‘I’m just glad it’s over,’ she puffed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘And that I never have to do it again.’
Niall glanced over his shoulder. ‘I think Sheila might have other plans. I heard her mention the London Marathon earlier.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Merry said, and she’d never felt more certain of anything. ‘I’m not entering another race in my life.’
‘Wait for the endorphins to kick in,’ Magnús said, grinning. ‘You’ll feel like you can do anything then.’
And she knew what he meant; there was a definite buzz creeping over her worn-out limbs, a sense of well-being that was totally at odds with how she’d felt for the last few miles. She fixed Niall with a stern look. ‘Don’t let me agree to anything, okay? I’m a writer, not a runner.’
‘No reason you can’t be both,’ Magnús said.
Niall gave him a sidelong glance and raised his chin. ‘She doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to.’
Merry watched their eyes meet and something about the way they stood reminded her of stags squaring up to each other – Magnús was suddenly taller and more Viking, and Niall had an air that was distinctly more Superman than Clark Kent.
‘Where do we collect our medals from?’ she asked, as much to distract them as anything.
There was a brief moment when she thought they might ignore her, then both of them seemed to stand down. ‘I’ll show you,’ Niall said.
Sheila materialized from the crowd as they walked. ‘Well done,’ she said briskly, and Merry couldn’t help noticing the older woman looked as fresh as a daisy. ‘You did well, all things considered. Now—’
Merry held up a hand. ‘I’m not running a marathon, Sheila. Forget it.’
The other woman gave her a look of twinkly-eyed surprise. ‘Och, I’d never dream of suggesting such a thing! I was going to tell you to have a nice long bath and an early night, that’s all.’ She squeezed Merry’s forearm. ‘I’ll see you for a run on Tuesday morning.’
Merry could only watch as her neighbour turned neatly around and vanished into the crowd. ‘I’m less than half her age and somehow I’m the one on my knees,’ she said plaintively. ‘Does anything ever slow Sheila down?’
Niall let out a grim little chuckle. ‘Not so far. But if it’s any consolation, she’s been making most of the islanders feel inadequate for more years than I care to count. Welcome to the club.’
It was some solace to know she wasn’t alone in being intimidated by Sheila’s incredible vitality and determination, Merry decided as she sank her aching body into a hot bath later that evening. But although the knowledge soothed her pride and comforted her ego, it was absolutely zero help with her blisters.
Chapter Fifteen
Merry read the email from her agent, Phoebe, three times before it sank in.
I can’t believe you kept me up until two o’clock in the morning, turning the pages! The story is wonderful, the plotting perfect and the writing feels effortless, although I am certain it was not. An absolute triumph – no wonder the LA studios are fighting to turn it into a film. Brilliant, brilliant, BRILLIANT!
Now, are you ready for it to go to your editor? I think it makes sense for them to have read it before the meeting next week – what do you think?
It was more than Merry had dared to hope for when she’d sent the manuscript to Phoebe at the end of April. How long had it been since she’d had an email full of such effusive praise for a new book? It must be over two years – the length of time she’d been struggling with her writer’s block. And for a long time, Merry had been terrified she’d never write again, let alone complete another novel, so Phoebe’s compliments were even sweeter. She’d just have to hope her editor felt the same way, despite the fact that this novel was not the one Merry’s publisher had been expecting.
Phoebe had broken the news to them once Merry had finished writing, and although Merry suspected it hadn’t gone down as well as her agent implied, the fact that the story had already been optioned for a movie had definitely helped to smooth over any problems. Merry herself was still sceptical that the film would happen – she’d been on that particular ride before – but Sam Silverton appeared to be a producer who got things done, and several studios were said to be interested. And it was all thanks to a chance meeting with Helen at the Italian chapel, who’d shared her grandparents’ real-life love story. The romance had struck a chord in Merry’s writerly brain and encouraged her to learn more about Orkney’s involvement in the Second World War. She could scarcely believe it when, some three months later, she’d typed those magical words: The End. And now that she had the thumbs up from Phoebe, she could think about sharing it with another reader whose approval mattered to Merry: Helen’s grandmother, Morag Rossi, who had inspired Merry to create a grand fictional love affair to match the real one between Morag and her Italian POW husband, Giovanni. Morag had been so generous with anecdotes and snippets from their courtship that Merry couldn’t help feeling the older woman’s praise was almost as important as Phoebe’s.
And, of course, Jess needed to read it too. Merry had kept her secret project under wraps even from her best friend, so unsure of her ability to write it that she’d only confessed once the book was completed. It had taken a moment or two for Jess to adjust, both to the idea that Merry hadn’t confided in her and that she’d branched out into a genre that was so different from her usual work.
‘It’s still a love story,’ Merry had said, into the silence on the phone. ‘It just happens to be set seventy-five years ago, that’s all.’
The silence had lasted for another few seconds, then Jess had laughed. ‘You’re a dark horse, Merina Wilde. How does Phoebe feel about it?’
Merry had taken a deep breath. ‘That’s the other thing,’ she’d said, and explained about the film deal. ‘I’m coming down to London in a few weeks to see my publisher, and so Phoebe can meet the producer guy who’s made the offer.’
Jess whistled. ‘Anything else you’ve neglected to tell me? You’ve eloped to Reykjavik with the hot Viking? You’ve signed up to climb Everest?’
And Merry had smiled, because Jess was well aware that while she’d had a couple of excellent dates with Magnús, she was determined not to fall in love with him. ‘No, but I’m hiking to the Old Man of Hoy with Niall on Sunday. Does that count?’
‘Not unless you’re planning to snog him on the way. Niall, that is, not the Old Man.’ She paused. ‘Unless he’s hot.’
‘Jess!’ Merry exclaimed, laughing even as she felt herself blush. ‘I’ve told you, he’s practically a colleague. Don’t you think my life is complicated enough?’
‘Just putting it out there,’ Jess said, sounding unrepentant. ‘It’s always good to have options.’
Except that Niall wasn’t an option, partly because he thought Merry was in a relationship with Alex, but mostly because she only considered him in a professional light, in spite of his superhero looks and thoughtfulness.
She was very aware that ensuring her time as Writer in Residence went smoothly was part of his job, although she’d started to think of him as a friend too. In fact, it was this friendship that bothered Merry every time she had to field Niall’s well-meaning enquiries about Alex; she didn’t like lying and really ought to come clean. But she had no idea how to even broach the subject – she’d pretended for so long now that the mere thought of revealing the truth made her cringe inside.
To make things worse, Jess had no idea Merry had been less than honest about her relationship status, although she knew Merry’s reasons for wanting to avoid romantic entanglements. It was something else Merry had to address, and sooner rather than later. But maybe not on the same day as dropping the book and movie bombshells.
‘Options, right,’ she’d echoed down the phone and crossed her fingers. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
Now, here she was, two weeks on, and she still hadn’t done anything to resolve either problem. Her trip to London was loom
ing, but admitting she’d used Alex as protection wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted to explain via messaging or email; she’d tell Jess over a few drinks at the George and hope the fallout was lessened by gin and the presence of other people. Maybe that would give her the impetus to tell Niall the truth too, when she returned to Orkney. Maybe…
* * *
Sunday dawned bright and clear, one of the beautiful blue-skied Orkney mornings that Merry knew she’d miss terribly when the time came for her to leave the croft and return to London permanently. She took a moment before Niall’s arrival to stand on the clifftop overlooking Brightwater Bay and gaze down at the seething sea below. Even on a calm day, the waves of the Atlantic Ocean crashed against the cliffs with a roar that Merry found soothing in its constancy. Coupled with the cries of the birds, which she’d learned to recognize as mostly guillemots, razorbills and kittiwakes, and underpinned by the gentle bluster of the breeze, it provided a soundtrack that was unlike anywhere else Merry had lived. If only she could bottle this peacefulness, she thought as she closed her eyes and let the sounds of the natural world wash over her. Recording the sound just wasn’t the same, somehow. She needed to feel it.
The sound of an engine told her Niall was drawing near. She turned to wave at him as he parked alongside the croft. ‘Good morning,’ she called. ‘Did you arrange the weather?’
He grinned through the open window. ‘I wish I could take credit. Should be a lovely day to visit the Old Man, though.’
The comment reminded Merry of Jess’s joke, which in turn made her recall the context in which it had been made, and she almost blushed. ‘Let me just grab my rucksack and we can be on our way.’
The drive to pick up the ferry from Houton took thirty minutes, which gave Merry and Niall plenty of time to firm up their route plan. Once they’d reached Houton, they’d take the ferry to the island of Hoy and park at Rackwick. From there, they could walk the few miles to the lone sea stack that was known as the Old Man of Hoy, pausing to take in the views and then making their way back to the car. It wasn’t a long or especially strenuous hike, but Merry was hoping it would be the perfect way to stretch her muscles after the previous Saturday’s half-marathon. At least this time there’d be no sprint finish. She hoped not, anyway. Not unless they wanted to end up tumbling down the steep slope to the foot of the Old Man.
‘There’s a decent pub in Houton,’ Niall said, as they waited in the car to board the ferry to Lyness, ‘if you fancy a drink to celebrate our victory.’
Merry laughed. ‘I think I could be persuaded.’
The ferry ride took a further forty-five minutes and sailed them over the water of Bring Deeps and past several uninhabited islands and Niall explained there was another ferry that took passengers on a longer route to the isle of Flotta. When they reached Hoy itself, the ferry docked at Lyness and Niall guided the car off the ferry. Emerald fields stretched along either side of the narrow grey road, dipping gently to the sea on the right-hand side and sloping into undulating black hills on the left, curving beneath the cloudless blue sky. The occasional farm or tumbledown cottage flashed by as they drove, but for the most part the panorama was uninterrupted and, once again, Merry was struck by the beauty of Orkney’s landscape; she might have expected to become inured to the way the view seemed to stretch forever, but its ability to take her breath away showed no sign of dimming.
And long may that continue, she thought, watching a gull circling over the bay to her left.
She hoped she’d never get used to the incredible scenery.
Niall glanced across at her, then out of the driver-side window to where the sunlight sparkled on the grey-blue water. ‘That’s the Bay of Quoys,’ he said. ‘Quoy is a pretty commonplace name here – it means cattle pen.’
‘The Bay of Cattle Pens,’ Merry echoed. ‘Doesn’t have quite the same ring, does it?’
‘English has its charm as a language, but I find Orcadian place names work best if you don’t bother to translate,’ Niall said, smiling. ‘And the area past this junction is a designated RSPB nature reserve, so keep your eyes peeled for puffins, hen harriers and stonechats.’
Merry had learned to identify several species of birds since her arrival on Orkney, mostly because some of them nested around the cliffs of Brightwater Bay. Magnús had claimed there was a colony of puffins at the base of the cliffs, although she’d only seen one or two hopping around the grassy clifftop and had to take his word for it. She assumed more must be nesting in the sandstone cliffs surrounding Hoy, rather than among the purple heather that rolled across the greenery here, although she was pretty certain she wouldn’t recognize a stonechat if it pecked her on the nose.
The road spanned a few streams, or burns as Niall called them, and wound into the low hills. They met no other cars on the single-track road and the view was almost timeless; only the occasional electricity pylon reminded Merry they were in the twenty-first century rather than the eighteenth. It was only when they reached the parking area at Rackwick that they saw other cars – a camper van and a minibus that suggested they might not be the only walkers set for the Old Man of Hoy that morning.
‘They might be visiting the beach,’ Niall conceded as he stopped the car beside the camper van. ‘It’s quite a popular spot – we’ll be able to see it behind us as we get a bit higher.’
Their own destination was just over three miles away, and Niall had predicted it would take them around two and half hours to walk there and back, depending on how long they lingered to admire the dramatic sight of the sandstone sea stack outlined against the sea and sky. He set a brisk pace that Merry was content to match; three months ago, she might have felt differently, but her legs were used to the demands of running along the cliffs after Sheila these days. Niall pointed out various flora as they followed the signs marked ‘Old Man’ and turned to show her the sandy expanse of Rackwick Bay as they climbed. And eventually she saw a narrow fingertip of rock pointing upwards from the greenery.
‘That’s him,’ Niall confirmed when she asked. ‘The Old Man himself, soon to be reclaimed by the sea although it’s impossible to know exactly when that will happen.’
It was an impressive sight, Merry thought as they carefully descended the stony path that led to the viewing area of the solitary column of rock some distance from the cliff. Sunlight played across its reddish-grey surface and she could see the layers of strata that made up the rock; she knew from the small amount of research she’d undertaken that the sandstone was comparatively soft and therefore vulnerable to the relentless erosion of the waves. Around two hundred and fifty years earlier, it had been part of the cliff – in another hundred or less, it would probably have collapsed into the sea. Daredevil climbers loved the challenge it posed but Merry was more than happy to admire it from the safety of the clifftop, even as she pondered how she might fit it into a story.
‘Allow me to introduce you,’ Niall said as he opened his rucksack to pull out a flask. ‘Merry, meet the Old Man of Hoy.’
She smiled and inclined her head towards the majestic tower of rock. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance.’
The only response was the crash of the waves below as they ebbed and flowed across the base of the stack. After snapping some photos which Merry had to admit failed to do the spectacular view justice, she and Niall sat to drink the coffee he’d brought. There were no signs of any other walkers, which he said was rare on such a clear day. ‘This place usually attracts a few twitchers, especially at this time of year when the great skua are breeding.’
‘Maybe they know something we don’t,’ Merry said, scanning the azure blue sky for the merest suggestion of clouds that might herald rain or a storm.
‘Or maybe we just got lucky,’ Niall replied. ‘Let’s appreciate it while we can, anyway.’
They lingered for another fifteen minutes, tucking into the pastries Merry had bought from Rossi’s bakery in Kirkwall the day before, although Niall warned her to keep an eye out for rampaging gre
at skua. ‘They’re not scared of humans – they’ve been known to dive-bomb anyone who gets too close to their nests, and I wouldn’t put it past them to snatch food right out of our hands if they liked the look of it.’
Merry watched the birds circling around the Old Man, hunching over her pastry until there was nothing but crumbs left. Protecting the wildlife was one thing, but anything from Rossi’s was much too good to share.
Once Niall had finished his own snack, he stretched and fixed Merry with a speculative look. ‘We’ve got some time to spare before we need to catch the ferry back. We could go and take a look at Rackwick Beach… unless you’re up for a wee bit of tragedy?’
Instantly, he had her full attention. ‘Always,’ she said, as her writer’s instincts began puzzling over what he might mean. She knew the Old Man of Hoy was considered a serious challenge among climbers – had someone lost their life trying to scale its summit? ‘What kind of tragedy?’
His expression became mysterious. ‘Not what you’re thinking. Why don’t we see how long it takes us to get back to the car and maybe I’ll explain then.’
The return hike was uneventful, although steel-grey clouds rolled in and stole both the blue skies and the sunshine, making Merry glad she’d brought a few warmer layers of clothes. She did her best to prise more information about the tragedy from Niall but he remained tight-lipped and enigmatic. They walked for just over an hour and found the car alone in the car park. Once back in the passenger seat, Merry turned an impatient look on Niall. ‘Okay, I’m dying here. What’s the tragedy?’
Shaking his head, Niall focused on checking his phone. ‘Let me take a look at the weather before I make any promises I can’t keep. I’m not sure I like the look of those clouds.’
Coming Home to Brightwater Bay Page 18
