by Jenny Colgan
There was a long pause.
‘If you like,’ Flora said eventually; Colton had said she could bring someone, ‘you could come tonight.’
It hardly made things all right. But she couldn’t leave him here, with their miserable father, the two of them staring at each other.
Fintan blinked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You could come to dinner, if you like.’
‘Seriously? With Colton Rogers?’
‘With Colton Rogers. And my boss.’
Fintan didn’t care too much about her boss, but he perked up immediately.
‘You know he invented BlueFare?’
‘I do know that. Techie stuff. Blah blah blah. He invented everything.’
‘Wow,’ said Fintan.
He looked down at his clothes.
‘I’ve got nothing to wear.’
‘You must have something.’
Fintan sighed.
‘I’ve got my funeral suit.’
‘Don’t call it that,’ said Flora. ‘Call it your wedding suit. You bought it for Innes’ wedding, didn’t you?’
‘Oh God, that travesty,’ said Innes, banging through the door with Hamish, both completely oblivious to the atmosphere in the room. ‘God, no. Call it a funeral suit, please.’
He looked at the stove.
‘Ooh, fantastic, what is it tonight?’
‘Actually, nothing,’ said Flora. ‘Me and Fintan are going out. Sorry.’
‘Can we come?’
‘Nope. But you can take the seed cake out in twenty-seven minutes.’
Chapter Twenty-four
Flora had changed into a sober black dress, which she’d looked at in the mirror and decided made her look utterly washed out, like a Victorian child ghost. She had nothing else, though; she’d have to find something to liven it up a bit.
In the back of the wardrobe was her mother’s jewellery box. Her mother had never worn any jewellery apart from her wedding ring and one pair of tiny diamond stud earrings she put on at Christmas time, but Flora knew there were a couple of things in there she’d inherited – they were Flora’s now, she supposed, although she’d probably rather they go to Agot. Mostly she didn’t feel quite strong enough for her mother’s things. She’d have to one day, she knew. Face up to the fact that once a person was gone, they didn’t need the things that had surrounded and defined them.
Not yet, though. Surely not yet. Well. She’d start small and see how she got on.
It was just as she remembered from playing with it as a child. A bright peacock-feather brooch; blue and green feathers set in a dulling silver filigree, woven in and out. There was no such thing as a peacock on Mure, so heaven knows where it had come from originally: perhaps some wealthy distant relative in Edinburgh; or one of the cousins who had moved away to Newfoundland or Tennessee, wanting to show off their success.
Wherever it was from, it was beautiful. Her mother never wore it – she would have seen the colours as too flashy, and she thought it fragile too, and possibly valuable, although Flora didn’t know about that. But what a shame, she thought now, gently lifting it out. What a shame to own something so very beautiful, and to have spent an entire lifetime keeping it for best; a best that never came.
Her mother and father would go to the town ceilidhs; everyone did, it was part of your job if you lived in Mure. Her father would line up with all the other farmers at the bar and drink local ale and talk about feed prices, while her mother, unusual-looking in lipstick, would stand with the other women. Flora couldn’t remember her parents ever going out to dinner, doing anything just to spend time together. She had absolutely no memories of that ever happening at all. So there was never a reason, never an occasion quite good enough for the brooch.
She picked it up, looking in the mirror, and placed it on the top right-hand side of her dress.
At first she was worried it would look a little Highland chieftain, but as she inspected herself more closely, she saw that the green of the feathers made her eyes look greener; the blue was just such a pretty colour that it drew the eye anyway, and the entire thing lifted the plain dress and made all the difference.
Smiling cheerfully, she headed into the sitting room. Her father hadn’t moved.
‘Dad, do you… do you mind if I borrow Mum’s brooch?’
He barely glanced around, just waved his hand. Innes and Hamish were standing at the stove, looking confused.
‘Come on, you two,’ she said. ‘Shepherd’s pie. Here. I’ll leave the recipe. Mince. Potatoes. Fintan’s cheese. Nothing too tough.’
‘Oh God, look at the pair of you,’ said Innes. ‘You look like the town parade. La-di-dah.’
‘Shut up,’ Fintan said.
‘Don’t listen to Innes,’ said Flora. ‘Why are you even listening to him? He’s being a divot.’
‘I’m not a divot!’
‘You’re being a divot, stop it.’
‘You stop it!’
‘Dad!’ shouted Fintan. ‘Everyone’s having a go.’
‘Tell Innes to stop being a divot,’ said Flora sulkily.
‘Everyone stop being a divot,’ said Eck from behind his paper.
Innes stuck his tongue out at Flora.
‘Right, we’re out of here,’ said Flora. ‘Good luck with the shepherd’s pie.’
Hamish turned round as she got to the door.
‘You look nice, Flora,’ he said.
‘THANK YOU, HAMISH,’ she replied loudly, to make the point.
Colton had said he’d send the boat to bring them round to the Rock. Flora was excited.
She and Fintan walked down to the harbour, enjoying the soft light on their backs, past the lush fields where the cows were lying, post-milking. Fintan looked smart in his suit, but nervous, which made Flora slightly irritated, because she didn’t want to appear to be nervous too, even though she was; she felt the need to be playing the grown-up, in-control London employee.
The evening air was clear and fresh and tasted as clean as a cold glass of water. The sea was like a mill pond, reflecting a little stream of white cloud above it across the flat horizon. It was truly very beautiful. Flora felt smugly glad that Joel was visiting now and not in the depths of winter, when the rain swept in and out, to be caught up in a quick, dashing rainbow and a crack in the clouds before descending again. Not that he appeared to have noticed his surroundings at all. The weather could be so changeable, but tonight everything felt quiet and still, and there was a sense of absolute timelessness about the place as they turned into the high street and the same old coloured buildings sloped down towards the harbour wall. Flora counted them off as she used to as a child – purple for the baker’s, yellow for the butcher’s, orange for the doctor’s, blue for fish and chips. Nothing in the pink house, not any more.
Bertie Cooper, who was running the boat, was standing by the dockside, his cap off, waiting politely. He thought Flora was absolutely tops, but felt too shy to ask her for a drink, especially if she was cavorting about with posh blokes from out of town, and Colton Rogers of all people. He sighed. Probably for the best.
‘Hello,’ he said shyly. ‘You look nice.’
Flora smiled, which did make her look prettier. She realised as she did so how long it had been since she’d smiled properly; not business grins or consoling brave smiles when people asked how she was getting on, and not nights-out-with-Kai smiles, when she finally had enough wine to forget about everything that was going on. A proper, happy smile and the unusual sensation of having something to look forward to.
She had Snapchatted a selfie to her friends, just to make them horrified and amused on her behalf. Kai had got back saying that if she slept with Joel he would never speak to her again, ever. Lorna had asked, quite reasonably, if her boss had turned any nicer since he’d arrived, and by the way, if he looked like a moose nobody would ever let him get away with his behaviour. Flora smiled to herself yet again. There was, she’d come to realise, absolutely n
o chance that anything was going to happen between her and her taciturn, self-obsessed boss.
But that didn’t take anything away from the fact that it was a beautiful evening. They were going to a proper grown-up restaurant. She was accompanied by a handsome man – okay, he was her brother, but who cared about that? – and it was going to be lovely. She stepped lightly into the boat with an unusual air of confidence about her. Perhaps it was the brooch.
Chapter Twenty-five
Flora enjoyed watching Fintan’s reaction as they approached the Rock. It was even more impressive arriving by sea than by road. The idea of spoiling its idyllic outlook with vast metal structures did seem terribly wrong.
Although it was still light, the lanterns on the jetty were all lit, and Bertie helped her off the boat with a wide smile.
Joel and Colton were already in the bar, which was on the right as you entered the grand hall, a roaring fire in the grate although it was scarcely needed that evening, or so Flora and Fintan thought. Both of them were to go through their entire lives with no tolerance for heat at all; anything over twenty degrees tended to bring them out in a nervous rash. Blowy and fresh was their default setting.
Flora tried her best not to stutter, but she felt a telltale redness rise in her face. Joel had changed his shirt to a soft pale green cotton that contrasted perfectly with his large dark eyes. He smiled, looking at Fintan with interest, which made Flora feel even more wobbly. She knew Fintan was good-looking; the girls at school had always liked both her tall brothers. Innes had the smiling eyes and cheeky ways; Fintan the curly hair and melancholic air.
Colton was wearing his standard polo neck, jeans and trainers, with wire-rimmed glasses. It was such an aggressively ugly outfit, Flora wondered if he was doing it on purpose; like, if you saw someone so horribly dressed, the only possible solution was that they were so rich, they never had to worry about impressing anybody.
‘Hi,’ said Flora, trying to sound normal and in fact sounding squeaky. Fintan was staring at Colton Rogers like he was a celebrity, which she supposed he was around here; so little seen, yet so much speculated about. ‘Um, this is my brother, Fintan. You did say bring someone.’
‘Hi!’ said Colton, smiling widely.
Joel merely gave a little nod, as if he’d expected something like this, and Flora felt a flash of annoyance that of course she couldn’t have a good-looking boyfriend, apparently. She sat down and Colton offered her a glass of champagne. She snuck a quick glance at Joel to check if this would be okay, but he couldn’t appear to be less bothered.
‘Yes, please,’ she said.
‘Just half a lager,’ muttered Fintan, visibly rummaging in his pockets. Flora cursed herself for not having warned him beforehand that he wouldn’t be expected to pay. Colton waved his money away.
‘Shall we move through?’ said Colton, and they picked up their drinks and followed him into the restaurant. ‘You are my very first guests.’
‘We’re honoured,’ both Joel and Flora said at the same time, then glanced at one another.
Here, after the cosy, gleaming bar, things were quite different. It was formal and very quiet and it felt extremely odd to be just the four of them in the restaurant. Flora picked up the brand-new, very stiff and fancy menu.
Here at the Rock we want to give you a very special dining experience… a dimension of sensory explosions; the primary tastes of extraordinary love and creativity, said the introduction, which Flora correctly interpreted as evidence that it would all be very, very expensive.
Everything was ‘curated’: there were ‘orchards’ of fruit and ‘symphonies’ of vegetables, and ‘intensities’ of oysters and sardines. Fintan looked in total agony. Flora smiled widely to help him out.
‘Colton, maybe you should order for us?’
‘What d’ya think, though?’ he kept saying, looking around. There were stags’ heads lining the walls and the carpet was tartan.
‘I’m sure it’s going to be lovely,’ said Flora. ‘It is fancy, though. Is this what you like to eat?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I prefer steak.’
He ordered the chef’s tasting menu, and a couple of bottles of wine Flora couldn’t pronounce, but she found she was quite happy to go along with someone else’s choices. Plus, there was always the possibility that Joel’s tongue would loosen after a few glasses. Might she get to know him a little better? Maybe that exterior was all for show, and he was one of those people who was lovely underneath. She imagined saying that to Kai – oh, once you get to know him, he’s really nice. Works at an animal shelter in his spare time, but doesn’t like anybody knowing about it.
The first thing to go wrong was the bread. It professed to be freshly baked, but patently wasn’t. And the butter came in a little floral pattern, hard from the fridge. Fintan blinked twice.
‘They’ve bought in this butter,’ he whispered to Flora.
‘Stop whispering,’ said Flora. ‘It’s a restaurant. Of course it’s got to buy in stuff.’
‘Well, outside it looks like it pretends it’s making it. And read this guff in the menu: “All our ingredients are sourced as close to the very heart of our island as possible.” There’s ten dairy farmers on Mure,’ said Fintan crossly, ‘and I tell you what, none of them put their butter in airy-fairy little baby flowers like this.’
‘What’s that, guys?’ said Colton, leaning across the oversized table. The lighting was so subtle she could barely make him out. They were basically eating in the dark.
‘Nothing,’ said Flora quickly.
‘Well —’ said Fintan.
‘No! Shush!’ said Flora.
‘So how did it go today?’ asked Colton.
‘Ah,’ said Flora, glancing at Joel.
‘You can put in a new schedule and a new proposal,’ said Joel, opening his briefcase. ‘I’ve got the paperwork all done and ready for you to sign before I leave. Scots law isn’t much more complicated. It’s a solid proposal, just to move the wind farm behind the next island. It has some cost implications for maintenance, but ought to save on keeping the island’s unique heritage for visitors and future generations, yada yada yada.’
‘Okay, good work,’ said Colton, scanning it. ‘So I just need to get this past the council, right? And how did that go?’
Flora took another gulp of wine. It was absolutely delicious.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘There are a few issues.’
‘Such as?’
‘Everyone’s bothered about the pink house.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The pink building. On the main street. You’ve left it empty.’
Colton looked confused.
‘Here?’
‘Yes, here!’
‘That’s mine?’
Flora looked at him, aghast that someone could buy a building and not realise they’d done so.
‘Apparently so,’ said Joel.
‘Damn,’ said Colton. ‘What else?’
‘Staff?’ said Flora. ‘There’s lots of island teenagers who might come home if there was more work here that wasn’t milking.’
Fintan made a sarcastic noise but Flora ignored him.
‘But really,’ she said, ‘what it boils down to is this. People don’t know you. They don’t know who you are. They think you might be Donald Trump or something, and that if they let you get away with this, the next step will be something really terrible.’
‘But I’m trying to protect the place.’
‘Then protect everyone here,’ said Flora simply.
‘Huh,’ said Colton.
He turned to Fintan.
‘I mean, you live here full time, right? What do you do, then?’
‘I’m a farmer,’ said Fintan resignedly, knocking back more wine.
‘Yeah? You don’t look like a farmer.’
‘What, because I’m not chewing a stem of hay at the dinner table?’
He sounded prickly and defensive and Flora knew it was because he felt out of
his depth.
‘No,’ said Colton. ‘Are you always this aggressive?’
‘Seen Braveheart too many times?’ said Fintan. ‘Scared of the violent locals?’
‘Fintan! Shut up!’ hissed Flora.
She turned to Colton.
‘Sorry, sir. That thing they say about not being able to choose your family…’
‘Yes, well, you certainly didn’t,’ muttered Fintan, whom Flora belatedly realised had drunk quite a lot of wine already.
There was a pause.
‘That’s enough,’ said Flora, and Fintan, she could see, realised immediately he’d gone too far.
‘Sorry, sis,’ he said. Then he looked round the table, rubbing the back of his sunburned neck with his hand. ‘Sorry, everyone.’
The waiter brought them something he called an ‘amusing bouche’; with an odd kind of strangled laugh, he uncovered a large tray with four tiny little ramekins of oysters swimming in some kind of congealing jelly.
‘What’s this?’ said Colton, a little crossly.
‘It’s oyster surprise de la mer,’ said the waiter proudly. It certainly did look surprising.
They all prodded at it. Flora had grown up eating wild oysters, either straight from the shoreline, or sometimes her mother would stick them by the fire until they smoked themselves and their shells popped open, and she and her brothers scorched their fingers, but they didn’t care, as the smoky, salty deliciousness inside was too good to wait for.
This was just a lump of horrible fish jelly, surrounding another fish jelly. Fintan didn’t even pick up his fork.
‘What is this?’ he said. ‘I didn’t understand that wee guy the first time.’
‘Well…’ began Colton, then shook his head. ‘I’m sure I don’t know.’
After the ramekins were removed, they all took an unenthusiastic shot at the asparagus and anchovy mousse. Conversation was definitely slowing. Fintan was blinking in disbelief.