by Jenny Colgan
Colton took a very deep breath and looked at everyone around him. He clutched his head.
“Seriously?”
Flora leaned over.
“It’s up to you. It really is. You can say no.”
Kai nodded.
“Oh, well, great,” said Colton. He looked at Fintan. “What do you think?”
“I don’t mind,” Fintan said.
Colton blinked several times.
“What? If you were living there, you really wouldn’t mind them?”
“If I was living there,” said Fintan, going bright pink, “I don’t think anything would bother me.”
There was a pause.
Colton swung around to the council table.
“Fine,” he said. “That is absolutely fine.”
Maggie Buchanan made a small, neat note on her paperwork. “Any other business?” she said.
Chapter Fifty-one
They left the chamber in silence.
“Well, that’s great,” said Kai. “I appear to have just lost my first case.”
“It’s in a foreign jurisdiction,” said Flora. “It totes doesn’t count.”
Colton had disappeared on his phone. Fintan, on the other hand, was looking thrilled.
“Who says we lost?” he said, grinning with happiness.
As they emerged, they found themselves in the middle of a mob of people carrying flaming torches.
“It’s the Lughnasa,” said Flora.
Lorna came running up.
“How did you do? How did it go?!”
“Well . . . we kind of lost,” said Flora glumly.
“No way!”
“Are you Lorna?” said Kai.
“Yes! Hello!” And Lorna embraced Kai so instinctively, Flora couldn’t help perking up.
“I suppose it could be worse,” she said. “The Rock will still be beautiful.”
“Come on!” said Lorna. “Screw that. We’ve got mead!” She passed over a large bottle. “Come to the Lughnasa!”
And they couldn’t help themselves; the crowd was moving too fast, and they allowed themselves to go with the flow, down the road, toward the sunset and the oncoming darkness that Flora knew was about to settle on Mure and stay the entire winter long. The laughing faces of friends and neighbors were reflected now not in sunlight, but in the flickering flames of the torches.
Isla and Iona passed, their hair done up in leaves, symbolizing the falling leaves of the end of summer and the harvest brought safely in. They were at the front of the procession carrying the great green man down to the harbor to be set alight.
“This place is INSANE!” shrieked Kai, swigging more mead.
Innes, without Agot, had somehow materialized at their side, and they paraded down to the sound of beating drums and high skirling pipes.
Ruaridh MacLeod was this year’s king, as Isla’s flushed and happy face attested, and he stood on the very tip of the harbor as the green man was lit and placed upon the ceremonial boat.
“Here we call you!” he intoned, as the first flames started to take hold of the great figure.
“Domnall mac Taidc far vel!”
“Far vel!” shouted the crowd, raising their cups and glasses.
“Donnchadh of Argyll far vel!”
“Far vel!”
The flames were licking up the structure now. It was the first properly dark night of the year, and the chill was coming down from the fells.
“Dubgall mac Somairle far vel!”
“Far vel!”
“Dughgall mac Ruaidhri far vel!”
“Far vel!”
The names went on and on. The figure was properly alight now, and was being cast off by the men closest. Flora glanced round. Lorna was standing close to Saif, although they weren’t touching. She looked down at the road to the port. Parked there was a gleaming brand-new sports car with its top down. There were very few cars like that on Mure. She squinted. Who the hell was that?
To her total and utter surprise, Hamish heaved his enormous bulk out of it, alongside, of all people, Inge-Britt. Flora couldn’t help it; she nudged Innes.
“Look!”
“Ah yes,” said Innes, smiling. “I don’t think he saw much point in saving his share of the farm money.”
“He wanted a red sports car?”
“All the time, apparently.”
Flora laughed.
“Oh for God’s sake. I will never understand anybody.”
“Fingall mac Gofraid far vel!” bellowed Ruaridh.
“FAR VEL!”
The crowd was getting rowdier, the shouting and the music louder and louder. Andy would keep the bar open very late tonight.
“I’m sorry about your case!” Flora hollered to Kai. “I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of persuading people.”
Kai glanced around to where Colton and Fintan were entwined and making out madly up by the beer garden.
“Do you know, I don’t think they’re that fussed,” he said, smiling. “Anyway, I don’t understand the problem.”
“What do you mean?” said Flora.
“With the wind farms. I think they’re beautiful, those turbines. They look like they grow out of the sea. I think they’re absolutely lovely. I bet they’ll love looking at them on windy days.”
Lorna and Flora looked at each other, shrugged, and chinked their glasses together.
“Harald Olafsson, far vel!”
“FAR VEL!”
There were a lot of Haralds, Flora thought. And then she concentrated on enjoying the flames, and the night, and the mead, until suddenly Ruaridh stopped shouting and the drums fell quiet and they all stared as—what they often hoped would happen at Lughnasa but so rarely did—the Northern Lights began, gentle at first, then, soon, rippling across the sky, in skeins of dancing yellow and green. Fingers pointed, cameras were taken out; the Viking ship traveled on unnoticed into the dark of the night as awestruck people took in the greatest of all shows dancing the full width of the night sky.
Flora eventually broke away from the crowd. It wasn’t that she wasn’t enjoying herself. She just needed to think. She decided to wander up the beach, knowing for sure that nobody else would be there. At the headland, she watched the incredible display above her, glancing back to the firelit group of happy people down by the harbor. Was she really going to leave this? For what? Dry paperwork all day? Cases that got lost? Sitting on a sweaty, overcrowded train every day, over and over? Heating up her dinner from a plastic tray, waiting for the ping of a dirty microwave?
She thought about what Colton had said. About the fresh faces of Iona and Isla, and their excitement about all the possibilities Mure presented them with.
She sighed and stared out to sea. Under the rippling lights, she caught sight suddenly—nobody across the harbor seemed to have seen it; they were still all staring up—of a pod of whales, orcas by their fins, tossing and turning in the moonlight and the aurora borealis. As if they knew where she belonged. Where she could be herself, could be valued, not just as a cog in a huge, impersonal machine.
Where it could be all right. Not perfect. But all right.
She stared at the lights for a little while longer. Oh, they were so beautiful. When she was wee, her mother had told her it was just the clouds dancing, and would wake her up at night to see them.
As she stared, one of the lights flashed and turned red. She looked at it again. What the hell was that? It wasn’t part of the aurora display. It looked more like . . .
And then she started to run.
Chapter Fifty-two
Colton had said yes, without hesitation, even as Joel had apologized for the failure of the case. Colton waved it off; he would think about it later, he said. He had plenty to celebrate anyway. And he’d see him soon.
Joel had been on private planes before; even if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have given a whit for the fine leather or the handsome smiling steward. He was staring out the window, heart racing, on the verge of panic at doing som
ething so very, very out of his ordered life. At several points he felt like simply ordering the plane to turn round. But he didn’t.
“Look, look!” the steward shouted as they descended. And there, outside his window, were great chains and rods of light, shimmering and dancing as the small plane prepared to land. He looked at them in consternation, confused by their beauty, then realized something: he’d never seen Mure in the dark before.
There was no one at the airport. He grabbed his bag; he was wearing a suit, because right up to the last minute, he hadn’t been able to decide whether or not he was going. He could call Colton again, he supposed, see if he could send a car . . .
She was standing on the tarmac, the lights of the sky behind her, her skirt and hair blowing in the wind.
They looked at each other for a very long time. He put down his bag. They didn’t run toward each other. It felt, strangely, too important for that. Flora felt like she was moving underwater as she stepped toward him. He took a step too, and gradually they drew closer. Then they both stopped, as though there was an invisible line between them. She looked at him, her jaw jutting out slightly, as if she was struggling to control herself.
“If you take another step,” she said. “If you take one more step. You have to mean it. You have to . . . I can’t. I won’t. Do you understand?”
He did. He blinked. He had fought so hard. He looked down at his shoes. Could he take this last step? Could he?
Suddenly there was an explosion of fur and barking. There was no way Bramble was going to let Flora go out on such an exciting nighttime mission without him. No way. Flora had left him in the Land Rover, but he was having none of it and had simply leaped out of the back. Now he was jumping up at Joel to show his appreciation and happiness at seeing him again. Flora watched, still terrified.
Joel’s face broke into a huge grin.
“Hey,” he said. “Hey, Bramble. Hey.”
He got down on one knee, right there on the tarmac, and proceeded to rub the dog’s tummy, just as Bramble liked it, and scratch all the way up his neck to under his ears.
Flora blinked.
“You like dogs,” she said.
Joel straightened up again, fiddling with his glasses.
“Who the fuck doesn’t like dogs?” he said. “But not half as much as I like you.”
And he took the final step forward.
Chapter Fifty-three
The Presidential Suite at the Rock, although not specifically designed for losers, Colton had pointed out, was just as beautiful as Flora could have wished. A fire burned high in the grate; there was a huge claw-footed bath in the middle of the room. Outside, it was pitch-black now; the Northern Lights had faded; the green man was long gone, although if you opened the window, you could still just about make out the noise of the very late revelers. There was a vast four-poster bed. She glanced at it nervously.
Joel stood in the doorway.
“Are you . . . I mean, we don’t have to,” he said, mindful of last time.
“No,” she said, fiercely. “No. I want to. Very much.”
And very gently, he unbuttoned her dress, unleashed her white shoulders.
“No sealskin,” he said, smiling as he kissed along the top of her spine.
Flora blinked those pale eyes at him and slowly removed his clothes. And nothing, Joel realized, nothing he’d done before with women—no performance, no boundary-pushing act—had been as terrifying, as mutually vulnerable, as exposing to each other as this, this extraordinary unfolding of every inch of the very beginning of a story. They both had to apologize for crying. It did not matter.
When Joel woke the next morning, alone in the great bed, he had a sudden panic, until he read the note she’d left him.
He pulled on the blue sweater Margo had bought him so long ago, and a pair of jeans, of all things, and set off across to the harbor, remembering to thank Bertie as he stepped off the boat.
He was starving. Thank God, there she was, outside the Café by the Sea, the delicious smells already playing on the fresh morning air. She turned and saw him, beamed, bounded up to him. Kissed him in front of the staff and anyone who cared to pass, and didn’t give a jot; and neither, he found to his surprise, did he.
“Feed me,” he said.
“In a minute,” she said, smiling.
“What are you doing?”
Flora pointed upward.
“Well,” she said. “Two things. One—much as I’d like to stay at the Rock forever, I think I’m going to have to rent a flat. And there’s one for rent above the shop. So I’m thinking about that.”
She looked at him closely.
“And second . . .”
Iona and Isla heaved, and the rope lowered gently, bringing down the sign above the door.
“So what are you putting up there instead?” said Joel.
“Annie’s,” said Flora, after a pause. “Annie’s. Um. It was my mother’s name.”
Joel nodded.
Flora loaded up a bag with pastries—she was definitely taking the day off—and they wandered back to the Rock, hand in hand. They didn’t see Lorna, on her way to work, pause slightly, and sigh, and carry on; but everyone else they met, slightly the worse for wear, many of them, after the night before, waved cheerfully, and Joel felt the strangeness of it.
They went back to bed, getting crumbs everywhere, Flora giggling cheerfully, bubbling over with happiness and adoration. Afterward, she lay tucked under his arm, listening to his regular breathing.
“Don’t go,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes, not remotely asleep.
“How can any mortal man resist the siren call of an ocean sprite?” he said, stroking her lovely hair.
“But you’re going to work for Colton, aren’t you? Kai said you were going to New York.”
He nodded.
“Sure am.”
Her face looked distraught.
“Oh, you,” he said. “Well. It’s only . . . it’s only five hours from Reykjavik. Given that you live at the top of the world, I thought . . . I thought maybe I could commute.”
“To New York?”
“Already halfway there,” said Joel. “And Colton will be here most of the time anyway, if he needs me. He may not have gotten what he wanted with the wind farm. But nobody’s going to turn down a fast broadband network if he puts one in.”
“They aren’t,” said Flora. “Gosh. Oh my God. Gosh.”
“And I have some . . . I have some friends in New York I’d really like you to meet.”
“Oh my God!”
“Stop saying that,” said Joel. “Actually, I can think of a way to make you stop . . .”
He ran his hand up her back.
“Why can I not stop looking at you? Touching you? Everything about you? Oh yeah. Enchantment.”
“Enchantment,” said Flora, turning round to stare at him with those eyes, and he wanted to drown in them, to dive in, to live under the water, to call it home.
And she wondered, but only briefly: how long do spells last? When you’ve cast one, can you ever know?
Afterward, she slept. And as she slept, it came back to her.
Once upon a time, as ice threw itself against the windows, there was a boat traveling north, far up beyond the isles and into the widest blue seas.
And they came to the ice and the snow, and the season being spring, the icebergs were calving down from the poles and making the water treacherous, even though they were very beautiful and contained all the colors of the sea and the sky as well as white, and bubbles of air, and rocks and pebbles frozen perfectly inside them from a world no one could ever know.
But the girl—“Did she look like me?” Flora had asked, and her mother had smiled and said, “Yes, she was busy and noisy and had eyes the color of water, just like you,” and Flora had smiled, satisfied—was not happy. She had been quiet on the voyage and determined not to complete the trip, which was taking her where she did not wish to be; she had had no
choice. Had felt herself carried along.
She watched the icebergs curiously as they passed, like tiny islands.
And the captain felt worried and strange as they went slower and slower so they would not get caught in the strange, beautiful, glittering sea of ice.
One morning the sun dawned early and they found themselves drifting, next to the largest iceberg they had yet seen. It was a mountain, a glistening high cathedral of ice. The wooden hull of the boat was scraping up against it, with a screeching and a tortured creaking, but the strong oak did not break.
The captain cursed and stood at the helm, praying that the ship would not founder and the hull would not breach. With a terrible twisting and straining of the keel, it moved on, past the great ice mountain and on into the open sea, and the captain, sweat popping at his brow, let out a fervent exhalation of deliverance.
Then he turned back to the sunlit deck, as one of his sailors shouted, and saw, to his horror, that the girl had simply walked—stepped lightly—from the boat’s side and onto the mountain of ice, and even now, as he turned his face in disbelief, she strode across the iceberg that would now be her home.
“TURN ABOUT! TURN ABOUT!” shouted the bosun; but now the wind picked up, and the boat tossed on forward, and when they managed to get her turned into the waves, the field of icebergs had glittered and merged, and search as they did until nightfall, they found no trace of the girl. And the captain said with bitterest regret when explaining his lost cargo, who could possibly live on such a place?
“Could you?” Flora had demanded, thinking how beautiful it would be to live in an island of snow and ice, and how very strange. “Did she live there?”
“You can live in many different places,” said her mother, stroking her forehead once more. “I would like to think you will step into many different worlds, many different places, and feel happy in all of them.”
“Even this one?”
“Even this one.”
And as Flora felt herself falling happily asleep, she asked one last question.
“What happened to the girl?”
“Oh, she’s still there. She shines,” her mother said, or did she, for the voice was growing fainter and fainter and drifting away. “She shines like the brightest moon, and she dives for fish, and she steers lost sailors home. Because we are selkies, my darling. And that is what we do.”
