* * *
Merry woke up the following morning to an uncharacteristically silent croft. She padded through to the living room to find the sofa empty and a hastily scrawled note on the coffee table.
I got a cab to the airport – seemed like the best idea. Let’s speak soon when our tempers have cooled. Love, Jess.
Merry sat on the sofa for several long seconds, staring at the scrap of paper torn from Jess’s notebook. And then she put her head in her hands and sobbed.
Chapter Twenty-five
‘Did Jess get to the airport all right?’ Clare asked, when Merry stopped by to see her on Friday afternoon.
Merry’s shoulders drooped. ‘I assume so. She – er – took a cab and left before I got up.’
Clare lowered her mug of tea to the table and stared. ‘That doesn’t sound good. What happened?’
The whole sorry story spilled out: Merry’s gradually building suspicion that Jess was attracted to Niall, the argument that had resulted when they’d returned to the croft and Jess’s furious denial.
‘And the worst of it is, I don’t know how much of it was my imagination,’ Merry finished wretchedly. ‘I can’t decide if I’m losing the plot.’
‘Why would it matter if she was attracted to Niall?’ Clare asked, frowning. Her eyes widened ‘Unless— oh.’
‘Exactly,’ Merry said. ‘She’s got it into her head that I’m jealous.’
Clare regarded her steadily. ‘Right. Are you jealous?’
‘No!’
‘Okay,’ Clare said, pursing her lips. ‘Well, I can’t say I noticed her flirting with Niall but I was in the kitchen a lot of the time.’
Now it was Merry’s turn to stare. ‘She was all over him, especially in the living room after dinner.’
Clare shook her head, smiling sadly. ‘That’s not what I saw. But whether she was or she wasn’t, she is right about one thing. You need to work out why it’s such a problem for you.’
Something heavy settled in the pit of Merry’s stomach as she absorbed the meaning of those words. Her feelings for Niall were purely professional, weren’t they?
Weren’t they?
* * *
It felt odd not to be in contact with Jess over the weeks that followed. Merry lost count of the number of times she’d reached for her phone to send a message or share a joke with her best friend, before remembering that they didn’t do that anymore. She’d received a single message to say Jess had landed safely, and that they’d talk soon, but there’d been no further communication. Merry took refuge in her work, delving into her copyedits with a grim determination to lose herself in the story she’d created, but the moment she resurfaced, her silent phone reminded her of Jess’s absence.
She kept her distance from Niall, too, claiming she was busy wrapping up the last of her Writer in Residence projects when he asked if she was okay. But she should have known she wouldn’t be able to fend him off for ever. He turned up at the croft early one Saturday morning in mid-July, dressed in hiking gear and carrying a hefty rucksack.
‘Get your hiking boots on,’ he instructed, in a tone that was unusually businesslike. ‘I’m taking you island hopping.’
The sky was bright blue over his shoulder and Merry realized with a start that it had probably been days – no, weeks – since she’d left the croft, other than for her regular runs with Sheila. And, suddenly, she longed for a different view.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, but Niall refused to be drawn.
‘You’ll need layers, as always, but try to bring as little as possible,’ he said. ‘And make sure you bring some ID.’
It wasn’t until they turned down the road to Kirkwall Airport that Merry understood why she needed some identification: they were catching a plane.
‘Seriously, Niall, where are we going?’ she asked, as he led the way towards the Departure gates.
He pointed at the boards. ‘North Ronaldsay. There are a few people there I think you need to meet.’
The Loganair flight reminded Merry of her arrival on Orkney, back in February, when she’d thought she might actually die mid-air. But it was easier this time as Niall kept her talking, pointing out the towering red and white lighthouse of North Ronaldsay as soon as it appeared, and she’d barely got used to the fact that they were airborne before the pilot was instructing them to prepare for landing.
The landscape of the island was typical of Orkney: flat and green. Niall took a moment to get his bearings, then headed towards a building not far from the airport. As they got closer, Merry could see that it was a garage.
‘Are we hiring a car?’ she asked.
Niall shook his head. ‘Not a car. I suppose I should have checked this before, but I hope you know how to ride a bike.’
‘We’re cycling?’
‘Over to the lighthouse. I thought you might like a tour. But first, we’re going to meet a friend of mine.’ He paused to smile. ‘I guarantee you won’t have met anyone like her before.’
It had been some time since Merry had been on a bike and that had been in London. She doubted she’d have to contend with inconsiderate commuters and oblivious buses on North Ronaldsay but those weren’t the only things concerning her. ‘How far is it exactly?’
‘The lighthouse is a couple of miles north. But the island is only three miles long from tip to tip.’ He gave her an encouraging smile. ‘We can have lunch at the lighthouse café and I’ve brought plenty of snacks for the journey.’
‘Sorry, I sound like a toddler,’ she said, embarrassed at her own ingratitude. ‘Okay, I’m game. Is your friend’s house on the way?’
‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘We’re going to see her at work. Which today means a detour to the southernmost tip of the island.’
Merry did the maths in her head. ‘So that’s a six-mile round trip, right?’
‘We can leave the bikes at the lighthouse if you think your leg muscles aren’t up to it,’ Niall said. ‘I’m sure I can persuade someone to drive us back to the airport later.’
And that made Merry feel even more like a child. ‘It’s not my legs I’m worried about,’ she replied. ‘Without wishing to be indelicate, it’s the seat that’s the issue. My flabby writer’s bum isn’t used to spending six miles on a bike – it might protest.’
Understanding dawned on Niall’s face. ‘Ah, I see. Well, without wishing to be indelicate myself, you ran the Orkney half-marathon a few weeks ago. Your bum doesn’t look flabby to me.’
His ears turned pink the moment he’d stopped talking and Merry felt her cheeks start to flush. ‘That’s – uh – good to know,’ she said, hoping she sounded less awkward than she felt. ‘Shall we get the bikes?’
Ten minutes later, Merry was astride a sleek grey-and-black bicycle, with a helmet firmly clipped onto her head. She was sure she looked ridiculous as she wobbled along the road after Niall but it didn’t take long for her to remember how to ride. And the roads were flat and quiet, which was a blessing. Merry found she was able to take in the lush green fields on either side of her and listen to Niall as he talked more about the island.
‘As you might have guessed, it’s not the busiest of places,’ he told her. ‘The population has been steadily falling and I think there are only around sixty residents now, mostly older people. But they’re trying to encourage families with children to come and live here.’
Merry tried to imagine living somewhere so remote that she’d need to catch a plane to go to a supermarket. ‘Is there a school here?’
‘There was,’ he replied. ‘The only pupil started secondary school a few years ago, so it’s currently closed. There’s a bird observatory, though – there’s obviously an abundance of the usual suspects but I’m told the opportunities for spotting a peregrine falcon or a merlin are pretty good too.’
Merry smiled. She’d never been much of a twitcher but watching the birds over Brightwater Bay had been one of her unexpected pleasures during her time in the croft and now she could easily id
entify a wide range of Orkney’s bird population, from gulls to puffins. She wasn’t sure she’d like to see a bird of prey among them, however. That sounded altogether too stressful. ‘Is that where your friend works – at the observatory?’
Niall gave a shake of the head. ‘No. She’s – well, it’s probably best if I let Kirsty explain it. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.’
It wasn’t long before Merry caught the distant sparkle of sunshine on waves. A few minutes later they arrived at a dry-stone wall, beyond which the North Sea gently lapped at the rocky shore, and Niall came to a stop. ‘This is Nouster. Do you see the pier over there?’
Merry gazed across the blue-grey water and saw a narrow finger of stone jutting out into the bay. She nodded.
‘If we’d caught the ferry from Kirkwall, that’s where we would have disembarked,’ he explained. ‘But it takes two hours and forty minutes and I thought it made more sense to fly. Especially after Hoy.’
Merry shivered. The last time she and Niall had taken a ferry to one of the smaller islands, the weather had taken a turn for the worse and she’d caught a fever that had knocked her off her feet. ‘Good idea.’
He checked his phone, frowning. ‘Kirsty said she’d be somewhere around here this morning.’ Wheeling his bike to the side of the road, he propped it onto its stand. ‘We can leave these here while we find her. I seriously doubt anyone will move them.’
He set off along the course of the stone wall. Merry looked around. Apart from the pier and a couple of isolated houses overlooking the bay, there didn’t seem to be anywhere for Niall’s friend to work. Unless she was a fisherman. Which was entirely possible, Merry supposed.
She became aware of the sheep after they’d been walking for around a minute. It was on the other side of the dry-stone wall, head down and nibbling at something on the rocks. As Niall and Merry drew level, it raised its head to stare at them, chewing methodically as it did so.
‘Shouldn’t that sheep be on this side of the wall?’ she asked Niall.
‘No,’ he said, glancing across the layer of vertical stones that topped the wall. ‘If it were on this side, we’d have a problem.’
Frowning, Merry peered at the sheep again. It seemed to have a string of something brown and distinctly seaweedy hanging from its mouth. ‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘It looks a bit lost, all on its own.’
‘It’s not alone,’ he said, pointing further along the shore. ‘There are more over there.’
And there were, Merry saw, a small cluster of creamy white animals with brown faces and neat little horns. Others were dotted along the shoreline, in groups or alone. Some were brown, others were black, but they all had one thing in common: every single one appeared to be enjoying a tasty mouthful of seaweed.
‘Ah, there she is,’ Niall exclaimed and raised his arm to wave. ‘Kirsty! We’re here!’
Merry followed his line of sight and saw a woman’s head peeking over the other side of the wall, some fifty metres away. She looked up when Niall called and waved cheerfully back.
‘Stay there,’ she called. ‘I’ll come to you.’
A few moments later, she was standing in front of them and Merry noticed she wore heavy-duty workmen’s dungarees and thick sturdy boots, all of which looked practical and waterproof. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail and she wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up; then again, she didn’t need to, Merry thought as she took in the other woman’s bright eyes and healthy glowing complexion.
‘Hello, Niall,’ she said, nodding at him. ‘Good to see you again.’
‘And you,’ Niall said before turning slightly. ‘Merry, can I introduce you to Kirsty Tallantyre? And Kirsty, this is Merina Wilde – our current Writer in Residence.’
Kirsty wiped a hand on her dungarees then held it out to Merry. ‘Lovely to meet you, Merina. Niall’s told me a lot about you.’
‘Oh, call me Merry,’ she replied, wondering what exactly Niall might have said. ‘He’s been very mysterious about you and your job.’
‘Not mysterious,’ Niall corrected mildly. ‘Discreet. I wanted to let Kirsty tell you herself. But I’ll give you a clue – it’s got something to do with the sheep you were so worried about.’
Merry thought for a moment. ‘You’re a farmer?’
Kirsty grinned. ‘More of a builder. And the sheep are the reason I’m here.’
‘A builder?’ Merry repeated, looking round for evidence of construction and finding none.
‘I’m in charge of the sheep dyke,’ Kirsty said, waving a hand at the stone wall beside them. ‘It runs around the whole of the island – around thirteen miles – and it’s been here since the nineteenth century.’
Finally, Merry understood. ‘Of course – the wall. To keep the sheep away from the sea.’
But Kirsty shook her head. ‘Not quite. To keep the sheep beside the sea.’
Niall grinned. ‘Meet the famous seaweed-eating sheep of North Ronaldsay,’ he said, with the air of a magician presenting a trick. ‘Their digestive systems are specially adapted to get nutrients from it – they live on the shore for most of the year and the wall is to stop them from coming ashore and eating the grass.’
Kirsty saw Merry’s confused expression. ‘I know, it sounds weird, doesn’t it? But they’re a rare breed only found on the island – their bodies are used to seaweed,’ she explained. ‘If they eat too much grass, they don’t absorb the correct nutrients and can suffer from copper poisoning. Part of my job is to make sure they stay on the shore where there’s plenty of the right food.’
‘Got it,’ Merry said. ‘You’re responsible for maintaining the wall.’
‘That’s right. My official job title is Sheep Dyke Warden and I travel around the island, repairing and rebuilding the parts that have been damaged by the winter storms or just the passage of time.’
Merry gazed at her in fascination. ‘That’s amazing. How long have you been doing it?’
Kirsty tipped her head. ‘Only since last November. The dyke was being maintained by volunteers but, despite their best efforts, it’s been slowly falling into disrepair for a while. North Ronaldsay Trust decided to create a permanent role for someone to take care of the upkeep full time and I got the job.’
‘Wow,’ Merry said, thinking that it must be the kind of thankless task even Hercules would have blanched at. ‘And how’s it going so far?’
‘It has its up and downs,’ Kirsty admitted wryly. ‘The bad weather earlier this year meant several stretches of dyke were damaged. And the ferry was cancelled a lot, which made getting food interesting. But things are easier now the weather has improved.’
‘And it’s the Sheep Festival soon,’ Niall said encouragingly. ‘That’s always a high point.’
Kirsty’s eyes twinkled. ‘So I’ve heard.’ She turned to Merry. ‘The festival is when loads of volunteers arrive on the island to help repair the dyke. It lasts for two weeks and there’s a whole raft of music and entertainment that runs alongside it, to thank the volunteers for giving up their time and energy to help out.’
‘It’s a wonderful couple of weeks,’ Niall said, then raised his eyebrows at Merry. ‘You should think about volunteering. It might be good book research.’
Merry laughed. ‘I’m pretty certain dry-stone walling is a highly developed skill. Any section I worked on would fall down in a gentle breeze.’
Kirsty smiled. ‘I understand we get volunteers from all walks of life – you’d be very welcome if you wanted to join us. The more the merrier, in fact.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen me playing Jenga,’ Merry answered, laughing. ‘But I know where to come if I ever need to write a character who builds walls, though. Thanks for talking to me.’
‘My pleasure,’ Kirsty said, her gaze warm. ‘Niall’s got my number if you need to ask anything, or you can always pop back over. And if all else fails, I’ll see you at the ceilidh.’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Merry said. ‘Than
k you.’
Beside her, Niall checked his watch. ‘I suppose we’d better get going. We don’t want to keep Bobby waiting.’
‘You’re going up the lighthouse?’ Kirsty asked and grimaced at Merry. ‘I hope you’ve got a good head for heights.’
‘Don’t try to scare her,’ Niall said. ‘It’s only a hundred and seventy-six steps to the top.’
‘One hundred and seventy-six!’ Merry said, as her jaw dropped in dismay. ‘That’s almost as many stairs as Covent Garden tube station and they nearly killed me the last time I walked up them.’
‘Ah, but that was before you started running half-marathons,’ Niall replied. ‘You’ll have no bother jogging to the top here.’
‘One half-marathon,’ Merry corrected. ‘And I’ll have cycled three miles to get to the lighthouse.’ She gazed at Niall through narrowed eyes. ‘I’m starting to wonder if you’re actually running a writer’s boot camp instead of a residency.’
Kirsty laughed. ‘It does sound a lot like that. Good luck, anyway!’
They waved goodbye to Kirsty and walked back to their bikes. Niall rummaged in his rucksack and handed Merry a bottle of water. ‘I’ve got home-made flapjack, courtesy of Sheila, and fruitcake from Bridget. I don’t know why they think I need feeding up but they dropped them into the library this week and I thought they’d be good for boosting our energy today.’
Merry smiled. Sheila often brought her baked goods too and they were always delicious. She opted for the flapjack and savoured the syrup-coated oats before climbing onto her bike once more. But they hadn’t gone more than half a mile along the road when Niall stopped again. ‘Are you up for a detour?’
Privately, Merry was up for anything that put off the moment she’d have to tackle the stairs of the lighthouse but she didn’t say so. ‘Of course.’
Once again, they left the bikes by the side of the road but this time, Niall led Merry across a gently sloping meadow covered in wildflowers. She took a moment to appreciate the quiet air around them, broken only by the buzz of bees and the occasional call of a bird overhead. As they neared the summit, Merry saw a solitary column of grey stone reaching towards the sky and knew it must be the reason Niall had brought her here.
Coming Home to Brightwater Bay Page 29
