by Fiona Gibson
‘D’you have one of your own?’ I ask.
‘No, but Arthur would love one. That was always a big draw for him, coming out here for his holidays. To spend time with his granddad’s dog. And his granddad too, of course,’ he adds quickly. ‘But Bess passed away last year so I suspect it’s not quite the same for him anymore.’
‘Oh, that’s sad,’ I say.
‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘So, your friend said Scout just turned up at your house?’
‘At the holiday cottage I was staying at, yes. No one reported him missing, so I decided to keep him.’
‘Great decision,’ he says, and I glance over as Scout and Arthur dart in and out of the sea. Arthur’s trainers must be soaked. It’s heartening to see a parent not minding about stuff like that. ‘You’re not from round here, then?’ the man asks.
‘No, I live in York,’ I reply. ‘How about you?’
‘We live in Glasgow but I grew up here – it’s where I’m from. We’re staying with my dad. Are you here on holiday?’
‘Erm, I’m sort of working here,’ I reply.
‘Oh, what kind of work?’ he asks.
‘Just, uh, something I’m setting up,’ I say, vaguely, as Arthur comes back and we all start to make our way along the beach. Thankfully, his father doesn’t quiz me any further.
‘He’s such a nice dog,’ Arthur announces.
‘Thanks,’ I say with a smile. ‘He’s loving all the attention. He’d play stick all day long if you let him.’
‘Yeah. We were doing that yesterday.’ Arthur turns to me with a hopeful grin. ‘I’d like to walk him sometime,’ he adds.
‘Well, I’m sure I’ll bump into you again,’ I say. He’s a good-looking boy with deep brown eyes like his father’s, but his hair colour is strikingly different.
‘No, I mean for me to take him for a walk,’ he explains.
‘Arthur,’ his dad says, laughing, ‘you can’t just ask to take other people’s dogs out.’
‘Yeah, you can,’ he says firmly. ‘There’s this thing, this website, where you can borrow dogs, like if you can’t have one of your own. If you live in a flat or something and they’re not allowed.’ He pauses. ‘Or if your dad won’t let you have one.’
His dad smirks. ‘That’s right, Arthur. What a despicable father I am.’
I catch a brief scowl from his son. ‘Remember I mentioned it? That dog borrowing website?’
‘Er, yeah, I think so,’ he says.
‘You said you’d look into it and we’d maybe join?’
‘Uh-huh …’
‘And you never did?’ Arthur adds with a note of admonishment.
The man laughs. ‘Yep, that’s yet another thing I’ve never got around to. It’s a wonder I’ve been allowed to raise you, really.’ He gives me a kids-eh kind of look.
‘Well,’ Arthur says, ‘maybe we could borrow Scout?’
‘You’re lovely with him,’ I say quickly, ‘but I really enjoy doing the morning and evening walks, and Cara’s helping to look after him during the daytime …’
Arthur’s face falls. ‘Oh, okay.’
‘Anyway,’ his father says, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, ‘we’re only here for a few more days, remember?’
‘Till Sunday,’ he says, his cheeks colouring as he digs the toe of a trainer into the wet sand.
There’s a slightly awkward lull, which I break by calling Scout over and clipping on his lead. ‘Well, I’d better get back,’ I say. ‘It’s been lovely meeting you.’
‘You too,’ says the man. We part company and I head straight for the steps, wondering now what harm it would have done to say, ‘Yes, okay, you can walk him.’ I mean, Arthur’s not a little kid. He looks about eleven and I’m sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. I could’ve let him borrow Scout on the condition that his dad went along too.
It just felt a bit much, that’s all – sharing him with yet another person so soon, especially someone I don’t even know. Frieda would be horrified! But Scout seems to be a particularly sociable dog, at ease with new people (he certainly was with Cara), and Arthur really wanted to do it. Maybe, I reflect, as we wander back into town, he’s missing his granddad’s dog terribly? Yes, that’ll be it. His dad said that had been a huge part of the appeal of coming here. That’s why Arthur wanted to walk Scout.
It’s only Thursday, and if they’re here for three more days I’m sure we can arrange something. Prickling with guilt now, I turn back and walk briskly towards the beach. But when I arrive back at the steps, and gaze left and right along the wide sweep of sand, Arthur and his father have already gone.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ricky
‘Granddad, we met that dog again! We were playing stick and he was so sweet, he—’ Registering my father’s thunderous expression, Arthur stops abruptly.
‘Dad? What’s wrong?’ I dump my rucksack on the sofa as my father thrusts a piece of paper and an envelope at me.
‘This came through the door. I just found it. It was hand delivered. Bloody cheek!’
I take it from him, studying the envelope first, on which his name has been neatly written: Mr H. Vance. Then I turn my attentions to the handwritten letter.
Dear Harry,
I hope this letter finds you well and that you don’t mind me contacting you directly. I am aware that you were an extremely experienced and valued member of the Sgadansay Distillery team and wanted to put you in the picture as to what is happening now with the company.
As you may be aware, my former partner, Paul Leighton, is no longer associated with the business. As sole proprietor I am fully focused on getting the distillery back on track. I realise many mistakes were made during the past two years and I wish to assure you that I am doing everything in my power to rectify them …
‘I mean,’ he chokes out, ‘the bloody nerve of it!’
‘Yeah, I know, Dad,’ I murmur, reading on:
… I also realise that you left the company in unhappy circumstances. I would welcome the opportunity to arrange a meeting with a view to welcoming you back into the team …
I look at Dad. ‘She wants you back?’
‘Aye! That’s what she’s saying right there.’
I skim through the last lines:
… As our greatest asset, I hope you will consider meeting with me so I can explain the situation further. I am also planning to arrange a team meeting at the distillery and would greatly value your presence there. I can of course arrange this at a time of your convenience—
I break off. ‘She’s inviting you to a team meeting. And she wants to meet you personally as well.’
‘I can read,’ Dad says irritably. I’m aware of Arthur wincing as he gives me a quick look.
‘Yes, I know, Dad,’ I murmur. I study his face. ‘We could meet her together, if you like? Just to see what she has to say?’
‘No, we’ll not see what she has to say,’ he snaps. I exhale slowly and skim through the final lines: We are at a crucial stage in our dealings with the creditors and I know that your return would be greatly welcomed by everyone connected to the Sgadansay Distillery.
With warmest wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Suzy Medley
Beneath her name, she has neatly written her mobile number and that of the Cormorant Hotel. I fold the letter in half carefully and hand it back to Dad. ‘That’s … incredible really,’ I murmur.
‘Yeah, you could call it that,’ he says.
I peer at him in the gloomy living room, trying to read his face. ‘You’re not interested in meeting her, then?’
‘What do you think?’ he snaps.
‘Um, I don’t know really. But I s’pose there’s no harm in—’
‘Did you read it?’ he blurts out. ‘Did you just read that thing?’
I step back. ‘Yes, Dad. I read it …’
‘She wants me back so the creditors can see that she’s doing stuff. That she’s trying to put things back to the way they were�
��’
‘Yes,’ I say, aware of Arthur sitting quietly now, picking at his fingernails. ‘But maybe, if you just—’
‘She wants to use me as bait,’ he announces, ‘or a carrot—’
‘Dad, I’m sure it wasn’t meant like—’
‘Why are you sticking up for her?’
‘I’m not! Jesus, Dad …’ I stare at him, frustration bubbling up in me now. I know it’s not me he’s angry with, and it’s understandable that he’s reacting like this. But it takes an almighty effort to speak calmly when his face is inches from mine, his eyes filled with fury. ‘I’m not taking her side,’ I say firmly. ‘Why on earth would I do that? I don’t even know the woman. All I’m saying is, it might be good for you to at least—’
‘I’ll tell you what’ll be good for me,’ Dad announces, snatching the envelope and letter from my hand and scrunching them up in his fist. Arthur stares, open-mouthed, as his grandfather storms through to the kitchen. I hurry after him and watch as he stamps so hard on the pedal bin’s pedal that it cracks.
‘Granddad, your bin!’ Arthur cries out behind me.
Dad flings the letter and envelope into it. ‘Never mind that,’ he shoots back, angry red patches springing up on his cheeks. ‘What’ll be good for me is for that damn woman to leave me the hell alone.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Suzy
‘Fancy an early pub supper?’ Cara asks when I turn up to collect Scout. ‘The Anchor does an amazing cullen skink on Fridays.’
‘What’s cullen skink?’ I ask. Yet another mysterious term.
She laughs. ‘It’s a lovely, creamy, smoky fish soup. Once you’ve tried it, I promise you’ll never forget it.’
I jump at the chance, grateful for Cara’s company as a distraction from obsessing over Harry Vance. All day I’ve been checking my phone for missed calls, willing him to get in touch, even though I only dropped off his letter yesterday. He’s probably taking his time, mulling things over. And why should he feel obliged to respond right away? Perhaps, I mused, over a quick lunchtime sandwich with Vicki, he’s making me sweat it out.
However, I relax as soon as Cara and I are installed in the Anchor’s snug. The pub is delightfully cosy with its evocative sepia photographs of islanders from days gone by: mending boats, landing catches of fish and working on the land. While the wind moans outside, the fire crackles and glows invitingly and, as Cara had promised, the pub’s famous soup is a comfort blanket for a chilly April evening.
‘Have you decided how long you’re staying here?’ she asks, placing her spoon in her empty bowl.
‘At least another couple of weeks,’ I reply. ‘I’m starting to love it here. I really am. A friend back home is keeping an eye on my house so there’s no real reason to rush back.’
‘I’m so glad to hear that,’ she says. Then, after a pause: ‘I was thinking … look, I don’t want you to feel obliged, and I realise it might not suit you at all. But I was wondering, instead of booking more nights at the hotel, you’d be really welcome to come and stay with me. In the studio, I mean. There’s a bed there, and if you needed peace and quiet while I’m working you could set up at the kitchen table …’
‘Oh, that’s so kind of you, but—’
‘I know it’s pretty basic,’ she adds, ‘so please don’t feel bad if you’d rather not.’
‘The Cormorant Hotel’s pretty basic,’ I say with a smile. ‘And your studio’s lovely. But would that really be okay, us being under your feet—’
‘I’d love you and Scout to be there,’ she says firmly.
I look at her, overwhelmed by her generosity. ‘Cara, that sounds great. But I’d have to pay you. I mean, I’d be paying for a hotel room anyway.’
‘Absolutely not,’ she says firmly. ‘I couldn’t accept that. To be honest …’ She exhales. ‘Well, I’ve told you how lonely it can be, working on my own. And having Scout for his visits has made such a difference … D’you think he’d like to stay at mine?’ We peek down to where he’s been dozing peacefully under the table. As if sensing our attention, he wakes himself with a vigorous shake, then potters between us with tail wagging.
I catch Cara’s eye and we laugh. ‘I think we can take that as a yes,’ I say.
It’s just gone seven when we part company at the end of the street, having agreed that I’ll move into Cara’s on Sunday when my hotel booking comes to an end. Although most of the shops have closed for the day, the bookshop is still open. I glance in to see a huge, fluffy tabby cat snoozing on a cushion on the counter. Unable to resist, I open the door a little and ask if it’s okay to bring in my dog.
‘Of course it is,’ says a young woman in denim dungarees. ‘Oh, he’s a lovely wee thing. Is he a he?’
‘He is,’ I reply. ‘He’s called Scout.’ She crouches down and makes a fuss of him while I browse the shelves, selecting a novel and a guidebook of walks on the island. Maybe one day I’ll have time to explore some more, to get to know the place and feel like I really belong. The thought of going back to York is faintly unsettling; it feels so very far away. But I’ll have to at some point, of course. Although Isaac and Frieda both hope to go travelling this summer, they’ll want to spend some time at home before they go. Frieda’s graduation is coming up too. It feels as if I am living two very separate lives.
Scout and I leave the shop and wander past the Seafood Shack on the quay. The wind has died down and the evening is beautifully still, the sea as calm as a mirror. Cormorants are diving for fish and a yellow-beaked seagull perches on a litter bin, eyeing the scene regally.
In the distance, I spot that man and his son – Arthur – from the beach. They’re eating chips from brown paper bags and seem to be locked in intense conversation.
I catch the man’s eye and he smiles in recognition as they approach. ‘Hi,’ he says. ‘Lovely evening, isn’t it?’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say as Arthur greets Scout with enthusiasm.
‘Can I give him a chip?’ he asks with a grin.
‘Sure, he’d love that,’ I say, touched by the way Arthur is with him. He leads Scout to a nearby bench, takes a seat and pats the space next to him – Scout’s cue to jump up.
I smile at his father. ‘Those two are so sweet together.’
‘Yeah.’ He laughs. ‘Look, um, I’m sorry he went on about borrowing him. I hope it didn’t make you feel awkward.’
‘Not at all,’ I say quickly, ‘and he didn’t go on. He’s so good with him. In fact, I went back to the beach to say that of course he could walk him sometime. But you’d already gone. I don’t know why I said no. It was just—’
‘It’s fine,’ he insists. ‘You don’t go around handing your dog over to complete strangers, do you?’
‘No,’ I say, ‘but I’m sure you’re trustworthy. I mean, I don’t think you’re likely to steal him—’
‘Much as Arthur would like us to.’ He grins and his deep brown eyes glint in the evening sunshine. His easy-going manner is attractive, and I find myself wondering what Arthur’s mum is like, and if they’re together. He’s certainly an appealing, handsome man.
‘Well, um,’ I continue, ‘what I wanted to say is, I’d be absolutely fine about it as long you or another adult went along too. I mean, I’m sure Arthur’s very sensible, but—’
‘Oh, I understand,’ he says. ‘I’d be with him, definitely. I’m Ricky,’ he adds.
‘And I’m Suzy,’ I say, without hesitation – because what else can I do? It’s a common enough name, and I’ve already decided I was just being paranoid about locals connecting me to the distillery. ‘So, if Arthur would still like to walk Scout,’ I add, ‘maybe we could arrange that?’
Ricky’s face brightens. ‘That’d be great. But the thing is, we’re going home to Glasgow on Sunday—’
‘Oh, yes, you did tell me,’ I say as Arthur and Scout wander back towards us.
He looks up at his dad. ‘Wish we were staying longer.’
‘Do you?’ Ricky
smiles. ‘That’s a bit of a change of heart.’
Arthur shrugs. ‘I still like it here, Dad.’
‘Yeah, I know you do.’ As Ricky rests an arm around his son’s shoulders, I wonder if they’ve reached the point at which Arthur has become less than enthusiastic about his trips here.
‘I’m taking Scout to the beach now,’ I tell them. ‘You’re welcome to come with us, if you like?’
‘I’d love to!’ Arthur enthuses.
‘Great,’ Ricky says. ‘Let’s do that.’ He pauses. ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind us tagging along?’
‘No, of course not,’ I say.
‘Shall we go and get Granddad?’ Arthur asks, turning to his father. ‘It might cheer him up. He was in a bad mood last night, wasn’t he, Dad? I’ve never seen him as mad as that—’
‘Oh, I think we’ll leave him in peace,’ Ricky says briskly as we head down the worn stone steps to the shore.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Find your pack, feel the joy, ran an advertising slogan a few years ago. It was for a sportswear brand and showed dozens of dogs charging delightedly across a field. It seemed a bit corny back then, but now I’m feeling Scout’s joy as he pelts across the wide arc of sand, oblivious to being watched.
Arthur, who’s running in pursuit, has found an abandoned tennis ball. ‘They’re having such fun,’ I say as he throws it for Scout to fetch.
‘Yeah,’ Ricky says with a warm smile. ‘It’s great to see.’
I glance back at him, wondering what the scenario is with the bad-tempered granddad. Of course, I’m not going to ask. But I hope it’s not something Arthur did that provoked his anger last night. He seems like such a good-natured kid. ‘You said he’d love a dog of his own,’ I add.
‘God, yes. Every birthday and Christmas it comes up, guaranteed. He’s hoping I’ll reach that tipping point and finally crumble.’
‘We ended up with guinea pigs,’ I say, chuckling in recognition. ‘That was our compromise.’