‘It’s very easy to eliminate them,’ said Isla, trying to regain control of the situation. ‘If you just pop into the chemist, they’ll have metal combs just like this one. Lots of conditioner, and comb through your hair daily, and you’ll be fine in no time.’
Lily shuddered. ‘Ugh.’
‘They’re actually quite interesting, if you study them in detail,’ began Jinny. ‘Their life cycle is amazing. You know, it only takes three weeks for two head lice to make enough eggs to completely colonize your hair.’
Lily looked at Isla, an alarmed expression on her face.
‘Don’t worry,’ continued Jinny, cheerfully. ‘It’s extremely unlikely you could die from a head lice infestation, because you’d have been so itchy first that you’d have discovered them, so you don’t—’
‘As I said,’ Isla cut in, shooting Jinny a look, ‘comb, conditioner, let’s give it two weeks to be sure, and then you can pop back and we can sort you out.’
‘Have I got mice in my head?’ Lucien patted his thatch of dark hair.
‘Not quite, my angel.’ Lily picked up her bag. ‘How much do I owe you?’
Isla shook her head. ‘Nothing at all. Sorry for the inconvenience.’
She locked the door behind them as they left. ‘Right, you two: you know the drill, I expect?’
Jinny gave a gusting sigh of exasperation. ‘Oh, yes, we ken the drill.’
Shannon put the kettle on again.
‘We don’t need boiling water yet, Shannon – we need the disinfectant solution first. Let’s get this stuff cleaned. We’re going to have to do the entire contents of these trolleys and bleach the floor.’
‘Aye, I know that.’ Shannon reached into the cupboard, pulling out three fresh mugs. ‘I’m no’ doing anything until we’ve had a cup of coffee. After surviving the demon child we deserve it.’
Isla laughed, surprising herself. ‘You’ve got a point. Don’t suppose you picked up any biscuits at the shop?’
It was funny, Isla thought, that something like this, which would have utterly horrified Kat Black – who had a ‘strictly no children’ policy for just that reason – actually made work quite fun. The girls laughed and joked together as they cleaned up the salon, and somehow, Isla found herself drawn into it.
The date was emblazoned on the clock above the counter. Not that long to go, she chanted to herself again. She wasn’t here to make friends with anyone, she was just here to do a job, get herself through the gardening leave, and meanwhile – she’d really better think about looking for something else. Maura, the one stylist she’d liked at Kat’s place, had moved to run a beauty salon in Edinburgh’s West End. They weren’t the best of friends – Isla didn’t really do best friends, after all – but it was worth a try. She’d give Maura a shout via Facebook when she got back to the flat.
She’d realized that no matter how hard she wished, an M&S wasn’t going to pop up on the disused piece of land behind the hoardings by the dilapidated old church. And whilst the cafe – she grudgingly admitted – did a pretty good flat white and a goat’s cheese panini that would put an Edinburgh cafe to shame (and for half the price), it still wasn’t the same. But she could certainly handle another few weeks – unless, God forbid, Pamela fell over and broke her other wrist. Frankly, if she did, Jessie would be on her own. This place was manageable when the end was in sight, but eight full weeks was enough for any sane person to spend here.
Keeping her head down, eyes set firmly on the pavement to avoid getting into conversation with anyone, Isla slipped out of the side door beside the salon entrance and got into the car. The supermarket was walking distance away, really, but she was planning to take a drive round the island on the way back to charge up the car battery – it had been sitting all week outside the shop, flanked occasionally by small curious children who would edge up to it, stroke the glossy bonnet and hurtle off at speed when Isla gave them The Look. Years of growing up on the estate had perfected that look, and it worked every time.
‘Morning, lassie.’ An old man nodded to her as she pulled out a trolley. Isla smiled vaguely in reply. If she’d thought about it, she would have brought headphones – that way she could have kept herself a step removed. As it was, she focused hard on the products on the shelves, hoping not to draw attention to herself. But as she made her way through the shop she felt glaringly conspicuous – everyone seemed to know everyone wherever she went, and the whole place was so bloody claustrophobia-inducing. She kept picking up snippets of conversation as she shopped.
‘And I said to him . . .’
‘You know Jennie Morrison’s been up to the school about what happened?’
‘Morning, Jim.’
‘Braw day.’
She closed her eyes in the dairy aisle, imagining for a second the blissful anonymity of the huge supermarket close to her dad’s place where she could amble up and down, picking up whatever she needed, switching off her ears. This place was a permanent hive of gossip and activity. It was suffocating.
‘Morning,’ said the woman at the checkout. Isla managed a faint smile. ‘I’m not that keen on the natural yoghurt myself,’ the woman commented as she passed it over the scanner. ‘Oh, apricots – now I love them . . .’
Just let me out of here, thought Isla, and I will quietly escape back to the flat, close the door, and speak to nobody for a whole thirty-six hours. And then I’ll be another two days closer to leaving. She gritted her teeth and made the appropriate noises before heading out to the car.
She’d just loaded up the boot and was returning the trolley, when she heard a muffled crash.
‘Och, for goodness’ sake!’
It was Mrs Mac, the client who’d come into the salon for a shampoo and set the other day. She was standing on the pavement, the broken handle of a cloth shopping bag in one hand, the contents lying around her feet – which, Isla noticed, were quite swollen, her ankles puffed up thickly. She bent over stiffly, managing to scoop up a tin of beans that was rolling towards the edge of the pavement.
‘Let me help you with that,’ Isla offered instinctively. She couldn’t leave her standing there, no matter how desperate her need for solitude.
Mrs Mac looked up at her gratefully, her eyes crinkling in a smile. ‘This blooming bag. I had no idea it was on the way out.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you another.’ Isla bent down, capturing three tangerines that were heading slowly towards the drain.
Ruth watched as Isla ran quickly up and into the supermarket, returning with a handful of plastic shopping bags. She couldn’t help smiling at the girl’s back as she scooped up the spilt groceries, and placed them back into two bags. Then she unfolded gracefully and handed the torn bag over.
‘There you are.’
She clearly didn’t want to help – it was written across her face – but the words ‘Let me take them back to the house for you,’ were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Well brought up, thought Ruth. She’s a nice girl despite herself.
‘It’s fine, I’ll be all right from here.’ Ruth reached across, trying to take hold of the two bulging bags.
‘I insist.’ Isla’s voice was firm. ‘In fact, I’ve got the car. I’ll drive you home. Where do you live, Mrs Mac?’
‘Oh, that would be lovely. But it’s Ruth, please.’
Well, the girl seemed to be quite determined to give her a hand, thought Ruth, and the glossy red convertible was a far cry from her usual lift in a beaten-up, mud-covered Land Rover. Isla’s little convertible was a lot harder to climb in and out of, mind you – but it was much more fun.
‘This is a bit fancy, isn’t it?’ Ruth gave a little shimmy of her shoulders against the expensively upholstered seat. ‘I could get used to this.’
Isla turned to her with a smile, pausing at the junction to let a flock of schoolboys on bikes hurtle past.
‘I always promised myself, by the time I was thirty I’d have a decent car. And we maybe don’t get as many sunny days in
Edinburgh as you’d want with a convertible like this – but when we do, it’s lovely.’
‘You’ll get a fair few here on the island.’
It was funny how the weather went. Ruth’s dad had always joked that living on Auchenmor meant you often got four seasons in one day. As far as Isla could see, the focus was fairly strongly on winter. Isla smiled politely.
‘Where am I going?’ Isla looked ahead at the road that ran parallel to the rocky beach.
‘Just here.’ Ruth motioned to a little stone cottage sitting back from the pavement, fronted with two neat squares of lawn and bordered with primly gathered geraniums.
‘Oh, this is pretty,’ smiled Isla. She was a good-looking girl in any case, but her pale, fine-featured face took on another level of beauty when it relaxed and softened. ‘I’ll just give you a hand in with this shopping, and I’ll let you get on.’
‘You’ll stay and have a cup of tea?’ Ruth, pulling herself out of the low seat of the car, looked up at Isla, who extended a hand in support. Doubt flashed across her face for a moment, her brows gathering together in thought before she smiled again.
‘I’d like that.’
Isla lifted the shopping out of the boot of the car, and followed Ruth inside.
‘Can I give you a hand?’
‘No, sit yourself down.’ Ruth motioned to the velvet-covered sofa. ‘I’ll just put the kettle on.’
Leaving Isla in the sitting room, she pottered about the kitchen, opening the packet of nice biscuits she’d just bought – luckily they’d survived, and weren’t all crumbs.
She laid them on a plate, setting a tray with teapot, milk jug, and her favourite cups and saucers. Isla seemed like the sort of girl who’d appreciate good china, instead of the thick mugs Ruth brought out when her grandson popped by in the afternoons between forestry jobs.
‘Here we are.’ She laid a tray down on the sideboard. ‘I always think tea tastes that bit nicer from a cup and saucer, don’t you?’
Isla, who’d been looking at the photos on the mantelpiece, sat down with a guilty expression. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t being nosy, I just –’
‘Don’t worry. I always do just the same. Most of my family have flown far away now, though. I’ve got them all up here to keep me company.’
Isla glanced up at the picture of a tousle-haired toddler and a teenage girl that stood on the side, propped there after the other day when Ruth had knocked it down. Ruth motioned to the sugar bowl, milk jug in hand.
‘Just milk, please.’
‘So tell me how you’re finding life on the island.’ Ruth sat back with her cup and saucer, and looked at Isla with interest. She was cut from a very different cloth to her Aunt Jessie: quiet and guarded, but she seemed to be making changes in the salon that were the talk of the town at the moment. Ruth had heard a couple of young ones in the supermarket saying they’d decided to give the salon a go instead of heading off island. That had to be a good thing, given the state of the island’s economy.
Pausing to gather her thoughts, Isla picked up her tea, looking out of the window and across the water towards the distant mainland.
‘I’m only here for a short time. I thought I’d be back to Edinburgh more often than I have been, but it’s not quite so easy to get away, is it?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Ruth found herself chuckling. ‘I’ve been here almost all my life. I think this place gets under your skin.’
‘It seems to,’ said Isla, politely.
‘I left for a few years, made my way to Inverness – but all roads lead to Kilmannan, we say. You can’t get yourself away from the place.’
‘My dad says the same about Edinburgh.’ Isla smiled. ‘I’ve managed to make it from the outskirts of Edinburgh to a flat in the New Town, and that’s about it. I had plans to travel –’ she shook her head as Ruth offered her a biscuit – ‘but I haven’t quite made it yet.’
‘Plenty time yet. You’re a young thing. Your whole life is in front of you.’
‘I keep telling myself that.’ Ruth picked up a cushion and held it on her lap.
‘As long as you’ve got something to aim for, you’ll be fine.’
‘Oh, I do,’ said Isla, suddenly animated. ‘I have a school reunion coming up. I always wanted to be able to turn up there and have a decent job and prove that I’ve made something of myself.’
She was a nice girl. So earnest and determined.
‘I wish my boy had some of your drive.’ Ruth looked across at the photograph on the mantelpiece. ‘He’s got an amazing talent for art – he won all the prizes at art school – and I’m still waiting for him to make something of it.’
Finn had been full of ideas when he’d headed off to Glasgow, determined to make his mark. When he’d specialized in sculpture and woodcarving she’d loved watching him fill the house with all sorts of gorgeous, ornate work, beautifully tooled hand-made shelves, wooden picture frames he’d carved and the like. But over time his artwork had dwindled, and the furniture side had taken over. In latter years the forestry work with Roderick had taken up so much of his time that there had been long periods when he hadn’t made anything creative at all, and Ruth mourned the loss of that side of him. When he was creating, it fuelled a drive in him that otherwise seemed to get lost in partying and hanging out until all hours, DJing at the local pub and messing about. She knew he’d developed a bit of a name for himself. Really, it was time he settled down.
‘I’m sure he will in time,’ said Isla, politely.
Ruth gave a vague nod of agreement. ‘So tell me more about this reunion. Any old flames waiting in the wings?’
Ruth had read a lovely book a while back, before her eyes got weaker, all about a woman who’d headed back to her school reunion and met the love of her life.
Isla’s pale cheeks flushed pink suddenly. She hid her face in her teacup.
Ah, thought Ruth, I’ve hit on something here.
‘I always wonder what happened to my first love. He left the island when he was sixteen, and his family moved down to Essex. We didn’t have things like Facebook and all that internet stuff in our day. No way of knowing what happened to people when we lost touch.’
‘I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse,’ began Isla, thoughtfully. ‘Everyone seems to be getting so excited about this reunion, and all I can think about is how they used to pick on me when I was at school for having the wrong clothes, and the wrong hair, and—’
‘You certainly look the part now, though,’ said Ruth, reaching across and patting her on the arm. ‘You’ll be wowing them.’
‘Do you think?’ Isla’s brow wrinkled with doubt.
‘Och, yes, absolutely.’ Ruth took a bit of a gamble. The joy of getting to this age was that you could say what you liked without beating about the bush. ‘So, who’s this old flame you’re after?’
‘Oh, he’s nothing.’ But Isla gave a smile. ‘He used to tease me, call me names – I had a thing about him for years, but he really had no idea.’
‘So you’re going to march in there and show him what he’s been missing?’ Ruth chuckled at the prospect. Shame, really. She’d have made a good match for Finn.
Isla pulled an uncertain face. ‘Well, that was the idea when I sent a message agreeing to go – but I had drunk quite a lot of champagne at the time.’
‘Well, he’s going to get a surprise. You’re a bonny girl, Isla. And you’ve worked hard to get where you are.’
‘Thank you.’ The colour rose once again in Isla’s cheeks.
‘I don’t give out compliments unless I mean them, so you’re welcome.’ Ruth took another biscuit. Never mind what Doctor Lewis had said about restraint, she could worry about that in the morning. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you came in for a wee cup of tea. It’s always nice to have a chat. And you must get a bit lonely, staying up there in the flat above the salon.’
‘A bit,’ said Isla, sounding surprised at herself.
‘Well, I’m always here if you fancy a wee cup
of tea and a chat.’ Ruth smiled at Isla, and she returned a smile of her own.
‘I’d like that.’
Back home, Isla unloaded her shopping. The cupboards – and the kitchen – were clean and serviceable now, but the place was completely soulless. It didn’t help that it was in shade most of the time, the light catching the windows only in the middle of the day when she was at work. Maybe some flowers would help – back home she’d always filled her bedroom, and the sitting room, with huge, vibrant vases full of anything beautiful that was in season. Rescuing Ruth meant she’d missed the florist – maybe tomorrow she’d leave the girls in charge, pop out and have a look at what was on offer. In the meantime, though, she scrubbed out the two grubby-looking fake crystal vases she’d found in the cupboard under the kitchen sink, and filled them with the supermarket chrysanthemums that had been the only thing available. She placed one vase on the windowsill, and the other on the little coffee table. It gave the place an even more seventies feeling. All she needed now were some dodgy canapés and a kaftan.
With the shopping unpacked, she realized another evening of staring at the walls was going to send her mad. Even the thought of reading didn’t appeal. Grabbing her cardigan and wrapping a thin scarf around her neck – the wind coming off the sea was strong, taking the warmth out of the evening sun – she set off for a wander around Kilmannan.
It was the strangest feeling to know that across the water right now – only an hour away – Glasgow was thronged with commuters, and the shops were still clamouring with people.
There was a little putting green next to the closed-up ice-cream stand. She’d gone there as a teenager with her dad – a sudden image of him, a sunhat on his head, face scarlet from unexpectedly hot sunshine, flashed into her mind. She’d give him a ring when she got back to the flat, make sure he was eating properly and getting out for a walk, doing all the stuff the doctor had ordered. He’d sent her a text that morning, telling her how proud he was of her for helping Jessie out. She wasn’t about to admit to him that the place was hell on earth, and she was utterly alone and completely miserable in a way even she hadn’t expected.
Wildflower Bay Page 11
