But the simplicity of the idea and the flush of enthusiasm and adrenalin it brought on within her suddenly waned at the thought of Rich and the life she’d run away from. The whole mess was still back home in Warwickshire waiting for her.
She flicked the last drops of coffee from the cup and screwed it back onto the Thermos. ‘I’m supposed to be leaving soon… so what would be the point? I reallyshouldbe getting back tomorrow if I can. There’s so much to do at home. I’ve got to move out of my own house, you see, as well as working up the courage and the energy I’ll need to sort things out with Rich. And there’s Angela and Vic’s wedding plans to put into action, and I’d love a cuddle from little Clara…’ This thought alone cheered her. ‘Yeah, I’m going home soon and, honestly, I hardly know Atholl Fergusson, right? And I don’t want to make a fool of myself with him if he isn’t interested in me, and anyway, I am still technically married to Rich.’ She worried her bottom lip and readjusted her sunglasses. ‘Where’s Angela when I need her? She’d tell me to chill out and enjoy my holiday. Put yourself first, she’d say, and don’t get all worked up over nothing.’
She nodded to herself sagely. ‘OK. Today’s for me. This holiday’s for me. Calm down, Bea.’
She reached into the bag she’d carried all the way from Mr Shirlaw’s general stores since she’d called in for midge repellent and sun lotion this morning. There had been a rack of second hand books by the door and two bright, inviting covers had stood out to her.
One was a slim romance novel, and for fifty pence it had become hers. Mr Shirlaw had called out to his wife back in the stock room that she’d never guess what, he’d sold it after all these years. She’d come out to see who its new owner was and they’d chatted about the weather and her walking route and they’d tried to wheedle some gossip about Kitty and Gene, and it had felt easy and friendly – like she was one of the locals and not some fly-by-night who couldn’t stop prevaricating about whether she even wanted to stick around for the full duration of her holiday in Port Willow. But her mind was made up now. Yes, she’d stay a little longer and try to relax and enjoy the new lightness in her chest and in her mind where there had been nothing but cloudy heaviness for so long.
She fingered the book’s spine and its dog-eared pages before finding she could think of nothing she’d rather do than sit still and devour the whole thing, and so that was what she did.
The story was about young love and there was no marriage or baby talk and nothing really bad happened so nothing felt too close to home for comfort. It was like a lovely, absorbing dream, light as air.
And she sat there for hours, occasionally stopping to pour water into her cupped hands for Echo to drink, and got sunburn on her nose and midges in her hair in spite of the citronella oil and the factor thirty, and it was wonderful.
As she walked back to the inn that evening with the sky turning a cool pink before her as the sun sank, she told Echo, who trotted along happily beside her, that she could do this.
‘I can be on my own. It’s not so bad after all. See, Echo, it’s easy!’
As soon as they reached the waterfront Echo caught the smell of fish and chips and ran off, leaving Beatrice to amble slowly back to the inn, swinging the picnic leftovers, litter and her new books in their bags, letting them bump against her calves. She was smiling to herself, her shoulders loose and her body at ease. Yes, she thought, I can do this.
The note she found taped to her door after she climbed the stairs ready for a long bath and a longer sleep, the absolute cherry on top of her perfect summer’s day, confirmed for her that she had new friends and that they wanted her to stay and be happy. She clasped the note in her hands as she let the door shut behind her, grinning as she re-read it.
The Harvest Home ceilidh planning committee convenes tomorrow at ten a.m. sharp in the bar room. We’ll be needing our chief organiser there, so dinnae miss it! Atholl asked for you specially (wink wink!)
Night night, Kitty
X
Chapter Eighteen
Best Laid Plans
‘Somebodymade quite an impression at Skye, I see.’
Beatrice was learning that Kitty whispering was as loud as anyone else talking normally but since they were alone in the bar room she didn’t mind.
‘Oh no, with Atholl’s mum, you mean? I’m mortified I ran off like that, she must be wonder—’
‘Not Mrs Fergusson, no. Atholl himself! He was loiterin’ round the inn yesterday like a lost thing. I saw him casting an eye along the high street umpteen times watchin’ for you coming back.’
‘He was probably worried about Echo. He followed me on my walk…What? Why are you waggling your eyebrows at me?’
‘You’re no’ the only one that can matchmake, you know.’
‘Oh Kitty, no! Stop grinning like that. No, don’t do anything.’ No amount of hand waving and panic was going to stop whatever Kitty was planning, she could tell. ‘Please just leave it…’
‘All set?’ Atholl’s voice was bright and cheerful from the doorway. Both women turned to watch him come in like schoolgirls caught talking about a teacher.
Beatrice swallowed, shame-faced, before it struck her that Atholl wasn’t in his usual checked Barbour shirts and cords, instead he wore a navy and white thinly striped top with a widely slashed neckline that showed a tantalising glimpse of pale collar bone. The cotton stretched perfectly over his biceps and shoulders reminding Beatrice with a jolt of how good it had felt to be held against them, so warm and hard and broad, that afternoon on Skye.
Kitty was distinctly giggling. There was nothing Beatrice could do but sit straight in her chair and inspect her hands.
‘Everything all right?’ he asked warily as he pulled up the chair next to Kitty.
‘Actually, Atholl, I’m keeping that seat for your brother,’ Kitty said solemnly.
‘Oh, right-o.’ Atholl shifted his long body into the chair directly across the small bar table from Beatrice.
