Spirit of the Island

by Joan Fleming

  Amy had expected Sandy to come in offering an apology, so she was taken aback by his aggressive opening words.

  ‘What the hell’s wrong with you, Amy? You rush into Lochside Inn with a face like thunder and immediately start to treat everyone as if the whole world was allied against you. I leave a voicemail for you, which you haven’t had the courtesy to acknowledge…’

  ‘Stop right there!’ Amy said, barely able to stop herself shouting. ‘You have the audacity to barge in here without as much as a by-your-leave. You are the one with the face like thunder. You’re certainly all set for battle. If that’s what’s in your mind, I suggest you go straight out again. I’m not prepared to be attacked by you or anyone else in my own home.’

  Walking over to the window to hide the tears that were about to spill over, she listened to the pounding of her heart while she tried to regain control.

  They stood in silence for a time, then Sandy, in a quieter voice, asked:

  ‘Can I sit down?’

  ‘If you wish,’ Amy replied, her tone of voice stiff, guarded.

  ‘Come and sit beside me,’ he said, stretching out an arm, inviting her to take hold of his hand.

  ‘I’d rather stand.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Amy, we can’t have a conversation with you at one side of the room and me at the other. Please sit down and let’s clear this up.’

  With a slight toss of her head, Amy chose the armchair opposite Sandy’s. She sat, her back straight, and looked over at him.

  ‘So?’ she said. It was more of a challenge than a question.

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So, do you plan to explain to me why I caught you with your arms around another woman?’

  ‘If you wish,’ Sandy said, his tone one he had never used to Amy before. He was clearly having difficulty controlling his anger.

  ‘I wish.’

  Sandy’s shoulders rose as he drew in a deep breath, then slowly breathed out. ‘First of all, you say you caught me. That suggests I was doing something clandestine, something I shouldn’t be doing. Which I wasn’t. Secondly, when I walked into the dining room and told Kirsty that Charlie was going to be all right, she burst into tears and threw her arms round me. Please note, Amy, she threw her arms round me. I couldn’t exactly push her away, could I?’

  Amy remained silent.

  ‘Could I, Amy?’ he repeated.

  ‘I suppose not,’ she mumbled.

  ‘So, is that now clear? Can we wipe the slate clean and–’

  ‘But she stayed there long enough for you to give her your hanky to dry her tears.’

  At this remark, Sandy stared at her for a few seconds, then threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  ‘My, hanky?’ he said. He was having difficulty speaking through his mirth.

  ‘I fail to see what you find so amusing, Sandy…’

  ‘That was not my hanky,’ he said, standing up and delving into his pocket to pull out–a pristine white, folded handkerchief.

  ‘So what–’ Amy began to ask

  ‘What was she using to dry her tears? A white table napkin she had in her hand when I went into the room.’

  Suddenly, Amy could feel the heat rising to her face. How could she have been so foolish? What on earth had got into her?

  Still chuckling, Sandy moved over to her and put his arms round her, pulling her so firmly to him that it took her breath away. All at once, he was serious. ‘There’s only one woman who belongs in these arms, and we both know who she is. No-one could ever take your place. And now I’ve caught up with you, I’ve no intention of ever letting you go.’

  As she lay in bed that night, Amy tried to work out why she had behaved so badly earlier. She wouldn’t have thought herself capable of such an over-reaction. Was it jealousy? The idea that she might not be able to trust Sandy had never entered her head before today. Had it something to do with his proposal? Or his suggestion they go away together? Then again, perhaps it was the conversation with Kirsty that had unsettled her. Her whole concept of relationships and–yes–marriage had taken on a different aspect since then. Amy had lost some of her confidence in her own ability to make the right decision.

  All of a sudden, a cold sensation ran through her body, as if her blood had turned to ice water. Had she been taking too much for granted? Yes, Sandy had made it clear he was willing to be patient and give her time to sort herself out. But she couldn’t assume his patience would last for ever. What if her hesitation to commit to Sandy in any real way led to her losing him to another woman? How would she feel about that?

  Chapter 13

  When Kirsty drove her car into the forecourt of Lochside Inn, she was surprised to see Charlie sitting, slightly hunched, on the bench below the kitchen window. His ruddy complexion, no doubt acquired by spending most of his time in the open air, belied the fact that he was not in the best of health. His hair, once mid-brown, now streaked with grey, clung to his head as if the life had gone out of it. His sharp eyes, however, remained bright blue, eager to engage with the world around him.

  ‘Charlie, how are you feeling?’ Kirsty asked, once she was out of the car.

  ‘Right as rain, lass. Right as rain. Elsa makes such a fuss, you’d think I was at death’s door. But the boss agreed to let me sit out here for half an hour. I can’t be doing with being indoors, lying in my bed.’

  ‘You were a very sick man this morning,’ Kirsty said. ‘You’ll have to take it easy–for a while at least.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be grand in a couple of days. No need to worry about me,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll go and see if Elsa needs any help. Are there any guests in for dinner tonight?’

  ‘I don’t think so, but Elsa’s the one to ask about that.’

  Kirsty found Elsa in the kitchen, as expected. She looked a little tired, but in all other respects, she seemed her usual self. It was almost as if the drama of the morning had not taken place.

  ‘Can I help, Elsa?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘No thanks, dear. It’s only the three of us for dinner, no bookings, so I’m preparing something simple.’

  Looking around her at the many bowls and dishes arrayed round the kitchen, Kirsty laughed.

  ‘If this is a simple meal, I’d love to see your kitchen when you’re cooking something more complicated.’

  The simple meal consisted of lentil soup, steak and kidney pie with boiled potatoes, carrots and broccoli, rounded off with Elsa’s special apple and bramble crumble with custard cream.

  After the meal, they all agreed it had been a long day. In spite of Charlie’s protestations, he was ready for bed.

  ‘I’m assuming you won’t be having a dram before you go up?’ Elsa asked Charlie.

  ‘No thanks, dear. I think I’ll give it a miss tonight.’

  Kirsty caught the glances the couple exchanged, so full of love and understanding. For a moment she felt envious of their closeness. The events of the day seemed to have strengthened the bond between them; by contrast, the results of her accident had had the opposite effect, with her and Adam drifting apart.

  * * *

  Once Charlie had made his way to bed, Elsa and Kirsty decided they would have a glass of wine.

  ‘It’ll smooth the rough edges of the day,’ Elsa said.

  The two women chatted far into the evening, and Kirsty told Elsa about the problems in her marriage.

  ‘Something’s happened to our relationship since the accident,’ she said.

  ‘Have you discussed this with Adam?’ Elsa asked.

  Kirsty hesitated. ‘No,’ she said. ‘We don’t talk much to each other any more. When we do, we end up having an argument.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Anything. Everything.’ Kirsty shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s as if we have no common ground left.’

  ‘You won’t solve anything unless you sit down and talk about your problems,’ Elsa said, her voice gentle, as if she was talking to a child.

  ‘But he’s h
ardly ever at home,’ Kirsty said, feeling the tears begin to run down her face. ‘I think he wants to spend as much time away from me as he can. He never misses an opportunity to work away from home.’

  ‘Didn’t he work away before the accident?’

  ‘Yes. Occasionally. But not nearly as much as he does now.’

  ‘Why don’t you speak to him about it? There may be a simple explanation.’

  ‘I think it’s because he can’t bear to look at my face now,’ Kirsty said, her voice trembling. She took the tissue Elsa handed her and dried her tears.

  Elsa smiled. ‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you think the scar on your face is much worse than it is. Besides, how could a man who loves you react in that way?’

  ‘That’s the point, Elsa. I don’t think he does love me any more.’

  ‘Well, there’s only one way to find out. Ask him.’

  ‘I planned to discuss it with him when we were away on the cruise, to see if we could put our relationship back on its old footing.’ Kirsty swallowed hard before she continued. ‘But, of course, we’re not going on the cruise.’

  Both women were silent for a few minutes. Elsa stared into the flickering flames of the peat fire, while Kirsty’s thoughts took her back to the early days of her marriage, when she and Adam had been two carefree lovebirds.

  ‘Maybe Adam will come to see you if you stay on in Mull for a while,’ the older woman suggested. ‘I’m sure the island would be a perfect place to sort out your relationship.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, Elsa. Perhaps you’re right.’ But Kirsty’s words were not matched by her thoughts; they were full of fears for the future of her life with Adam.

  As the two women started to make tracks for bed, Elsa returned to the subject of Charlie’s illness.

  ‘As soon as we have a date for Charlie’s appointment with the consultant, we’ll attend to that, then we’ll perhaps go away for a few days when we can both have a complete rest. We have our party coming up, and I’d like to have Charlie fit for that. Depending on the hospital date, of course, we may have to cancel the party. Or at least postpone it.’

  ‘What about bookings here at Lochside?’

  ‘I’ve already cut down on those, and there are B&Bs in the area I can recommend. How would you feel about living here for, say, a week or ten days on your own?’

  ‘Do you mean catering for guests? Or just acting as a house-sitter?’ Kirsty asked.

  Elsa smiled. ‘No guests. It’s you I’m thinking of. I could lock up for a week, but it would mean you’d have to find accommodation elsewhere. You’re welcome to stay on here, if you wish. And you could keep an eye on Lochside for us at the same time.’

  ‘I’d prefer to stay on, thanks, Elsa. I feel at home here.’

  ‘You’d be on your own,’ Elsa said. ‘Are you okay about that?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Kirsty said. ‘I lived on my own in Edinburgh until I was married.’

  She frowned at the mention of her marriage, as though the very word caused her pain, but Elsa didn’t comment further.

  ‘That’s settled then,’ she said.

  Details of Charlie’s appointment in Oban arrived sooner than expected. Two days later, Kirsty ran the pair to Craignure to catch the ferry, and drove back to Lochside in her little red car. At first it seemed strange being alone in the inn, but she felt as if she really belonged there. She made up her mind to involve herself in the activities of the area–that would leave her less time to brood. Besides, she was tired of being alone.

  Chapter 14

  A few days later, Kirsty decided she was ready to face a larger gathering of people she knew on the island. Until now, she’d spoken to locals in ones or twos, but the Saturday night ceilidh in Bunessan always attracted both islanders and visitors in large numbers. She was nervous. The scar on her face would attract attention, and she couldn’t bear the thought of drawing sympathetic glances. But the ceilidh would be the ideal opportunity to present her changed face to the community in one fell swoop. The gossip machine would ensure that anyone who wasn’t there would hear about it in no time at all.

  During the evening of music and dancing, she was surprised to discover that few people made comments. Suspecting that word of her injury had already circulated in the area, she relaxed, and enjoyed the company of friends of all ages.

  ‘It’s yourself, Kirsty. Great to see you here.’

  ‘Will you be staying long?’

  ‘Is your husband with you?’

  In the company was a young girl, Seonaid, who had recently won an award for Highland dancing. Amid loud cheers from the audience, accompanied by a teenager on the bagpipes, she gave a display during the interval. She danced the Highland Fling. Kilt swirling and with head held high, she worked her way through the first four steps. Her feet, in their laced, soft leather shoes, moved at a speed almost impossible to follow.

  ‘Aye, she’ll make a fine dancer once she’s older,’ the elderly man sitting next to Kirsty said. ‘Look how she stays in the same spot as she dances.’

  ‘Is that important?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘Aye, that it is. That’s one of the things judges look for at competitions. The tradition dates back to the time the Highland chiefs used to choose their men-at-arms by watching them dance on a targe–a round shield with a spike in the middle.’

  ‘Oh my goodness! One false move… I didn’t know that. I’m glad they don’t have to dance on shields today,’ Kirsty said. ‘Am I right in thinking the dance was inspired by the deer on the hills? When the dancers hold their arms up, that represents the antlers of the deer?’

  ‘You’re right, lass. Are you a dancer yourself, then?’

  Kirsty laughed. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I went to classes when I was small, but I gave it up once I started secondary school.’

  ‘That’s the problem with youngsters today: too busy for Highland dancing,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Well, I hope this wee one keeps it up.’

  After the interval, the communal dancing resumed. It was hot in the hall and some people spilled out, seeking the cooler air of the evening. Kirsty would have loved to join them, but she was asked to dance by one fellow after another. Her partners covered the entire age range, at one point she danced an Eightsome Reel with a lad whose head reached no higher than her waist!

  Three hours later, tired out after dancing and singing, not to mention shouting to make herself heard above the music of the band, Kirsty decided it was time to go back to Lochside. As she started the engine of her car, she smiled. Not a single person had made a comment about her scar.

  When she reached the inn, she pulled into the drive, then suddenly had to stab both feet to the floor to bring her car to an abrupt halt, narrowly missing a van parked across her path.

  Having driven from the ceilidh in Bunessan without meeting a single car on the road, she had relaxed into an almost dream-like state. This was the last place in the world she would have expected to make an emergency stop.

  ‘Who the hell would leave a car parked there?’ she muttered, clinging onto her steering wheel, giving her heartbeat time to return to normal. ‘Serve him right if I’d bashed into him.’

  Nerves tingling, she would have to find out who owned the vehicle and, more importantly, why it was parked there. She had expected that her car would occupy the space in front of the inn tonight.

  After two weeks on the island, she had equipped herself with some of the necessities of island living–among them, a torch. Taking it out of the glove compartment, she hesitated. Should she go and seek help? After all, she had no idea who might be lurking somewhere round the building. Or even inside? A torch was no defence against anyone who… what? Attacked her?

  ‘Don’t be so stupid,’ she muttered to herself. Who could possibly have any evil intentions in this quiet corner of the island? After all, the locals don’t even lock their doors. With that thought, a chill ran down her backbone. She’d locked the door when she left, hadn’t she
? Doubts began to creep in. That must be the answer. The front door was unlocked and someone had simply walked in.

  Unable to make a decision, she continued to sit in the driver’s seat of her car. There was no light showing at the windows of the Inn. The night was still, as if the usual sea breezes were taking a rest, building up strength for their morning onslaught. A pale shaft of moonlight, unhampered by clouds, caught one edge of the building, illuminating a corner but making the dark shape of the other side denser by contrast.

  In the silence, Kirsty scarcely dared to move. Perhaps she should lock the car doors and try to sleep on the back seat until morning? It would really be foolhardy to venture out, brandishing nothing other than a torch, when she had no idea who she might meet. On the other hand, she should get out to check that the rear of her own vehicle was not obstructing any traffic on the single track road–in the unlikely event there were any other cars around at this time.

  As if to hasten her decision, her mobile rang, breaking the silence with its shrill ringtone. She rifled in her bag, her haste making her fingers clumsy, the noise seeming to become more insistent the longer she fumbled among the contents. At last, she found it and stabbed at the listen button. Her mobile went dead.

  Although she knew the battery was charged, she’d been on the island long enough to recognise the erratic provision of the signal. But she should try to contact someone. No point in calling the local policeman–she’d left him ten minutes ago at the ceilidh. He was on duty, but she was reluctant to drag him away. Amy? She had her friend’s number in the memory of her mobile. She sent a text and waited, glancing from time to time at the screen of her phone, but there was no response. Which probably meant her message hadn’t been sent.

  She couldn’t deal with this on her own, she decided. She would have to go back to Bunessan to find help. On the point of turning on the engine, she heard the noise of a car door closing, and she instantly locked her own car. With her heart beating like a big bass drum, she clung onto the steering wheel, where her moist hands were refusing to hold a grip.