‘Let’s talk some more over tea and cake,’ said Sunni. ‘Come through.’
Alicia followed her friend to the large white kitchen, where sun streamed in the ceiling-to-floor windows and a lemon cake sat in a glass dome on the counter. As Sunni was placing tea bags into two cups, Alicia threw out a question. ‘Do you think I need therapy?’ She wanted to see Sunni’s instinctive response. Her friend wouldn’t lie to her, but she might want to ease her gently into the idea that she should talk to someone. And with Ada having given her the therapist’s card, the idea of professional intervention was niggling at Alicia.
‘Talking to someone can’t be a bad thing, can it?’ Sunni’s response was delivered casually, as if the questionwas whether drinking caffeine in the afternoon was ill-advised or not.
‘I guess.’ Alicia had hoped the answer would be no. The thought of talking to anyone besides Sunni about Chad made her stomach recoil.
‘You’re not necessarily manifesting signs of severe trauma,’ said Sunni, ‘but you’ve been badly hurt and need to heal. You can go to Scotland and things will blow over, but what are you doing to tend to your wounds?’
‘That’s what the trip is about,’ Alicia explained. ‘I’ll walk, I’ll paint, I’ll eat and eat and eat. Well, not the last bit as I don’t want to write off my career entirely. Although according to Chad, I was never up to much as an actress anyway.’
‘Oh, honey, you don’t believe that, do you?’
She could neither confirm nor deny this. Deep down, she did believe Chad’s words, but she didn’t want to admit that.
‘I’m better at painting,’ she said. ‘Acting is the rest of the family’s thing. I only got back into it because Chad persuaded me.’
Sunni tilted her head and scrutinised her friend, wearing an expression that conveyed true attentiveness without any hint of judgement.
‘Uh-oh.’ Alicia shifted on her kitchen stool. ‘Stop watching me with that therapist face. You’re unnerving me.’
‘What? It’s my resting face.’ Sunni poured the tea and pushed a cup across the counter. ‘Seriously though, you have worth and wonder and so much to give. I am talking as your friend here, not as a therapist. I hate that Chad has knocked even an iota of that out of you.’
‘He hasn’t.’ Alicia sipped her tea and hoped the lie wasn’t obvious.
‘Listen.’ Sunni sliced into the luscious lemon cake. ‘Take your vacation. You deserve it. But will you do something for me?’ She paused, put the knife down and left the kitchen, returning thirty seconds later holding out a book as if presenting a precious elixir. ‘You might not want to be seen reading this, but you can take the dust jacket off. Or buy the eBook.’
Alicia took the book and read the title:Showing Shame the Door: How to say farewell to toxic self-reproach. A tightness gripped her core and her throat locked. Her gaze flew from the front cover to Sunni, then back to the cover. It was as if Sunni had picked out the perfect book to help with her inner struggles. As she flipped the book over and stared at the blurb, her eyes pooled with tears.
‘You okay?’
Alicia simply nodded and slid the book into her purse. How did Sunni know exactly what she needed, from a slice of cake to a book that could help her overcome her biggest insecurities? A wave of gratitude washed over her for having such a good friend in her life.
‘Thank you.’ She returned to her tea. ‘The book is coming to Scotland too.’
Chapter 3
Jamie
The following morning, Jamie was throwing jeans and jumpers and jackets into a holdall. Normally he was more circumspect with packing, but today, escape took priority. Plus, a whisky hangover was niggling at the edge of his brain. Last night he’d tried the “drink a lot of Scotch and see if it fixes things” solution. It hadn’t, and Jamie was still wondering where he’d gone wrong as a lover, and was no further forward in coming up with an innovative way to boost sales to convince his father the company was safe in his hands. In fact, with each dram, his mind became cloudier and he couldn’t think straight to do anything productive.
What he had done, though, was text his dad and tell him that he was taking a week away from the office to head to Ben Corrin Hydro, a remote hotel in the mountains of the Highlands. There was no surfing at the hydro but there were hills and walking, and an indoor pool. And the lodge he’d booked commanded views across the mountains – perfect for sitting and thinking. Things would be clearer in the mountains. They always were. His dad would be finewith this because since starting at Butler’s Distilleries Limited ten years ago, Jamie had barely taken a break, choosing instead to give his all to the family company. He was immensely proud of BDL and couldn’t let its standing slide in the modern market.
The drive to the hotel was a meandering one along winding roads with snow-capped peaks rising up boldly on either side, deep blue lochs pooling below, and a few stops for ambling cows, deer and sheep who possessed no sense of urgency. It was charming and breathtaking in equal measure. Jamie never failed to be captivated by the scenery and even though it was freezing outside, he drove with the window down to let cool wind blow across his face, sometimes saying hello as he passed an animal or two. Due to the narrow curving roads, the journey always took far longer than the mile count suggested, with the speedometer rarely hovering above forty and countless stops to let other drivers pass, but at 11.00 a.m., Jamie finally arrived at the hotel for an early check in. Every moment of the drive was enjoyable, but there was no match for breathing in the pristine mountain air.
Ben Corrin Hydro was a spectacular expansive building of the Scots Baronial style dating back to the mid-1800s with ornate detailing on the façade and corner turrets. As a boy, Jamie had stayed in the main building many times on family holidays, however on this visit he would be sleeping in a new, state-of-the-art Norwegian cedarwood lodge nestled into the hillside behind the main building. The moment the porter opened the door of the dwelling, the aroma of cedarwood traced with woodsmoke transported Jamie across seas and fjords to ahillside cabin in Norway. How strange, when he was in Scotland. Stepping forward, the plush comfort of the lounge revealed itself with its generous velvet couch and centrepiece log fire. When the porter had left, Jamie wandered into the luxurious bathroom and nodded as if greeting the deep bath and monsoon shower. The spaciousness of the super-king-sized bedroom tempted him to lie down and nap, but his brain was tingling with anticipation at the unwinding he would do in this place. It was like he would need to wind down before he could wind down. And he hadn’t even seen the private sauna yet.
The sauna was sheltered under the trees behind the lodge and afforded views of the snow-capped mountains. Was it wrong to think that this would be excellent for sweating out the whisky from the previous evening? No, of course not. Jamie had paid to be here. He could drink as much whisky as he wanted. As he left the sauna, he noted that there were others dotted around the hillside, each belonging to one of the lodges. The plaque on the nearest one said Thistle Lodge, linked to the cabin along the path from his own.
Jamie would sauna later. His plan was to change out of his dark jeans, shirt, waistcoat and brogue boots into something more comfortable, stretch his legs around the area and keep inhaling that luxurious mountain air. Then, having worked up an appetite, he would dine in the main hotel. The online evening menu was mouthwatering: all fresh Scottish produce, including seafood, game and organic vegetables cooked by a Michelin-starred chef. It would be a refreshing change from pasta and pesto thrown together in ten minutes after work.
But when Jamie returned from checking out the sauna, he realised his mistake. He’d left the keycard sitting on thecoffee table, and the lodge door had locked behind him.God, what an idiot.All those thoughts of hiking and gourmet food had him distracted. Using a credit card in the slot, he tried, unsuccessfully, to gain entry, and checked around the side for open windows, but it was no use. The only answer was to go back to reception and ask for a replacement.
Making his way down the path to the hotel, Jamie marvelled again at the beauty of the old building. He loved the ancient history that bled into this part of his country: the long past battles and feuds between clans. There was something thrilling yet comforting knowing the turbulent history of the Highlands of Scotland yet being here with hot running water and a private sauna.
At reception there was a queue to check in. All Jamie wanted was a replacement keycard or someone to let him into his room, so, surely, if he stood to the side of the main line, they would see to him soon. Moving towards the front desk, he gazed up at the statuesque stag’s head on the wall, remembering it from his childhood. He and his siblings had named it Brad after their mum’s favourite movie star crush. When she found out, she wreaked playful revenge by threatening to set Brad on them if they were naughty. And to use up their boundless energy, their dad had sent them off on a treasure hunt around the hotel to find out if Brad had any siblings. He did. One on each floor, no less. After that, if they misbehaved, they were sent to run to Britney, Shania or Mariah to reflect on their behaviour. Jamie was smiling at the memory when someone to his left said, ‘Thank you, Ms Williams. The porter will take your luggage to your room.’
‘Wonderful, thank you,’ a female American voice replied.
