Page 35 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle (Coorie Castle Crafts #2)

Mack had hoped Vinnie would approve, and the old man’s smile confirmed it. You couldn’t beat a piece and a mug of tea on the water. And he’d also brought a packet of oaty nibble biscuits for a bit of sweetness after the salt of the bacon.

Bringing the boat closer to the shore, he dropped the anchor.

‘This is a braw breakfast,’ Vinnie enthused as he bit into his sandwich. ‘It’s even got a dollop of brown sauce!’

‘I haven’t forgotten you like sauce in your bacon butties. I’ve put sugar in the tea as well.’

‘You’re a good wee lad.’

Silence ensued as they ate their breakfast, and Vinnie chewed vigorously, polishing his off in a matter of minutes. When he settled back with a mug of tea in one hand and a biscuit in the other, he said, ‘Do you mind me asking you a personal question?’

‘It depends on what it is. You can ask all you like, but I mightn’t give you an answer.’

‘Fair enough. I was wondering why you’ve never settled down.’

Mack sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘Not you as well. You’re as bad as my mum. Carter’s always on my case, too.’

‘What do you tell them?’

‘That I’m not ready.’

‘Will you ever be?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It took me a while. I was thirty-six when I met my Sandra. You probably haven’t met the right woman yet.’

‘I thought I had, once. But it was a long time ago. I was barely twenty. She broke my heart when she moved away.’

Vinnie shot him a sharp look and Mack hastened to add, ‘Not Freya. Her friend Alice. We got together after Freya went to London. I think she was lonely. And I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’ He uttered an embarrassed laugh.

‘It’s mended now, though? According to Jean, you’ve got a new girl every other week.’

Actually, he hadn’t. Not recently. ‘Yeah, I guess it’s mended.’

‘Then I’ll say it again: you haven’t met the right one yet.’

Actually, Mack feared he had, but she wasn’t here to stay.

Vinnie continued, ‘I never regretted settling down, not even after Sandra passed away and all the hurt that came with it. And without her, I wouldn’t have Freya.

But if we’d never had children, I wouldn’t have any regrets.

She was the love of my life and I miss her every single day.

She would have been so proud of our girl.

I wish she was here to see it. New York, eh?

Who’d have thought it?’ Then he chuckled.

‘ Sandra thought it – she always said Freya would go far.’

Mack remained silent because he was imagining what his life would be like with Freya no longer in it – and he didn’t like the look of it one bit. Soon she would be on the other side of the world, and he really didn’t want her to go.

When she left, she would be taking a piece of him with her.

Mackenzie Burns had finally found the right woman, but he’d lost his heart in the process.

Freya had always loved Portree, with its quaint charm and its pastel painted houses, and it was also the nearest town with any decent clothes shops.

It didn’t have many, but she was hopeful she could find something to wear to dinner at the castle.

And shoes. She needed shoes. Flat ones. Despite having no intention of walking anywhere afterwards, she wasn’t taking the chance.

Negotiating the one-way system, she drove along Wentworth Street, searching for a place to pull over, and was pleased when she spied a space up ahead.

‘Will you get the van in there?’ her dad asked doubtfully, peering into the passenger side-mirror as she pulled alongside the space.

‘I mightn’t be the best driver in the world, but I’m ace at parallel parking,’ she said, hauling on the wheel.

‘You’d be surprised at the places I can get into with this.

’ A small adjustment to tuck the van as close as possible to the kerb, and it was done.

‘I’ll walk you to the cafe and have a quick coffee with you first,’ she told him.

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own for an hour? ’

She helped him out of the van, and when he was upright with his walking stick firmly planted on the pavement, he gave her the side-eye. Freya took the hint and stopped fussing. Of course he would be all right. He’d read his newspaper, people-watch and drink tea.

It took them a while to make it to the cafe, their progress slow, her father understandably nervous with so many people around.

She could tell he was worried about being jostled and was scared he might lose his balance, but she had a firm grip on his arm and acted as a buffer between him and the other pedestrians.

When they finally got there, the cafe was full and there didn’t appear to be any free tables.

Freya was beginning to worry, because he couldn’t stand for long to wait for one to become available, when she spied a middle-aged woman with two young children getting ready to leave.

Telling him to wait by the door, she hurried over to nab it, but as she reached it, she happened to glance over her shoulder and saw him trying to shuffle between two tables.

His face was set in its customary grim and determined expression.

‘Stay there, Dad,’ she called, then she turned back to the woman and said, ‘Do you mind if…’ The rest of the sentence died on her lips. ‘Mrs Henderson?’

‘Do I know you?’

‘I’m Freya Sinclair, Sandra and Vinnie’s daughter. Alice and I used to be friends.’

‘ Freya? Well, I never! I should have realised – you’re the spit of your mother.’

Was she? Freya didn’t think so. Her mother had been beautiful.

Mrs Henderson continued, ‘How lovely to see you after all these years. And is that your father? I can’t see too well without my glasses.’

‘It is. Do you mind hanging on to the table for a minute while I go rescue him?’ He had once again ignored her and was carrying on trying to forge an unsteady path towards her.

She hurried over to him. ‘Why didn’t you wait by the door?’ she demanded, taking his arm.

He shook her off. ‘I can manage. Isn’t that Pearl Henderson?’

Mrs Henderson was busy gathering up her shopping, as she minded the table for them.

‘Pearl, is that you?’ he asked when he reached her. He was a little pale and his jaw was tense, but there was a smile on his face. Freya pulled out a chair for him and he lowered himself awkwardly into it, breathing hard.

‘You look like you’ve been in the wars.’ Mrs Henderson tilted her head in concern.

‘I broke my hip a month ago, but I’m on the mend.’

‘Should you be out?’ she asked.

‘They tell you to keep moving.’

Freya said, ‘He thinks he should be better by now.’ She patted him on the shoulder. Hopefully, a sit-down and a cup of tea would put him right.

‘Are these your grandchildren?’ he asked.

Mrs Henderson’s face glowed with pride. ‘They are. Rosie is six and Reba is eight.’

‘Do you want a sweet?’ the younger of the two children asked. She was holding out a packet of Haribo.

‘No, thank you, but it’s nice of you to offer.’ He said to Mrs Henderson, ‘Aren’t they bonnie!’

‘They’re a pair of little terrors,’ she said, but Freya could tell that the woman didn’t mean it. ‘How about you, Freya, are you married? Got any children? The last time I saw you was at—’ She stopped and bit her lip.

‘At Mum’s funeral,’ Freya finished for her.

An image of that awful day flashed into her mind and tears pricked at the back of her eyes.

She had been coping so well up to now, living back in her childhood home surrounded by so many reminders of her mother, that this abrupt unfurling of the coiled grief she would always carry with her, but usually managed to corral, was an unwelcome surprise.

Moments like these, caught off guard by emotions she had little control over, was the reason she had always been so reluctant to return to the island, and the reason she never stayed long.

In London, she could bury the grief deep and ignore it for the most part.

Here, she was ambushed by it when she least expected it.

She forced a smile to her lips. ‘No, I’m not married and I don’t have children.’

‘She’s got a career,’ her dad said grandly. ‘She’s a professor in London. Just got a promotion, she has.’

‘Ooh, how wonderful. Sandra would have been so proud.’

Vinnie nodded. ‘She would. She always said Freya would make a name for herself. She works in the top art college in the world, and she’s been offered a job in New York.’

‘Not quite, Dad.’

‘It’s in the top five, then. And she had an exhibition of her own work a few weeks ago.’

Pearl turned her gaze on her. ‘An exhibition? What of?’

‘Ceramics. That’s what I lecture in.’

‘Och, now I remember! You and Alice used to make wee clay pots from the mud in the burn when you were bairns. So, you made a career out of it, did you? As I said, your mum would have been proud. New York, eh?’

Freya asked, ‘How is Alice? We lost touch when I went to university.’ The truth was, Freya hadn’t been able to face her friend’s sympathy and pity.

‘Doing well. She still lives in Aberdeen and is married to a nice chappie who’s got his own plumbing business.

These two are hers. We’re here for a wee visit for a few days.

I’ll tell her you were asking after her.

Anyway, I must get off. It was nice seeing you again, Vinnie.

You too, Freya. Come on, girls, your mother will be wondering where we’ve got to. ’

Pearl gathered her grandchildren, ushering them ahead of her, and when she reached the door, she looked back and waved.

Vinnie waved back thoughtfully. ‘I haven’t seen her for years. It’s strange to think your mum would have been her age now. But Pearl’s right, she’d have been cock-a-hoop about your new job. And so am I. I know I keep saying it, but it’s true. I wish she could have seen that exhibition of yours.’

So did Freya. Her mum would have loved how the colours, textures and shapes of her homeland had such an influence on her work.

Without Skye, Freya wouldn’t be the potter she was now, and although she’d run away from the island and from the memories that even now were so hard to bear, Freya understood that wherever she went in the world, Skye would always be in her heart.