by Kiley Dunbar
Beatrice cocked her head in confusion and shovelled another bite of sweet sticky honey bun into her mouth.
‘Lana is Gene’s wife. He planted the lavender for her as a wedding present.’
Beatrice processed this nugget of information. Eugene Fergusson’s heartbroken brooding made more sense now, being a counterbalance to his romantic gestures and deep love for this Lana, the runaway.
‘She loved it. The plan was, she’d get the field established and she could use the lavender in her baking, and what wasn’t used for the restaurant would go in the still for turning to oil, and that she would sell.’
‘The still?’
‘Aye, a great copper monstrosity Gene bought her. It’s still in its boxes in the storeroom at the inn; they never got round to putting it together before she left.’
‘What went wrong? If you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Wrong? I don’t know. Other than her not loving him enough to stay.’
Beatrice nodded and pressed her lips together. She knew a little about that. Rich’s text appeared again before her eyes and she thought of the van that would be arriving at their house tomorrow to take away the last of his things.
‘She went back to Canada – that’s where Lana was from originally – and Gene has been moping ever since. He’s only really good for the breakfast service since Lana was always out tending the lavender field in the mornings and he doesn’t associate morning service with her. Anyway, lavender seems a lot of work compared to willow. I daren’t touch the stuff for fear of offending him and now the whole field’s gone to weeds. The lavender bushes themselves are leggier than Echo and as dry as bone. I’d take a torch to them if they weren’t so near my willows. I even considered hiring a cultivator to rip them all out and start willows in there… but I daren’t say that to Gene.’
He placed down his empty bowl and set to work cutting a leather hanging strap for his wreath. Beatrice’s mind was working as deftly as Atholl’s hands.
‘Maybe you’ve been going about it the wrong way?’
Atholl tilted his head, but kept his eyes on his work.
‘You’re looking for new solutions when you say you like old-fashioned ways best?’
‘Go on.’
‘Reconnect people with nature, you said?’
Atholl looked up, eyes blank and wondering.
‘We need to encourage Mother Nature to intervene.’
‘I’m no’ sure I’m understanding ye.’
‘Nature, Atholl. Let’s set nature to work. I have a feeling Gene just needs a little encouragement to love again and then nature will take care of the rest.’
The penny dropped and Atholl’s mouth quirked. ‘Push him together with Kitty Wake, you mean? You hadnae struck me as the romantic type.’
‘Gently push them together, yes. And what do you mean? I’m the original romantic! At least, I’ve always been good at matchmaking. It was me who introduced my sister to her partner Victoria, actually.’ She laughed and placed her own bowl down. ‘Oh, God, that reminds me, Angela’s expecting me back in Warwick tonight, and I still haven’t told her I’ve stayed on another day to do some willow-weaving. She’ll be glad I’m staying longer, I think.’
‘And are you glad?’
‘I am. This was nice. Thank you. So… just out of interest… how did I strike you?’
Atholl inhaled through gritted teeth, considering his answer before breaking into a broad grin. ‘Well… more of the… torn-faced type, what with all your mumpin’ and carrying on.’
‘You cheeky devil! Well it takes one grumpy sort to know another, thank you very much. You can hardly talk.’
‘Fair enough. You might have me there.’ A smile accompanied this concession.
‘So, it turns out I am quite the willow weaver,’ she grinned, holding up her efforts for his approval.
‘That’s no’ bad for a beginner. Another two or three years and you’ll be quite proficient.’
‘Two or three hours might be my limit. You have to be honest with yourself about where your strengths lie, but I did enjoy myself, thanks Atholl.’
‘My pleasure. So, tell me, then. What’s this plan you have for my poor brother and Mother Nature?’
It hadn’t taken long to devise, only as long as the walk back to Port Willow where the pair went their separate ways, looking for accomplices; Atholl to Patrick’s fishmongers and Beatrice to find Cheryl and Jillian.
Chapter Ten
Up on the Roof
‘Beatrice!’
‘Jesus Christ!’
Beatrice flattened herself against the wall on her way back to the princess room at the sound of her name hissed in the darkness. It was so late she hadn’t thought anyone would be up, but there she was, Kitty Wake, outside in the moonlight on what appeared to be a flat roof above the inn’s front porch peering through the open window onto the landing just beyond Beatrice’s room door.
‘Oops, did I scare ye?’ she hissed again.
Beatrice’s hand hovered on the door handle. Could she make her excuses, say she was really sleepy and nip inside? That would look even stranger than her creeping around the inn corridors late at night. Kitty was the last person Beatrice wanted to bump into this evening because she knew lying wasn’t her strong suit and Kitty would surely suspect something shifty was going on.
‘Come on out and see this moon.’ Kitty circled her hand, beckoning her through the window and putting her in mind of Cathy calling to Heathcliff. Beatrice knew she’d have to pop outside for the sake of politeness if nothing else. The clamber over the ledge and into the night air was inelegant to say the least, but Kitty reached for her arm and helped steady her.
‘Are we supposed to be out here?’ Beatrice asked warily, cautiously testing the strength of the roof with a few taps of her feet.
‘We used to sit out here all the time when we were wee – me and Atholl and the other holidaymaker kids. We had a contest going to see who could drop their lolly stick onto passers-by’s heads without them noticing. I was the champion, of course.’ Kitty threw Beatrice a proud wink. ‘The trick was to choose someone with a nice big eighties perm and aim straight for the hairsprayed high bit on the crown. Worked a treat.’
‘I’ll stay back here, I think,’ said Beatrice, perching on the windowsill. ‘I’ve had enough adventures on this holiday; I don’t want to add falling through a roof to my list of catastrophes.’
‘I’m heading to bed soon, I just wanted to catch a bit of moonlight. What? Don’t look at me like that. Folk pay a fortune to fly to Greece and Italy to soak up the sun, what’s wrong with absorbing a few moon rays in the Scottish Highlands?’
‘Something tells me you’re a bit of a hippy at heart, Kitty Wake.’
‘I like the simple things in life.’
Beatrice took a breath through gritted teeth and hoped her hunch was right and that included Eugene Fergusson.
‘Are you OK, Beatrice? Are you still feeling out of sorts?’
‘Oh, no. I’m fine, honestly. In fact, I heard some good news tonight. My sister rang the inn looking for me. Poor Mrs Mair had to come to my room to wake me up. Vic proposed to Angela last night – Angela’s my sister – and they’ve already set a date for the wedding so we had lots to talk about. November the sixteenth, would you believe?’
‘Not long then.’
‘I know.’ Beatrice looked down at the three beermats hastily snatched from the bar, now carefully bullet pointed in biro with wedding planning ideas and notes. ‘Anyway, we were chatting for an hour and got carried away making to do lists. I didn’t realise the time and now I’m chilly from standing in the bar corridor for so long. That payphone seems to be the only way of getting a line out of this place.’
‘You might be right there. I don’t bother with my mobile while I’m here, no point. And you know what? It’s bliss. Besides, if someone really wanted you, they’d reach you one way or another, as your sister’s call proves perfectly.’
Beatrice n
odded with a smile that she hoped hid all thoughts of Rich that had come gatecrashing into conversation, yet again. He hadn’t tried very hard to reach her since he walked out on her. She supposed he had nothing more to say.
Kitty tilted her head to one side as though quietly considering Beatrice, making her worry she might be hoping to find out the secret of why Beatrice was here and why she’d wanted to leave Port Willow again so soon after arriving, or why she’d been sobbing on the sand yesterday like a washed up, melancholic mermaid.
Beatrice found herself rambling to distract Kitty. ‘Me, Angela and her fiancée are really close. This is the longest I’ve gone without seeing their baby, Clara. She’s teething – Clara, not my sister. I could hear her screaming in the background, poor thing. I think they’re all fed up at the moment, not enough sleep, too many tears. All that pain for a thing as tiny as a milk tooth.’
‘It’s funny how you don’t remember any of it, isn’t it?’ said Kitty. ‘Probably for the best. I don’t really know much about babies, mind, and I’m glad I chose to go into teaching adults and not kids. Grown-ups are far easier, less prone to tantrums too.’ Kitty cocked her head. ‘Mind you, I’ve been to a fair few staff meetings at my uni…’ She gritted her teeth and sucked in air.
‘I can imagine.’
‘They must be missing you too, your sister and her family?’
‘I think so. But they think it’s a good thing I decided to take a holiday, if a little surprised I didn’t tell them. I got a bit of a telling off the other day when I called, but it’s fine. They look out for me. And I try to help them out any way I can. I babysit a lot.’
‘See, I wouldn’t have a clue what to do there. I imagine it’s different if they’re your own; you’d learn how to do all the nappies and feeds and things, but someone else’s bairns? That’s a whole other story.’
‘It’s definitely tiring. It’s non-stop too. I forget how much I like my own space to think and watch TV and have a wine or two. And there’s no medals dished out at the end of a long day’s child-caring either!’
‘Hah!’ Kitty laughed. ‘You’d think there would be. I feel sorry for mums; they get a raw deal.’
Beatrice was annoyed to find she was thinking of Helen Smethwick from work; her nemesis, and a self-crowned supermum.
The memories of the day back in early March when she’d called in unexpectedly to the Arts Hub to let the girls know her Big Fat Positive news came flooding back. She felt all over again the awkwardness and instant regret of turning up in her jeans and trainers when they were all absorbed with their daily rituals that had, apparently, gone on just fine without her since her redundancy. She hadn’t actually met up with any of them since her leaving do back in September and she realised why as soon as she walked in the door. In spite of the hugs, it turned out nobody wanted to be reminded of their poor redundant colleague and their own occupational survivors’ guilt.
Helen Smethwick had been there, and she looked at the early scan picture for a long time, smiling and offering her congratulations, but Beatrice knew what she was thinking; that she’d got knocked up now because she had nothing else to do with her life.
Helen had joked about Beatrice taking drastic action to avoid getting another job, and as always Beatrice just wanted to smack her, because Helen knew exactly how many jobs she had tried to get since September since she had handled all the reference requests. ‘Eight interviews?’ she said sotto voce while she poured Beatrice’s decaf. ‘But no actual job offers then?’ she added, without even trying to hide the fact she was incandescent with delight. At least, that was how Beatrice had read the mood in the strangely subdued office that she had once thought of as her second home.
Aside from Helen, Vic and Angela were the only mums she knew who were her age. She had known plenty, once upon a time. The girlfriends she’d met at uni had all sprogged up about a decade ago and disappeared without trace one by one into their baby bubbles. She often wished that she’d made more effort with them, tried to be more helpful, asked them out more, but they’d all been so busy with washable nappies and baby music classes they’d gradually lost contact. And there was a point where the effort all felt a bit one-sided and it was just too late to reconnect.
She missed them still, it occurred to her, standing there on the moonlit rooftop in Port Willow under Kitty’s calm, smiling gaze. It hadn’t occurred to her how lonely and isolated she had let herself become over the years. She might have stood a chance of getting back into contact with her uni friends if she’d had a baby way back then. They’d have had all that stuff in common and could have discussed breast pumps and Kegel exercises over coffee and breastfeeding.
‘Penny for them?’ Kitty said.
‘Oh, just… um, thinking of some of the mums I know.’ Helen Smethwick’s sour, pouting face appeared again and the words coming out of her mouth were something Beatrice had heard her say at Hub nights out or thrown into snarky conversations around the water cooler. ‘You don’t know true love until you’re a mum.’
‘Well, that’s bullshit,’ Kitty’s voice crackled.
Beatrice gasped and snapped her eyes to Kitty’s. ‘Did I say that out loud? Sorry! It’s just something one of my ex-colleagues used to say. And, yeah, it really annoyed me too.’
‘Supermum, was she?’
‘Hmm, you could say that. She looked down on me because I didn’t have kids. I never really understood that.’
‘Wee bit of jealousy on her part, maybe?’
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’
Beatrice let her memory work and found herself thinking of Helen’s Instagram-perfect family and the effort it must have taken to maintain that flawless, problem-free front. She’d say things like, ‘When I’m at work I know my kids think of me as a role model, and when I’m at home I know they get my undivided attention. Because it’s so important to make happy memories isn’t it? Well, you wouldn’t know, Beatrice, but the greatest privilege of my life is making the kids’ dreams come true and devoting myself to their happiness.’
‘Helen was forever wheeling out the Mary Poppins act, and even when I was really tempted, I never once said what I wanted to,’ said Beatrice.
‘Which was?’
‘Which was… is that why you stay at your sister-in-law’s every second weekend and drink yourself into oblivion on Smirnoff Ice? Or is that why I heard you crying in the work toilets the other day after the school phoned yet again about Jeremiah picking fights in the playground and you swore like a navvy at him when you finally got to talk to him on his mobile?’ Beatrice smiled wickedly at Kitty. ‘Best to hold your tongue in those situations, I find. And Helen’s crowing might have hurt more if I hadn’t caught those glimpses of how far from perfect her family life was, like everyone else’s. But why pretend it isn’t? There are no awards for grinning and bearing it. Oh, well,’ Beatrice said with a shrug. ‘You never wanted kids, Kitty?’
‘Nope. Everyone tells me I’ll change my mind, like they dinnae see how offensive that is. I’m happy as I am with my work and my friends and my family. I’ve heard it all, though. But you’re nearly forty! You’ll regret it one day if you leave it too late! I’ve actually had people say that to me, can you believe it?’
‘Yes, I can, unfortunately.’ Beatrice remembered how much those comments had hurt, and how they all suddenly stopped after she lost her baby, only to be replaced by awkward silence on the topic.
Kitty spoke again. ‘All I’m missing is my man to go on adventures with… or just to sit with, like this, and I’ll be sorted. But he hasnae exactly been forthcoming so far, so…’
‘You’ll just wait.’
‘Aye.’ Kitty turned her face to the pale moon. ‘I’ll wait.’
Beatrice stood to go, and when Kitty noticed her leaving she too stood up and pulled her in for a hug. ‘Sweet dreams,’ she said, giving her a gentle squeeze across her back.
‘You too.’
Beatrice swung one leg back through the low window
into the corridor while Kitty settled herself down again, cross-legged under the night sky.
‘Umm, Kitty?’ she said, tentatively, remembering again the plans she and Atholl had worked out so carefully that afternoon. ‘If I ever annoy you by acting like a pushy know-it-all, I’m sorry. OK?’
Kitty squinted her eyes and laughed. ‘Unlikely, but all right. I forgive you in advance for any and all misdemeanours. How’s that?’
‘OK. Just remember you said that? OK? Night then.’
Kitty smiled placidly before turning her face away again, closing her eyes and losing herself in the sounds of the waves lapping against the sea wall.
Chapter Eleven
Matchmaking
In August, the evening tides bring the water right up to the sea wall submerging the wide, curving, stony sands of Port Willow beach but by morning the shore is revealed again, the moored boats are stranded once more, the bay is scattered with shells, sea glass, and the occasional frilled pink jellyfish, and the oystercatchers and red shanks gather to stealthily pick the shore clean.
The locals live by these rhythms set by the sea. The men bring home the early catch against the receding tide and the work of sorting it into iced boxes on the jetty begins long before the milk float trundles its way silently along the row of pastel-painted cottages in hues of pale lemon, salmon pink and baby blue.
The postmistress on her bicycle is next on her rounds, followed by teenage twins delivering the morning papers with earbuds firmly wedged in, shoulders hunched and eyes cast down as though unaware of how beautiful their surroundings are.
Beatrice observed it all with her morning coffee from her people-watching vantage point; her bedroom windows on the first floor of The Princess and the Pea Inn. She had woken up early, on this, her third morning at the inn, not long after sunrise, to see it all.
Clattering sounds from the kitchen below told her Gene had started his breakfast preparations and the smell of sausages and bacon began drifting upstairs tempting her appetite – which she was astonished to find was growing by the day.