Wildflower Bay (6 page)

‘Is that you, hen?’

‘Hi, Dad.’ Isla pulled the back door closed behind her. It stuck, as always, and took two hands to wrench it shut.

‘That was your Aunty Jessie on the phone again. She’s – och, no. Don’t worry.’

‘She’s what?’ Isla could feel the weight of inevitability settling on her shoulders like a thick, suffocating blanket.

‘Well,’ her dad began, carefully. ‘She’s so relieved you’ve offered to step in.’

Isla’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

‘Well, not so much offered, maybe – anyway, she’s over the moon. Apparently the girl she had helping her isn’t much use, so she was loath to leave her in charge.
I’ve told her you know your stuff, and she’s delighted to have you take the reins.’

Isla closed her eyes.

‘Eight weeks. Maybe seven, if your cousin Pamela gets the cast off early. But it’s a bad break, I think, and she needs the help. Imagine trying to look after all those weans with one
arm.’

This was unbearable. Her dad had given up all attempts at subtlety now, and was layering on the guilt in spades. She heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Fine.’

His face was one huge, beaming smile. He jumped out of his armchair faster than Isla had seen him move in years, throwing his arms around her.

‘Darling, I’m so glad. I have a feeling this is just what you need. A break from all this pressure. Get a bit of sunshine, enjoy a different pace of life.’

‘For eight weeks,’ Isla reminded him. ‘And then I’m coming back here and getting on with it.’

Eight weeks. By then the reunion would have taken place. She felt her stomach contract with fear. What if Kat Black wasn’t going to give her a decent reference? No, she’d have to
give her something – employment law saw to that, surely? And Isla was certain she’d be able to find something else. Maybe in Glasgow, where the rumour mill wouldn’t be quite so
active. In fact, she could keep an eye out whilst she was working over on the West Coast. Maybe make a few exploratory visits, scout the place out a bit. That was it. She sighed.

‘When does she want me?’

‘An
actual
island?’ Hattie’s face was wreathed in smiles. Life was so uncomplicated for her. She just blithely floated through, expecting everything to
go well – and invariably it did. ‘Oh what
fun
, darling, you’ll have an absolute ball – just imagine all those gorgeous handsome islanders with their woolly sweaters,
chopping logs. Dreamy . . .’

Isla looked at her blankly. Hattie had breezed in from her weekend in the country with bags overflowing with mountains of washing, hair knotted loosely in a ponytail, her striped Joules shirt
half-untucked from a pair of battered old Jack Wills tracksuit bottoms. She slid down over the back of the huge sofa and swung her legs down, sprawling in a heap, her beautiful face looking up at
Isla. Despite two very late nights (‘up all night, darling, you know what it’s like, Milly made us play hide and seek at midnight and then sardines of all things – her place is
vast – and then her ma made everyone crumpets for breakfast . . .’) her smooth tanned face was untroubled by black shadows or lines. Hattie was living proof that a life without worries
created a perfect complexion. She slept the sleep of the just each night, and positively glowed with health. Isla, in comparison, had realized that morning that she was looking seriously grey and
in need of a facial. With no time to spare, she’d have to sort something out when she got over to Aunt Jessie’s place.

‘But what about the –’ Isla cast a glance over her shoulder at her bedroom. The huge cast-iron bedstead stood on a bleached, stripped wooden floor. Stacks of white cushions lay
atop a White Company waffle bedspread. A fragrant aromatherapy candle glowed on the bedside table, emitting delicious and soothing scents of lavender and jasmine. It was her sanctuary. Neutral,
immaculate, perfect. And if she left, how would Hattie cope with living alone? When Isla had arrived, the place hadn’t looked quite like this . . .

‘Eight weeks?’ Hattie reached into her bag, pulling out a Mars bar. Through a mouthful of chocolate, she continued thickly, ‘I won’t even have time to notice you’re
gone, sweetie. And – between you and me – I’m rather hoping that Marcus might spend a bit more time over here.’

Isla wrinkled her forehead, trying to remember which one was Marcus. Hattie was generally followed by an adoring string of admirers who were pretty much interchangeable. Despite the fact that
they were universally well brought up, polite and charming, Isla regarded them all as vague irritations who got in the way of her relaxation and tended to leave a trail of wet towels and shaving
cream in the bathroom when she’d just cleared it up.

‘Anyway, you can always come back at the weekends, it’s not like you’re emigrating to Australia or anything like that.’ Hattie still hadn’t noticed – after
all this time – that hairdressers don’t get weekends off. Friday and Saturday were Isla’s busiest days, the salon always packed with people desperate for a last-minute
appointment.

Hattie crumpled up the Mars wrapper, throwing it at the coffee table. It missed, landing on the floor. Hattie stretched her arms above her head, flicking on the television. ‘Excellent,
Real Housewives of LA
.’

Isla had to resist the temptation to pick up the wrapper and put it in the bin. It was Hattie’s house, after all, and she’d have to face facts – eight weeks away from here
would mean it was going to be in a state of devastation on her return. She’d leave some Marigolds and cleaning stuff out on the kitchen worktop when she left. Maybe Hattie would take the
hint.

It was hard-going fitting everything into her little car, which wasn’t exactly designed with practicality in mind, but Isla wanted to be prepared for every eventuality. Who knew what
island life was going to be like? She was being installed in the little flat above her aunt’s salon, which had been used for years as a holiday let. It had lain empty for the last two
summers, used only as a storage space for the shop equipment. Jessie had assured her dad that it was ‘a bonny wee place, lovely views over the sea, and nice and close to town for Isla –
she’ll be able to do a bit of exploring when she’s not working.’

Isla, who had absolutely no intention of exploring whatsoever, shoved the box of books she’d brought along to keep her going onto the back seat. That was everything. She didn’t have
much faith in the library having anything from this century. She didn’t have much faith in
anything
on the island being from this century, to be truthful. She closed the back door of
the little car, and locked it with care. One last trip upstairs to gather everything she needed for now, and she’d be gone.

She took a last look around the flat, straightening the sofa cushions and neatening the edges of the rug by the fireplace. She didn’t have anyone to wave her off; after spending the last
couple of days with her dad she’d said a final goodbye to him the night before, and he was on a long day shift today, though he’d promised to give her a ring at Jessie’s house
that evening. It was hard to believe that only a week ago she’d gone to work as usual, on top of the world. Now a new week stretched in front of her – and an entirely different
life.

Isla set her chin determinedly, and closed the door on Edinburgh for the next eight weeks.

‘That’s a braw motor you’ve got there, hen.’

Calum was Aunt Jessie’s second husband, and the human embodiment of an ageing Popeye. His thick, tattooed arms were squeezed into a white T-shirt. In the corner of his mouth was a
smouldering cigarette, rather than a pipe. He ran an appreciative hand along the bonnet of her car.

Picking up her suitcase without waiting to be asked, he hefted it into their whitewashed house, which sat over the hill, looking down into the little valley where the town of Kilmannan
stood.

‘What’ve you got in here – a dead body?’ Calum joked, swinging it down onto the spotless carpet in the hall.

Isla felt herself blushing. ‘Nothing much, running kit and things.’

‘I know what you young lassies are like. Jessie’s Pamela comes away from here with a ton weight of stuff from SemiChem every time she’s back home. It’ll be all thae
bargain shampoos and the like, am I right?’

Isla shook her head. After the early years, where she’d worked with hands red raw from the strong chemical products she’d used, she’d sworn never to go anywhere near anything
like that again. She wasn’t taking any chances on what Jessie would have in her salon, so she’d stocked up in advance – not just for her own personal use, but enough to keep the
salon going until she could order in supplies. And Calum was trying to heft the whole lot into the sitting room, only to have to bring it back out again. He puffed his way back to the car and
pushed the door closed.

‘I’ve made a brew for us, hen. Now are you absolutely sure you don’t want to stay here tonight? I’ve got a spare room made up.’ Aunt Jessie, who was almost as
square and solid as her brother, stood in the doorway to her kitchen, hands on hips. She had an apron tied around an ample waist and her dark hair set neatly in curls that framed her handsome face.
The house smelt of a combination of bacon sandwiches and air freshener.

‘No, honestly,’ Isla felt a wave of panic. ‘I’d rather just get in and get myself settled. And you must be desperate to get off to Pamela and the children.’

‘Aye, well, her William has to get back to work, right enough. If you’re sure, hen?’

‘Absolutely certain.’

Isla sat down on the pink velour sofa and waited for her drink to arrive. The television was on in the corner, playing a radio station through huge speakers that were wired to each corner of the
room. Everything else, though, was just how she remembered it.

‘I’m sure you’re self-sufficient enough, being Ellen’s lassie, so I’ll let you find your way round the shop in the morning, seeing as you’re the expert in the
family.’ Jessie bustled in, handing Isla a mug with a cartoon Highland cow on the side, and offering her an opened packet of chocolate digestives.

Unthinking, she took two. The unexpected mention of her mum’s name had thrown her slightly. At home with her dad it seemed to have become an unspoken rule that she wasn’t mentioned.
She smiled down on them from the wall, but when Isla had been younger she hadn’t been able to find the words to ask her dad about her. Once she was old enough, the time seemed to have passed
and Isla had found herself skirting the subject awkwardly.

‘Aye, your mum was an independent woman.’ Jessie gave a knowledgeable nod, settling herself down into the cushions, holding her hand out for the mug of tea, which was passed to her,
wordlessly, by Calum, who appeared to be very well trained. ‘It’s a shame your dad was always so busy once she passed away. I’d have liked to have seen a bit more of the two of
you.’

Isla smiled politely and sipped her tea. Jessie, apparently oblivious to her silence, continued, filling in the gaps where Isla should have responded.

‘Aye, she was a nice enough lassie, your mum. It’s a shame our Pamela is no’ well, she’d have loved to have seen you.’

‘Mmm,’ smiled Isla. The summer holiday she’d spent over here on the island had been painfully dull – Pamela, who apparently was keen to catch up and reminisce about old
times, clearly didn’t remember the hideous night they’d all spent at the Winter Gardens disco, where Isla had had to keep watch whilst a game of Spin the Bottle took place, fuelled by
bottles of illicitly acquired cider. By some silent agreement, Pamela and her friends had judged that Isla wasn’t eligible to join in – not, Isla remembered, that she’d wanted to.
A gaggle of gawky-looking boys who’d clattered up and down the promenade on skateboards hadn’t held any interest for her at all. The feeling had been mutual. They’d jostled their
way past Isla, standing in her post by a rhododendron hedge, and knocked the book she was reading out of her hands.

‘Anyway, maybe now you’re spending some time here you’ll fall in love wi’ the place, see why we all enjoy it so much.’

I think that is extremely unlikely
, thought Isla, swallowing the last of her tea in a burning-hot gulp to get it over and done with. ‘Well, I’ve got eight weeks.’
And
counting
, she added silently.

‘Aye, I’m very grateful to you for it, as well.’ Jessie stood up.‘Right, if you’re absolutely sure you’ll no’ stay, let’s get you along the road.
Just remember Calum’s here if you need anything, and I’m on the end of the phone, and the girls will keep you right until you find your way about, and . . .’

The flat was directly above the salon, tucked down a little side street that led down to the seafront promenade (or, as Isla noted grimly, the pavement beside the harbour, as it could also be
known). Next door was a boarded-up shop with a worn-out sign that read ‘
JIM
’
S F SH
’ in plastic letters. The letter
I
had
been picked up and placed on the stone windowsill, where it sat accompanied by a left-over takeaway coffee cup and a fish-and-chip wrapper. Auchenmor had that much in common with Edinburgh, at
least.

‘Here we are.’

Jessie opened the door to the flat. There was a narrow staircase with a utilitarian blue carpet, and the whole hallway smelt very strongly of some kind of artificial flower scent.

‘Lavender and geranium.’ Jessie noticed Isla sniffing the air. ‘I love those plug-in air fresheners, don’t you? This place smells beautiful now. I’ve bought a load
to take over for Pamela, hide the smell of the bairn’s nappies.’

Isla refrained from responding that she thought she’d prefer the smell of dirty nappies to the chemical pong of whatever-it-was, and followed her aunt up the stairs.

‘It’s no’ been used for a good while, but I’ve given it a quick sort out. It needs a good clean, mind you, but if you’re OK with that . . .’
Isla’s Aunty Jessie stood back, arm open in a gesture of welcome, as Isla stepped forward into the flat that would be her home for the next eight weeks. It was hideous. The floor was covered
in a nauseating green swirling carpet, and a stained wooden fireplace surround framed a dubious-looking old-fashioned gas fire. Brown floral nylon curtains hung at a window that looked onto the
tiny castle, and down the street to the tired-looking amusement arcade Isla remembered from her youth.