‘So, where are you staying on Jura, then?’ asks the shop owner as they wheel the bikes outside. ‘The hotel in Craighouse? Molly’s B&B?’
Tilly and Rachel glance at each other again. ‘We’re not quite sure yet,’ says Rachel. ‘We’re wild camping. We have a few pitch sites in mind, but the idea is to be spontaneous!’
The man clears his throat. ‘Done that before, have you, eh, wild camping?’
‘Um, no …’ Tilly replies.
‘We’ve got a book, though!’ says Rachel cheerily. A book which is currently digging into Tilly’s shoulder blades alongside her copy of1984– because, of course, she failed to follow Joe’s advice.
‘Right … well, I’m sure you’ll be fine … Just make sure you contact the landowners first if you’re planning on camping on the hills or mountains.’
‘Why? We thought wild camping was legal in Scotland?’
It was one of the things that drew Tilly north despite the distance. The book suggested other places closer to home but recommended discretion, and Tilly didn’t fancy being woken in the middle of the night by an angry farmer.
‘It is. But it’s deer stalking season. Humans look uncannily like deer from afar. It’s an easy mistake to make. You could hardly blame a hunter if they made a wrong shot.’
Rachel’s eyebrows shoot up and she glances warily at Tilly.
‘Maybe we’ll just steer clear of the mountains.’
‘Maybe best.’
The shop owner watches them ride away, Rachel setting off first and pedalling slowly to wait for Tilly to catch up. She pushes tentatively off but immediately the weight of the bike makes her wobble, swerving towards a lamp post. At the last minute she manages to steady herself and steer out of the way. A few moments later she has caught up with Rachel, the two of them cycling side by side. The brisk wind blows against her face.
‘Good luck!’ calls the bike shop owner behind them.
Tilly can’t bring herself to look back, fearing his expression might not inspire the confidence she knows she needs to muster if she’s going to make it through the next two days.
Within minutes of arriving on Jura they encounter a herd of red deer grazing on the side of the road. Wild moorland stretches out in one direction and on the other is the sea, the coastline rocky in places and sandy in others. They pass the occasional fishing boat, the odd Land Rover and a lot of deer.The island’s one village is home to a hotel, two distilleries and a community shop, and as they cycle through, it looks like the kind of place you’d expect to see on the front of a shortbread tin. They pause at the hotel for a bowl of chips in the garden overlooking the water, and to make use of the facilities, before continuing north to the wilder part of the island.
As Tilly steps back into the garden from the bathroom she spots Rachel scribbling in a small notebook.
‘Whose memoir are you working on now?’ she asks as she sits opposite on the picnic bench.
Rachel closes the book. ‘I’ve actually started writing a novel.’
‘Oh wow!’
‘It’s not really anything yet,’ Rachel replies quickly, fiddling with her pen and biting down on her bottom lip. ‘It might not go anywhere but …’ Her face breaks into an unfiltered smile. ‘I’m having fun. And you inspired me, actually. Made me think that maybe Icouldwrite something of my own.’
‘I think that’s amazing, Rachel! It’s about time people got to hearyourvoice.’
Rachel’s eyes flick up to Tilly’s.
‘It’s still terrifying to think of putting my own name to something.’
‘I can imagine that does feel scary. But I reckon you’ve been hiding for long enough. When you have something that you’re happy to share, I’d love to read it.’
‘Thanks, Tilly. That means so much, especially coming from you.’
Tilly can understand more than most the desire to hide. It’s what she had been doing ever since Joe died, up until she received a phone call from her local bookshop that changed everything. Looking out at the view in front of them, ithits Tilly that at the start of the year she never for a second imagined she would end up here.
‘Shall we keep moving?’
For the rest of the day’s ride the beauty is tempered by the ache in Tilly’s thighs and the stinging of her palms from gripping the handlebars so tightly, especially now the smooth tarmac road has become a rough dirt track, littered with rocks and dips. Dust flies up as they clatter along, her ears ringing from the vibration.
‘I think we’re nearly there! Look!’
