by Kiley Dunbar
‘They do?’
Atholl’s eyes flitted briefly to hers.
‘They spend the winter apart, someplace warmer than Skye where the cold is something frightening. But they come back to their home every spring, they repair their nest together and they raise their young.’
‘And then they separate again?’
‘Aye, every autumn they part, knowing they’ll find each other when the warmth returns to Scotland again. If they survive their migrations, that is.’
‘That must be quite a reunion,’ Beatrice smiled.
‘I imagine it must be.’
‘Are you saying that’s what Seth and Mary were like? A pair of ospreys?’
‘Aye, and all true lovers too. The longest winter and the greatest of journeys made all alone couldnae keep them apart forever. Not if they’re true pairs.’
The look Atholl threw her at this was unreadable. Was he asking about her? If she was paired for life too and if this was a temporary migration? Why on earth would that interest him? No, he was talking about Seth, of course. She had, after all, asked about his curious relationship with Mary. But Beatrice couldn’t help thinking of Rich and their own pairing. She’d never thought they’d be separated by hundreds of miles like this. She could never have imagined even a year or two ago that they’d not have spoken for weeks. She didn’t even know his address now, and their shared nest had only yesterday been emptied of the last of his possessions by the removal men who’d have let themselves inside using the key Rich no longer had a use for. Rich still had no idea where she was. Maybe she should have tried to reach him to let him know?
‘We’re so remote out here on Skye, aren’t we?’ she said at last, her eyes still fixed on the nest.
‘That we are. What makes ye say that now?’
Beatrice looked around at the beach behind her and the great mountains in the distance.
‘Oh… I don’t know. I just feel very far from Warwickshire all of a sudden.’
‘You’ll be home soon enough,’ Atholl said, holding his voice level in contrast to the distinct shakiness of Beatrice’s own.
‘I suppose so. It’s hard to remember what home feels like in a landscape like this. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.’
Atholl’s lips curved and he laughed with a satisfied sniff. ‘You’re right, there’s no other place like this on earth. I hope you’ll be happy today, Beatrice.’ As he spoke, something up above the road caught his eye and Beatrice found herself wishing he hadn’t snapped his attention away from her quite so abruptly. ‘And there he is, look!’ Atholl’s voice turned to an excited whisper. Beatrice froze as she caught the briefest glimpse of white and brown wings flashing against the blue summer sky. The osprey had come to an elegant stop upon the nest and disappeared from sight.
‘I saw it!’ she gasped.
Atholl’s gaze met her own and they shared a satisfied smile.
‘Is Skye full of surprises? We’ve only just arrived and I’ve seen an osprey.’
‘You’d better believe it. This isle is alive with wonders.’
Beatrice grinned again and for a moment she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from his.
‘Umm, anyway…’ Atholl raised his free hand to rake his fingers through his hair before reaching into his pocket for a key. ‘This is our transport for today.’ He led the way around to the side of the garage and came to a stop beside a curious old car.
‘Is this yours? I think I recognise this kind of car. My grandad had one when I was tiny. I definitely remember this bit.’ She reached out to touch the deep green paint and the wooden struts that formed the boxy sides. ‘I remember it looking like a Tudor house on wheels.’
‘Morris Traveller; it’s a design classic.’
‘Are you a classic car lover? A petrol head?’
‘Eh, no. This is the car we all share when we come to island. It belonged to some cousin or other once upon a time, and it’s always parked here, or somewhere on the island, depending on who’s got it. I asked Elsie if we could have it today.’
‘Elsie?’
‘My eldest cousin. She owns the house there. Some of those bairns were hers. God knows who the others belonged to.’
‘Shouldn’t we call in to see her? We can’t just take the car and leave?’
Atholl considered this for a split second before dismissing it with a decisive frown. ‘Naw, I dinnae think that’s a good idea. We’d never get our day on the island. My family have a way of monopolising your time, and believe me, they’d be all over you. We can call in on the way home tonight.’ He unlocked the passenger door and swung it open.
‘Hop in!’
* * *
Beatrice gripped the seat and squinted at Atholl’s determined expression as the gears screeched.
‘Are we going to make it?’
The hill was the steepest she’d ever scaled in a car. A queue of tourist traffic was forming behind them. Beatrice glanced out the back window and winced to see increasingly dark exhaust fumes billowing behind them. ‘We’re losing speed, Atholl. Are we going to come to a stop? Will we roll backwards?’ She tried to quell the rising alarm in her chest by concentrating on Atholl’s features, which were set in firm concentration.
‘Rusty’s no failed me yet and he won’t today,’ he said, his jaw clenched around the words. ‘But if you know who the patron saint of old bangers is, it might be a good time to start praying to them.’
She noticed the crinkle at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t afraid in the least, and so she told herself this probably meant she shouldn’t be either.
‘Come on, Rusty! You can do it!’ she cried out the window into the summer air, which was growing cooler with every second of their climb.
Atholl looked across at her, a grin forming. ‘That’s the spirit! Come on, Rusty, old pal! We believe in you.’
The cars behind beeped their horns and the pair burst into triumphant cheers as Rusty reached the brow of the hill and they picked up speed. ‘He’s no’ so good at the inclines but he can fly down the valleys like a rally car.’
But Beatrice was too distracted to reply. Spreading out ahead of her as far as she could see were enormous mountains, skies higher and wider than any she’d ever gazed up at, glinting sunlight hitting a thousand scintillating tarns and lochs as small and dazzling as sequins from this distance, and something utterly unexpected that took away her breath.
‘Is… is that snow?’ She pointed a finger to the highest peak ahead of them before realising that all the mountains were capped with sparkling white where they soared into cloudless blue.
Atholl gazed out the windscreen with a look of pride and awe. ‘You’re in the heavens up here, Beatrice. With the very angels themselves.’
‘You have a way of making everything sound like poetry,’ she said. Beatrice curled her feet beneath her on the seat and turned to lean her elbows on the window ledge, the fresh air blowing her hair back over her shoulders as she scanned the mountaintops for a glimpse of her own angel. Were such things possible up here on this curious island? For a second, she had believed so. ‘It’s beautiful here,’ she said quietly. Deep down, she knew these weren’t really the words queueing up behind her lips. What she’d really wanted to do was tell him about her baby, but she swallowed down the impulse, wondering where it had come from. She’d have to be extra careful on this strange island if its unfamiliarity and magic were going to provoke feelings like that. She tightened her fists as a reminder not to say too much and risk spoiling everything about their sunny daytrip.
* * *
The walking was hard going. Beatrice was torn between taking in the stunning scenery, and scanning the uneven peaty and puddled ground for the great gaps and trenches that seemed to exist only to trip the unwary tourist.
It had been a struggle finding a free parking space at the side of the curving mountain road, and when they had finally pulled to a stop, Beatrice had laughed at the sight of Atholl lifting two bricks from under the tarta
n travelling rug in the back and wedging them behind the wheels like aeroplane chocks.
‘Not confident about Rusty’s brakes then?’
‘I wouldnae say I had absolute faith in them, no.’
Picnic basket in hand, Atholl pointed in the direction they were to walk: upwards, along the pebble-strewn and pitted road. Beatrice glanced behind at the great stream of visitors all walking downhill from their parked cars and along a boggy path between two steep slopes. The visitors had wellies and walking gear on, many had ordinance survey maps hung around their necks in waterproof covers and she was sure she caught a glimpse of the Sussex crafting ladies in their cagoules yomping alongside a burn, gripping their single ski poles. The sight made her think of the summer cardigan she’d stuffed into her bag, suddenly feeling drastically underprepared for the hike Atholl was taking her on.
‘Everyone’s going the other way though, Atholl?’
‘Precisely,’ he nodded sagely. ‘Let’s take the road less travelled.’
Gaining altitude all the time and walking at a steady pace, they followed the road until the long line of parked cars was far behind them and they found themselves in a low cloudy patch where all the island’s midges seemed to have congregated. The change in temperature left Beatrice’s skin cold, dew-spotted and clammy. She flapped her hands ineffectually at the little biting insects in the air as Atholl led the way with a look of calm determination.
At the brow of the hill, the road took a sharp turn to the right and Atholl explained this was where they left it.
After marching for a few hundred yards across ferns and heathers, they passed down out of the mist again, leaving the midges behind, and Beatrice smiled at the sight of hazy sunbeams breaking through the mists.
‘That lot back there were heading for the fairy pools,’ Atholl said, once they’d both caught their breath after the ascent. ‘It’ll be heaving out at the pools today.’
‘Fairy pools?’
‘Have you no’ heard of them? Most folk coming to this part of the world come specially to see them.’
‘Ah! Well I didn’t exactly do much research into the area before I booked my trip; it was a bit of an impulse decision.’
Atholl cast a glance that told her he’d thought as much but he wasn’t going to pry, and Beatrice was grateful.
‘What the day-trippers don’t know is that if you cross over the brae and up the pass between these hills there are more fairy pools; they’re just a little harder to get to.’
‘It looks like quite a hike, Atholl,’ said Beatrice between breaths, still finding the walk tiring.
‘It’ll be worth it. Did you bring your swimming things?’
‘I didn’t know I was supposed to.’
Atholl smiled wickedly but kept his eyes on the boggy ground while Beatrice’s imagination ran through every possible scenario of what an afternoon of costume-less fairy pool swimming with Atholl might look like. She hoped he was teasing her and that meant he wasn’t going to rein in the kinder, more humorous parts of his tendency to provoke her. She was used to people walking on eggshells around her back home and even if Atholl had abandoned the scowling, arm folding and exasperated huffing since they’d got to know each other better, she still hoped he wasn’t going to put on his kid gloves to handle her.
Soon they came to a deep burn cutting across the moor and running surprisingly fast with bronze water. Beatrice scanned its length for a passing place.
‘It’s run off from the rains we’ve had, but don’t worry, I’m a local boy.’ Atholl was already stalking off alongside the burn, stopping at a great rock jutting out amongst the heathers. Passing behind it, he reappeared after a second carrying a long plank over his shoulder and proceeded to set it down over the water.
‘A bridge?’
‘Uh-huh,’ he nodded, and she walked over, not attempting to hide her surprise at Atholl’s resourcefulness. Following after her with the picnic basket, he left the plank in place.
‘I spent my childhood playing out here. My granny’s house was just over that pass there.’ He pointed into the distance, but Beatrice couldn’t make out any buildings at all. ‘Now it’s my mother’s. She lives there with my sister Sheila and her man Teàrlach and their bairn, Archibald. He’s only a month old.’
‘Archibald? That’s quite a name for a little baby.’
Atholl was smiling and talking about his little nephew, but Beatrice could feel the pull of her own thoughts dragging her attention away from him. Abigail. Natalie. Rosie. These had been her favourite baby girl names, and she’d written them neatly inside the jacket of her copy of Your Pregnancy: Week by Week back in the winter months. Gabriel, Charlie and Ruben were inscribed there too. They had never settled on a name for their son, but had they been afforded the luck and luxury of nine months to decide, Archie could well have ended up as one of the top picks, and Richard would have been a nice middle name, after his daddy. She found herself wondering if Rich had dreamed of a son bearing his Christian name as well as his surname. She’d never know now.
Although they were walking downhill the terrain was pitted and ridged and Beatrice’s thigh muscles began to ache. The burning woke her from her reverie again. Atholl had been talking all this time, but about what she didn’t know.
‘Can I?’ he was saying, while jutting an elbow out to her. ‘You’re wearying.’
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. Weary? Yes, that was the word for how she’d felt these last few weeks. Weary. But somehow walking steadily in silence with Atholl, matching his long strides step for step, was bringing her back to herself, and when they at last reached a narrow valley and she heard the rush of many little waterfalls cascading into deep pools arranged down the valley in tiers, she began to smile again.
‘The fairy pools?’ she cried.
‘Aye.’
The scene held her transfixed for a moment. She understood how these pools had got their name. The waters were clearer even than those at the coral beach but instead of a tropical turquoise their depths shone with a silver glimmer. Tiny waterboatmen rowed across their bright surfaces, winged insects flitted between the minuscule wild sweetpeas that bloomed yellow like Highland butter and grew everywhere around their banks. The pointed spires of purple bee orchids flowered a little further off in the longer grass alongside tough little thistles and clovers. A damp, mossy, sweet smell rose from the soft earth which was everywhere dotted with rabbit holes, grassy tuffets and exposed grey stones.
Beatrice could well imagine that the Skye fairies were watching her from their magical little hideouts as Atholl asked her where she wanted to sit and she picked out a dryish-looking spot on a grassy bank under a cluster of scrubby bushes right by a flowing shallow rivulet filling one of the wider pools. Atholl spread the blanket on the ground and joined her on it. When she leaned over and dipped her fingertips into the inviting water, she found it was freezing cold and snatched her hand back with a yelp.
‘Changed your mind about swimming, Atholl?’
‘Possibly.’
She laughed with relief and took her time looking around at the clustered mountains surrounding them in the near distance at every point of the compass, dwarfing them in the landscape.
‘I feel tiny in scenery like this,’ she said at last.
‘It’s always good to get a bit o’ perspective. This is where I’d come to think… and to get away from my family.’
‘What are they like?’
‘They’re fine. They’re loud. A wee bit intense. It could be a bit much sometimes living on top of one another at the inn. I was glad tae get away every day on my willow apprenticeship. Mum and Dad kept Granny’s cottage here on Skye even while they ran the inn. They had a lot of staff so we could sometimes get away to the island, and Gene did a lot at the inn back then too. When everyone moved back to Skye somehow I ended up staying on permanently at the inn wi’ my brother.’
‘Didn’t you ever want to leave, move in with someone, maybe?’
Atholl took a while answering, focusing on unscrewing the lid of a thermos and pouring out steaming coffee into two plastic mugs. ‘I was ready to leave at one point, but alone. I never met a lassie who’d want to take on me and my family.’ He laughed.
‘You almost moved out? But what happened?’
‘My old willow teacher had planning permission to add a mezzanine loft to one end of the But n’ Ben for a bedroom and to put a partition wall and kitchen into the downstairs, and between us we planned the building project. When he retired I was ready to do it, had the quotes from Davy McTavish the builder and everything, and it wasnae all that expensive either. I’d been looking forward to living and working there, but then Lana left Gene… and what with looking after him and the inn… well, you’ve seen it for yourself.’
‘Oh.’ Beatrice sipped the coffee contemplatively. ‘There really wasn’t ever anyone you wanted to move in with?’
Atholl peeled the lid from a box full of flat little cakes. ‘Bannock?’ He held the box out to her, and a delicious floury, sweet smell circulated in the clean, warm air. ‘For someone who keeps herself to herself, you like to go delving into other folk’s business, don’t you?’
This, she was grateful to see, was said with a wink. But Beatrice took the warning, and a bannock, and instead of pushing him further, she watched the water flowing past, glittering in the sunlight.
Atholl spoke eventually. ‘I’ve had girlfriends in the past, if that’s what you want to know, but none of them ever wanted to settle in Skye or in Port Willow. They went off to colleges or jobs in the South, and there was a fair amount of competition for the lassies who stayed.’ Another wink as he bit at the bannock. ‘And none of them ever fancied me anyway.’
Unlikely, thought Beatrice.
‘They all liked Gene back before he married.’
Beatrice decided to keep her thoughts about that to herself too. Yes, he’d scrubbed up nicely for his date with Kitty and he had some of the same handsome features as Atholl but he was so rangy and thin and just nothing like as solid and handsome as his younger brother. Could Lana breaking Gene’s heart have transformed him physically as well as emotionally? Beatrice kept her eyes on Atholl’s moving mouth as she polished off her bannock.