Spirit of the Island

by Joan Fleming

  ‘I may well stay on the island if I have a permanent post here.’

  ‘And if you don’t?’

  ‘We can discuss that if and when the need arises. If we love each other enough, we’ll find a solution that suits us both. Neither of us knows what the future holds, Amy.’

  ‘I realise that, Sandy, but it’s better to air these problems in advance…’

  ‘Problems? You’re looking too far ahead, Amy. I don’t think we have any problems. We love each other. So let’s get married. Or are you simply looking for a kind way to say you don’t want to marry me? Because you don’t love me?’

  ‘No, Sandy. If that were the case, I’d tell you straight. I do love you, and I’m so happy that you love me and want to marry me. But…’

  ‘In that case, come with me to Glasgow to buy a ring.’

  ‘You’re nothing if not determined, Sandy McFarlane.’

  ‘Come here,’ he said, drawing her into his arms, ‘and I’ll show you just how determined I am.’ He kissed her, long and fierce, and she could feel his need for her. He held her tight, urgent for a response. A response she could so easily give him if circumstances were different, but not here with the possibility of the eyes of the inhabitants of the Ross of Mull upon them.

  She gently pushed him away, easing herself from the circle of his embrace. Grasping her shoulders, he held her at arm’s length. As she raised her head, she caught the expression of disappointment in his eyes. It was fleeting, a tiny window into his feelings which he camouflaged so expertly behind his confident manner. She could wound this man badly. As he could her.

  ‘Come away with me, Amy. I know how much you love this island, but I don’t think this is the place to explore our relationship. Come with me–just for a few days. I won’t put any pressure on you, I promise.’

  When Amy leaned against his chest, he tightened his grip on her, and leant over to rest his cheek on the top of her head. ‘Please,’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes, all right, but…’

  ‘No buts, my darling. We’ll go away together as soon as it can be arranged.’

  * * *

  That night, Amy lay in bed, arms behind her head, her eyes wide open. Sleep eluded her. Unable to calm the turmoil of her thoughts, she let her mind take control. Marry in haste, repent at leisure–a phrase her aunt was fond of quoting–kept flashing across her brain. It was such a short time since she and Sandy had found each other after a long interval. Was it long enough to find out if he really was the man for her?

  And the timescale wasn’t the only factor making Amy hesitate. What would happen to Columb Cottage if she went to live in Hillcrest, Sandy’s home? Besides, the day she’d spent with Kirsty had left a disturbing image on her mind: not every married couple lived happily ever after.

  Chapter 9

  The moment Kirsty entered the kitchen in Lochside a few mornings later, she knew something was wrong. Normally, she’d have expected the smell of bacon grilling, tables set ready for breakfast, and the radio playing softly in the background. If the broadcast contained music, Elsa would sometimes sing along, unconcerned that her thin vocals did not always match the tune of the original.

  This morning the dining room was silent. There was no indication of preparation for breakfast. Even the curtains were closed–a sure sign that no-one had been in the room that morning. Kirsty walked through to the kitchen, where a similar picture of lack of activity met her. The cooker she had cleaned till it shone the night before, lay pristine and unused. No-one had even boiled the kettle.

  With an increasing level of anxiety gnawing inside her, she wondered what she should do. Elsa and Charlie’s bedroom was on the top floor, set in the eaves of the building. With Charlie’s breathing difficulties, it wasn’t an ideal location, but it released the three bedrooms on the first floor for guests.

  ‘Elsa! Charlie!’ Kirsty shouted from the foot of the staircase.

  ‘We’re up here,’ Elsa called. ‘In our bedroom.’

  Mounting the stairs two at a time, Kirsty reached the first floor landing. She hesitated. She would have to climb the narrow steps to the top floor more slowly. She could almost hear the thumping of her heart as she prepared herself for what she would find.

  ‘Come in, Kirsty,’ Elsa said. ‘It’s Charlie. He’s really bad. I can’t leave him. I’ve phoned Sandy and he’s on its way.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call me?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘I didn’t want to disturb you so early. Or the other guests.’

  Elsa’s face was chalk-white; her usual pink glow had disappeared. She seemed unable to take her eyes off her husband for more than a couple of seconds, as she glanced nervously from the door to the prostrate figure lying on the bed.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re here, Kirsty,’ Elsa said. ‘Do you think you could manage to do breakfast for the guests? There are only three, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.’

  ‘Of course,’ Kirsty said, with more confidence than she felt. ‘Don’t worry about the guests, Elsa. I can cope. You see to Charlie.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Elsa said, clearly relieved. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

  For a moment, Kirsty was distracted. I wonder if my face will upset the guests, she thought. She had to summon all her determination to push images of her scar from her mind. How she longed to be able to go through life without worrying about the effect her appearance would have on others.

  ‘Amy’s coming over,’ Elsa said, bringing Kirsty back to the present situation. ‘She’s always ready to lend a hand.’

  ‘Good. I’ll go and start breakfast then. Can I bring you a cup of tea?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘Yes. That would be nice,’ Elsa replied. ‘Although I don’t think Charlie could manage one at the moment,’ she added, her eyes once more on the pale figure on the bed.

  Kirsty made her way down to the front hall to be greeted, albeit briefly, by Dr Sandy McFarlane, who immediately made his way upstairs.

  ‘They’re on the second floor,’ Kirsty said, although she had the impression Sandy knew where he was going. She was also aware he hadn’t recognised her.

  She started by putting the kettle on, only to discover there was no electricity. Why, oh why did power cuts happen at the worst possible time? Elsa really looked in need of a cup of tea. There must be other sources of heat–a Plan B–but now wouldn’t be the moment to burden Elsa with questions.

  While she was wondering what to do, the three guests–mother, father, and son–arrived, looking for breakfast.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Kirsty said. ‘I’m afraid we have no electricity. I can serve you a cold meal–cereals, fruit, bread and milk. And orange juice. Will that do?’

  The man was not pleased. ‘It’ll have to do. We don’t have a choice. Or maybe we can drive somewhere and buy a hot breakfast.’

  ‘That depends on how extensive the power cut is,’ Kirsty said. ‘We have a medical emergency here at the moment…’

  ‘That’s nothing to do with us. We’re guests here.’

  ‘Shh, Harold. Nobody can do anything about a power cut but wait till the electricity comes on again.’ Turning to Kirsty, she said: ‘Something cold would be fine, thank you.’

  Ignoring the mutterings of the man, Kirsty turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen. She had a moment of panic as she looked around the closed cupboard doors. Where was she to start? A cup of tea for Elsa would have been easy enough, but putting together even a cold breakfast for the guests was a challenge when she was unfamiliar with where Elsa stored everything. She opened and closed doors, instantly forgetting what she’d seen inside. She felt like running out and leaving the guests to their own devices. But a single thought of what was going on upstairs helped her regain her confidence, and she succeeded in working her way methodically through the preparations.

  Once the trio had eaten, the woman was at great pains to thank Kirsty.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ she said. ‘Please don’t take any notice of my husband. He was look
ing forward to his cooked Scottish breakfast, and was so disappointed when he couldn’t have it. I gather you’re not used to working in the kitchen?’

  ‘It’s the first time I’ve been on my own in the kitchen. Elsa does all the cooking. I usually work in the dining room. And clear up.’

  At that point, a whirring sound from the kitchen signified that the power cut was at an end. ‘Wouldn’t you know?’ Kirsty said. ‘Too late now.’

  ‘At least you’ll have hot water for the clearing up.’

  After what seemed an eternity, but was probably less than an hour, Sandy McFarlane walked into the dining room, where Kirsty was putting the finishing touches to her work.

  ‘Hello, Kirsty. Sorry, I didn’t recognise you when I came in. Good to see you again. Shame about the circumstances,’ he said, giving her a kiss on both cheeks.

  Of course he didn’t recognise me, Kirsty thought. How could he, with my face in this state? ‘How’s Charlie?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s settled. I brought a nebuliser, which helped. His breathing’s much easier and he’s calmer now, but I think he should see a specialist as soon as possible.’

  Suddenly, Kirsty was unable to say anything. As relief flooded through her, the lump in her throat refused to move. Sandy’s eyes were full of sympathy, and she could not control her emotions a minute longer. In a bid to hide her face, she leant against his broad chest and, as he held her loosely in his arms, her tears spilled over, soaking into his shirt.

  It was at that point that Amy walked into the room.

  Chapter 10

  When Amy saw Kirsty enfolded in Sandy’s arms, she wondered if her eyes were deceiving her. Worried about Elsa and Charlie, she had come over as quickly as she could, only the lack of electricity in her cottage holding her back.

  For a few seconds, she stood silent. She really didn’t know what to say. In other circumstances, had it not been for Charlie’s illness, she wouldn’t have wasted words with her reaction. But a medical problem took precedence over conversational exchanges, and she instinctively knew this was not the moment to look for an explanation.

  As Kirsty and Sandy moved apart, it was clear they both felt the need to explain, and spoke together.

  ‘Kirsty was upset…’

  ‘Don’t get the wrong…’

  Amy cut off their remarks with a question of her own.

  ‘How’s Charlie?’ she asked, her tone of voice making it clear that the state of her friend’s health was the only topic she was prepared to discuss.

  ‘He’s settled a bit, his breathing’s easier,’ Sandy replied, standing awkwardly as if he didn’t know what to do with his arms now they were no longer round Kirsty. ‘I think we’ll manage to keep him home this time, but I’m recommending Dr Mackay set up a review of his asthma with a consultant.’

  ‘If he agrees to go,’ Amy said. ‘According to Elsa, Dr Mackay arranged an appointment for him last year, but Charlie cancelled at the last minute. Said he was fine and had no need to see a consultant.’

  ‘The decision has to be made by the patient, but he’s had quite a fright with this attack.’

  ‘So has Elsa,’ Amy said. ‘She’s not one to panic, but she was struggling for control when she phoned me. I’ve a feeling she’ll have some strong words with him once he’s back on his feet.’

  Sandy smiled. ‘I don’t think she’ll wait till he’s on his feet. She has him at a disadvantage at the moment, and I suspect she’ll make full use of her position of power.’

  Having said little since Amy arrived, Kirsty found her voice at last.

  ‘I’d better go and make a cup of tea for Elsa,’ she said, still clutching a white cotton handkerchief she’d been using to dry her tears. She walked quickly out of the room.

  Amy stood for a long moment facing the man who wanted to marry her. She couldn’t put a name to the twist of pain she’d felt in the pit of her stomach, the heat that had rushed through her entire system at the picture she’d seen when she entered the room.

  ‘Amy…’

  ‘Do you give handkerchiefs to all the girls who dissolve into tears? In your line of duty, of course.’

  ‘Amy…’ Sandy said again.

  ‘I’m going upstairs to see Elsa and Charlie,’ Amy said, before he had the opportunity to offer any explanations.

  Later, as she drove back to Columb Cottage, Amy’s mind was in turmoil. Mingled with her feelings of relief that Charlie had made a remarkably quick recovery, was the muddle of emotions she had experienced since seeing Kirsty in Sandy’s arms. Was this jealousy? Disappointment? Anger? She wouldn’t have described herself as a jealous person, but it seemed the most likely explanation. Besides, she was hurting. Badly. Was that an indication of how deeply she loved Sandy? If so, why was she hesitant to agree to marry him?

  Her mobile rang. Sandy calling appeared on the screen. She carried on driving and let the call go to voicemail.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Amy, will you give me a chance to explain? I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m sure you’ve got the wrong idea.’

  ‘Have I?’ she muttered to herself as Sandy’s call continued.

  ‘I’m working right now, but I’ll come to Columb Cottage when I finish. I hope you’ll be home. I love you.’

  In spite of her misgivings, the three words–I love you–had a calming effect on her. Perhaps there was a reasonable explanation for the scene but, as yet, she couldn’t imagine what it was.

  Chapter 11

  Maybe it had been a mistake to come to Mull. Kirsty didn’t know exactly what she had hoped to find there: a salve for the physical and emotional scars of the accident? Or was she simply running away from her husband? Possibly both, she decided. But there was more to it than that. She was searching for something positive on this island. It was something intangible, a hint of magic that lurked in what Amy described as the spirit of the island.

  She’d been unable to stay inside the Lochside Inn any longer. Looking back on how she’d spent the earlier part of the day, she’d been tempted to pack her bags and head back to Glasgow. A sick landlord, a landlady involved in his care, dissatisfied customers she’d been unable to cater for, not to mention an emotional reunion with Sandy when all the pent-up stress of her recent problems seemed to surge to the surface and she’d broken down in tears. Worry about Charlie had probably been the last straw. To cap it all, her friend Amy, who had been so kind to her, had walked in and found her in Sandy’s arms. From the way Amy had looked daggers at her and Sandy, it wasn’t hard to see how annoyed she was.

  Yes, she was looking for comfort, but the embrace was innocent: she simply needed a shoulder to cry on. And Sandy had provided it. Yet she knew it would be difficult to explain that–even if Amy gave her the opportunity.

  She had driven from Bunessan to Fionnphort with the vague idea she might end up at Columb Cottage, but changed her mind. It was too soon to offer Amy any explanations. Besides, perhaps it would be best to leave that to Sandy. She pulled into the car park in Fionnphort and turned to head back the way she’d come.

  Now, driving along the coast road towards Bunessan, she wasn’t sure where she would end up. In the hotel for a drink? No, she had no wish to meet anyone she might know, who would be looking for information about her–which she wasn’t prepared to give as yet. Glancing to her left, she remembered how driving along this road had changed for her after her granny died. On an impulse, she turned left onto the road leading to Suidhe Cemetery, and parked her car.

  As she stood among the gravestones, looking out over the water towards the cliffs at Gribun, she smiled. She’d come here often as a youngster to visit her granddad’s grave; Granny had always managed to find something to chortle about even though the visit had a sombre purpose.

  The old devil never did like carnations, but he’ll just have to put up with them today. That’s all they had in the shop.

  I wish he could see that lovely new bath I have now. He refused to have a bath in the house. Didn’t s
ee the point.

  Oh, they’d had an unusual relationship, her grandparents, but they had loved each other in their strange, argumentative way, and Granny was heartbroken when she lost the partner she’d chosen for life. Her iron will and positive attitude had helped her to conceal her grief under the cloak of her sense of humour.

  When she found her granny’s grave, Kirsty tugged at a piece of bracken that had curled round the base of the gravestone and rubbed away the moss from the names engraved there.

  James Andrew Donaldson

  Flora Jean Donaldson

  ‘Oh, Granny,’ Kirsty whispered, ‘I wish I had your strength of character. I wish I was strong enough to deal with my problems. If only you were here to support me now.’

  But her beloved granny had died of a heart attack, without warning; without giving Kirsty the opportunity to say good-bye. There had been no humour the day she was buried.

  Nonetheless, this was a place of peace, a kind of sanctuary, where she could shed her problems, at least for a short time. The enduring beauty of the landscape filled her being, taking her back to a time of sorrow, yes, but here she felt close to the spirit of her granny; could it take hold of her sadness and send her back, fortified, to face what lay ahead?

  Chapter 12

  By the time Sandy finally arrived at Columb Cottage, Amy was aware she had worked herself up into a state where she would turn down any proposal–marriage or a few days away together–unless Sandy had a really good explanation for the scene she’d encountered at Lochside Inn. She had decided not to answer his voicemail message, and to simply wait to hear his version of events.

  During the evening, her imagination had gone into top gear. What if Sandy McFarlane was a womaniser? A man who made advances to any attractive woman he met? After all, she still had a bit to learn about him. And Kirsty certainly was eye-catching, with her long blond hair, her bluest of blue eyes that held such an air of innocence. Amy thought her friend’s period of unhappiness had probably given her a slight pallor, a vulnerable look that would encourage a man to offer his protection.