Merry wished a plume of magma would spurt up from one of the long-dead volcanoes under her feet and incinerate her where she stood. ‘No.’
‘And then I was disappointed to realize you hadn’t meant to call me at all,’ Magnús went on, his tone cheery. ‘In fact, you weren’t aware that you had. Unless you meant to serenade me with an extremely heartfelt rendition of “Survivor”.’
The relief was like balm to her jangling nerves. If she hadn’t known she was calling him, maybe she hadn’t said anything too embarrassing. ‘I sang to you?’
‘You did,’ Magnús confirmed. ‘Although as I say, you didn’t know you were singing to me. So, I listened for a short while, in case I was mistaken, and then I did the gentlemanly thing and hung up.’
Four minutes and fifty-eight seconds, Merry thought and swallowed. Probably the whole song and then the start of something else – Kelly Clarkson or Gloria Gaynor, she supposed. But at least she hadn’t said anything regrettable. Surely, he would tell her if she had…
‘I still owe you an apology,’ she insisted. ‘No one needs to hear me sing, least of all when I’m a bit the worse for whisky.’
He laughed. ‘As I said, your voice was charming. And quite emphatic. But if you really feel the need to make it up to me, you can meet me for a drink tomorrow night.’
She let out a mirthless bark of laughter that made her head feel as though it might topple from her neck. ‘I’m never drinking again.’
‘In which case, you can drive,’ he said, apparently unperturbed.
Merry sighed. She couldn’t say no, not when he’d asked in lieu of an apology. ‘Okay – where?’
‘The Sword and Thistle, north of Kirkwall,’ he said promptly. ‘They have a music quiz that I’ve always wanted to try. There’s a round on girl bands that you might be good at.’
‘Ha ha,’ Merry said, and then realized she really was smiling. ‘Okay, you’ve got a deal. Let me know the time and where to pick you up.’
‘I will,’ Magnús said. He paused. ‘And just so you know, if I were Alex, I would definitely have put a ring on it.’
He hung up, leaving Merry to stare at her phone in bewildered mortification. She could only hope that the comment had been in reference to her Spotify playlist. Because really, what else could it mean?
* * *
The pub was busier than Merry had been expecting. They arrived a few minutes before 8pm and all the tables were taken. There were a number of customers leaning on the bar, pens and papers in hand, and Merry was about to suggest she and Magnús do the same when a shout rang out and an arm waved in their direction.
‘Some friends,’ he explained, and began to thread his way through the tables. ‘I hope you don’t mind if we join them?’
How could she mind? Merry thought. Her stomach had lurched and fizzed in the usual way as she’d watched him walk down the path from his house and she’d had to forcibly remind herself this wasn’t a date. The presence of his friends helped to reinforce that. It was a pub quiz with some people he knew – all above board. Nothing to feed Merry’s feverish imagination.
She stopped dead when they reached the table where his friends were sitting. She didn’t know four out of the five occupants. But the fifth was very familiar indeed.
‘Nick!’ she cried, as he looked up and noticed her.
His face lit up in recognition. ‘Merry! What the bloody hell are you doing here?’
She grinned and hurried around the table to kiss the tall, dark-haired man on both cheeks. What were the chances of running into anyone she knew from London in a pub on Orkney? Furthermore, what were the chances that the person she ran into would be Nick Borrowdale, the actor who was the darling of the BBC’s Sunday night flagship show, Smugglers’ Inn?
‘Never mind me, what are you doing this far north?’ she demanded, with a quick glance at his companions to make sure she didn’t recognize anyone else. ‘You do know you’re not in Cornwall, right?’
‘Filming,’ he said, ‘and not Smugglers’ Inn.’
The penny dropped in Merry’s head. ‘So that’s why no one can see the Ring of Brodgar for trucks and camera rigs,’ she said. ‘It’s you!’
Nick flashed his trademark lazy grin and Merry was sure the entire room sighed. ‘I’m afraid so. But it’s not just me – let me introduce you to Elspeth Connor, the Oscar-nominated director of The Islander, which is the epic blockbuster we’re filming right now.’
Merry smiled at the petite, blonde-haired woman and kissed both cheeks in greeting. ‘Lovely to meet you. I’m Merina Wilde – Merry, for short.’
‘And this is Sam Silverton, our producer,’ Nick went on. ‘And beside him, the world’s best stuntman, Kiki Braun, and our sound engineer, Polly Jones.’
Once Merry had said hello to everyone, she turned to introduce Magnús to Nick, but it soon became obvious he knew him already.
‘Magnús has been advising our production department for months,’ Elspeth explained with a smile. ‘Apparently, you can’t make an authentic Viking boat without consulting him, and I’m told he’s a whizz with a circular saw.’
Merry glanced at Magnús, who had the grace to look sheepish. ‘Is there anyone you don’t know?’
‘Not on Orkney,’ he replied. ‘Or in Reykjavik.’
‘Never mind that,’ Nick interrupted. ‘I still don’t understand why you’re here. The last time I saw you was in that pub in Richmond.’
Merry filled in the blanks, carefully omitting any mention of splitting up with Alex.
‘Merry is a massively successful novelist,’ Nick explained to the rest of the table. ‘So, if we get any literature questions, she’s our girl.’
Merry laughed. ‘I think it’s a music quiz, so I’m afraid I’ll be no use at all.’
‘And has Alex made an honest woman of you yet?’ Nick asked.
Merry swallowed. ‘Not yet.’
Nick rolled his eyes. ‘Now there’s a man who doesn’t know how lucky he is.’
She felt someone staring at her. When she turned her head, she saw it was Magnús, his forehead crinkled into a puzzled frown as he studied her. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but Sam Silverton was leaning across the table. ‘What kind of novels do you write, Merry?’
That was a very good question, Merry thought, as she pushed Magnús’s odd look to the back of her mind and tried to work out a passable answer to Sam’s enquiry. ‘I usually write romantic fiction,’ she said carefully. ‘Love stories – the kind that make people smile and generally feel happy.’
Sam didn’t miss a beat. ‘Usually?’
Merry hesitated but saw no harm in explaining a little more; only Magnús had any local interest and she was itching to bounce the idea off someone else creative, especially someone in the business of stories. Normally, that would be her agent, but Phoebe didn’t even know Merry was writing this particular story…
‘I’m working on something a little different right now, a historical story inspired by an epic, real-life love affair here on Orkney during the Second World War.’
From the corner of her eye, she saw Magnús watching her again and ignored him. Sam’s face came alive with interest. ‘Sounds fascinating. How far have you got?’
She paused again, wondering how much more to reveal and decided it didn’t really matter. ‘I’ve got a working outline and the first 15,000 or so words. It’s still early days.’
Sam looked as though he was about to say more, but there was a crackle from the overhead speakers and a booming voice announced the start of the quiz. Magnús handed her the answer sheet and a pen. ‘You’re the only writer here – it stands to reason you’ll have the best handwriting!’
It soon became clear that some of the other teams were taking the quiz very seriously. Merry got a few questions right, but mostly concentrated on writing down the answers her team-mates gave her. At the end, they discovered they’d come respectably mid-table, which Kiki said was probably all for the best. ‘We don’t want t
o make enemies among the locals,’ he said, with a wink.
Once the winners had been announced, Magnús went to the bar for drinks and Merry caught up with all Nick’s news. He was still single, but claimed to be enjoying the bachelor lifestyle, and set to start filming the final series of Smugglers’ Inn that summer.
‘And then what?’ Merry asked.
Nick shrugged. ‘No idea. I think there are a few movies in the pipeline, but I haven’t accepted any new roles yet. I’ll see if any of them catch my eye first.’
‘What he means is, he’ll see if any of the leading ladies catches his eye,’ Kiki said, and everyone laughed.
‘That’s not fair,’ Nick objected, although his tone was mild. ‘I’ll have you know I’m a one-woman man. I just haven’t met the right woman yet.’
When Magnús returned, Merry found herself on the opposite side of the table to him and opportunities to talk were limited. She chatted to Sam instead, listening to his description of The Islander, which was a time-travel blockbuster about a Jacobite soldier doomed to relive the bloodiest battle of the war until he worked out how to save the life of his childhood sweetheart. Needless to say, Nick was playing the role of the tragic hero and Sam had every confidence the film would be a smash hit as a result. ‘He’s box office gold,’ the producer said, firing a contented look Nick’s way. ‘The screen lights up every time he’s on it.’
And then the pub was closing and it was time to head out into the night. Sam pressed a business card into her hand as she said goodbye. ‘Your new novel sounds like my kind of story. Send me that outline when you’re ready.’
Merry stared at him, stunned, then pulled herself together. ‘I will. Thanks, Sam.’
She barely listened as Nick promised to let her know next time he was in London so that they could meet up for dinner, but his parting comment brought her back down to earth. ‘Maybe I’ll give Alex a nudge at the same time,’ he joked, planting a kiss on each cheek. ‘Tell him it’s about time he got you down that aisle.’
Her head was whirling as she navigated the way back to Magnús’s home. He was uncharacteristically quiet too, although he answered politely enough when Merry asked about his plans for the following day. But he spent much of the journey gazing out at the darkness beyond the window. When Merry pulled up outside his house, he sat in silence for a moment, then turned to her with the same puzzled expression she’d noticed earlier.
‘There is something I don’t understand,’ he said, after a few more seconds of quiet. ‘Why did you tell Nick you were still with Alex?’
The inside of the car lurched crazily, making Merry think for a split second that they had been hit. Then she realized the car hadn’t moved at all, it was simply her shocked reaction to a question she hadn’t been expecting. ‘Sorry?’ she said. ‘I don’t think I understand.’
‘Yes, you do,’ Magnús said slowly and patiently. ‘I asked why you told Nick you were still in a relationship with Alex, when you and I both know it is not true.’
A roaring started in Merry’s ears. How could he possibly know? No one on Orkney knew. Unless… her mind flew back to her drunken phone call on Saturday night, and Magnús’s parting shot the next day: if I were Alex, I would definitely have put a ring on it… Her insides contracted in horror as she stared at him. What had he overheard?
‘How do you know?’ she asked through lips that didn’t feel like her own.
The car was dark apart from the glow of the streetlight, and Magnús’s face was shrouded in shadow. Even so, Merry could see the sympathy in his eyes as he studied her. ‘Once you’d finished singing, you became upset,’ he said. ‘I only listened for a moment or two, but I heard enough to understand that Alex had ended things some time ago.’
Blood rushed to Merry’s cheeks and she was grateful for the cover of darkness so Magnús couldn’t see her embarrassment. She swallowed, trying to work out how to respond and then realized it was far too late to try and save face. She had to tell the truth. ‘It was last November. You’d think I’d be over it by now.’
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘There’s no rule book for getting over a broken heart – it takes time.’
She said nothing, staring out of the windscreen at the dimly lit street and cursing her own stupidity for lying in the first place. ‘It’s part of the reason I came here,’ she said, after what felt like an age had passed by. ‘I wanted a fresh start, somewhere I wasn’t constantly reminded that he wasn’t there anymore. And there was the small matter of not being able to write in London.’
‘Perfectly understandable.’
His voice was so gentle and encouraging that Merry felt the walls she’d been using to block off all the hurt and disappointment and anxiety of the last year and more start to crumble. For a moment, she considered shoring them up and telling Magnús with a bright smile that everything was fine really. But she was weary of pretending, tired of hiding behind Alex, and so, with an effort that cost her more than she’d expected, she let the walls collapse.
The world didn’t end. Magnús seemed to sense she needed time to gather her thoughts and waited patiently for her to be ready, even though Merry thought it must have been more than a minute since she’d last spoken. ‘I didn’t set out to lie about Alex and me,’ she said finally. ‘I just wanted to keep things simple and, well, I thought it would be easier to do that with a fiancé back in London. And… I suppose there was a part of me that wanted to still believe it was true.’
She stopped speaking and waited for the tears that should accompany so heavy an admission. They didn’t come; her eyes remained dry and her heart didn’t feel as though it might crack again. She probed further, pushing into the corners where her deepest sorrow usually hid, and was surprised to find nothing there. No pain, no aching loss, no longing for the comfort of knowing Alex would always be there. The space where her unhappiness had been felt empty and clean, as though the walls hadn’t been holding her up but keeping all her sadness in.
Merry let out a tiny incredulous huff. Jess had repeatedly told her she needed to let go of the past but she hadn’t really understood what her friend meant – until now. ‘Wow,’ she said, in a voice that was shaky with amazement. ‘I feel so much… lighter.’
Magnús smiled. ‘Perhaps now your fresh start can really begin.’
A bubble of giddy laughter eddied up inside her and forced its way out. Merry clamped one hand over her mouth; Magnús might be understanding now, but he was going to think she’d lost the plot if she gave in to this almost uncontrollable urge to laugh out loud. She waited until the desire had subsided to remove her hand and answer him. ‘Perhaps it can.’ On impulse, she reached across and squeezed his broad forearm. ‘Thank you.’
His gaze was soft. ‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘You made me admit the truth,’ she replied. ‘And that meant I had to step out from Alex’s shadow once and for all.’
‘Then I am glad I was able to help,’ Magnús said, and reached for the car door.
‘Wait,’ Merry said as another, less gratifying, thought occurred to her. ‘Is that why you invited me to the quiz, even though you already planned to go with friends? Because you knew about Alex and felt sorry for me?’
‘No. As I told you yesterday, I wanted to check out the quiz and asked you to join me. Then Sam and Nick found out about it and suggested we go as a group.’ He paused and smiled. ‘I thought it might do you good to spend time with some other creative people. And I was right.’
‘So, it wasn’t a pity date, then?’ Merry pressed and then cursed her own stupidity – it hadn’t been a date at all – but Magnús didn’t seem to notice.
‘I promise that whatever I feel for you, it’s not pity. The truth is, I just wanted to spend some time with you. Everything else came after.’
Whatever I feel for you… What was that supposed to mean, she wondered as her head began to whirl once more. ‘Well, good,’ she managed eventually. ‘That’s fine, then.’
He waited f
or a moment longer, as though expecting her to say something else, then pushed the handle and opened the door. ‘Sleep well, Merry. Let’s speak again soon.’
She sat still after he’d gone, her hands resting on the steering wheel as she tried to process everything that had just happened. And then she turned the Mini towards the croft and went home to Brightwater Bay.
Chapter Twelve
Merry kept herself to herself for the next week. She answered messages from Niall and Magnús and Jess, went running when Sheila demanded, and chivvied Gordon the goat off the roof of the croft on three separate occasions, but, for the most part, she spent the seven days after her climactic conversation with Magnús on her own.
She’d made a conscious effort not to think about it too much, preferring to lose herself in the world she was creating for her new story, but the truth was that Alex barely crossed her mind. Her heart still felt raw, but she had the sense that it was raw in the way a healing wound might be: pink and sore, with the promise of wholeness ahead.
By the following Tuesday, Merry was forced to face another unexpected revelation: she’d lost weight. The almost daily runs she was doing with Sheila meant the jeans that had been snug around her waist when she’d arrived on Orkney were now loose, and her pyjamas hung around her hips. She was going to have to go shopping.
She spent a happy few hours browsing the boutiques in Kirkwall, delighted to discover some beautiful designs and outfits she would never have found online. Laden down with bags, she called in to Rossi’s for a mid-morning pastry and was pleased to find Morag sitting behind the counter.
‘Helen’s little boy is a wee bit poorly,’ she explained when Merry commented on her granddaughter’s absence. ‘She’ll be here for the lunchtime rush, though, if you wanted to see her.’
‘No, I just thought it would have been nice to say hello,’ Merry said, as she paid for her delicate sfogliatelle pastry and latte. ‘But it’s lovely to see you too. How are you?’
Coming Home to Brightwater Bay Page 14
