by Jenny Colgan
There was only one flight a day, but Flora didn’t bother pointing that out. Nervously, she headed to the kitchen. Maybe she could dig out another recipe… make something to calm herself down.
Flora made the five-minute drive to the airport in the farm Land Rover. She hadn’t driven in so long, she had to refamiliarise herself with the heavy gears. Also, policing was light on Mure, always had been. Nobody was ever terribly concerned about kids driving without a licence at fourteen or so; they were needed to help out on the farms and that was that. As a result, Flora had more or less bumped through her driving test with a very distracted examiner in Fort William, and then proceeded not to drive at all for ten years. It was a challenge, to say the least.
‘Where’s he staying, this posh boss of yours?’ Fintan had asked as she left, genuinely interested. ‘You’re not bringing him here, are you?’
Flora spluttered.
‘Ha! No.’
The idea of Joel walking through the door in his hand-made suit and leather shoes was completely mad. She couldn’t even imagine it; it would be like two worlds colliding, then instantly vaporising in a cloud of dust.
‘Is the Rock not finished?’ she asked.
Fintan frowned.
‘No. It’s been a disgrace. He’s used no local workers at all, everything flown in. It’s going to be an eyesore.’
The Rock was the fabled Colton Rogers hotel that was meant to be bringing investment to the island and providing jobs, and so far had done neither of those things.
‘But he’s still building it? He says it’s nearly finished.’
‘Well, it’s been finished without us.’
Fintan looked at her.
‘Are you defending a baddie, Flora?’
‘You don’t know much about the law,’ said Flora.
Fintan tutted.
‘Right, sorry, I forgot you London types know everything. Fuds.’
‘Excuse me?’
Fintan shrugged.
‘I said we need more suds. Soap powder.’
‘FINTAN!’
And their temporary truce was broken.
Chapter Nineteen
At least it was a day that showed Mure at its very best. Clouds raced across the sky as if in a speeded-up film, and the wind blew fresh, but if you could find a calm corner, the sun popped in and out every two minutes so you could enjoy the changing light on the water and the streaks of gold across the hills. It was absolutely lovely, and still early enough in the season that they weren’t overrun by Lycra-clad climbers, or concerned naturalists, or lost tourists.
Flora had put on one of her work suits, and the boys had teased and laughed at her. Sure enough, within ten seconds her tights were totally spattered with mud. She frowned.
‘This place is ridiculous.’
‘Dress properly,’ said Fintan, who was wearing trousers that appeared to be tied with string.
Flora looked at him.
‘It’s the middle of the day. Shouldn’t you be at work?’
He sighed and sagged a little.
‘Yeah, yeah, all right.’
He headed off.
‘AND STOP SAYING “FUDS”!’ Flora yelled after him, but he didn’t turn around.
Flora had noticed, once she’d done her hair in her old mirror – she’d tried to plug in her straighteners but had blown all the fuses and had lots of people shouting at her – that her skin, normally a little sallow from late nights and long days under fluorescent lighting, was looking pink and healthy; she had some colour in her cheeks where she was normally so pale. She added the mascara she used religiously, otherwise her eyelashes had no colour in them at all, and rubbed some lip gloss on, her heart beating anxiously. Kai had called earlier that morning.
‘The big man’s flying in!’
‘I know!’
‘The two of you. By yourselves.’
‘Shut up.’
Flora was already quite nervous enough. Kai paused and lowered his voice.
‘Look,’ he said, even though he knew it was completely futile. ‘Don’t lose your head, okay? He’s still your boss. He’s not allowed to sleep with you. And if he did, it would only be because he was waiting for room service or something, okay?’
‘Kai!’
‘What? Come on, I’m just saying. He only dates really really hungry-looking women with spiky heels and yellow hair. They could all be the same woman, except he gets older and they stay twenty-two. I’m just saying, because you’re away together… don’t do anything daft you’ll hate yourself for. And if Human Resources get to hear about it… I mean, you know what pricks they are.’
‘That’s because you slept with two people in HR.’
‘And they were pricks about it!’
Flora sighed.
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Maybe that would be okay, and if we had a one-night stand I’d get him out of my system and that would be fine.’
‘Flors! How is that you? You don’t do one-night stands! You don’t do anything spontaneously! You’ve been considering dyeing your hair since I knew you. And I’ve known you for three years! Just dye your hair!’
‘It could work!’
‘The silver, probably not. Some marine blue, maybe…’
‘No, I mean me and Joel.’
‘Listen to yourself!’
‘What’s stupid about it? I really fancy him, we sleep together, then I never think about it again.’
‘That’s not you.’
‘Well, maybe you’re very wrong about me.’
Kai paused, then sighed.
‘Yeah. Maybe. How’s everything else? Still awful?’
Flora was about to agree vociferously. Then she glanced up.
‘Actually,’ she said, looking out of the window as the sun caught on the fells. Bramble had limped over to the sunniest patch on the floor and was following it around the room.
She smiled.
‘Ah, you know. What’s it like down there?’
‘Scorching. Everything smells of barbecues and bins.’
‘That sounds great,’ said Flora, glancing around. There was a windsurfer in the harbour, whipping across the waves, bouncing up and down, racing with the wind.
‘Also,’ said Kai triumphantly, ‘how would you buy condoms? If Mure is as teeny-tiny as they say, it’d be all round the village in five seconds.’
‘I think Joel probably carries them,’ said Flora, feeling herself blush bright pink at the very idea.
Kai sighed.
‘He probably does too. He probably gets a massive discount for bulk-buying them. To hold in all his skanky diseases!’
They both laughed.
‘Honestly, nothing is going to happen,’ said Flora. ‘He has no idea who I am. He’ll probably only stay half a day. And now I have to go and fetch him.’
‘Good,’ said Kai. ‘Good. Flora, I know we joke about it, but… It’s not just that he’s your boss. He’s a wonderful lawyer. But I think he’s cruel. I’ve seen him with clients. And you don’t deserve that.’
But Flora was temporarily lost in a vision of his cruel lips crushed up against hers, and could only nod as she hung up.
She’d set off from the farm when she saw the little prop plane begin its descent, knowing that that would take exactly the right amount of time. It was making a bumpy landing as she jolted over the potholes on the old road. She imagined him walking off the plane; stopping short, realising he’d never really noticed the admin girl in the acquisitions department before; coming to a whole new conclusion about her as the scales fell from his eyes…
‘Right, there you are.’
He was staring at his phone rather than her, trying to connect to something.
Even in a ridiculous tin shed at the end of the world, he looked like he’d just stepped off a private jet. It was hard to imagine him out of a suit, really; she’d never seen him dressed casually, not at the firm’s Christmas party (which she hated; she’d spend hours getting ready, then hover near him as he s
ocialised with the partners and flashed brief smiles at the crowd of support staff also all done up to the nines and also all trying to hover close to him, before he left after an hour or so to go somewhere more glamorous), not on Friday afternoons in the summer; never. She couldn’t even imagine what he looked like with his tie loosened, although she wanted to, very much.
‘The car’s just there,’ she said, hoping that she hadn’t gone too pink.
Joel strode towards the Land Rover, the wind catching him slightly off guard as they left the airport building.
‘Is it always this cold?’ he said.
Flora hadn’t thought it was the least bit cold. She must be adjusting, she realised. She shook her head.
‘Oh no. It gets much much worse than this.’
Joel half nodded, then opened the door of the Land Rover and got in.
They both paused for a second. He’d got in on the driver’s side.
Flora decided that the best thing under the circumstances, the circumstances being that he was her boss, was simply to go along with it, so she got in the other side.
It was very rare to see Joel flustered about anything.
‘Um… I got in the wrong side,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Flora.
‘In the States… this is the passenger side.’
‘Yes, but you live in the UK, don’t you?’
There was a pause as Flora realised what they both already knew: he never sat in the front seat of a car. It was only because the Land Rover didn’t have a back seat.
‘You can drive if you like,’ she said, smiling. Joel didn’t smile; he clearly felt on the back foot.
‘No, no,’ he said.
‘You can if you like,’ said Flora, wondering how on earth they’d got themselves into this awkward situation.
Joel looked down, obviously feeling the same.
‘I… This is a stick,’ he said.
‘A what?’
‘A stick shift. I can’t drive a stick shift.’
Flora suddenly wanted to giggle, but had a hideous feeling this wouldn’t go down well at all. Some men were not very good at being laughed at, and Joel was definitely one of them. Instead she simply hopped out of the car, and they crossed round the boot without catching one another’s eyes.
‘So, you’re going to the Harbour’s Rest?’ she said, once they were both ensconced and she’d jolted the car into reverse out of nerves.
‘What?’
‘Where you’re staying.’
‘Right. Yes. What’s it like?’
Flora didn’t answer straightaway.
‘That good. Great! Perfect.’
They turned into the harbour. Joel made no comment on the pretty little houses, or the way the narrow street gave way to the huge wide sweep of white sand. Most people did. He was stabbing at his phone crossly, searching fruitlessly for a signal.
‘Christ, how do you stand it?’ he said.
Suddenly Flora felt incensed. It was an utterly glorious day. If you couldn’t see that this place was amazing, then you were an idiot. It felt odd to be so defensive when, as everyone kept on pointing out, she hadn’t been able to get away from it fast enough.
She couldn’t help it; she glanced over towards him. His long legs were stretched out in the footwell, the expensive suit covering rock-hard thighs. This was ridiculous; she felt like a dirty old man.
She parked in front of the pale pink building next to the peeling black and white paint of the Harbour’s Rest. It had once been a chemist, but the owner, who’d been an English incomer, had moved back down south to help her daughter with her new baby. Nobody had taken it over, and it sat there like a missing tooth in the harbour parade. It made Flora sad to see it.
Outside the Harbour’s Rest, two old fishermen with big beards were pulling on pipes. They looked like east London hipsters. Flora hoped this was what Joel would think they were. Whether he’d think the sticky curly-patterned carpet was ironic was a different matter, though.
Inge-Britt, the lazy Icelandic manager, came to the door. She was wearing some kind of slip – it couldn’t be her dressing gown, could it? Flora wouldn’t put it past her. She got out of the car and Joel emerged with his expensive luggage. Inge-Britt smiled, showing her perfect teeth, when she saw him.
‘Well, hello,’ she said, raising her eyebrows.
‘This is my boss checking in,’ said Flora meaningfully. ‘Joel Binder? Have you got his booking?’
Inge-Britt shrugged and looked at him with unveiled interest.
‘I’m sure I’ll squeeze him in somewhere.’
Joel, who wasn’t paying attention, went to follow her in, before glancing round at Flora.
‘Pick me up at two,’ he said.
Flora shrugged and turned round to see Lorna on the other side of the road.
‘I was just passing,’ lied Lorna hopelessly. Flora rolled her eyes. Lorna watched Joel striding into the breakfast-scented interior of the Harbour’s Rest.
‘Well?’
‘He’s a very handsome man,’ said Lorna. ‘You’ll have to keep him out of Inge-Britt’s clutches.’
‘She smells of bacon,’ said Flora petulantly.
‘Oh yeah, men hate that,’ said Lorna.
Lorna came back to the farm for lunch. Flora sat her down, made tea and, to cheer herself up, decided to whip up a quick batch of oatcakes; heavy on the salt, with a perfect nutty crunch to them. They didn’t take long to bake, and before they’d cooled, she topped them off with wedges of Fintan’s cheese.
‘Jesus,’ said Lorna, as she took her first mouthful.
‘I know,’ said Flora.
‘These oatcakes are sensational.’
‘Thank you! And that’s Fintan’s cheese.’
But it was the combination with the perfect crunch of the immaculate little biscuits that made it something else.
‘This almost makes up for not having had sex in… humphy humph, a while,’ said Lorna.
‘Don’t say that,’ said Flora. ‘You’ll jinx us ever having it again.’
‘I won’t care if I can just eat this stuff all day,’ said Lorna. ‘Seriously. More. More. Yes. Yes. Yes.’
‘Let’s be clear, this isn’t actually sex,’ said Flora.
‘Well, I’m putting nice things in my mouth, so it’s definitely close,’ said Lorna defensively, grabbing another two oatcakes with a combative look.
She stared down at the cheese.
‘Fintan? Really?’
‘He’s been making cheese in his spare time. And other stuff, I think.’
‘That boy just hates working on the farm.’
Flora blinked.
‘Does he really? I thought he was just a bit of a lazy arse.’
‘Totally.’ Lorna looked at her. ‘You can’t say you hadn’t noticed?’
Flora felt silent.
‘Seriously?’
Flora shrugged.
‘I thought he was fine.’
Lorna looked at her strangely.
‘Flors, he’s never had a girlfriend, he’s patently depressed, he drinks too much…’
‘That sounds like half the island,’ said Flora nervously.
‘Well it’s amazing he’s managed to make something like this,’ said Lorna tactfully. ‘So anyway, what are you all dolled up for?’
‘I am actually at work,’ said Flora. ‘I do actually have a job.’
Lorna raised her eyebrows.
‘Making oatcakes. Because I will say, you’re good at it.’
Flora shook her head.
‘We’re… we’re heading out to meet Mr Rogers after lunch.’
Lorna sniffed.
‘Oh, we are, are we? By the way, Charlie was asking after you.’
‘The gigantic Outward Adventures guy?’
‘He’s nice,’ said Lorna. ‘Have sex with him.’
‘Is Jan his wife or what?’ said Flora.
‘What do you care? You’re so in lurve with Joel…’
�
�Shut up!’ said Flora. ‘You are so not meeting him.’
Lorna blinked, and put her hand over Flora’s suddenly.
‘You do have it bad, don’t you?’
‘Yup.’
‘Does it help?’ she said in a softer voice. ‘Thinking about him all the time rather than your mum?’
There was a pause.
‘Can’t I think about both?’ said Flora. Then: ‘Yes. It does.’
Lorna nodded.
‘Good. But don’t take it too far, okay?’
‘You haven’t even met him!’
‘A sharky lawyer who only dates supermodels and hasn’t noticed you for years and is up to defend some dodgy golf course owner?’
‘Well, when you put it like that…’
‘What do your friends say – the ones who actually have met him?’
‘Yeah. More or less the same.’
‘He sounds like a prince.’ Lorna grinned. ‘I’ll see you later. Give me some of the oatcakes and cheese to take away. And while you’re at it, some butter. Actually, can I just take all of it?’
Flora looked at her as she decanted the remains of lunch into her bag.
‘How do I look?’
‘More mascara. You have the selkie’s curse.’
‘There is a world out there where white eyelashes are considered to be the loveliest thing on God’s earth,’ sighed Flora. ‘And people will sign up for really expensive white mascara.’
‘Why would they have to?’ said Lorna. ‘They still make Tippex, don’t they?’
Flora flicked the wand at her.
‘Stop it! Stop it, you weird albino freak!’
‘Ginga!’
Giggling slightly, Flora left the house and got back in the Land Rover. Bramble, now fully restored to walking duties, was lying in the front seat, basking in a patch of sunshine.
‘Out,’ said Flora, wondering if Joel liked dogs. Maybe she should take Bramble along. On the other hand, the prospect of him not liking dogs was just too dreadful to think about. She could fancy a tough guy; a bad guy even; someone who wasn’t necessarily very nice.