Page 21 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle (Coorie Castle Crafts #2)

Freya hesitated. She did, although she wanted to keep an eye on him.

At the same time, she knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate if he had The Archers on full blast. She could work in the kitchen, she supposed, then she’d be on hand if he needed anything.

But to be honest, she wasn’t in the right frame of mind for designing, although hopefully things would settle down in a day or two, when her dad became more used to having her around.

He pushed his bowl away. ‘Thanks, lassie, it was tasty.’

‘Glad you enjoyed it. Go through to the sitting room and I’ll bring you a cup of tea and a biscuit.’

‘What kind of biscuit?’ His tone was suspicious.

‘I bought one of those tins with an assortment, so you can take your pick.’

‘I don’t like my tea too strong,’ he reminded her, getting to his feet with considerable difficulty.

Freya wanted to help, but knew he had to do it on his own. It was hard, though, and she was forced to look away until he was upright and holding on to the walker.

With a heavy heart, she watched him shuffle out of the room. How had he got to look so old? She knew it was because of his hip, and only temporary, but it was a distressing glimpse into the future. One day he would be old for real, and the thought made her feel incredibly sad.

Freya glanced up from her drawing pad as the sound of laughter

filtered into the kitchen from the sitting room. A visit from Rhona was

just what her dad had needed to cheer him up. His neighbour had been

chatting with him for nearly an hour, filling him in on the goings-on in

the village, while Freya had made herself scarce after supplying the

initial cups of tea and plate of biscuits.

Rhona was a better tonic for Dad than an hour’s nap, although Freya suspected the fatigue would catch up with him soon.

Never mind, he could have a snooze in the chair before tea, then after they’d eaten, they could settle down to watch some TV before bed, though she assumed it would be an early night for both of them.

‘More tea, anyone?’ she asked, popping her head around the door.

Rhona heaved herself to her feet, the sagging armchair briefly holding her captive. ‘Not for me, hen, I’d best be away. I only popped in to see how your dad was and to thank him for the flowers, and he’s kept me gabbing.’

‘I’ll see you out,’ Freya said, as the elderly woman headed for the small hallway.

‘I’ll pop in again, Vinnie,’ Rhona promised.

‘See that you do,’ Vinnie called. ‘And thank you, lassie, I don’t know what would have become of me if you hadn’t heard me caterwauling.’

At the door, Rhona paused. ‘He’s looking better than the last time I saw him, and he’ll look better again with you to take care of him.

He’s been letting himself go a bit, has Vinnie.

I said the same to Jean the other day.’ She clutched Freya’s arm.

‘You be sure to take good care of your dad – he’s the only one you’ve got. ’

‘I will,’ Freya replied.

After Rhona had left, guilt nibbled at her.

She really should have visited him more often.

But she’d always found it so difficult being back on Skye, and especially being in this house.

It echoed with memories of her mother and she’d found it easier to stay away.

Her poor father had borne the brunt of her selfishness.

Ironically, now that she’d been forced to spend more time here than she’d done since her mother’s funeral, the pain was lessening.

The ache in her heart would always be there, but it no longer tore at her with sharp claws whenever she caught sight of the dresser that her mother had loved so much, or the rose bush she’d planted in the garden, or the teapot she’d bought in the church jumble sale and had treasured because it was rumoured to have come from the castle.

Or the hundreds of other things that brought memories of her mother welling to the surface.

Freya peeped into the sitting room, closing the door softly when she saw that her dad’s eyes were closed. A little sleep would do him the world of good.

Returning to the kitchen table, and her pad and paints, Freya resumed her seat.

However, she didn’t pick up the brush she’d been using.

Instead, she stared into space, thinking of all those times when she could have visited him but had been too busy.

It wasn’t a lie – she had been busy. Life had been hectic and would be even more hectic if she moved to the States, but he wasn’t getting any younger, as his fall had brought sharply home to her.

Never had Freya felt so torn. She knew what her dad would say – he’d tell her to go, to follow her dreams, because if she didn’t, she’d always regret it.

A thought occurred to her. A direct flight from New York to Edinburgh took about seven hours and from there she could either get an island hopper flight, or rent a car to get to Skye. That wasn’t long, considering the distance. Twelve hours door-to-door? Maybe less.

The more Freya thought about it, the more doable visiting Dad from New York became.

She’d have to make sure she made the effort and didn’t slip back into her old ways of letting life get the better of her, but she’d have to do the same if she stayed in London because she was determined to keep a closer eye on him.

Feeling somewhat nearer to making a decision, Freya returned to her task with renewed enthusiasm.

Despite the upheaval of the day, she’d had a productive hour or so, as the germ of a whole new range had begun to take root.

When the materials she’d ordered arrived, she would definitely take Mack up on his kind offer of using his byre.

‘He’s home, then,’ Jean announced, as Mack walked into his mum’s kitchen.

‘Who is?’

‘Vinnie.’

‘Oh, good. How is he?’

‘Rhona says he’s looking a bit frail, but that’s only to be expected, considering what he’s been through.’

‘How’s Freya?’

His mum sent him a sharp look. ‘All right, I think.’

‘Should I call in and see if he needs anything?’

‘You could. I expect he’ll appreciate that. We can both go, if you like. I made a sponge cake earlier – I could take him a couple of slices.’

‘Good idea.’

‘What’s Freya like now? I haven’t set eyes on her since she was a girl. From what I can recall, she was a bonnie little thing: red hair and freckles.’

Yeah, she still is bonnie , he thought. Very bonnie. He said, ‘She’s nice.’

‘Just nice? I heard you took her out on the boat and made her tea after. And how was dinner at the castle?’

Mack realised that he hadn’t spoken to his mother for several days, but it came as no surprise to discover she already knew what he’d been up to. ‘Don’t read too much into it. Mhairi was behind both the boat trip and dinner.’

‘At the castle, aye, but I don’t think she twisted your arm about tea at your place.’

‘I felt sorry for her, what with her dad being in hospital.’

‘Did you now? Make yourself useful and lay the table.’

Mack grinned. His mum said the same thing to him every time, as though he’d forget that laying the table was his job.

‘It’s about time you found a decent woman and settled down,’ she said.

‘What’s for tea?’

His mother huffed. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘I heard. I’m ignoring you.’

Jean opened the oven and peered inside as a cloud of steam billowed out.

‘Mum, I asked you, what are we having for tea?’

‘I heard. I’m ignoring you.’ She threw his words back at him with an arch of her eyebrows.

Mack tutted. ‘The difference is, I’ll know in a couple of minutes what we’re having.’

‘Then you don’t need me to tell you,’ she shot back.

Damn, his mother could be trying at times.

Mack relented. ‘Yes, I like Freya; no, I didn’t have to cook her tea; no, it wasn’t because I felt sorry for her.

But…’ He met his mother’s eye. ‘She’s not for me.

For one thing, she’s got a boyfriend, and for another, she’s been offered a job in America.

And for a third, I’m not the settling-down type. I like my own company too much.’

‘Ah, now, that’s because you haven’t spent time in the right company.’

‘I’m spending time with you, aren’t I?’

She flapped a tea towel at him. ‘Don’t be cheeky.’

‘I wasn’t,’ he protested, watching her take a baking tray containing two pieces of golden battered fish out of the oven. ‘Ooh, a fish supper. Nice.’ His mouth watered. ‘What I meant was, I haven’t found anyone to compare to my mum.’

The look she sent him was pure disgust. ‘The wee tourist lassies might fall for that tripe, but I don’t. Butter some bread.’

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘And mind your manners.’

‘Yes, Mum.’

Another glare.

Mack blew her a kiss, and she rolled her eyes.

If he was hoping that would be the end of it, he was mistaken. Throughout the meal, she quizzed him – thankfully not all about Freya.

When they’d finally finished eating and the remains of their meal had been cleared away, Mack was relieved. ‘Come on, let’s go satisfy your curiosity,’ he said, and his mother’s eyes lit up.

Freya seemed pleased to see them, if somewhat surprised. ‘Haven’t you got anything more exciting to do on a Friday evening?’ she asked Mack, after inviting them in.

Jean said, ‘He’s away to the pub later. I’ll sit with your dad if you want to go along.’

Freya looked taken aback, but before she could say anything, Vinnie called from the sitting room, ‘I don’t need a bloody babysitter.’

Silently, Freya pursed her lips with a slight shake of her head, and Mack wondered whether the old gent had been giving her a hard time. She looked tired, and he guessed that today hadn’t been easy for either of them, even though she was no doubt relieved to have her dad home.

Jean sailed up to his chair. ‘Look at you, you daft sod. Fancy breaking your hip.’

‘Yeah, fancy,’ Vinnie growled.

‘I’ve brought cake, so be nice,’ she warned.

‘Och, now you’re talking.’ Vinnie smiled stiffly at her. ‘Put the kettle on, Freya.’

Mack asked, ‘Need a hand?’ as he followed her into the kitchen.

‘What I need is a drill. You don’t happen to have one, do you?’

‘I do. What do you want to drill?’

‘Handrails.’

‘I’ll put them up for you in the morning.’

‘I can put them up myself. I just need a drill, that’s all.’

‘I never said you couldn’t, but I’m very particular who I lend my tools to.’ He wasn’t, but he wanted to help and guessed this might be the only way she’d let him. He was coming to realise that Freya Sinclair was stubborn, proud and independent, just like her dad.

‘I won’t break it,’ she protested. ‘I know how to use a drill.’

‘Nevertheless…’

‘Fine.’ She sighed. ‘If you insist on putting them up, you can. I’m not going to argue.’

‘I’ll take one of the armchairs upstairs at the same time,’ he offered. ‘It’s a bit crowded in there.’

‘It’s a bit crowded in here ,’ he thought he heard her mutter.

‘Pardon?’ he said.

‘Nothing. Thank you, that would be helpful.’

He smiled. ‘Haven’t we been here before?’

‘I suppose we have.’

‘No whisky this time, please.’

‘Don’t you like whisky?’ Her eyes widened, as though it was unheard of for a Scot not to like whisky.

‘Of course I do. But a simple “thank you” is enough. If you keep buying folk bottles of the good stuff every time they lend a hand, the corner shop will run out.’

He wasn’t offering to help because he wanted payment. He was doing it because that was the neighbourly thing to do.

Mack ignored the naggy voice in his head taunting him that the real reason was because it would give him an excuse to see her again.