by Suzanne Snow
There was disappointment in his teasing tone and Flora felt torn. She glanced over at Mac, who was standing beside the bar stools, watching her with a questioning expression she didn’t attempt to decipher.
‘Please stay, if you can. We’d love to get to know you better and hear about your work.’
Flora knew she was trapped by Doug’s almost pleading words. ‘If Mac doesn’t mind?’ There was a pointed tone in her voice she knew he would recognise, as she left it up to him to decide.
‘Of course not,’ he answered blithely, crossing the room to join her near the window overlooking the sea. ‘We can stay for lemon meringue pie and coffee at least, Flora. I’m sure you told me once that it was your favourite dessert.’
Flora could have screamed, as she backed up and sat down on the large, L-shaped sofa and shot Mac a furious look. She reached for her glass again and sipped at the wine to distract her from his gaze. Her body was still buzzing after what had just occurred between them in the bedroom, and the cushions sank when Mac joined her on the sofa, causing another unwelcome spike in her pulse.
Moira had emerged into the kitchen after shutting up the chickens, and Flora and Mac were silent until the older couple joined them, bringing coffee and bowls filled with soft meringue and a creamy yellow filling. Flora was persuaded to copy Mac in having ice cream with her pudding, and it was so good that she laughingly threatened to steal the rest away. Moira looked pleased, and Doug reached across to squeeze her hand encouragingly, before his gaze returned to Flora.
‘So how long are you staying on the island, Flora?’
‘Just until Friday. I have another commitment over the weekend, before I go back to work next week.’
‘Do you think you’ll be coming back to help Mac with the restoration?’
Flora felt her breath catch in her throat at the question from Moira. The air between her and Mac seemed to stretch and bend, its tautness humming in the pause before she answered.
‘No, I don’t think so. There’s a great deal of work to do and I’ll be able to put Mac in touch with organisations that will advise him once I’m finished. I’m sorry, of course, that I won’t be around to see it or help with the school garden but it’s not a practical option, with my own job being so far away.’
Moira nodded, surprising Flora as she reached across the sofa to take her hand, her hazel eyes sincere and kind. ‘Doug and I, well, we just wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve done for Tamsin since she met you.’
Flora began to protest but Moira shook her head firmly, speaking across her insistence that she hadn’t done very much at all.
‘No, Flora, you really have made a difference already, even though you probably can’t tell, as you’ve known her for such a short time. I don’t know how much of it is to do with gardens or just you, or both of those things, but these past few days she has come out of her shell a little and it’s marvellous for us to see. She loves those plants you gave her and if we didn’t stop her, I think she’d watch over them night and day.’
Flora was silent, absorbing the joy that Moira’s words had given her, despite Mac’s bleak warning earlier.
‘Tamsin was always chatty enough at home but since the accident she seems to flee sometimes to a place we can’t always reach, and I do worry that we’ll never properly find her again. I don’t know that you ever get over a thing like losing your parents the way she did. Bad enough to lose a son and the woman who loved him.’ She paused; her eyes laden with grief, and sadness was etched into every line as she gripped Flora’s hand even tighter. ‘She wants us to make a proper garden here. As you can see, it’s hardly been a priority; we’ve always been busy with the B&B and the farming, but she seems to think a garden could make all of us feel better. She told me about you being poorly, Flora, and how gardening helped you. I want to ask you; do you really think it will help her? Truthfully? Because sometimes I just have no idea what will, and we’re prepared to try anything.’
Moira seemed to notice then that she was still clutching Flora’s hand and she let go, leaning back into the sofa and wiping her eyes with a tissue she fished from her sleeve. Flora knew that everyone’s attention was on her now; she could only speak the truth from her own experience and that of others she saw at work every day.
‘I absolutely believe that being in a garden can help to heal people, so my genuine answer to your question is undoubtedly yes. There are lots of studies showing it to be hugely beneficial in many ways, and I would be more than happy to send you links to the information and relevant organisations. I have to tell you, though, that it doesn’t necessarily work for everyone, but from what I’ve seen with Tamsin, I do think that it could be helpful for her.’
‘Well then, we’ll have to try to make a garden here.’ Doug’s tone was light and hopeful. ‘Top tips, please, Flora?’
She was thrilled with their willingness to try, and the offer to help them in any way she could was on the tip of her tongue, until she remembered Mac’s words about her imminent departure from the island. ‘Get to know your soil,’ she told Doug eventually. ‘So that you can learn how to improve it and what plants will do best in a location like this.’ She waved a hand casually towards the view with a wry smile. The landscape was stunning but wind and salt-laden air would not make their task any easier.
‘What does the counsellor say now?’
Doug looked across as Mac spoke, removing their attention from the sea. ‘That she’s making a little progress and to continue not applying any pressure to encourage her to talk when she isn’t able to. It’ll likely come in time; we have to be patient and use the methods we’ve been taught to help her. We all know grief is a terrible thing and we react to it in different ways. Maggie’s great with her at school, and everyone on the island is, too – the community here is a huge source of strength, but then you know that, Mac. It’s one of the reasons why Angus settled back here with Rachael. And we still go across to the mainland every month to meet with the child bereavement group—’
‘It’s so unfair!’ Moira burst out, sorrow easily turning into anger as her eyes darkened in despair. ‘Why should a seven-year-old girl have to meet with a counsellor every month to show them all the ways she misses her mum and dad, and how we are all trying to go on without them? It’s just not right.’ She slumped back on the sofa and Doug reached across to slide his arm around her, trying to replace anguish with love, as the tears slid down Moira’s face and she covered it with her hands.
Doug offered Mac and Flora an apologetic glance. ‘We haven’t really had people over for supper since we stopped having guests to stay, but Moira was adamant she wanted to invite you both before Flora has to leave.’ They clung together and Flora felt her sadness and empathy growing as she looked away, trying not to intrude on their sorrow. Her eyes easily found Mac’s, and the compassion and understanding she read in his expression almost undid her. Slowly, she dragged her gaze back to the sea crashing onto the headland below them.
‘I’m all right,’ Moira sniffed from the depths of the sofa and she smiled weakly at her guests. ‘It always gets us just when you think that every day is getting a bit easier than the last.’ She nodded at Doug, who stood up and headed to the kitchen. Flora heard him gathering glasses and retrieving something from a cupboard. ‘It really worries me, what sort of life we can give her, being the age we are. She should be running around with brothers and sisters, and having a normal life. Nothing about this is normal anymore.’
‘That’s perfectly understandable,’ Flora told her quietly, and she hesitated before carrying on. ‘I lost my dad two years ago in difficult circumstances, and all any of us wanted was to have him back and cling to everyone we loved. I know it’s not the same, as my brother and I were older, but it was still a big shock.’
Moira’s expression changed, as she understood that Flora, too, knew the measure of loss. Flora could feel the solidity of Mac’s stare and she looked down, noticing his hands clasped loosely between his legs.
The merest movement would erase the tiny space between them, but she drove the image from her mind, knowing it was pointless to think such things about him.
‘Well, I think it’s time to break open the last of the damson gin, don’t you? Seeing as Flora isn’t going to be with us for very long.’ Everyone looked at Doug as he spoke from the kitchen. He waved a bottle of ruby-coloured liquid and the atmosphere shifted into something easier with his casual gesture. ‘I’ll fill the glasses. Mac, you can have a taste but that’s all, as you’re driving. This has put you on your back before now, laddie, as you well know.’
Flora laughed, as Mac’s hands rose in defeat. The smile died on his lips as their eyes locked and she looked away first, her skin igniting once again at the unguarded ache in his expression. Moira stood up and excused herself to go and check on Tamsin.
Short of sticking her fingers over the glass Doug proffered, Flora was unable to prevent him from pouring her a shot of the home-made gin, served neat with ice, which smelled gorgeous and tasted utterly delicious, sure that it would quickly render her incapable of even standing up should she have too much. The evening was beginning to lengthen into dusk as Moira re-joined them, satisfied that Tamsin was comfortable and still asleep.
They chatted together of simpler things and, as it grew later, Flora relaxed sufficiently to laugh with Mac again. By the time they left, close to midnight, Tamsin still hadn’t woken, and Flora realised that she had drunk much more than she’d intended, as the bottle of damson gin had gradually dwindled to nothing. Doug and Moira hugged them both as they said good night and she walked unsteadily back to the car, shaking off Mac’s hand when he tried to prevent her from stumbling on the grassy path.
‘I’m fine,’ she told him, taking her time as she climbed into his car, sitting down heavily and letting her bag slide to the floor. ‘Perfectly all right.’
‘Sure? You look a bit wobbly to me.’
She heard the grin in his voice as he joined her and started the engine, and she could only laugh huffily at his comment.
‘It’s that blasted hooch of Moira’s! It’s probably illegal to even make that stuff and certainly lethal if you’re mad enough to drink it. Just drive me back, please, to somewhere that serves tea, chocolate and water, not necessarily in that order.’
Flora was relieved that it was only a ten-minute journey before the hotel came into view, and Mac was pulling up on the gravel drive close to the front door. It was quiet at this hour and she knew she would have to knock to gain entry from the night porter before she could reach her room.
‘Are you enjoying the hotel, Flora? Is there anything else you need?’
She hesitated before replying, one hand on the door, ready to escape. ‘Of course. It’s very generous of you to let me stay here.’ She knew she hadn’t disguised the pause quickly enough to prevent his noticing.
‘But?’
She shook her head as she started to laugh and stopped abruptly, the additional movement not helping with her ability to look straight ahead. ‘I don’t want you to think badly of me if I tell you.’
‘Go on,’ Mac said, waiting in the darkness for her answer.
‘The hotel is fabulous but then you know that. It seems so formal and I still haven’t got used to eating such amazing food and not making my own bed. The hotel is perfect for holidays, but this is work and I feel a bit out of place. I’m sorry, I know I’m being very ungrateful, and you can blame it entirely on Doug and the damson gin – it’s like he’s given me some kind of truth serum.’
‘I see. In that case, is there anything else you’d like to tell me?’
‘Nope.’
She glanced at him and saw that he was smiling, his profile outlined by the light above the front door. Eventually, she managed to push open the car door and heard him laugh again as she tried to position both her legs onto the drive to stand up.
‘Stop it,’ she told him crossly, finally managing to extricate herself from the Audi and bending down cautiously to glare at him, her handbag sliding to the gravel. ‘This is all your fault, anyway. Everything’s your fault.’
Slamming the door shut, Flora scooped her handbag up from the ground and strutted away from the car, proud of her suitably dramatic exit, even though she was struggling to identify which of the front doors was actually real through her double vision.
Chapter Sixteen
Flora was dreaming of thunderstorms crashing above her head, when she struggled from sleep a few hours later. She realised that the din was not merely a dream, but a very real banging on her bedroom door. Relieved that the pounding wasn’t all in her temples, she climbed gingerly out of her huge, cosy bed and unthinkingly opened the door, trying to blink away the gritty sensation in her eyes, as she peered at Mac in surprise.
‘Morning. I know it’s early but there’s something I want to show you.’
‘What?’ Flora mumbled as she stared at him, uncertainty quickly replacing surprise. He looked bright, full of energy, and she felt a scarlet heat racing across her face as his gaze took in the details of her short turquoise pyjamas. ‘Are you mad?’ she stormed, shoving the door back until it was virtually closed. ‘What time is it? I was fast asleep. And what is it you want to show me? Can’t it wait? If it’s the sunrise over the house, I’ve already seen it.’
‘Sorry. How soon can you be ready?’
He didn’t sound at all sorry and Flora saw him grin before she slammed the door properly. Having to deal with the reality of him outside her bedroom door seemed a bit much when she had been dreaming of him half the night. ‘Ten minutes.’
By the time she opened the door to him again, nine minutes later, her senses were wide awake, even if her eyes weren’t. She had brushed her teeth, splashed cold water on her face and quickly wound her hair into a plait, but that was about it. She was cross at being dragged from her bed after a late night, looking worse than dishevelled, for some crazy, unknown scheme of Mac’s. She wondered if anyone had seen him hovering outside her room and glared at him again for good measure, as he leant idly against the wall, hands in pockets. But as she stepped into the corridor, she couldn’t deny the excitement of an adventure with him.
‘You won’t need those,’ Mac said, pointing to her ever-present camera and notebook as he hurried her down the staircase, passing a couple of curious guests no doubt on their way to breakfast. The handsome young receptionist stared at them as they passed through the hall, and Flora tried and failed to summon a casual smile to suggest that everything was quite normal. Then they were outside and moments later were heading down the hotel drive in Mac’s car.
‘I’m better when I’ve had coffee,’ she grumped, bending down awkwardly to lace her boots. It was still cool at this hour and she zipped up her jacket, trying to ward off the chilly air as it wound itself around her body. She had assumed that their journey had something to do with Róisín and so she had dressed as usual in her practical working clothes.
‘I’ve got some with me.’ Mac laughed at her cranky gaze. He pointed at the two travel mugs in the drinks holder and she took one gratefully, sipping it and enjoying the smooth taste as her mind began to wake up properly. Any pretence of professionalism seemed to have disintegrated after last night, and she hoped he wasn’t able to fathom all she was feeling. ‘Anyway, you’re a morning person, Flora, just like me.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘You told me, at Mel’s wedding,’ he answered easily, checking for the unlikely prospect of traffic as they left the hotel grounds and putting his foot down on the accelerator. ‘In between dances.’
‘Oh.’ She didn’t want to be reminded of what else she might have said at the wedding, when she had been feeling elated and sexy and beautiful, until he had kissed her and disappeared into the night. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To see a cottage.’
‘What? Why? Where is it?’
‘Because I think you might like it and it will suit you.’
She fell silent, ho
lding the cup between her hands as she wondered why he would possibly want to show her a cottage, wherever it was. Sheep straying onto the stony road leapt for their lives back into the safety of the heather as the car flew past, and she giggled at the madness of it all. Time was edging towards seven and very soon they were dipping down towards the sea. She knew from the position of the climbing sun behind them that they were near the north-western tip of the island, and she saw the brilliant blue water sparkling in the clear morning light.
Mac turned off the road, such as it was, and then they were bumping along a rough track, all the time dropping down a hill. At the end of the track they reached a farm gate, and he stopped the car and they jumped out. Mac pushed the gate to one side and leaving it propped against a slope as he called back to her.
‘We’ll have to walk from here; I can’t take the car any lower. It’s not far.’
The track softened to a grassy path and she could see the roofs of a pair of cottages below, perched in front of the sea. She heard gulls swooping and calling, and the muttered hiss of water hitting rock; in the distance a ship was ferrying passengers from island to island, a shrinking speck on the horizon. At the water’s edge a narrow wooden pier ran out to sea, sheltering a dinghy and a yacht rising slowly as the tide approached.
‘Where are we?’ The early-morning start was already forgotten as Flora looked around with delight, breathing in the fresh salty air. ‘This is completely stunning. Almost worth being dragged out of bed for.’
Mac laughed as he leant forwards to push open a small wooden gate leading to the pair of stone cottages. ‘I hope you will think it was worth it.’
Immediately, Flora was drawn to the gardens, planted as one and rising to a narrow point where a seat was perched above the top of the houses, offering a glorious view. The gardens were full of weeds and overgrown shrubs, and she spotted a raised vegetable bed surrounded by rotting sleepers and a stunted pine tree.