Wildflower Bay (8 page)

‘Well, as I said earlier, quite big.’ Scarlett allowed herself a flirtatious smile, looking up at him through lowered lashes. ‘Needs to be something you can hold on to,
don’t you think?’

Finn returned the smile, with interest. Two could play at that game.

‘So are you new to Auchenmor?’

‘God, no, I’m not
living
here.’ She looked alarmed.

‘I’m only here for a month, helping Lily – she’ll be running it – set up the retreat centre.’

‘So what d’you do, then?’

‘I work for an investor. He has a string of holistic retreats across the country – they’re big money at the moment, now everyone’s into finding themselves. He heard about
this place, and thought it was perfect. Near enough to the mainland for people to get here easily, remote enough that they feel like they’re getting away from it all. And tied in with the
weddings up here at Duntarvie House, he’ll be hoping we’re going to rake it in.’

‘I’m sure you will. Doesn’t sound very spiritual, mind you.’

She raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘There’s nothing unspiritual about wanting to live abundantly.’

Finn, who’d learned the art of non-confrontation, backed out of the corner, changing the subject. It didn’t really matter what he thought, and at the end of the day, any financial
investment in the island had to be a good thing. With most of the young people who were brought up here leaving as soon as they could, anything that brought in visitors and money was good. And if
these holistic-retreat people were planning on working alongside Roddy and Kate, that meant more job security for him.

‘Shall we have a look at these carvings?’ He motioned to the wooden shapes waiting on the workbench. ‘Which one d’you reckon is up to the job?’

It wasn’t exactly planned that Finn would end up in town that evening, taking Scarlett for a welcome-to-Kilmannan drink at the newly refurbished Anchor Bar. Nor, when the
late spring evening stretched on into darkness and the purple fingers of night reached across the sky, did he expect to take her on a slightly tipsy stroll along the beach where they sat, flirting
and chatting, watching the stars come out. And neither of them could possibly have predicted that they’d end up back at his place, music playing and candles lit, not quite making it to the
bed, falling asleep, limbs tangled, surrounded by their discarded clothes on the sofa in his sitting room . . .

The phone woke Finn with a start. Eyes half open, he reached back behind his head, groping for the source of the bleeping.

Coffee’s waiting. This is your morning call.

He looked at the message blearily for a moment before it sunk in. Shit, it was half nine. It was half nine and there was an extremely pretty girl lying beside him, draped in one of the blankets
that usually covered the back of the sofa where his cat, Alfred, had scratched several holes as a kitten, years ago.

She covered her mouth as she yawned, opening her eyes as she did so. ‘Morning.’

‘Hi.’ He’d done this a million times. There were several directions this conversation could take. He inhaled deeply, preparing himself.

‘That was a good night.’ With a graceful movement she sprung off the sofa and hooked her black cotton knickers from the leaves of a geranium that stood on the windowsill. She climbed
into them, apparently unconcerned by her nakedness, and strolled around the room collecting the rest of her clothes. ‘Anyway,’ she looked up at the clock, which hung on the wall above
the sitting-room door, ‘I must love you and leave you. Got the ten-thirty ferry to catch. I’m out of here for the weekend.’

As she spoke she pulled on her white leggings and slipped her top over her head.

‘Thanks for dinner. Maybe see you around!’

She scooped up her bag from where she’d discarded it last night by the front door (they’d come in, Finn remembered, kissing, and he’d pushed the door shut with a foot as his
hands had been wrapped around her waist, pulling her close) and gave him a wink – the second he’d received in twenty-four hours.

And with that, she was gone.

On my way now.

Near enough
, thought Finn, as he hit send on the text and stepped into the shower. Scalding hot water cascaded down his face, dripping from his chin as he stood directly under the blast,
eyes closed, contemplating what had just happened. Was he losing his touch? He squirted a handful of shower gel, soaping the muscles of his stomach, running his hand through his hair as he rinsed
it. It wasn’t the first time a woman had legged it in the morning before he’d had a chance to open his mouth, and he’d done it countless times himself. But this morning, for some
reason, it left him feeling a bit dissatisfied. The sex had been good, that wasn’t the problem. But it might’ve been nice to share a coffee and a chat before parting ways. Scarlett
hadn’t even stayed around long enough for the kettle to boil.

He stepped out of the shower and towelled himself dry, found some clothes and pocketed his wallet. He was already late, and he really needed a coffee.

As he slid into the booth at Bruno’s cafe, Finn noticed a knowing look exchanged between Roddy and Kate.

‘What’ve you been up to?’ Roddy sat back, arms folded, teasing.

‘Don’t you mean
who
?’ Laughing, Kate tucked a stray curl of dark hair behind her ear, then elbowed Finn in the ribs.

Finn shook his head. ‘Just slept in, that’s all.’ He didn’t know why, but for some reason he wasn’t in the mood for his friends’ gentle piss-taking today.

‘Morning, handsome.’ Bruno called from across the Formica counter. ‘The usual?’

He nodded. The bustle of the cafe filled his ears and he listened to Roddy and Kate talk about their latest wedding, which had taken place at the big house – a low-key celebrity event that
had been stalked, unexpectedly, by a helicopter funded by one of the big gossip magazines. Neither of them noticed he wasn’t quite his usual ebullient self; their loving, jokey chatter filled
in the spaces where he’d normally have been teasing them back.

‘One black Americano. Three slices of millionaire’s shortbread. Anything else, you lot? I’ve got paying customers over there waiting.’

Bruno, who had known Finn and Roddy since they were children, and who lived with Kate’s mother Liz in a little cottage on the outskirts of Auchenmor, wouldn’t ever take a penny in
payment for anything they had in the cafe. Roddy made up for it by supplying him with logs for the wood-burning stove that warmed the cosy, book-lined sitting room of the cottage, while Finn was
always happy to lend a hand with any repairs that needed to be done in the cafe – not that there were many. Bruno kept the place immaculate; and if it was a bit dated, and the Formica fading
– well, it was much loved amongst the residents of Kilmannan, and beloved by the tourists, who were charmed by its 1950s decor.

Sitting back with his coffee, Finn looked across at Roddy and Kate. They exchanged a smile, and Roddy reached across, putting his hand on his wife’s knee.

‘We wanted you to know,’ Roddy began, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes, a habit familiar to Finn since childhood.

‘The thing is –’ Kate continued. She looked at him, eyes sparkling. Life on the island suited her enormously. She’d settled into her role as mistress of Duntarvie House
and was a popular, much-loved addition to the community.

‘We’re – well, Kate is – we’re having a baby.’ The smile that burst across Roddy’s face was ridiculously wide. Finn looked at his friend, watching as he
turned to Kate with an expression of such love that the whole room seemed to disappear for both of them, leaving them wrapped in a bubble. Kate beamed back at her husband, placing a hand across her
stomach – which showed no sign of looking any different than normal, Finn noticed.

‘That’s – I’m so happy for you both.’ Roddy beamed back at him. Kate stood up and he reached across the table, hugging her closely for a split second before pulling
back. ‘Shit, I haven’t squeezed you too hard have I?’

Kate laughed. ‘No. I’m pregnant, not made of china. And there’s another six months to go. I fully intend to carry on with life as normal.’

‘Not completely normal,’ Roddy shot her a vaguely worried glance. ‘I mean, you’re not going off riding with Morag or anything like that, right?’

Kate rolled her eyes. ‘No, I’m not planning on taking part in any show-jumping competitions, but there’s no harm in a potter round the estate on one of the Highland ponies, is
there?’

‘Kate, seriously. I think you need to watch it. Imagine if you fell off, or—’

Finn cleared his throat ostentatiously. The two of them seemed even more madly in love after two years of marriage, but the other thing that hadn’t changed was the good-hearted bickering
that characterized their relationship.

‘Sorry.’ Kate pulled a mock-chastened face. ‘Anyway, the thing is, that’s not the point of this conversation. We were thinking we’d love you to be godfather. And I
know you’re supposed to wait until they’re born before you ask that bit, but – well, we were so excited, and . . .’

Finn felt a stab of something he didn’t quite recognize. Pride, perhaps. He reached a hand out, squeezing Kate’s fingers then giving Roddy a blokey pat on the arm. ‘I’d
love it. I’d be honoured.’

The conversation carried on then, Kate full of excitement and plans for the future, Roddy showing him the photographs from the twelve-week scan they’d had the day before. Finn nodded
appreciatively, but honestly wasn’t quite sure which end was which when they passed the blurry black and white print across the table.

A couple of hours later, they headed for home. Finn changed quickly and grabbed his mountain bike, deciding the best way to clear his head was to take it up to the woods and
blast round the dirt tracks as fast as possible. He was feeling something, but he honestly couldn’t put a finger on it. Whatever it was, it was making him uneasy. Pushing hard, heart pounding
in his ears, chest tight with exertion, he reached the highest point on the island and pulled over onto the grassy patch that held the stone triangulation point. He let his bike fall and collapsed,
every muscle screaming, on the bench, lying back for a moment. The feeling was still there.

Kate and Roddy were going to be a family now. Life would be all baby carriers and
Postman Pat
. There wouldn’t be any more drunken evenings hanging out round the fire, or late nights
hitching a lift back to Duntarvie House after a lock-in at the Farmers’ Arms. Everything was going to change, and – he realized with a jolt of surprise – he wasn’t
resentful. He was envious.

‘Who are you?’

The girl coming into the salon looked at Isla, her chin jutting out aggressively. Isla, who’d been in the back room trying to make order of the motley collection of towels and equipment,
felt herself tense, hackles rising.

‘I’m Isla Brown. Jessie’s niece. And you are?’

‘I’m Shannon. I work here. For Jessie.’

Isla didn’t miss the emphasis on her aunt’s name.

‘Right.’ She gave a single nod. Shannon didn’t seem impressed.

Shannon stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other on the reception desk. She was chewing gum and sizing Isla up. Isla grew a little taller, and stepped forward.

‘Well, if you work for Jessie,’ she said calmly, having learned while training many junior stylists over the years that it was easier to come in super-strict than to give any
indication of weakness, ‘then for the next eight weeks you’ll be working for me.’

Shannon raised one eyebrow, and carried on chewing. She was a riot of colour – rainbow-coloured hair and arms covered with brightly inked tattoos.

‘First things first. I’m not sure when our first client is in, because the book isn’t up to date and I can’t get the computer to turn on. Secondly, whilst you’re
working for me I’m afraid I have a no-chewing-gum policy.’

Shannon simply looked at her, and chewed a bit harder.

‘And I’m going to need you to clear out and bleach the shelves in the back room. The corners are full of dust. This place needs a major clear-out, if you ask me.’

Shannon raised the other eyebrow, cocking her head sideways in a challenging gesture. ‘Nobody did ask you, though, did they?’

‘I think you’ll find Jessie did.’ Isla bristled. This girl was impossible. If all the staff behaved like this, it was going to be a long eight weeks.

‘Aye, and Jessie employed me. And she disnae mind me chewing gum. Better that than breathing bad breath all over the customers.’ She looked at Isla as if
she
was somehow a
halitosis-ridden culprit. Nettled, Isla ran a tongue across her teeth, double-checking they felt clean. All those years of being picked on at school had never quite left her. Yes, she’d
brushed and flossed and rinsed with mouthwash that morning, as always.

Crossly, angry that she’d allowed Shannon to hit a nerve, Isla moved sideways, motioning with an arm towards the back room. Her voice was clipped. ‘Anyway. If you can get on.
Thanks.’

Shannon skulked across the salon, making her way to the back room, where she proceeded to spray and wipe in a desultory fashion.

‘When are we expecting the junior?’ Isla looked up from the computer, which she still hadn’t managed to coax into life. Without it, she had no idea how she was going to operate
the EFTPOS payment system that stood on the countertop.

‘Jinny?’ Shannon strolled out of the back room. ‘She’s always late in. Got to get her wee brother to nursery first.’

Isla tutted. This place was the most inefficient salon she’d ever experienced. There was no way of saying as much to her aunty Jessie, mind you; and her uncle Calum, who was following his
wife over to the mainland a few days later, didn’t seem to have a clue what was going on. She tried his number again. Still no reply.

‘Who you calling?’ Shannon asked, nosily.

‘I’m trying to get hold of Calum, so I can ask him how the computer works.’

‘The computer? It’s not exactly rocket science.’ Shannon rolled her eyes and slouched over, still, Isla noticed, chewing like a cow in cud. She pressed two buttons
simultaneously, and the system kicked into life.