Wildflower Bay (26 page)

The function suite of the Muirton Arms hotel looked like it hadn’t changed in the last fifteen years. A shiny silver plastic banner hung across the wooden door,
emblazoned with the word ‘Congratulations!’

‘What are we congratulating?’ Helen, tugging at the hem of her skirt, looked at Isla and pulled a face.

‘Ourselves,’ Isla replied, taking another deep breath and trying to control the overwhelming urge to flee, ‘for making it here. We can leave any time.’

‘We can leave any time.’ Helen chanted the response.

Inside, by the front door, a very blonde woman with her hair pinned up in a loose bun stood holding a sheet of name stickers.

‘You’ll have to excuse me, I’m terrible with names and faces . . .’ She didn’t look up as she scribbled something on a clipboard. ‘I’ve no idea how
Charlotte roped me in to working on the door.’

Isla peered at the woman’s chest, trying to make out her name as Helen ran through the list, finding her name and sticking it to her chest. Who on earth was Tina?

‘Isla.’ Tina looked up at her with a smile of recognition. ‘Oh yes, I remember you, we sat next to each other in Chemistry.’

Tina – Christina. Quiet as a mouse, hair to match, top of the class for science, kept herself to herself – this blonde, glamorous woman in teetering heels was Christina?

Inside the function room there were balloons hanging from the light fittings, a tray of drinks sitting on the bar, and huddles of people standing awkwardly around. It looked like a
middle-management conference had been relocated to an eighteenth birthday party. Half the men were in suits, the women balancing in unfamiliar heels. Helen reached across and took two glasses,
handing one to Isla.

‘I know you said you weren’t drinking, but this is just in case.’

Isla took the glass of wine and sniffed it, wincing. It smelt sour, the reek of alcohol making her eyes water.

Helen continued. ‘Amira’s just texted, she’ll be here in a second. She decided she wasn’t coming in until we were definitely in the building.’

‘In case we chickened out?’ said Isla, raising her eyebrows in amusement.

‘Well, would
you
?’

‘Oh my God, Isla Brown!’ A voice from across the room sounded out like a foghorn.

A gaggle of women spun round, the unmistakable Allison Graves at their centre. Isla felt her heart thudding, and her stomach turned over with panic.

‘Here we go,’ said Helen. ‘Brace for impact.’

Isla felt her cheeks lift into an automatic rictus smile of recognition, and the pack moved in for the kill.

‘I saw you in
Hello!
magazine.’ Allison Graves, her hair still just as red, her wiry figure very definitely not just as wiry (she had a decidedly matronly bosom in her red
lace dress), flapped her hands in amazement.

‘Aye, Kerry saw it as well,’ nodded one of the other women, who Isla recognized as Lynne, one of the old gang who’d routinely terrorized her. ‘Did you bring it with you?
Isla, you could’ve given us a wee autograph, you’re famous.’

Isla looked wildly at Helen, who was being embraced by someone in a navy-blue velvet tunic.

‘No idea,’ mouthed Helen, wide-eyed.

‘Not exactly famous,’ said Isla, virtually dumbstruck.

‘Last I heard from my mum was that you were working in that posh hairdresser’s up on Hanover Street.’ Allison clinked her glass against Isla’s with a grin of complicity.
‘No’ bad for a lassie from our wee town, eh?’ Allison turned to the others, nudging Isla with a beaming smile.

Isla, completely floored, just nodded, and swallowed a mouthful of the disgusting wine.

‘Isla?’ Allison nudged her. ‘Anyway – I’m sorry, I was a right bitch to you when we were at school. Bygones, eh?’ And to seal the deal, Allison insisted on
buying her a drink, admiring her outfit, and dragging Helen over to compare childbirth horror stories.

Isla was completely derailed by the fact that everyone was so bloody nice and grown-up, and had so obviously moved on from the people they were at school: it was all, wasn’t it lovely to
see such-and-such got married to that boy from the year below, and what a pity Malcolm couldn’t make it, but did you know he’s got an undertakers’ firm in Melbourne now?

It was weird, but the moment of triumph just wasn’t there. There was no delicious revenge to be had, because everyone was older, fatter, greyer in places. Jinny would giggle at that. They
were turning into their parents. And where the hell was Jamie? She’d been watching the door surreptitiously all the while, as she listened and nodded and made polite noises in the right
places.

She escaped to the loo for a moment to gather her thoughts and check her hair in the mirror – Shannon had been right, the cut was still classic, but the swing of the asymmetric style gave
it a modern edge. She ran a comb through it quickly, and headed back outside. Amira, looking as surprised as Isla felt, waved a quick hello from across the room.

‘Isla Brown. How’re you doing?’ A bald man with a round face and a stomach to match turned round from the bar, a pint of beer in his hand.

‘Hi.’ Isla smiled vaguely, half-scanning the room over his head.

‘Dinna recognize me without the hair, eh?’ His voice was familiar. Isla felt a sudden lurch in her stomach.

‘Jamie?’

He nodded, beaming. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

Desperate for all the news, Shannon and Jinny were earlier for work on Tuesday morning than they’d ever been.

‘Morning!’ they chorused in unison.

Jinny filled the kettle. ‘Just thought we’d make you a cup of coffee and you can tell us
all the gossip
from the weekend because we are absolutely
dying
to know what
happened.’

‘I’ll tell all after work.’ Isla – who had spent the previous day walking across the beautiful Selkie Bay on the far side of the island and watching the seal colony
bobbing about in the water, speaking to nobody – still wasn’t ready to talk. ‘Right now, I just want to act like it didn’t happen.’ Her tone was final.

Shannon, wisely, kept her mouth shut. At five o’clock she flipped the closed sign over and locked the door before turning round, hands on hips, to face Isla.

‘So?’

Jinny dried her hands on a towel and hopped up onto the desk, lips pursed in anticipation of gossip.

Isla, surprising herself, said: ‘I don’t suppose you two fancy a drink?’

Shannon and Jinny didn’t have to be asked twice. They grabbed their bags instantly and shot to the door in a Pavlovian manner at the mere mention of the words.

‘Right. Two ciders for us, one gin and tonic for you. It’s therapeutic. Don’t argue.’ said Shannon, seeing the expression on Isla’s face. Isla didn’t protest
further. She took a large gulp and sat back, feeling the alcohol hitting her bloodstream almost instantly. She hadn’t eaten all day.

‘So what the hell happened?’

‘Oh God.’ Isla nursed the first drink of several, and began.

‘And then,’ she explained to Shannon and Jinny, who still saw almost everyone they’d gone to school with virtually every day, and for whom the idea of a
school reunion was completely alien, ‘
then
, just when it couldn’t get worse, Jamie Duncan turned up.’

‘That’s the one you had a bit of a thing for, right?’ Jinny waved across for Shannon’s boyfriend Rab behind the bar to get them another round, and bring it over. This was
far too important to miss.

‘Yes,’ groaned Isla.

‘AND?’ chorused Jinny and Shannon.

‘Oh God. I was trying to make an early escape – Helen was feeling the same as me, like we’d done our time and that was quite enough, thanks very much – when he launched
himself at me outside the ladies’ loos.’

‘Ooh,’ said Jinny, breathlessly.

Isla shook her head. ‘No.’

All those years of daydreaming about the day her prince would come, and it hadn’t occurred to her that the years might not have been kind to Jamie Duncan – heartthrob of the estate,
first boy to kiss a girl in year six, coolest boy in school with an earring when nobody else was allowed one. When the round-bellied, balding, leering,
wedding-ring-wearing
Jamie had
pounced, having arrived late and clearly several pear ciders down, Isla had side-stepped deftly, leaving him swaying against a wall.

‘Oh my God.’ Shannon made vomiting motions.

‘Ewwww.’ Jinny pulled a face.

‘Yeah.’ Isla downed her third gin and tonic in a oner. ‘Yeah.’

‘So, you can strike him off the list then,’ said Shannon, pragmatically. ‘You need to have a look at my copy of
The Rules
.’

‘The library’s copy, don’t you mean?’ said Jinny.

‘Shit, you’re right.’ Shannon frowned. ‘I got another overdue warning about it about three weeks ago.’

‘So what’s next?’

‘The Three Bells?’ Isla, slightly unsteadily, got to her feet. Jinny gave a squeal of excitement and led the way.

Finn had only nipped in to the pub for a quick scampi and chips on the way home because he couldn’t face another microwave dinner for one. He’d bumped into Dave
– who’d shamefacedly admitted he’d nipped in for a pint on foot on the way back from the estate office, just so he could avoid the hell that was bath and bedtime with his three
small children – and they’d ended up making it two, and a long talk about what to do about staffing and long-range plans. It wasn’t even eight o’clock when the door of the
pub opened with the distinctive clattering bang that suggested this wasn’t the first of the many island pubs that someone had visited that evening.

‘I think maybe you should have a Coke instead; just pace yourself a bit,’ said Jinny. He looked up to see her and Shannon from the salon, followed by Isla, who was slightly
cross-eyed, and with her long limbs all over the place doing a passable impression of Bambi on ice.

‘Ooh, snooker,’ said Isla. ‘I’m rubbish at – oh
hello
, Finn.’

Dave, just leaving, gave him a knowing look. ‘Oh, aye?’ Finn shook his head. Bloody hell, had she been on the hair-curling liquid or something? She was plastered.

‘Isla.’ He pulled out a chair and she flopped into it, elbows on the table, chin in her hands, gazing at him with slightly unfocused eyes.

‘I’m getting her a Coke.’

‘Coffee and water would be better, I reckon,’ Finn called out to Shannon, who was heading to the bar.

‘I don’t drink,’ explained Isla, helpfully.

‘Right,’ nodded Finn. ‘I can see that.’

‘You’ve got nice eyes. Mind you, so did Jamie Duncan.’

Jinny, sitting on the other side of Isla, shook her head at a questioning Finn. ‘Don’t ask. Long story.’

Shannon returned with an espresso and a pint of water. She turned back to the bar to order drinks for herself and Jinny. ‘Want anything?’ she asked Finn.

‘I’m good, thanks.’

They sat in silence for a moment. Isla swayed gently on the chair.

‘God, I
really
want a Pot Noodle.’

Shannon returned with drinks, sizing up the situation in an expert manner. ‘Jinny, do you want to wait here, and I’ll get Isla home? Isla, I reckon you need a bit of a sleep and a
couple of painkillers for the morning.’

‘I could just have a snooze here. S’quite comfy.’ Isla’s head nodded forward.

‘I’ll walk you home.’ Finn stood up. ‘You got the keys to the flat?’ Isla nodded. He caught a brief look between Shannon and Jinny. ‘I’ll come back and
let you know she’s in safely. Deal?’

Isla tucked her arm into his quite happily. She was a fairly lightweight drunk compared to some of the lumpen buggers he’d had to help haul home from the pub on a Friday night over the
years. There’d been one memorable occasion when Paul MacEwan, a dairy farmer from the far side of the island, had been so plastered and was so enormous that they’d had to roll him into
the back of a pickup truck and wheelbarrow him through the farmhouse door. In comparison Isla was floating along by his side, quite cheerfully.

She stopped suddenly, pulling him round. ‘You’re nice, Finn.’

‘Thanks. You are too, Isla. Now, let’s get you home.’ He started walking again.

‘No.’ She stopped dead. ‘I mean I
like
you.’ Her eyes were wide. She was gorgeous, completely plastered, and had no idea what she was saying. Unfortunately. Finn
realized with a jolt that he wished desperately that they were having this conversation on a beach in the rain, and completely sober.

And then it was too late, and Isla had reached forward – she was tall enough that she didn’t even stand on tiptoe, just snaked her arms around his neck and tried to kiss him.

‘Woooah!’ shouted a group of boys cycling past on BMX bikes.

‘No,’ said Finn, pulling back, holding Isla at arm’s length. ‘You’re going back to Edinburgh in a few weeks.’

Isla looked at him for a moment, cocking her head to one side. ‘I suppose I am.’

He nodded. God, this was hard.

‘Ooh, I
really
want a Pot Noodle.’

‘Let’s get you home.’

‘She’s in the flat, quite happy, off to bed with a bottle of water and two ibuprofen.’

Finn stood over Jinny and Shannon, who had been deep in conversation with their arms waving animatedly.

‘Aye, she’s going to need them in the morning.’ Shannon shook her head, mouth pursed in mock disapproval. ‘D’you want to join us for a drink?’

It was the last thing he wanted. Looking up at the light glowing from the salon flat, he sighed and set off for home.

It took Isla a moment to remember why there was a half-drunk bottle of water and a packet of ibuprofen by her bed. Oh, God. She headed for the kitchen to make coffee, realizing
when she opened the fridge that the milk was out of date. Pulling on a pair of leggings and a hoody, she ran down the stairs to the salon fridge.

As she turned back to make her way upstairs, something outside the door of the salon caught her eye. It was too early for deliveries – the first ferry hadn’t even made it into the
harbour.

Isla pulled open the door, bending down to discover a gift bag. Inside was a Pot Noodle with a pink Post-it note stuck to its top.

‘Friends?’ it said.