Spirit of the Island

by Joan Fleming

‘They wouldn’t let me have a mirror for the first few days in hospital, and when I saw my face for the first time, I understood why. I looked like something out of a horror film.’

  ‘Did you have any other injuries?’ Amy asked.

  ‘Minor cuts and bruises down my left side, but nothing too serious.’

  ‘What about Adam? Was he hurt?’

  ‘Not a scratch. All the impact was at my side.’

  Amy was silent for a while, turning over in her mind what Kirsty had just told her. At last she turned to her friend and asked, ‘Does your face hurt?’

  ‘At times. But they told me at the hospital what to expect. I still attend the clinic…’

  Amy sensed that Kirsty had said as much as she wanted on the subject. ‘Thanks for telling me what happened,’ she said. She had other thoughts she would like to add, other questions she would like to ask, but judged it wise to let Kirsty draw an end to her tale in the meantime.

  The noise of a dog barking interrupted their conversation.

  ‘That’ll be Bess,’ Amy said. ‘No doubt she’s trying to pass some message on to Mary.’

  ‘Don’t tell me she’s a talking dog,’ Kirsty said.

  ‘Nothing to do with Mary Benview would surprise me,’ Amy said, full of admiration for the touch of humour Kirsty managed to introduce into their conversation after her sad tale.

  * * *

  On the way back to Columb Cottage, Kirsty felt able to enjoy the scenery of this western tip of Mull. It was as if she had shed a burden in telling Amy about the accident, and had now freed herself to connect with her days on the island a decade before. The vista of the sea and the island of Iona outlined against the pale-blue sky sent an unexpected thrill through her, fulfilling a longing she didn’t realise she had. Breathing in the sharp sea air, she wondered for a moment how she could feel so content living in the centre of Glasgow. Of course, it was possible to appreciate both; the situation she had been in as a teenager.

  The colours here seemed so much more intense, the blues and greens of the sea sharply defined as they interacted with each other; strange, when the sky seemed pale by contrast, as if the water created its own colours, a defiant challenge to the other elements of nature.

  Iona Abbey stood out in sharp relief. How awe-inspiring it must be for Amy to waken up each morning to such a view.

  ‘Are you pleased you made the move to locate here permanently?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Amy said, indicating the surroundings with a wave of her arm. ‘This is… food for my soul, if that doesn’t sound too fanciful. It’s like living in a dreamland, but I don’t have to wake up.’

  ‘Don’t you ever miss the city?’

  ‘Not so far. But Sandy’s here at the moment…’

  ‘And you two are an item?’ Kirsty couldn’t resist a smile as the colour rose in Amy’s cheeks.

  ‘You could say that,’ Amy said. ‘We’ve buried the hatchet after a lot of fuss about a proposal to build a holiday village in front of my cottage.’

  ‘I always thought you two would end up together–you somehow seemed meant for each other,’ Kirsty said.

  ‘And you and your husband… Adam… were you meant for each other?’

  Kirsty hesitated before answering. ‘If you’d asked me that question six months ago, I’d probably have said yes, but now I’m not so sure.’

  * * *

  They had reached Columb Cottage and the end of their walk. Amy was intrigued by Kirsty’s answer but decided her friend had revealed enough for one day. She would have to leave Kirsty’s remark hanging in the air for the moment.

  Chapter 6

  When Kirsty returned to the Lochside Inn, Elsa greeted her in the hall. Although the older woman looked rather worried, nothing could hide her rosy cheeks. Her face had the creases of someone who laughed a lot, to the point where her grey eyes all but disappeared. Her ample girth was testimony to her appreciation of good food. ‘Hello, Kirsty. You look a bit wind-blown. Come and have a cup of tea,’ Elsa said.

  ‘Lovely. Thanks, Elsa. How’s Charlie?’

  ‘Not well at all. I think I’ll have to call Sandy in. He’s the doctor on duty at the moment. To be honest with you, I really don’t think Charlie can cope with the workload right now, his asthma’s so bad.

  He’s worrying all the time because I’m left with everything to do, but he’s simply not fit to get out of bed today, let alone work in the inn. Trouble is, I can’t find anyone at this short notice to help me out. Everyone’s so busy at this time of year.’

  As Elsa poured their tea, Kirsty’s mind was racing. She had no contract for work at the moment, no husband at home waiting for her return, and no other commitments, having cleared the few entries in her diary before she came to Mull. ‘I could lend a hand for a while, if you want. I could stay on here, give Charlie a chance to regain his strength…’

  ‘But you have a job… a husband at home, no doubt becoming impatient for your return…’

  Wearied of all the explanations she had given Amy, Kirsty did not feel like going over matters again. ‘I’ll tell you all about my position tomorrow,’ she said. ‘But if you’d like me to help out, I’m willing to do so. I’m not experienced in hotel work, nor am I a great cook, but I can do cleaning, laundry, and the unskilled work in the kitchen.’

  Elsa jumped to her feet and gave Kirsty a clumsy hug. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said. ‘You’ve taken a load off my mind. Off both our minds. That should give Charlie the chance to recover… but I still think I’ll bring Sandy in if he doesn’t improve.’

  ‘Sandy McFarlane?’

  ‘Yes. You remember him? That’s right, he was one of your crowd years ago. I’m not sure if he’s doing a locum or if it’s a permanent appointment.’

  ‘Yes, I heard he became a doctor,’ Kirsty said. ‘Sandy McFarlane… it’ll be good to see him again.’

  Elsa headed towards the door. ‘I must start preparing dinner, or my other guests will be wondering what’s going on. Are you sure about helping out here? I’ll pay you, of course.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. Give me half an hour to have a shower and brush the tugs out of my hair. I’d forgotten how strong the winds are here.’

  ‘You’ll get used to them. How long is it since you were on the island?’ Elsa asked.

  ‘I came to visit Granny when she was ill, then I was here for her funeral. But I haven’t been back since. When the cottage was set on fire, I took that as the end of an era on the Isle of Mull.’

  ‘And here you are, back again. Once this island takes hold of you, it’s almost impossible to escape its grip. I’m so happy to see you here.’

  After patting Kirsty on the shoulder, as if to seal their arrangement, Elsa made her way to the kitchen.

  Chapter 7

  As the boat approached the Island of Staffa, Amy could feel the excitement rising inside her. Clutching her hands tight, she folded her body into Sandy’s strong arms, grateful for the protection they offered. The wind whirled around them, churning up the sea into a myriad of white balls of foam that fought with each other, struggling for mastery above the waves. With the entrance to Fingal’s Cave looming large in front of them, Amy was so overpowered by the magnificence of this creation of nature, she lost her fears and gave herself over to appreciating the awe-inspiring phenomenon.

  ‘Nervous?’ Sandy asked, pulling her closer to him.

  ‘A bit,’ Amy said. ‘The boat seems so small, and these waves are so strong. It sometimes feels as if they could dash it against the shoreline and we’d all be thrown into that seething mass of water.’

  ‘Don’t worry. They know how to handle the boat in these waters–they’ve done it so many times before.’

  ‘I’m sure they have,’ Amy said, ‘but this could be the first time the sea gets the better of a craft this size.’

  Sandy smiled. ‘It’s not like you to be so nervous. Anyway, no need to worry. I have my lifesaver’s badge from my schooldays, so I would save you.’
>
  Amy extricated herself from the shelter of his cagoule to turn and look at his face; his smile made it clear he was joking. Punching him lightly in the chest, she huddled into her make-shift tent again where he drew her once more into his arms.

  After what seemed an eternity, the boat berthed at the jetty. With legs that trembled a little, Amy stepped onto the path, one hand grabbing the railing, the other holding firmly to Sandy.

  ‘All right now?’ he asked.

  ‘For the moment,’ she said. ‘You know, I came here often as a youngster, and I was never afraid. Not even slightly nervous.’

  ‘Maybe the weather conditions were calmer?’

  ‘Perhaps that’s the reason.’

  As they proceeded along the causeway, Amy still held onto Sandy. It was wet underfoot, and she saw one over-enthusiastic youngster slip in his hurry to reach the cave.

  It was at Sandy’s insistence that they visit Fingal’s Cave that day. Amy would have preferred to wait for calmer weather, but he had been so persuasive.

  ‘We could wait till this time next year for calm weather…’

  ‘That’s a bit of an exaggeration. We do have some quiet weather days.’

  ‘I’ll look after you. I promise,’ he said.

  Once they were inside the cave, Amy’s fear of the weather conditions was replaced with awe at the sheer majesty of this rock formation that spawned myth and music, both of which had stood the test of time. The waves crashed into the mouth of the cave, filling it with a roar that echoed round the tall hexagonal pillars.

  ‘It’s… it’s elemental,’ Amy said in a sound gap, as the waves receded.

  ‘Walter Scott said it “baffles all description”. If he couldn’t find the words to describe it, there’s not much hope that we will.’

  ‘You definitely have to experience it for yourself,’ Amy said, before the next wave cut off all conversation. They both stared down at the seawater, glowing green as it ebbed and flowed angrily into the channel on the floor of the cave.

  Still taking care on the slippery steps formed by the rock, they proceeded deeper into the cave, leaving most of the other boat passengers behind. At last, they were alone, and Sandy drew her to a halt.

  ‘Stop here a moment,’ he said. She turned to face him, and he pulled her closer. Still holding her tight with one arm, he pushed back the hood of her cagoule and tucked her dark brown, wind-blown hair behind her ears.

  ‘I have something to ask you,’ he said.

  Smiling up at him. ‘Ask away,’ she said.

  ‘You know how I told you Walter Scott said this cave baffles all description?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well that’s how I feel about you. My love for you baffles all description. I fell in love with you over ten years ago, but I’ve always thought you were out of reach. When I had to contact you about that proposal to build a holiday village beside your cottage, I thought there might be a chance to… to find out if you cared for me. And now you’ve told me you love me. I brought you here today to ask you to marry me.’

  Amy could do nothing but stare up at him. The noise of another wave surrounded them both, a silent couple gazing into each other’s eyes, enclosed in this unique miracle of nature.

  Making their way back to the boat, the pair had to concentrate on negotiating the slippery steps once more. Amy had given no answer to Sandy’s proposal–for that’s what it was, no matter how unusual the surroundings–and she assumed Sandy had nothing to add to what he’d already said. For now, at least.

  Birds whirled around above them, their cawing sharp and distinct in the clear sea air. Amy imagined she could hear, somewhere in the background, the strains of the Hebrides Overture, the music composed by Felix Mendelssohn, inspired by a visit to the cave.

  Once back on the boat, the ferryman was more than willing to tell the story of the origin of the name Fingal’s Cave. He explained that the name Fingal possibly dated from around 250 AD, when an Irish general of that name had led a group of faithful warriors. ‘He was reputed to be the father of Ossian, the traditional bard of the Gaels. The story itself belongs in the world of myths and legends…’

  At that point a large wave demanded the ferryman’s attention, and the rest of the sail back to Fionnphort needed all his concentration.

  ‘I have some brochures here that give you all the details of the Fingal story,’ he told his passengers. ‘Please take one as you leave.

  It was clear that the passengers on the boat were tiring after their awe-inspiring visit. They talked less, some even dozing off. Sandy sat close to Amy, sharing his warmth with her in the keen sea winds.

  ‘About earlier,’ he said, with a hint of hesitation, ‘I meant what I said. I don’t have a ring–yet. I didn’t want to be presumptuous. Besides, I didn’t go down on bended knee. I thought that might be a bit risky for both of us. But I can still do that.’ Cupping his hand below her chin, he edged her face round so that she was looking into his eyes, and repeated, ‘I meant what I said.’

  Chapter 8

  For several days, Amy found it hard to concentrate on her work. Although Sandy was attending a conference in Edinburgh, she knew he would be looking for a response when he came back. What man wouldn’t? They had only exchanged a few texts since the trip to Fingal’s Cave, since his proposal of marriage in that magnificent setting. She smiled as she recalled the scene: surrounded by this awesome natural phenomenon, Sandy had invited her to spend the rest of her life with him. If she accepted, that would certainly be a conversation stopper in years to come.

  ‘Where did Sandy propose to you, Amy?’

  ‘In Fingal’s Cave, actually.’

  ‘WHERE?’

  But this was about more than a dramatic backdrop to a proposal. This was a commitment for life. Did she love Sandy enough to make this leap in the dark with him, and hope it would work?

  She valued her independence, her ability to run her own life without having to consider how her decisions would affect anyone else. Her business was doing well, but it was at an early stage and needed all her attention. Was she cut out for marriage? It would restrict her, curb her lifestyle. She didn’t doubt for a moment that she was in love with Sandy, but she wondered why her response was so indecisive. Shouldn’t she be leaping for joy at the idea that the man she loved wanted to marry her?

  Perhaps it was her conversation with Kirsty a few days before that had set warning bells ringing. She concentrated for a few moments on her friend’s situation: Kirsty and Adam had only been married for two years, yet she had hinted that all wasn’t well in their relationship. If problems could arise after so short a time, was it worth taking the risk?

  As if on cue, Amy’s mobile buzzed. It was a text from Sandy.

  Can I come for dinner? Love you xxx

  Of course. Around 7? Love you too xxx

  Can’t wait.

  Amy looked at her watch. It was 4.30 p.m. She had two-and-a-half hours to make up her mind. Should she accept Sandy’s proposal?

  Shortly after 7 p.m, there was a knock at the door of Columb Cottage, followed immediately by Sandy’s shout. ‘Hello! I’ve arrived.’

  Amy was in the kitchen, finding it hard to give her attention to the meal she was preparing. Sandy’s voice brought her back to her immediate tasks. How long had the potatoes been boiling? Should she have taken the roast beef out of the oven by now?

  Since she’d received Sandy’s text, her mind had been full of different questions, all connected with Sandy’s proposal. Most of them started with What if?

  What if her feelings for Sandy were not true love?

  What if she discovered after a couple of years that she didn’t really love him?

  What if Sandy’s job took him to another country? Would she follow?

  What if she discovered something in his past that she found unacceptable?

  One problem was that she hadn’t spent enough time with him, in spite of knowing him for over ten years. She needed more time. Aware that her
shoulders were tight with tension, she released them slowly. Her deep-felt sigh was testimony to her relief. She had the immediate answer to Sandy’s proposal: a plea for more time. They were both based on the island of Mull at the moment. What better opportunity would they have to find out more about each other?

  She bent down and removed the roast from the oven.

  After dinner, they sat together on the sofa in the living room. Amy had lit the peat fire for the evening, as the winds could seek out the gaps round doors and windows, even in the height of summer. Sandy took hold of her hand.

  ‘Have you thought about it?’ he asked.

  ‘About what?’ She was stalling for time.

  ‘Getting married.’

  ‘Of course I’ve thought about it. I’ve been thinking about little else.’

  ‘And?’

  She twisted round to look him square in the face. ‘Sandy…’ she began, but he stopped her, putting his arms around her and kissing her so hard she was unable to speak for quite some time.

  At last, they pulled apart, and she snuggled into the hollow of his shoulder. With one hand, he curled her dark hair round his fingers, and bent to kiss the top of her head.

  ‘If the answer’s no, please don’t say it. Not yet. Think about it some more,’ he whispered.

  Tilting her head back, she looked him in the eye and at last found her voice.

  ‘The answer’s not no, Sandy.’ For a second, she watched the hope rise in his eyes, only to die as she continued: ‘But I need more time. It’s less than a year since I set up in business here. Columb Cottage is now my permanent address. I still have to find out if I want to live permanently on the island.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘No, hear me out, Sandy. Yes, I used to dream about living here all the time, but I may yet find that the reality is not what I want. Besides, you don’t know if you’ll be based here permanently. Would you expect me to follow you wherever your job takes you?’