by Anni Taylor
I’d just let a strange man into Alban’s house. What if he’d come looking for valuables and wasn’t a teacher at all?
I sidestepped over to the table where he’d left the folder and peeked inside. At least he was telling the truth about what was inside the folder. There were indeed children’s paintings in there. I closed it again, waiting for him to return.
He seemed to be taking much longer than he should. How long did it take to swallow some medication and splash your face with water, or whatever he was doing in there? What if he’d been sick enough to faint? If he’d somehow fallen, he could be lying on the floor with a bleeding head. I guessed I should go and check.
Walking down the hall, I peered into each room, trying to find the bathroom that Rory had ventured into. I found a bathroom, but it was empty. Where on earth had he disappeared to?
I spotted his shoes at the bottom of the staircase. Okay, so he’d bypassed a bathroom and gone upstairs.
Why?
Feeling responsible for this random man that I’d allowed in, I made my way up to the first floor. It didn’t take long to find him. He was standing in a bedroom, his back to me. It was a girl’s bedroom by the look of the furnishings.
Rory was going through the drawers of a desk, pulling out a bundle of drawings.
The drawings weren’t something that a toddler could produce, so these had to be Elodie’s. And this had to be Elodie’s room. I gazed around at the furnishings. A bed with the covers turned down. Stuffed toys and plastic collectibles on the shelves. A child-size guitar in the corner. A framed birthday photo of Elodie and friends.
The school teacher studied each picture thoughtfully, tilting them to each side before replacing each one in the pile.
I began feeling protective of Elodie’s things. She wasn’t here to give permission for this intrusion, and so it was up to me to stop him.
“Mr Kavanagh?” I queried.
His back flinched, and he pivoted around. “She was very talented, wasn’t she?”
“I’m not sure you should be in here.”
“Ah, yes, I understand. I shouldn’t be. You’re right. It’s just that Elodie told me that she had a big stack of artwork at home. I always encouraged her, you know, to practice her art. She was very good. Some students are just special, you know? They’re the ones that are going to stick in your mind.”
He rubbed his forehead as if remembering that he was supposed to be feeling a little ill. “Well, thank you. It was nice to meet you. I’ll be going now.”
He gave me a smile as he exited the room, a smile that seemed not to be tethered to anything, barely there before it was gone.
Relieved I didn’t actually have to ask him to leave, I followed him out and down the stairs.
“I’ll be sure to let Mr McGregor know about the paintings,” I told him as he walked ahead of me in the hall.
He turned. “Could I ask that you not mention it to the McGregors that I had a wee look at Elodie’s paintings here? I was forgetting myself. I think the dizzy spell must have affected my judgement.”
“I—certainly.” I kicked myself as soon as I’d agreed to that. But his expression had seemed so earnest.
He gave me an appreciative nod and strode to the foyer.
Poking my head out the front door, I watched him leave.
8
ISLA
Greer returned just before the McGregors were due to arrive and we had a quick lunch together. I’d spent the morning taking a walk about the bottom floor of the house and the exterior, looking for the best aspects. I hadn’t taken any pictures. It had been a dull, heavy sort of day so far and I wanted to wait until the light and sun were at their best.
I’d changed out of my jeans and hoodie into a pantsuit and scarf about an hour ago, worried that I didn’t look professional enough. Plus, I could hear my mother’s voice at the back of my head, telling me I needed to pull my look together—something she was fond of saying. She liked very fitted clothing and hated the sloppy clothing I often wore.
I was relieved that Greer was with me right now and I didn’t have to meet the McGregors alone. I felt the same way I had as a teenager going for an interview for my first job, a nervous bubble rising in my stomach. I told myself to calm down. I already had the job. I’d won it over a list of worthy contenders and there was nothing for me to be nervous about.
The car that pulled up in the driveway was a silver, very expensive-looking Volvo. The people who emerged from the car looked just like the kind of family who would travel in such a car. Well dressed and beautiful—a tall man with dark hair pulled back in a fashionable knot and his pretty wife, thick blonde waves of hair touching her shoulders. The toddler resembled one of those children in celebrity paparazzi shots: winter edition.
Alban and Jessica McGregor turned their heads in my direction in unison. Their expressions were half-hidden behind chic sunglasses, but they seemed a little stiff or something.
Greer seemed oblivious, taking my arm and walking me down the steps, parading me to my new clients. “Welcome home. This is—”
“What’s going on?” Jessica demanded. Up close, I could see that her face was blotchy, as if she’d been crying. Her eyes seemed swollen beneath the sunglasses.
I flinched. This was worse than any introduction I could have pictured.
Alban simply stared at me, in a way that seemed both curious and scrutinising. The child gave me a shy glance while half burying herself in her mother’s long tweed skirt.
“This is Isla Wilson,” said Greer, undeterred. “The wonderful photographer from Sydney who’ll be making Braithnoch look like something out of a dream.”
“I hope I can do it justice,” I said, forcing myself to speak. “Great to meet the three of you.” I held out a hand in greeting to Jessica, hoping my voice didn’t sound as shaken as I felt inside.
Jessica’s shoulders crumpled. “I’m sorry, I—It’s been a long trip. I have a shocking headache and I need to go lie down.” Clutching the child’s hand, she hurried away.
“Seems I’ve arrived at a bad time.” Dropping my arm to my side, I glanced awkwardly from Greer to Alban.
“Please forgive my wife.” Alban shook my hand, flashing a brief smile. “She’s not her normal self at all—she’s feeling quite ill. She’ll be fine once she’s had a rest. So, you’re the photographer that Greer hired? An Australian, no less. You’ve come a long way to this little part of the world.”
“Yes, a very long way,” I said. “But Greer was very convincing that this job would be the right fit for me.”
He nodded. “Our Greer could convince Eskimos to buy ice blocks.”
“You’ll be blown away by her work,” said Greer. “I couldn’t believe my luck in getting her. I’m excited to see what she’ll produce.”
“It’s my understanding that you’ll be here a couple of weeks—is that right?” he asked me.
“A month.” Then I rushed to add, “But we can make it shorter. A week, if that suits better. And—”
“None of that,” said Greer briskly. “I’m not taking shortcuts with this portfolio. It’s taken a lot to arrange this.”
“Of course,” I told her apologetically. “I wasn’t thinking.” Somehow, in the space of a minute, this job had all gone wrong.
Greer slid an arm around my shoulders. “Oh, I just meant that you’ll need that much time to do your thing. We don’t want to go short-changing you. How about you go get some rest, now, and I’ll meet you back at the house for dinner.” She looked at Alban. “Seven ‘o’clock?”
“Seven’s fine.” His gaze flicked over me. “We’ll see you then, Isla.”
I wanted nothing more than to run away and escape to the cottage, but I needed to tell Alban about Rory Kavanagh. At least, I’d tell him that Rory came to the house. My scalp prickled at the thought of holding back the information that Rory had been in Elodie’s room. But I’d agreed not to tell. And considering the way things had gone so far with the McGregors, pa
rt of me was glad I didn’t have to.
“I almost forgot,” I said. “Someone came to the house a bit earlier. One of your daughter’s teachers. Mr Kavanagh.”
“What did he want?” Alban’s reply came fast and sharp.
“He just wanted to leave some paintings of hers that he found. From school.”
A deep crease indented Alban’s forehead, a sudden hurt apparent in his eyes.
“I was so sorry to hear about her…about Elodie,” I added.
“Thanks for letting me know about the paintings,” he responded, not acknowledging my condolences for the loss of his daughter.
I gave him a tight smile of acknowledgment.
“Come on, then.” Greer squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll walk you to the cottage.”
I went with Greer over the line of seven overgrown stepping stones, sensing that Alban was still standing there and watching us walk away.
“I’ll be honest,” I said, when we were out of earshot, “that was all pretty uncomfortable.”
She sighed. “I know. They both knew and agreed to this, but it seems that they got too caught up in their affairs today to remember. Well, I’m assuming that Alban remembered, but Jessica….” She sighed again, this time long and heavily. “Her head is in the clouds most of the time.”
“She seemed really upset,” I said.
Greer turned to me as she unlocked the cottage door. “I’ll admit that there is never really a good time with the McGregors. They have a lot of…issues.”
“They do?”
“Unfortunately, yes. For years now. The loss of their daughter affected them both in very deep ways. So, please don’t think that it’s anything to do with you. I’m used to it. From my side of things, I’m simply doing my job and helping Alban along in his career. That’s what he pays me to do. And you’re here doing your job. That’s all there is to it.”
I stepped inside the cottage with Greer.
She went straight over to switch the heater on and then she filled the jug in the kitchen with water. “You look like you need a nice cup of tea.”
“Thanks.” I smiled. “I could use some tea right about now.”
“How’s the jet lag going?”
“I’m still really feeling it.”
“Thought so. You look a little pale. Be sure to take it easy. There’s no rush to get anything done.”
I seated myself at the table. “Greer, I have a thought. I could still stay for the month, but I could go get some accommodation in town. I think that might work out best.”
She clucked her tongue. “Then you’ll risk missing the sunrises and sunsets at Braithnoch.”
“But if my being here causes upset—?”
“Like I said, it’s not you. Look, we’re both professionals. I’m sure you’ve had your share of difficult clients?”
I nodded, exhaling. “You bet.” Wryly, the thought came to me that she hadn’t made any mention of difficult clients back when we were first discussing the job.
“It’s the way it goes.” She fetched two cups from the cupboard. “I’ll be here many of the days, and you can call me if you need anything. I’m only just in town, so I can zip down here lickety-split.”
Greer stayed and had tea with me and chatted some more. I was grateful for that. It helped me feel better after the tense meeting with the McGregors.
She rose from her seat after half an hour had gone by. “I’ll be back for dinner. In the meantime, why not find a book to read—there’s a shelf of them in there—or watch some TV. Or go for a walk if you feel up to it. And then you can have a proper talk with Jess and Alban later on at dinner and get to know them a little better. It’s best if you don’t sleep until your normal bedtime. Keep the body clock going.”
“Thanks, Greer, for everything today.”
She smiled warmly as she left. “I’m excited that you’re here.”
With Greer gone, the cottage fell quiet. I washed up the tea cups in the sink. From the tiny window in the kitchen, I saw a curtain brush back in the main house. Someone—possibly Mrs McGregor—was looking out in the direction of the cottage. I guessed the McGregors had a right to be curious about the stranger who was staying here on their property.
Taking up Greer’s advice to do some reading, I went to inspect the book shelf. Alongside a slew of fiction titles were a couple of touristy books about the Highlands. I decided on those and nestled into bed with them. The first book I opened was a little dry—filled with facts and tiny, indistinct photos. I realised how sleepy I was as soon as I started reading. Greer was right though—I shouldn’t let myself sleep.
I decided to write an email to Mum. I knew that most of all, what she’d want to know was how I was feeling. Was I well? Was I happy? I tried my best to allay her fears, making everything sound rosy. Later, I’d snap a picture of the cottage and send it to her. She’d love that.
As I finished the email, I glanced at the view of the forest through the bedroom window. The sun had finally made an appearance, late afternoon rays sparking gold and red through the forest. The trees were so close that I could see a small bird hopping on a branch. Maybe I could go take some photos today, after all.
I sat up straight. Something else was in the forest.
Not something—someone.
I rose and padded over to the window.
The jacket. The hair. The lanky build. It was Rory Kavanagh.
Why had he returned?
As he moved from my line of sight, I walked out to the living room to keep my eye on him from the window there. Again, he disappeared from view, then he re-emerged out on the road. I caught a brief glimpse of him cycling away. I made a bet with myself that he’d been here the whole time.
He’d been wearing green and brown—good colours to choose if you wanted to be hard to spot in a forest, even if the trees were bare.
For all I knew, he had a perfectly good reason for being in the forest, but I couldn’t think of one. If I saw Rory in the forest again, I’d tell the McGregors.
Changing back into jeans and a hoodie, I pulled on boots and a big coat. Then I grabbed my camera and headed out. The afternoon sun splintering through the trees really did look pretty.
I made my way up the hills. It quickly became obvious to me that I was seriously unfit.
To the far left, the sun rays were glinting on a line of craggy, rocky hills. The bottom boulders were drenched in green, mossed over and claimed by the earth, seeming as if the earth were pulling them down into itself. I snapped a few photos.
Squinting, I could just make out the remains of a crumbling stone cottage up there in the hills.
I decided not to head any closer to the rocky ranges. They were already mostly in shadow. I wanted to walk up to the group of scarecrows, but they were still a long distance from here. I liked the look of the sun in the forest. That meant walking across the moor to my right, but at least the moor was flat.
As I started across the moor, I felt the chill beginning to bite through every layer of clothing I wore. I made a mental note to wear a thicker jacket next time. Best to keep moving. I was wearing good walking boots—that was one thing I’d gotten right. I stopped to take a few pictures of the forest across the moor. Then, turning to get the sun behind me, I snapped a selfie. I checked the picture on my viewfinder. My cheeks were pink, and my hair blew freely under my knitted cap. I looked cold but alive. That was something that had been missing from the pictures of me over the past years. I was often smiling but there was no excitement in my eyes.
Braithnoch, for better or worse, was going to be the start of me challenging myself.
As I switched the camera off, I realised I’d have to be quick to get closer to the tree line before the sun dropped too low. Huffing, I ran in a bee line across the moors. The ground had seemed a lot flatter from up in the hills. But underfoot, it undulated in low peaks and troughs.
I’d never run a distance as long as this. I had a whole month here—I didn’t have to rush like I did in m
y normal job to catch a scene before it vanished. Things were different in Braithnoch. There would be more sunsets over the forest.
I slowed to a steady pace.
By the time I’d made it, the sun had dropped lower than I would have liked. I wasn’t going to get the shots I wanted. But at least now I knew the landscapes and time of sunset here better, I reasoned. I stepped towards the tree line. Stopping suddenly, I inhaled a heavy breath. It was actually the perfect time to take photos. The sun’s rays ringed the tree tops, giving the impression of tall kings wearing dark gold crowns. I needed the right angle to capture what I was seeing in my mind’s eye.
Taking a minute to catch my breath, I got my camera’s settings right, and then began framing up shots. I hoped the pictures would look as powerful as they did in the moment, with the contrast between the stark, bare branches and the golden crowns of sunshine.
Satisfied that I’d achieved something good today, I packed the camera back into its bag. It’d be quicker to head along the tree line, all the way back.
The cold and fatigue made my head feel raw and sluggish as I stepped back inside the cottage. I uploaded the photos to online storage and curled up on the sofa. I made a half-hearted plan to listen to some music. But the room was warm now, lulling me into closing my eyes. The more I tried to stay awake, the more I could feel myself drifting towards sleep.
9
ISLA
I woke in the dark. I’d been sleeping crunched into the tiny sofa. My limbs protested as I unfolded them.
Rubbing my neck, I glanced at the clock on the wall. 6.45pm. I was meant to be at dinner at seven. Hell. That didn’t give me long to get ready.
My hand slicked from the back of my neck. Ugh, sweat. The heater had been running the whole time and the cottage was cooking.
After a two-minute shower, I felt a lot fresher. I dressed in a pair of my nicest jeans and a slimline jacket. With a minute to spare, I reapplied a light layer of makeup and brushed my hair out from its ponytail. I was as ready as I was going to get. I wasn’t looking forward to dinner, but there was no avoiding it.
