‘Which house?’ Stella said again.
‘Munro House. Around the bay.’
Outside the pub, Stella was grateful that Caitlin had been on the soft drinks and could drive them back. It wasn’t far to walk, but it was pitch-black and there was a freezing rain which stung her cheeks.
Caitlin linked her arm through Stella’s. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’
‘Me too,’ Stella said, although at that moment she would’ve preferred to be tucked up in her bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so cold. ‘Are you sure Rob won’t mind me staying?’
‘Definitely. He’s the one who said I should keep inviting you. Said we should drive down and kidnap you if you didn’t take us up on the offer soon.’
Stella was thinking about her house in London. Their house. Her eyes were sore and tight with the effort not to cry. She shouldn’t have had that third drink; it had weakened her.
She tried to distract herself on the short drive and had planned to turn down any further offers of social contact and get to bed as soon as was politely possible. The tiredness dragged every step until she felt barely able to get from the car to the cottage.
‘Hello, hello.’ Rob opened the door. ‘I was wondering when you stop-outs would be back.’
Rob and Caitlin had met in the first year of university – the first week, in fact – and become a couple so quickly and completely that it was impossible to imagine them as separate entities. Caitlin-and-Rob. Rob-and-Caitlin.
Rob stepped forward and hugged Stella quickly, the hard stubble of his chin scraping her cheek, before turning to his wife. Caitlin and Rob had surprised exactly nobody when they’d tied the knot one year out of university in a sweet ceremony in Caitlin’s home town. They had all been so excited and a little awkward, fidgeting with their fancy clothes and feeling like they were all playing at being grown-ups.
Stella had felt envious as well as happy; they had got married before attending weddings became the bane of everyone’s summer, back when it was all fresh and new and eating canapés while wearing uncomfortable heels was still a novelty.
‘Was it busy?’
‘Not very,’ Caitlin said. ‘Usual crowd.’
Rob had hung up their coats and moved to the living room, firing questions. ‘Tea? Coffee? Night cap?’
‘Nothing for me, thanks,’ Stella said, edging towards the door. ‘I think I’ll turn in.’
‘Oh.’ Caitlin looked disappointed. ‘Could you wait just a sec?’
‘Of course, you all right?’
‘Hang on.’ Caitlin tuned to Rob, who had a peculiar expression on his face. ‘You do it. I can’t say it.’
Stella had a premonition of what the happy couple were about to reveal and her insides shrank in readiness.
‘I’m pregnant!’ Caitlin was beaming and Rob slipped a proprietary arm around her shoulders.
‘Wow! That’s wonderful. Brilliant news. How exciting.’ Stella’s brain delivered the appropriate words. She made sure her face was turned from Rob as she hugged Caitlin, and then hid in Rob’s shoulder when she hugged him, giving her time to work on an expression of delight.
‘I still can’t believe it,’ Caitlin was saying. ‘We only just started trying.’
‘Well done,’ Stella said. She realised she was looking at Rob, which made her think about his part in the proceedings. Not the mental image she wanted. Still, it distracted her from the urge to start sobbing.
‘I wanted to tell you all evening. I thought you were going to guess when I wasn’t drinking.’ Caitlin was babbling with happiness. Her face was shining with pure joy and Stella felt her own feelings blacken, as if she were stuck on the other side of the coin. She formed a smile. Forced further words of congratulation and excitement and pulled her friend in for a longer hug, grateful to hide her face again.
Later, lying in bed with her eyes wide open, looking into the darkness, Stella tried to cry. She needed to mourn, she was pretty sure that the release of tears would make her feel better, but the oceans she had been holding in check all day had receded. Her eyes were dry as sand.
It was lovely news for Caitlin and Rob. They would be wonderful parents. Stella knew that their happiness and good fortune did not take away from hers, and at least she would get to be a fond auntie to their child. Even if she ran out of time to have one of her own.
Stella blinked in the darkness and wished, for the thousandth time, that she could speak to Ben. It was always at the end of the day that she missed him most. It felt strange not to be able to talk about Caitlin and Rob’s announcement, this monumental shift in their friends’ lives. And he would have understood, without her saying a word, how bittersweet the news was for Stella. She didn’t want to remember how pleased she had been when she had been given the go-ahead by her cardiologist. Pregnancy put a strain on a healthy person’s heart, and up until the valve replacement it had been out of the question. It felt as if a false hope had been dangled, cruelly.
Caitlin and Rob, in the bedroom down the hall, were no doubt lying entangled, talking over the day.
Stella did not want to feel jealous of her best friend, so she very carefully did not feel anything at all.
CHAPTER THREE
The next day, Caitlin left Rob lesson-planning and walked down through Arisaig village to look out at the water and show Stella the sights. ‘There’s a history place you’ll like,’ Caitlin said.
Stella had agreed to the walk, thinking that a blast of fresh air would help her lingering headache. She hadn’t reckoned on the stinging hail and freezing wind though, and gladly followed Caitlin into the whitewashed building which housed the visitor centre.
Inside there were displays of text, maps and photographs, cases of artefacts, and a wall of windows which looked out on the bay and the boats moored in the calm waters of the sheltered sea loch. Caitlin picked up a pair of binoculars from the window ledge and Stella began reading the information boards. Her favourite activity as a child had been museum trips, and she had never had any doubt that, given the chance, she would study history. For a blissful year and a half, she had thrown herself into her degree, hoovering up the details of the Russian Revolution and the Age of Enlightenment, the Tudors and the Crimean War. Until it was all swept away.
Stella read about Arisaig’s position as a place of shelter for a wide variety of people over the years, from Vikings to Bonnie Prince Charlie. The area had been used by the Special Operations Executive during World War Two to train field agents in commando techniques, with several private buildings requisitioned for the effort, including Rhubana Lodge and Munro House. Stella looked at the black-and-white photograph of the ‘big house’ and imagined how it must have felt to have your home taken away.
‘They had only just rebuilt the place,’ Caitlin said, pointing at a panel that described how a fire had consumed Munro House in 1931.
‘I’m just closing now, sorry,’ the kind-faced woman behind the till said on Stella’s third walk around the centre.
‘No problem,’ Caitlin said.
Stella had drifted to a stand of pamphlets and books. She picked one up at random, conscious of the quiet village and deserted visitor centre.
‘Thanks, dear,’ the woman said, ringing up her purchase. ‘You come far today?’
‘I’m staying in the village,’ Stella said.
‘This is a good starter guide to the myths and legends,’ the woman said, bagging the book.
There was a charity tin on the counter with the lifeboat symbol on it. Stella dropped a few coins into it. ‘Must be busy . . .’ she said. ‘The lifeboat service.’
‘Oh, aye. Lots of folk get into trouble. Kayakers mostly.’
‘What about bigger boats? Ships and things?’
The woman nodded. ‘It happens.’
‘Are there a lot of wrecks out there, do you think? It looks so peaceful.’
‘Hundreds,’ she said calmly. ‘Once you get out into the sound itself and between the islands. Ther
e’s a board over there about the 1853 Annie Jane tragedy. Terrible business.’ She spoke with sorrow, as if it had happened last month, not over one hundred and sixty years ago.
Stella had read the board, but she obediently followed the woman’s finger and reread it. Over three hundred souls lost, many of them women and children. The ship had been packed with emigrants, heading to Quebec for work. They had been looking for a new life, but instead they had ended up at the bottom of the sea, miles deep in the cold and the dark.
Stella went to sleep with a nightcap of single malt and the book of folklore. There were a disturbing number of bad omens, from phantom clipper ships out at sea to long-haired women next to the water’s edge. Every single one spoke of sorrow and tragedy either in the past or still to come.
She awoke to the quiet of an empty house. Caitlin and Rob had gone grocery shopping in Fort William, and had left a note on the kitchen table. Back in London, Stella had been finding it impossible to sleep later than four or five in the morning, but she had been soundly unconscious for twelve hours. Perhaps it was the Highland air. Or the whisky.
She emailed her mother back, turning down the lunch invitation and mentioning oh-so-casually that she was visiting Caitlin. The reply pinged back almost immediately but the tone was neutral. Have a lovely time, darling. Speak soon. Stella filled in the invisible words of concern, the questions about how she had travelled so far, whether she was overtired, how she was coping. Or perhaps they weren’t there, only existing in Stella’s imagination. She was so finely tuned to her parents’ feelings, and so used to their caution, that she could no longer separate their true voices from the ones she heard in her own mind. She tapped out a quick reply: Feeling much better, think the change of scenery is doing me good. Lies, but she didn’t want them to worry. They had been through enough, after all.
She had a shower in the small bathroom and then drove to Mallaig to look at where the boats left for the islands. Caitlin had mentioned that there was an outdoor gear shop and, sick of shivering in her leather jacket, Stella was determined to make use of it.
After stocking up on a hat, gloves, waterproof boots and a technical raincoat with warm lining which instantly became the most expensive item of clothing she had ever owned, Stella wandered the harbour, and looked at the steel grey of the water and tried not to think too hard about what she was doing. Ben was far away and that helped. There was a kind of magic in the physical distance, and a relief in the knowledge that he wasn’t about to pop round, letting himself into the house with the key he refused to give back. ‘It’s my house, too,’ he had said when she had asked him for it. Offended.
The next day Stella didn’t even leave the cottage. She sat on the sofa, wrapped in a duvet, and watched television shows about people buying houses in the country or selling antiques, and counted down the hours until Caitlin and Rob came home, filling the house with laughter and warmth.
On the fifth morning, Stella braved the cold and walked around the village. She sat on one of the benches looking out to sea and nodded to the elderly couple with their Thermos. She called into every open business and loitered by the tourist information board. She stared at the simplified map and its large red dot marked with the words ‘You are here’ as if it contained a significant truth. By the time Caitlin came back from a day clearing a footpath in the Glen Beasdale reserve, Stella had decided that it was time she went back to London. The momentum which had brought her to Scotland had drained away, and she felt as numb and empty as she had before.
At dinner, Caitlin was uncharacteristically quiet.
‘You okay?’ Stella said, holding out the salad bowl.
‘Fine,’ Caitlin smiled, but she still looked worried.
‘Do you feel ill?’ Stella stood up. ‘Do you want some water? Is it morning sickness?’
Rob leaned back in his chair, unconcerned. ‘Lovely lasagne. Thanks, babe.’ He was still wearing his work outfit of a neatly pressed polo shirt tucked firmly into smart trousers, and it made Stella feel oddly shy, as if he were an entirely different person from the goatee-wearing student she remembered.
‘I’m past that, thank Christ.’ Caitlin rested her hand on the tiny curve of her stomach. ‘And the bloody tiredness. That was the worst.’
Now that Stella knew, she could see Caitlin’s pregnancy bump. She didn’t know why she hadn’t noticed right away. Too wrapped up in herself, probably. Selfish. She took a deep breath, ready to tell them that she was going to head back down south on the weekend.
‘You may as well tell her, babe,’ Rob said, leaning over and running a finger down Caitlin’s cheek. ‘Get it over with.’
Ice ran down Stella’s back and panicked thoughts flickered through her mind. Ben had been in an accident? Someone was sick? ‘Tell me what?’
‘Don’t be mad, okay?’
‘I won’t,’ Stella said automatically, still waiting for the axe to fall.
‘I emailed about that job,’ Caitlin said. ‘On your behalf.’
‘What?’
‘The job at the big house. With Jamie Munro.’
‘The one that Doug was talking about?’ Stella said, confused. ‘In the pub?’
‘Aye,’ Rob said. ‘Doug’s Mairi went up for it a couple of weeks back, but he’s needing someone with computer skills. I told Caitlin she ought to recommend you.’
‘You’ve got an interview tomorrow,’ Caitlin said, clearly trying not to smile as she spoke, but failing.
Stella was surprised, but it felt second-hand. Everything was still so muted, like she was swimming underwater and real life was going on above her on the surface. There was a spark of relief, too, that Caitlin hadn’t been hiding truly bad news. She realised that Caitlin was waiting for her to speak. ‘Didn’t it seem a bit odd, me not applying myself?’
‘Well’ – Caitlin looked at her empty plate, embarrassed – ‘I set up an email and pretended to be you. Don’t be mad.’
‘I . . .’ Stella began and then fell silent. She ought to be furious. Old Stella would have been. Old Stella would have told Caitlin off for treating her like a special case, an invalid, a pathetic victim. Instead she just felt relief that she had something concrete to do in the morning, something that would put off decision-making for another day.
‘I didn’t think you would do it,’ Caitlin was saying, ‘and if we didn’t move fast then someone else will get the job, there aren’t many around here, you know, and it’s bound to be decent money.’
‘Unless he’s as tight as his father,’ Rob said.
Caitlin shot Rob a look and carried on. ‘I know it was a cheek and I’m sorry, but we really felt like you needed help.’
‘This could be really good for you,’ Rob said. ‘Give you something else to focus on.’
‘And you’d said how much you liked it here. We thought you might want to stay a while.’ Caitlin put out a hand. ‘Say something. Please.’
‘It’s fine,’ Stella said. ‘I’ll go.’ She managed a weak ‘thank you’ and they finished their meal, carefully not talking about it.
When Stella hugged Caitlin and said goodnight, she knew that Caitlin was avoiding her eye. Stella knew she should make more of an effort to show that she wasn’t angry, or to say something more enthusiastic about the job interview, but fighting the strange numbness took all of her energy. It took everything she had to appear halfway normal. She would go to the interview in the interests of friendship, to prove to Caitlin that she wasn’t cross with her. Then, on the weekend or early the following week, she would drive back to her life.
The next day, once Rob and Caitlin had left for work, Stella spent a couple of hours preparing for her meeting at the big house. She might be in the middle of some kind of breakdown, but old habits die hard and she wasn’t about to walk into an interview without doing her homework. Besides, with the sun pouring through the cottage windows and a blessed lack of rain, the prospect of getting to stay in Arisaig for a while longer took on an attractive glow.
Jamie Munro’s website was slick and well stocked with information. To his credit, he appeared to give out a lot of content for free, with in-depth articles, interviews and videos. Stella read the biography, studied his list of New York Times bestselling books, and then watched a video of an interview with the man himself. He was smiling and relaxed, charming the interviewer and the live audience with a performance she associated more with actors or television hosts. ‘It’s about refining the human experience. I take the things that interest me, more often than not, things that we all struggle with, like weight or fitness or learning or work, and then I dissect the process so that I can improve it. There are so many small changes we can make that make a substantial difference to our performance, our energy levels and our happiness.’
‘It’s interesting you mention happiness – that’s not something that you have covered in your books so far, I don’t think . . .’
‘I think it’s a by-product of reaching your peak performance, but you’re right, Jared, it’s not something I have exclusively looked at, yet. Perhaps I should.’
‘Maybe your next bestseller will be The Happiness Hack?’
‘Oh, I like that. Maybe. Although I’m already deep in research for my next title, Living Well Forever.’
Stella clicked the button to stop the video. It was dated June of the previous year, and the ‘Latest News’ page said that the book was ‘coming soon’. A quick Google search revealed a short news piece which suggested Jamie’s book was delayed by work commitments, and it had a quote from his literary agent saying that ‘good enough’ wasn’t in Jamie Munro’s vocabulary and that the fans would be ‘rewarded for their patience with something spectacular’.
The day stayed bright and dry, so Stella decided to walk to her job interview. There had been hardly any traffic on the route, so she felt it was safe enough. At the T-junction she took the left-hand fork to the estate and, abruptly, the wind dropped and she could hear birdsong.
The road descended sharply after a blind bend, and the trees parted to reveal an imposing stone building and, beyond it, the sea. The house sprawled around an inner courtyard. Stella could see through an archway, large enough for a Land Rover, that there was at least one car parked inside and it looked decidedly expensive. The leaves had mostly turned and the view was filled with shades of orange, brown and yellow, which looked bright against the grey stone of the big house and the grey-purple of the roof tiles.
Beneath the Water Page 3