She was tired; the day had been long and she suspected she wasn’t quite over her illness from the start of the week. Seeing Alex had been more difficult than she’d expected too – her stomach was still churning – and she’d quite like to curl up on the sofa for a nap. Except that it wasn’t this sofa she longed for – it was the one in front of the fireplace in the croft, where she might glance out of the window and see the guillemots soaring over the cliffs. She sighed and opened her eyes, taking in the familiar yet unfamiliar décor of the flat.
Had she meant it when she’d told Alex she might stay on Orkney?
She didn’t know, but the thought soothed her jangling nerves at least. By Sunday, she’d be back in the croft again and perhaps she’d be thinking of London with this same longing. It was impossible to tell what her true feelings were, especially since seeing Alex seemed to have stirred up emotions she’d thought were settled. But it wasn’t something she had to decide today, she reminded herself. All she had to do right now was meet her best friend for dinner.
* * *
‘And that is why revenge is a dish best served cold, with a double side of regret,’ Jess said, when Merry told her how Alex had reacted at the sight of her. ‘Good. I hope he realizes what a monumental prick he was, now that it’s far too late to get you back.’
Merry sipped her margarita. ‘It’s weird – all those times I dreamed about seeing him again, hoping he’d look at me the way he used to… and today that happened, sort of, and I didn’t really care.’
Jess drained her own glass and signalled to the waiter for a refill. ‘Of course you didn’t, because you are over him.’ She paused and fixed Merry with a meaningful gaze. ‘And besides, you have someone new who makes Alex fade into nothingness. How could he possibly compete with Magnús? Did you tell him you’re dating an actual Viking? Please tell me you did – and showed him a photo.’
Which reminded Merry uncomfortably that she still hadn’t told Jess about letting everyone on Orkney believe she was still with Alex. She’d wait until the waiter turned up with Jess’s refill, she decided, and then she’d order a bottle of sauvignon blanc. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have entirely sober.
‘So, let me get this straight,’ Jess said, when Merry finally felt she was fuzzy enough around the edges to confess. ‘You told the sexy librarian you were with Alex so you wouldn’t be tempted into snogging him.’
Merry started to interrupt but Jess held up her hand. ‘Don’t argue – it’s the only thing that makes sense. And then you told the hot Viking the same thing so you wouldn’t be tempted into snogging him. But then you snogged the hot Viking anyway.’ She glanced over at Merry for confirmation, who nodded in mortified silence. ‘Have you also snogged the sexy librarian?’
‘No!’ Merry exclaimed. ‘I told you, we work together. Apart from anything else, it would be unprofessional.’
Jess gave her a sideways look. ‘It’s pretty unprofessional to lie to the people you work with. Which technically includes me, I might add.’
‘Besides, Niall’s good-looking, but he’s not sexy,’ Merry went on. ‘He’s funny and kind and really interesting—’
‘But not hot,’ Jess cut in. ‘Got it. So Magnús knows you’re not with Alex, but Niall doesn’t. And Magnús knows Niall doesn’t know you’re not with Alex, but Niall doesn’t know you’re dating Magnús.’
Merry took a moment to unravel the words, then nodded again. ‘Yes. I think.’
‘So, the question is,’ Jess said, holding up a slightly unsteady finger. ‘If Niall isn’t sexy, why are you worried about being tempted into snogging him?’
‘I’m not,’ Merry insisted with a groan. ‘He had the wrong end of the stick about Alex, back when I first arrived, and it seemed like the safest thing at the time to go along with it. I didn’t know I was going to meet Magnús and things would get so complicated.’
Jess took a long swig of wine and gazed at Merry over the top of her glass. ‘I genuinely don’t understand how you’ve got yourself into this mess, babes, but there’s one thing I do know. It’s a bloody good thing I’m coming up there next month to sort everything out.’
Chapter Eighteen
There was a beach at the base of Brightwater Bay.
It couldn’t be seen from above, only from the sea, although Merry suspected she might just about glimpse the narrow strip of pale gold if she ever stood right on the edge of the cliffs, and it was flanked on either side by an outcrop of vicious-looking rocks. In the autumn, Magnús said it was where grey seals came to give birth to their pups; he assured her the slender shelf of land was never submerged by the tide, making it the perfect place for mother seals to bond with their babies before introducing them to life under the waves.
‘No one bothers them here,’ he said, leaning on the steering wheel of the boat as the engine fell silent and gazing at the now-empty beach. ‘There are much easier places to spot them around Orkney, so the tours don’t come this way.’
Merry leaned back in her seat and craned her head upwards. The cliffs seemed even more immense from the water, making Magnús’s boat feel like a toy as it bobbed on the white-crested waves, and she was amazed to see they weren’t as sheer and barren as she’d imagined. The mottled brown and grey rock was sprinkled with yellow and lilac and pink flowers, their roots burrowing deep into the strata and taking hold wherever they could. Vibrant green leaves and grasses burst out around them, producing a kind of floral wallpaper effect that Merry loved. Birds soared on the thermals created by the warm mid-afternoon sunshine and perched on the flowery ledges; others chose rockier shelves and Merry wondered if they might have nests there. It was evidently breeding season for some, if not all, of Orkney’s bird population.
Magnús rummaged under his seat and pulled out a pair of binoculars. ‘Use these if you want a closer look. You might even spot some puffins if you are very lucky.’
She took the binoculars and trained them on the cliffs. Over the last few months, Merry had learned to recognize a number of the birds she could hear as she awoke each day: the guillemots, with their distinctive black and white plumage, the kittiwakes, who looked so very like the gulls she knew from London, and the razorbills, with their funny blunt beaks that were anything but razor-like. She sat for a few moments, enjoying the close-up view of her feathery neighbours as they soared and jostled over the blue-grey water; if there was a better way to enjoy the late May sunshine then she couldn’t think of it right then.
Eventually, she lowered the binoculars to glance across at Magnús. ‘How do they raise their chicks on the cliffs? There doesn’t seem to be room for a perch, let alone to incubate an egg.’
‘Evolution,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Guillemots in particular have adapted to cliff-face breeding – they protect their eggs from predators by nesting as close together as possible and their eggs are specially designed not to roll off the edge.’
Merry stared at him in disbelief. ‘Specially designed?’
He tipped his head. ‘I’m guessing you’ve never seen a guillemot egg. They’re very distinctive in colour – usually a beautiful shade of turquoise – but it’s the shape that’s the best feature. One end is round and the other is pointed, so that they grip better on the stacks and make things easier when the parents need to swap places for incubating duties. It’s really very clever.’
She trained the binoculars on the cliffs again and saw that he was right: the guillemots were huddled together like commuters in the rush hour. ‘I hope they all get along.’
Magnús grinned. ‘Not always. My zoologist friend studies them and she says it’s like watching Game of Thrones sometimes. Lots of family drama, fights and infidelity.’
‘Wow,’ Merry replied, with another glance at the crowded rock face. ‘I hope it’s less bloodthirsty.’
‘Things can get pretty brutal,’ Magnús conceded. ‘The puffins are quite boring by comparison, although they’re cute, so everyone wants to see them.’
She scann
ed the cliffs, searching for the distinctive orange-beaked birds and found none. But there were so many birds – the cliffs really were teeming with them – that she thought she might easily miss the puffins.
‘Let me have a look,’ Magnús said, when she told him she hadn’t been able to spot any. ‘There’s definitely a colony a little further north, so if we don’t see them here, we can head up the coast a bit.’
He retrieved another pair of binoculars from beneath a seat and studied the skies above Brightwater Bay. After a moment or two, he nodded in satisfaction and made his way to sit next to Merry. ‘See that outcrop there?’ he said, pointing at the top of the cliff to her left. ‘Train the binoculars on that, then move them slowly upwards.’
Merry followed his suggestion, trying to ignore the lazy flip-flop of her stomach at his sudden nearness. It had been years since she’d experienced this constant fluttering in the presence of a man – the buzz that made it hard to focus on anything but him. Had it been like this with Alex at the beginning? It must have been, although what she mostly remembered about the early days of their relationship was the excruciating awkwardness of being fifteen. The way she felt around Magnús was an all-grown-up version of that self-conscious but intense attraction, especially in comparison with the utter lack of desire she’d felt when she’d last seen Alex, in London. She’d told Magnús about her trip, of course, and mentioned seeing Alex but hadn’t revealed her fleeting idea of possibly extending her time on Orkney. The thought had taken hold in her subconscious, however, and it had grown. Now, with Magnús so close she could hear him breathe, Merry was starting to wonder whether it was time to invite him to spend the night at the croft again.
For the moment, however, she tried to concentrate on following his directions to find the puffins. And then suddenly, as her gaze roved towards the grassy top of the cliffs, past the hundreds of other birds, she saw the small cluster of snub orange beaks and cheeky markings that made them so popular.
‘Oh,’ she breathed, watching the distant birds with a thrill of delight. It didn’t matter that she was too far away to see them in detail; that could wait for another day. What mattered was that she’d seen her first puffin in the wild.
She lowered the binoculars and turned to Magnús, only to find he was gazing at her. Before she could move, he bent his head and kissed her.
All rational thought flew from her head when his lips met hers. Even the caws and cries of the birds seemed to fade into mere background noise and she was sure the waves had stopped crashing against the cliff base. Magnús placed a hand on her back to urge her nearer and her arm snaked around his neck as the kiss grew deeper, her fingers twisting into his hair.
Then the pocket of his jacket vibrated against Merry’s ribs and she realized his phone was ringing.
At first, she thought he was going to ignore it – the pressure on the small of her back increased, as though he was expecting her to pull away. But then his mouth broke with hers and he let out an audible sigh. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m a volunteer on the lifeboat. It might be important.’
And when he put it like that, Merry felt bad for wishing he’d let it go to voicemail. But it soon became clear that it wasn’t the lifeboat station on the phone; Magnús answered whoever it was in what sounded to Merry like Icelandic. Frowning, she watched as he stopped speaking to listen, and then his face turned grey beneath his light golden tan. He rattled off a few more sentences, his tone urgent and abrupt, then she saw his eyes shut as though he’d just had the worst news possible. Merry averted her gaze then, and tried hard not to eavesdrop, even though she didn’t understand a word in any case. She studied the beach, the birds, the cliffs – anything to avert the quiver of unease that was now rippling through her body. Something was wrong: she could tell from the tense set of his jaw and the stiff, hunched shoulders, but it wasn’t until he ended the call and lowered the phone that Merry discovered how bad it was.
‘My mother has had a heart attack,’ he said numbly. ‘She’s been taken to hospital in Reykjavik.’
Merry gasped in horror. ‘No! I’m so sorry, Magnús.’
‘That was my sister,’ he went on in the same dull monotone. ‘She says everything is under control but I should get there as soon as I can.’
‘Of course, you must,’ Merry urged. ‘Are there direct flights from Aberdeen?’
Magnús got to his feet and dithered for a second or two. And that was when Merry realized just how worried he was; she’d never seen him anything less than solid and purposeful. ‘From Edinburgh, maybe. I need to check the times.’
He gave her a regretful look but she sensed he was only half there. ‘I’m sorry – I need to take you back to Kirkwall.’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ Merry said swiftly. ‘Let’s get going.’
The journey seemed to take forever, although Merry thought Magnús was pushing the engine harder than he had on the journey out. When they reached Kirkwall harbour, he’d helped her disembark and kissed her cheek in a distracted fashion. ‘I’ll call you,’ he said, once his boat was securely fastened to the harbour.
Merry shook her head. ‘Please, don’t give it another thought. I hope it’s not serious and that your mother makes a speedy recovery.’
‘Thanks,’ he said as he checked his phone again. ‘I really enjoyed spending time with you today and I’m sorry to be cutting things short.’
His expression was so sincere that she was very tempted to kiss him again, except she knew his mind was elsewhere. She settled for squeezing his arm once and stepping back. ‘No problem. Have a safe journey.’
He nodded once and strode away, leaving Merry to gaze after him, hoping his fears would soon be laid to rest.
* * *
Merry didn’t hear from him for another thirty-six hours. She tried not to worry, knowing he’d be busy with his family and speaking to the doctors, finding out how serious the heart attack had been and what his mother’s prognosis was. But even so, she couldn’t help fretting a little as the hours passed – even the notes from her editor couldn’t distract her fully. In the end, she went for a run in the afternoon sunshine, north along the cliffs to where Magnús had suggested she’d have a better chance of seeing the puffins up close. And he was right; it took her several miles, but she eventually spotted a colony at the top of a grassy cliff. Some of the adult birds were hopping clumsily around the greenery of the headland; they didn’t seem to mind her presence, although she took care not to get too close. Their movement was almost comical on land, but they became a different bird when diving into the sea, plummeting the vast distance to the waves and often emerging with a wriggling eel in their beaks. She spent some time watching them before retracing her steps to the croft and a long hot shower.
The strenuous activity helped to settle her anxiety, but she was still restless and found herself glancing at her phone more often than usual, its stubborn silence only making her more ill at ease. After another hour of unproductivity, she gave up trying to work and messaged Niall.
Up for a post-work pint?
It took a few minutes for her phone to buzz with his response, but the message made her smile:
How about dinner instead? You haven’t seen the views from The Skerry yet – pick you up at 6.30?
Merry glanced guiltily at her laptop and imagined a long evening of staring at its screen, while trying to ignore her phone, and decided an evening with Niall would be infinitely more preferable.
OK, but it’s my turn to drive. Pick you up at 6.45.
* * *
The Skerry turned out to be a modern, eco-friendly restaurant a few miles from Kirkwall, overlooking a flat wildflower meadow that sloped towards the glistening expanse of Scapa Flow to the south. The sun was still a long way from dipping below the land as Merry and Niall took their seats on the terrace outside the glass and wood building; she knew from experience that it wouldn’t set until around ten o’clock. The temperature had begun to drop, however, and she was glad of the jumper she’d
decided to wear. In London, Jess had reported their favourite rooftop bar in Trafalgar Square was hot enough to bring out a flurry of sandals and sundresses among the clientele – in Orkney, there was evidently no such rush to summer clothing and Merry was pleased she’d judged it right.
‘You won’t be surprised to hear I recommend the Orkney gin,’ Niall said, as they studied the cocktail menu. ‘The Rhubarb Old Tom is particularly good if you like a bit of sweetness, or the Johnsmas is more floral and summery.’
‘Sold,’ Merry said and she leaned back against the cushions of the wicker armchair, taking in the blue skies and meadow-scented air with a sigh. ‘This was a wonderful idea – thanks for suggesting it.’
He smiled. ‘Wait until you taste the scallops – you’ll want to thank me all over again.’
The flirtatious vibe of the sentence caused Merry to blink but there was nothing in Niall’s expression that suggested he’d meant it that way. I’ve been spending too much time with Jess, she thought, and pushed the observation away.
‘I’m glad to be out and about, anyway,’ she said, careful to keep any hint of embarrassment from her voice. ‘I do love the croft but writers have a tendency to get lost in their own heads sometimes – it’s good to be reminded that there’s still a lot of the islands I haven’t seen.’
As often happened, Niall somehow picked up on the things she wasn’t saying. ‘Rough day?’
She glanced at her phone, face down on the table, and forced herself to ignore it. ‘Not for me,’ she said. ‘But… a friend had some bad news and I’m waiting to hear from… them.’
A frown creased Niall’s forehead and Merry knew he’d noticed her clumsy attempt to pick her words carefully. ‘I’m being melodramatic,’ she said, with a self-deprecating shake of her head. ‘Ignore me.’
Coming Home to Brightwater Bay Page 21