had taken place, but if they had
everything in order and could show the results . . .