“Oh my,” said Bettie’s new friend. “That is surprising, isnae it?”
“Here,” Lily said, holding out the cup before Bettie could say anything else to embarrass her. “Drink your tea.”
Bettie took it. “Ah, that warms the hands up nicely.”
“And I got you some cake as well,” Lily said. “Although with that last comment, I’m not sure you deserve it.”
Bettie winked at her new friend. “Oh dear. I think I’m in trouble. She’ll have me doing extra exercises for this, you mark my words.”
Lily sat down on the bench next to the newcomer. “You’ll have to excuse her,” she said, shooting Bettie a look. “She’s yet to learn the meaning of the term ‘over sharing’.” Putting her cup and the paper bag down on the bench beside her, she held out her hand to Bettie’s new friend. “I’m Lily. Pleased to meet you.”
The old woman reached out and took Lily’s hand, shaking it firmly. She had a remarkably strong grip for someone of her age. Lily guessed her to be older than Bettie—in her eighties, at least, if the wrinkles around her eyes were anything to go by. Yet she seemed vigorous for all that, with a mischievous twinkle in herdark eyes and a lustrous sheen to the gray hair she had pulled back into a bun.
“A pleasure to meet ye, my dear,” she said in a broad Scottish accent. “I’m Irene. Irene MacAskill.”
“Would you like my cup of tea, Irene?” Lily said politely. “And maybe a bit of cake? I can always go and get myself another.”
Irene cocked her head and regarded Lily shrewdly. Her eyes were deep and dark, with hardly any iris around the pupil at all.
“That is mightily kind of ye, my dear,” she said, patting Lily’s hand. “But I’m more of a whisky drinker myself. And I’ll pass on the cake too if ye dinna mind.” She patted her more-than-ample waistline. “I’m watching my figure.” The twinkle in her eye suggested she was teasing.
“What have you been talking about?” Lily asked the two women.
Bettie answered around a mouthful of carrot cake. “Irene was just telling me about her adventures. She’s been all over the Highlands and some of the places I haven’t even heard of.”
“Is that where you’re from?” Lily asked. The Highlands were a long way north of here.
Irene waved her hand airily. “I’m from everywhere and nowhere, my dear. I think I might have trodden every inch of this fair land of ours.”
“Sounds like you’ve led an interesting life.”
Irene MacAskill sighed and there was something wistful in the sound. “Aye,” she said softly. “Ye could say that.” Then she brightened. “And it’s been made all the more interesting for meeting ye, my dear.”
“That’s kind of you to say, Irene, but I’m really not very interesting. I’m nothing special.”
Irene’s eyebrows shot up. “Nothing special? Why on earth would ye say such a thing?” Her dark gaze fixed on Lily, seeming to pin her to the spot.
Lily shifted uncomfortably. “Um, are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink? Tell you what, I’ll just go and get you a cup of tea.”
She made to rise, but Irene’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist before she could move. “I’m fine, lass,” Irene said. “I dinna need a cup of tea. What I need is to talk to ye. After all, that’s why I came here.”
“To...to talk to me?”
Irene MacAskill was watching her with a look that seemed to pierce her right down to the bone. There was something about that gaze that made Lily want to run away and also spill all her secrets at the same time. It was deep and knowing, as though it had seen and experienced the whole range of human experience, from the light to the dark and back again.
“Ye canna run forever, my girl,” Irene said softly.
“Run? What do you mean?” Lily said with a shaky laugh. “I’m not running from anything.”
Liar,a voice said in her head. Of course you are.
“Are ye not? If that is so, then why do ye fill yer life with duty? With helping others? With putting everything and everyone before yerself?”
“Because it’s my job! Listen Irene, it was nice to meet you, but I really think I should be getting Bettie home—”
“Ye canna run forever,” Irene repeated. “Eventually, ye will run out of road. When that happens, ye will have to turn around and face the thing ye canna face. Only then can ye find the path ye were meant to tread.”
Lily did not like the turn this conversation was taking. It skirted too close to things she did not want to talk about. But despite herself, she felt something stirring at Irene’s words, something that she fought desperately to control. It rose upinside her despite her best efforts—that cold, dark feeling of guilt and despair that she spent every day trying so desperately to smother.
