Coming Home to Brightwater Bay

by Holly Hepburn

  He grinned. ‘That’s an absolute given. Let me show you the rest of the buildings.’

  They stopped in the replica house on the way back to the visitor centre, and Merry could see what he meant when he’d described Skara Brae’s people as sophisticated. The room was clearly divided into living and sleeping areas, with a stone dresser in pride of place that would have displayed all their high-status goods like pottery and jewellery. The craftmanship was incredible considering the tools they had available, Merry marvelled as she gazed around. What on earth had happened to make them abandon their apparently comfortable lives here?

  Elspeth beamed at Merry when they arrived back at the ticket desk and handed over the shoe covers. ‘What did you think?’

  ‘I think it’s amazing,’ Merry replied warmly. ‘Really extraordinary. And you were right about Niall knowing everything there is to know. I feel as though I’ve attended the best lecture ever.’

  The other woman laughed as Niall threw Merry a look that was both pleased and embarrassed. ‘Careful now or his head really won’t fit into the car. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed your visit and I’m looking forward to seeing you again at the Meet the Author event on Friday.’

  For a moment, Merry frowned, then she remembered one of Niall’s emails had mentioned a small wine and nibbles party at the library, with a few guests to ease her into her residency. But it definitely hadn’t been described as a Meet the Author event – that sounded a lot bigger than Merry had anticipated.

  ‘Actually, I need to talk to you about that,’ Niall said, his tone sheepish. ‘We’ve had so much interest in you from the locals that we thought it might be a nice idea to upgrade to a properly ticketed event. So they have to pay to attend, but the price includes a glass of fizz and a copy of your most recent novel, which we thought you might like to sign. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Interest is always good,’ Merry said, a touch warily because she’d been involved with too many library events when only an old man and his dog had turned up. ‘How many people are you expecting?’

  Please don’t say four, Merry thought anxiously, resisting the urge to shut her eyes. The librarian pushed his black-rimmed glasses onto the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. ‘I think at the last count it was a hundred and twenty-two, but I’ll have to check.’

  Merry felt her eyes widen. ‘A hundred and twenty-two?’

  Niall shrugged. ‘I daresay it’ll be more by the time Friday comes and word gets around that you’re actually here. Like I said, there’s been a lot of interest and we’ve a strong community of book lovers on Orkney.’

  Behind the ticket desk, Elspeth rubbed her hands in anticipation. ‘I’ve got my ticket. I can’t wait for you to sign my copy of the book – I’ve held off buying it ever since Niall announced you were our new writer in residence so I could get a personally signed one.’

  Her enthusiasm was so obvious that Merry had to smile. ‘I’m looking forward to it already,’ she said. ‘See you on Friday, Elspeth.’

  ‘Lunch?’ Niall asked, as they made their way back to the car. ‘There’s a wonderful fish restaurant overlooking the bay in Kirkwall.’

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ Merry said, suddenly ravenous. ‘And thanks for giving me such a special tour of Skara Brae – I can’t tell you how lucky I feel.’

  ‘No problem,’ he said easily. ‘As I said earlier, most authors like it here. But I don’t give everyone a behind the scenes tour – I save that for the ones I know will really appreciate the experience.’

  He busied himself with opening the car door, leaving Merry to wonder exactly what it was about her that had told him she’d be thrilled. She knew he’d read some of her books – perhaps he’d seen something deeper than she’d expected in her carefully crafted sentences. Or it might have been the way she’d drunk in the sunset over Brightwater Bay the night before, savouring every last drop of wild beauty until it had all gone. Whatever the reason, Merry was glad he’d chosen to give her a glimpse of Skara Brae’s secrets. It was a memory she would treasure forever.

  She climbed into the car beside Niall and thanked her lucky stars she’d taken the plunge back in November and replied to the Orkney Literary Society’s advert. From the outside, she knew it had looked like a knee-jerk reaction to the bombshell Alex had dropped on her, but there’d been more to it than that; her subconscious had somehow known that the islands would be a balm to even her deepest wounds and had prompted her to grab the opportunity. And although Merry had come a long way since those devastating days after Alex had left, she’d still been looking forward to the six-month residency. It was early days but so far, the experience had exceeded her expectations. In fact, she was beginning to believe Niall’s claim that everything about Orkney was extraordinary. If the islands managed to carry on impressing her at this pace, she’d have a new problem at the end of the six months. She wasn’t going to want to leave.

  Chapter Three

  The restaurant was every bit as delightful as Niall had suggested, and not only for its spectacular views over Kirkwall Bay. On his advice, Merry ordered the sea bass and it was sublime. The sticky toffee pudding she had for dessert was even better; she scraped up the last morsels and ate them with a sigh of deep contentment. It was a good thing she wouldn’t be eating like that every day, she thought as she placed her licked-clean spoon back on her plate, or her writer’s arse would be more of a problem than her writer’s block.

  The conversation had flowed as smoothly as the waves in the bay; they’d covered everything from the best James Bond to Jane Austen’s finest moment and Merry was enjoying herself enormously until Niall steered the conversation round to the life she’d left behind in London.

  ‘Do you think you’ll miss home?’ he asked. ‘Orkney’s beautiful, but it’s a big adjustment from a city like London.’ He paused. ‘There’s no Deliveroo for a start.’

  Merry allowed herself to smile. ‘My waistline will be thankful for that.’

  ‘And, of course, you’ll miss Alex.’

  The blood pounded in Merry’s chest as she stared at Niall. There’d been some brief email chat about her family situation when she’d first accepted the residency – enough to establish that it would be just her staying at the croft – but she was sure she’d never mentioned Alex, either in passing or by name. Why would she?

  Niall must have read the confusion on her face because his ears turned suddenly scarlet and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘That is your fiancé’s name, isn’t it? You mentioned him in the acknowledgements of your last book.’

  Of course she had, Merry thought with a dull thud of recollection; she’d mentioned Alex in the back of every book she’d ever written. A couple had even been dedicated to him, back when she’d thought he’d always be with her. And now she faced the excruciating prospect of telling Niall that she’d been painfully and devastatingly dumped, of seeing pity and embarrassment blossom in his eyes as he put two and two together and worked out the real reason she’d come to Orkney. The thought was almost more than Merry could bear. Then it occurred to her: she didn’t have to explain anything.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, nodding slowly. ‘That’s his name.’

  ‘Didn’t he mind you coming here for six months?’ Niall asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

  ‘No,’ Merry replied, grateful she hadn’t had to lie. The truth was that she had no idea what Alex might think about her escape to Orkney, because she hadn’t told him she was going.

  If Niall thought there was anything odd about her curt response, he was tactful enough to hide it. ‘London’s loss is our gain,’ he said, with such genuine warmth that Merry felt her awkward embarrassment start to fade. ‘There was something I wanted to flag up, actually. It’s about the event on Friday.’

  ‘Oh?’ she said, relieved that she seemed to have avoided outing herself as tragically broken-hearted.

  ‘It’ll be a fairly relaxed evening – sort of an “in conversation” thing – but we thought it might be nice for you
to do a reading.’

  Merry nodded. ‘Of course. I’ll read a chunk from my last book.’

  ‘You could if you wanted to,’ Niall said, and he leaned forwards, his eyes keen. ‘Or we thought maybe you’d like to write something especially for the event. Something about Orkney.’

  Instantly, Merry’s mind spiralled into panic. She took a deep breath, fighting for control, and her ears buzzed. ‘Something new?’

  ‘If that’s okay?’

  Merry’s heart thumped as she tried to calm down long enough to think of the best way to answer. One thing was for certain, she couldn’t tell the truth; 120 people were coming to hear their new writer in residence talk – the last thing they needed to know was that she’d gone there on false pretences, that she wasn’t a real writer. Not anymore. No, her writer’s block had to remain a closely guarded secret. Niall couldn’t find out about it or he might conclude that she wasn’t the best person for the role and demand that she leave; what good was a writer who couldn’t write, after all?

  She pushed the thought away and forced herself to smile. ‘Of course. I’ll start thinking about it right away.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ he said, as his expression lit up with enthusiasm. ‘I can’t wait to see what you come up with.’

  And Merry, picturing herself staring at a blank sheet of paper in front of one hundred and twenty people, broke into a cold sweat. ‘Yeah. Me too.’

  * * *

  Niall offered to drive back to Brightwater Bay via the Standing Stones of Stenness, suggesting they might arrive in time for sunset, but Merry’s head was already fluttering at the thought of having to write something good enough to read aloud on Friday; all she wanted now was the peace and solitude of the little cottage overlooking the ocean.

  ‘Another time,’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t take her refusal as a sign she wasn’t interested.

  She did accept his suggestion that they stop at a supermarket to top up her food supplies, because the thought of an evening alone with only a crust of day-old bread to eat was not appealing. ‘And now you know where it is, so you’ll be able to pop in whenever you need to,’ he said as they loaded her bags into the boot of the car. ‘I can drive past the library if you like, so you know where to find that too?’

  He sounded so keen to show it off that Merry didn’t have the heart to say no, and she soon understood the source of his pride. Far from the small, underfunded council building she’d expected, Orkney Library shared its premises with the local Archive offices and was a modern, triple-fronted construction of glass, steel and stone, with a pleasant wide courtyard out the front and a curving arch over the quadruple doors that led inside. It might be silent now, but Merry could imagine it must be popular with the local book-loving community. And this was where she had to come on Friday, to meet them and introduce them to her writing. If she managed to produce any writing…

  Once again, the sun was on its way down when they arrived back at the croft. Merry allowed Niall to help her carry her shopping inside but declined his offer to help put it away. ‘I’ll find a home for everything,’ she told him. ‘And I’ve taken up far too much of your day already – I’m sure you have better things to do than unpack my shopping.’

  He read between the lines, as she’d hoped he would, and left her with a reminder that she’d find the car in the garage off to one side of the house. Merry secretly thought that it was more of a lean-to than a garage, but she was pleased it was there at all and, more importantly, that it contained a car; she didn’t have much in the way of expectations for a luxury drive, but it made a big difference knowing she had her own wheels for independent travel. However, it would have to wait until morning, she decided as she viewed the rapidly darkening sky. Goat or no goat, she didn’t plan to investigate in the dark.

  What she ought to do was open her laptop. It sat on the coffee table, where she had hidden it underneath a magazine so that its mute accusation was out of sight. But even the thought of it caused a shiver of uneasiness that she preferred not to make worse, so she slid it under the sofa and turned her attention to the bookshelf she’d noticed the night before. She ran her fingers along each shelf, smiling when she saw a book by someone she knew. Niall had been correct in his prediction that she wouldn’t find one of her own books there, but she didn’t mind that. And she was genuinely gratified to find a title by Jess – one of her early bonkbusters, before the genre had fallen out of favour with the book-buying public. She studied the hot pink and gold cover fondly and snapped a photo to send to Jess, who immediately responded by ringing her.

  ‘Where in god’s name did you find that?’ she demanded, her New Zealand accent made all the stronger by her obvious amusement. ‘The local charity shop?’

  Merry smiled. ‘The bookshelf in my cottage. In between The Wasp Factory and To Kill a Mockingbird.’

  Jess laughed. ‘Perfect. I bet neither of those features a threesome with two male models.’

  Merry’s mood lifted a little. It was good to hear her friend’s voice. ‘I don’t imagine so, no. How are you, anyway?’

  ‘Oh, bearing up,’ Jess said with a dramatic sigh. ‘Missing my best friend since she ran away to the most remote location in the entire country.’

  ‘Actually, Orkney is very well connected,’ Merry pointed out. ‘There are ferries and buses and planes running to the mainland all the time.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Jess replied. ‘It might as well be Everest Base Camp for all the chance I have of seeing you. But it’s far too late to moan about it now – tell me what you’ve been up to instead.’

  Merry did her best to describe Skara Brae but left out the part where she’d lied to Niall about the current status of her relationship with Alex. Instead, she focused on telling her friend about the horror of having to write something to read out at the Meet the Author event.

  ‘You can totally do it,’ Jess said, the moment Merry had finished talking. ‘Just treat it as a writing exercise – tell yourself it doesn’t matter. No one is ever going to see it.’

  ‘But they are,’ Merry objected. ‘At least a hundred and twenty people will hear it. And then it will almost certainly be put on display somewhere so that the next writer in residence they appoint can laugh at how terrible I was.’

  Jess was silent for a moment. ‘You do realize that’s rubbish, don’t you? I know you’re still struggling with your novel but that’s hardly surprising, given the circumstances – how can you expect to write wall-to-wall romance when you’ve given up believing in love?’

  Merry started to speak but her friend cut her off. ‘You’re one of the most talented writers I know, Merry. And deep down, I think you know you’ve got this. So what if it’s not perfect? You can edit to make it better. But you can’t edit a blank page.’

  ‘But what if I write something that’s terrible? What if they decide I’m not good enough to be their Writer in Residence?’

  ‘Then you come home, move in with me and we have the time of our lives as the world’s best flatmates,’ Jess said. ‘Job’s good.’

  There was no doubt about it, Merry reflected after chatting for a few minutes more, her mood was definitely calmer for having spoken to Jess. And then everything changed.

  ‘I saw Alex,’ Jess said.

  Merry froze. ‘Where?’

  ‘In the pub on the High Road.’

  ‘In the George?’ A frown tugged at Merry’s forehead. ‘He lives in Greenwich now, what on earth was he doing in Chiswick?’

  ‘Having a pint with some old friends, he told me,’ Jess went on. She paused. ‘He asked about you.’

  That was something, Merry supposed. In the early days after the break-up, when she’d been raw and hurting and wondering how she would get through the next hour without Alex, let alone the rest of her life, she’d messaged him a lot. He replied at first – terse, matter-of-fact responses that did nothing to alleviate her pain. And then, when it became clear she wasn’t coping or adjusting to the situation, he’d go
ne silent. The messages remained unread, leading Jess to gently explain that he’d almost certainly blocked her. That had hurt too – did he hate her so much that he couldn’t bear to see her name in his message list? – but she eventually came to see that it was the best thing he could have done; without any way of contacting him, short of turning up outside his work, she was forced to face the brutal truth that their relationship was over. Alex was never coming back. So hearing that he cared enough to ask Jess about her was a balm to her still-sore heart.

  ‘What did you tell him?’ Merry asked Jess, trying her hardest to sound detached even as her chest thudded in anticipation.

  ‘The truth, of course,’ Jess said, and Merry thought she sounded pleased with herself. ‘That you answered an online advert from a man you’d never met and have since moved to Orkney.’

  ‘Jess!’ Merry spluttered, unsure whether to be amused or angry. ‘You didn’t!’

  Her friend sighed into the phone. ‘Okay, I might not have phrased it quite like that, but you get the idea.’

  Merry was silent for a moment, trying to imagine how Alex might have reacted. Was it too much to hope that he’d be spurred into wild jealousy and come tearing up to Orkney to tell her it had all been a horrible mistake? Probably. That kind of thing only happened in novels. ‘What did he say?’

  Now it was Jess’s turn to be silent. ‘He said he hoped you were happy,’ she said eventually. ‘I’m only telling you this because I know you’re still harbouring a crazy hope that the weaselly little prick will come back to you. And I think you need to know he’s moved on. Which means it’s time for my weekly reminder that you should too.’

  It wasn’t anything Jess hadn’t said before, but the words still stung. ‘I don’t want him to come back,’ she objected.

  ‘Liar. You’re forgetting that I know you, Merina Wilde.’ Jess paused, and when she spoke again, her tone was gentle. ‘Look, I get that it’s easier to pin all your hopes on Alex instead of getting back out there and taking a risk. But just keep an open mind about meeting someone new. It doesn’t have to be Mr Right, just Mr Right-For-Now.’