Wildflower Bay

by Rachael Lucas

  Isla and Ruth had another walk together, this time along the shore road. They didn’t go too far – Ruth was a bit stiff, claiming she’d slept awkwardly. Isla wasn’t convinced: Ruth was still wheezily breathless, and leaning heavily on her stick. Isla wanted to talk to Finn about it, but didn’t really feel it was her place. And she hadn’t seen him since the retreat at Lily’s – it was surprising how easily you could avoid people on an island this small, if you wanted to. Maybe he felt a bit awkward about the gazing ceremony thing – or maybe because she’d said no to a drink, he’d decided to steer clear. She’d been out running in the evenings after work, but supposed his bike was still out of action.

  On Friday evening Isla lay on the sofa in the flat, messaging Helen. She’d been for her usual run along the shore, bumping into the same couple she met there every night, smiling hello. She’d paused at the rocky outcrop along from Finn’s cottage, hands on her knees, catching her breath, watching the last ferry sail and smiling to herself as a dog walker threw sticks into the sea for a determined little West Highland terrier. She’d half wondered if she might bump into Finn – then told herself she wasn’t interested in him in any case.

  Helen’s message flashed up:

  Looks like the reunion’s going to be everything we ever dreamed of and more. Seriously, Isla, I’m not sure I want to go through with this. Maisie’s barely sleeping at night, I look like death warmed up, and I don’t think my self-esteem needs the hit.

  Isla typed her reply:

  Nonsense. I’m not having you chicken out. You look gorgeous in that dress you’ve chosen. I’ll be with you. It’ll be fine. What’s the worst that can happen?

  The idea of walking in alone was hideous. If Helen didn’t go . . . A reply pinged back.

  We can undo years of therapy?

  Isla smiled.

  It’s not that bad. It’s a school reunion. People go to them all the time.

  Yeah. You seen Grosse Pointe Blank? I tell you what, if we can take guns I’m definitely up for it.

  We’re adults. We’ve moved on. They can’t still be arseholes.

  You think? Did you see Jamie Duncan’s coming?

  Isla’s stomach dropped to the floor. So far she’d been checking the page every day, wondering why there was no mention of him on there. How she was supposed to go in there and prove a point to him, when he appeared to have fallen off the face of the earth, was proving problematic. But now he was definitely coming . . . She scrolled down the page on her phone, looking at the list of attendees. No sign of his name.

  You sure? He’s not on the list.

  No, Big Dave said in a thread somewhere that he was coming. Apparently Jamie doesn’t do Facebook.

  Weird. Anyway, look, just because he’s coming

  (Isla felt a little teenage whoosh of excitement in her stomach as she typed this)

  doesn’t mean YOU aren’t. He probably isn’t even friends with Allison and all that gang any more.

  : – /

  Don’t pull faces at me. We’re going to go in there and wow them with our fabulousness . . . OK?

  . . . right. Oh God, the baby’s crying. Got to go.

  Isla stood up from the sofa and stretched. Outside her window, the sky was bruised purple. She needed to start getting ready to head out to Lily’s wish-making ceremony at the Clootie Well. She wrapped herself up in a jumper and scarf, thinking as she did so that this weather was ridiculous for the time of year, and that normal places didn’t have weather like this in the middle of summer. Stepping into the street, she thought, if Finn doesn’t turn up to this and I’m on my own, I’m going to feel like a complete mug.

  She hadn’t had any intention of going at all, but she’d bumped into Lily at the little post office, and Lucien had been so loud and demonic, and Lily had been so weirdly persuasive (Isla had said to Helen in a message later that she was beginning to think Lily was part witch) that she’d ended up saying yes just so she could get away.

  She followed the carved wooden signs that led up beyond the close-cut parkland – a gang of teenagers hanging out by the swings in the distance making her edgy as she passed, the hangover from years of catcalling still with her – and through a leafy archway to a narrow path lined with hawthorn hedges, a few last flowers still dotted here and there under the leaves.

  The sound of bagpipes startled her as she followed a bend in the path and stepped out into a little clearing where a group of people stood.

  Finn had no idea how he’d ended up agreeing to play bagpipes for Lily’s Clootie Well wish ceremony. The woman was completely barking mad, and he could have been out for a drink with the boys – even Roddy had been let off the leash for the evening, an increasingly hormonal and stroppy Kate having decamped to her mum’s cottage for a girly night of watching DVDs and eating their weight in cake. Finn had had a drink in the Four Bells and then sloped off, explaining that he’d promised to do this as a favour. He’d picked up the pipes and shoved them in the back of his Land Rover before heading up the back road to the well.

  He’d just struck up a first low note when he caught sight of Isla, stepping out from the narrow path and into the clearing. Dark eyes wide, wrapped in a soft brown fluffy jumper with a scarf tied around her neck against the chill of the evening, she looked apprehensive, pausing for a second as she caught his gaze. Thank God he was occupied with something or he’d be standing there, blushing and tongue-tied like a bloody teenager.

  ‘Isla, how wonderful. Take a ribbon.’ Lily’s voice was so powerful that it could be heard clearly over the deep humming of the pipes. Finn raised an eyebrow in greeting at Isla, who looked back in surprised recognition.

  ‘Once Finn has welcomed in the spirit of summer with song, we’re going to bless the goddess of fertility, and then everyone is going to take a ribbon, tie it to a branch – as you can see, the tree is quite laden with wishes already – and make their own special wish.’

  Isla stood there, a ribbon in her hand, looking as awkward as Finn felt. Outside her comfort zone she looked younger, somehow. He finished the tune. Placing the pipes down carefully, he made his way over.

  ‘Can’t get enough of this sort of thing?’

  She gave a half smile, handing him a spare ribbon. ‘Something like that. Lily sort of press-ganged me into it.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s fairly persuasive, I’ll give her that.’

  ‘You could put it like that. I think if I hadn’t said no, I’d have been savaged by Lucifer – I mean Lucien.’ She started laughing.

  ‘He’s terrifying. I reckon he’s already making voodoo dolls in his bedroom at night.’ Finn looked at Isla sideways. ‘How else did she get us here on a Friday night? I knew I felt something pulling me here.’

  ‘Divine forces,’ she whispered, giggling.

  ‘Demonic ones.’ He spoke in a low voice, realizing as he did so that Lily was beckoning them forward. ‘We’ve been summoned.’

  ‘Shh.’ Isla tried to look serious. She bit her lip. Finn looked away. God, she really was beautiful.

  They took their place at the back of the motley-looking group. Nobody else here was from the island – not surprising, because the locals were out having a beer or sat at home with a takeaway. This lot must all be the latest retreat visitors. They looked the sort. One couple looked as if they’d been to the outdoor shop beforehand and got themselves kitted out for the occasion: they were clad in matching outfits of convertible windproof walking trousers and sensible walking boots, with close-cut matching haircuts, and scarves tied neatly round their necks against the unseasonable chill. Behind them, two women stood hand in hand. He’d noticed them giggling earlier, and Lily giving them a warning look. They must be the naughty girls of the group. He caught the eye of one of them, and she pulled a face. They stood waiting their turn, then tied a ribbon each around the branches of the tree. The Clootie Well, Lily explained, was a hawthorn tree around a natural spring, where a nature spirit or goddess with healing powers was thought to reside. Locals wo
uld travel to the well and tie cloths – or cloots, as they were known – around the branches, as offerings to the goddess.

  Lily then attempted – fairly fruitlessly – to get everyone to take part in a dance of celebration for the oncoming harvest as Finn played another tune. After the participants had settled, relieved, onto blankets in a circle, she produced a bundle of slim dark-green candles and, lighting them from one in her hand, passed them around to everyone present.

  ‘May the goddess mark our wish. Peace be with you.’ She took a place in the circle and then turned to her left, shaking hands before placing a kiss on the surprised cheek of the sensibly clad man. His eyebrows shot upwards and his cheeks flushed pink.

  The handshakes spread around the circle and then, as the ceremony seemed to be over, Lily made her way over to Isla with her hands clasped together in excitement.

  ‘Isla, you walked up from the town, didn’t you? Come back to the retreat with us – we’re having a celebratory midnight supper. Lovely Jacob here has prepared the most gorgeous kale and lentil stew.’

  Having recognized an opportunity for a quick getaway, Finn had already shoved his bagpipes over his shoulder. The keys to the Land Rover were in his hand. He had to act quickly.

  ‘Another time, maybe? I’ve promised Isla I’ll give her a lift back.’

  ‘Yes.’ Isla, still sitting cross-legged on the blanket beside a small, round, fuzzy-haired woman whose eyes were closed, shot him a grateful look, picking up the baton instantly. ‘I’d have loved to, but I’ve got to be up first thing to open the salon and—’

  ‘Why don’t you drive up for a quick bite? We won’t be late, and it will be such fun.’

  Isla met Finn’s eyes again. Hers were wide with horror and she gave a minute shake of her head.

  ‘Let’s see how we go. Got to get these pipes home. If the damp gets into them, it can cause all sorts of problems.’ Unthinking, he reached out a hand. ‘Isla? You ready?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ She took it, and he pulled her up from the ground. The fuzzy-haired woman opened her eyes in surprise.

  ‘I’m really sorry.’ As they reached the Land Rover, Finn felt suddenly awkward, opening the door and shoving off a pile of crisp packets and water bottles so she could sit down.

  ‘No,’ Isla’s voice was emphatic, ‘I am so relieved. I had visions of being press-ganged up there and force-fed lentil curry, when all I want is a bag of chips.’

  ‘Me too.’ Turning on the ignition, he looked at her and smiled. ‘D’you fancy—’

  ‘God, yes.’

  The Land Rover bumped along the narrow track that led down to the back road to Kilmannan.

  ‘Is that really true, about bagpipes getting damp?’ Isla looked at him, head cocked slightly to one side.

  ‘Total bollocks.’

  ‘I thought as much.’

  ‘Just as well our Lily’s not a mind-reader.’

  They parked the Land Rover on the harbour and walked together along the road to the tiny fish and chip shop.

  ‘You’re early for a Friday.’ Jim, used to Finn’s habits of picking up a bag of chips on his way home from a night in the pub, looked up from behind the counter. ‘No’ out wi’ the lads tonight?’

  Finn motioned outside to the harbour wall, where Isla sat looking out at the evening sky. It was getting dark at last, the sky streaked lilac and purple.

  ‘Ah right, say no more.’ Jim handed over two bags of chips, wrapped the old way in paper.

  ‘No, she’s just a –’ Finn shook his head. Whatever he said, with his reputation there was no way Jim would be buying it.

  ‘Fancy a walk along the beach?’

  ‘I’d love to.’ Isla took the chips and they set off together, side by side.

  After a few moments of silence, they both spoke at once.

  ‘So how are you finding island life, then?’

  ‘Have you recovered from the bike crash?’

  ‘You go first,’ said Isla, sitting down on one of the smooth rocks that jutted out of the sand and looking up at him. She patted the stone beside her, inviting him to join her.

  ‘My rib’s still a bit buggered, but it’s getting there. How about you? How long have you got left?’

  Why the hell did I ask her that? Finn thought. Nice to meet you – so when are you leaving? Brilliant.

  ‘Another few weeks. I’m going back to Edinburgh soon, for a school reunion.’

  ‘Interesting. They’re usually a bit of a car crash, as far as I’ve heard. You got any skeletons ready to come out of the closet?’

  My God, this was getting worse. Why not ask her if she’s got any old flames hanging around while you’re at it, man? He shook his head.

  Isla looked at him sideways. ‘No, definitely no skeletons. Do you?’

  ‘Well . . . ’ He kept his tone light as he stood up, stretching out his back. The rib was still hurting like hell, actually.

  ‘You look sore.’ Isla stood up. ‘Shall we walk over there? Ooh, look – is that a seal on the rocks down there?’ ‘Yes – come on, if we walk slowly I’ll show you. We don’t often get them on this side of the island. Too many tourists.’

  Night was falling quickly now. As they approached the seal, it plopped into the water. Isla laughed. ‘Too quick for us.’

  ‘I’ll take you out and show you some another time, if you like. My friend Roddy’s got an observation centre over the other side of the island.’

  ‘That’d be lovely.’ She looked at him sideways again. ‘So, about these skeletons. I’m guessing you can’t have any, because everyone here knows everything, right?’ She popped a chip into her mouth and carried on walking.

  ‘Well . . .’ And then it all came out, somehow. There was something about Isla; she had a peaceful way about her.

  ‘Ruth – Ma – you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with her, haven’t you?’

  Isla smiled. ‘I love her. She’s amazing. You’re lucky to have a mother like her.’

  ‘Ah.’ Finn stopped for a moment, turning to look at Isla. Sometimes people would work out their ages and do the maths. Isla either hadn’t thought of it, or was too polite to let on. ‘Well, for a long time – until I was fifteen – I thought she was my mum.’

  ‘You’re adopted?’ Isla nodded, as if everything had fallen into place.

  ‘Not quite.’ Finn shook his head and explained. How when he’d been fifteen, his whole world had shifted sideways when Ruth had sat him down and told him that his big sister who lived in Australia wasn’t his sister, but his biological mother. That the reason he’d been born in Inverness was so that nobody on the island would discover that a fifteen-year-old Shona had given birth. How Ruth had brought him up as her own; that they’d done what they thought was the right thing. It was a different time, Ruth had explained to him. But he’d been absolutely furious when he discovered, and refused to speak to his sister, taking out all his teenage anger and confusion on her when she tried to call from Australia, where she’d moved away to start a new life.

  ‘That must have been so hard for her. And for you.’

  ‘And for Ma – Ruth,’ Finn conceded. ‘She tried to do the best she could to fix everything, and somehow she just got caught in the middle. But I couldn’t let Shona just turn up, aged thirty, and start trying to act like my mother. I already had a mother.’

  ‘And nobody on the island knows any of this?’ Isla reached out to put a hand on his arm. He felt the warmth through his sleeve, turning to look at her.

  ‘Roddy does. And I imagine he’s told Kate, because I didn’t tell him not to. But that’s it. Shona came back to visit ten years ago, and it wasn’t a success.’

  He still felt guilty about it. He’d been twenty-five, old enough to know better, but he’d behaved like a spoilt child. Shona had gone home to Australia devastated – and a horrible, petulant part of Finn that he didn’t much like had felt glad that she felt bad.

  ‘Can’t you sort things out with her now?’

 
‘I’ve tried – a bit,’ he admitted. But it had been a pretty pathetic attempt. Ruth had mentioned something about Shona coming back for a visit, and several times he’d gone to pick up the phone, or write an email – but he didn’t know where to start.

  ‘There’s always time,’ said Isla. She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, looking directly at him.

  He looked back into her brown eyes. Kindness and compassion shone back at him.

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘I usually am.’ With a flash of a smile, Isla turned away and headed back up the beach towards home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Oh my God, this place is massive,’ Jinny hissed under her breath at Isla as they made their way into Duntarvie House. Isla, who made a rule of trying to stay cool in situations like this, mouthed ‘I know’, aware she was just as wide-eyed as Jinny. Even Shannon’s habitual cool had been replaced with jittery nerves. She’d insisted on checking their kit bags about five times before they’d loaded everything they needed and driven to the far end of the island and through the wide stone gateposts that marked the entrance to the Duntarvie Estate.

  ‘Oh great, you’re here. The bride’s had her make-up done already. She’s in here.’

  Kate was wearing a pale grey dress that set off the colour of her eyes. She led them through into a beautiful little drawing room decorated with hand-tied posies of wildflowers and foliage – all, as she told Isla whilst munching on a celery stick (‘Sorry, I can’t stop eating them – it must be a craving, or I’m missing some vital celery nutrient’), sourced from the estate and put together by Helen, the florist from town. She lived in one of the pretty little estate cottages they’d driven past on the way into the castle itself, and had done an amazing job. If this was just the room they were getting ready in, the wedding room itself must be breathtaking.

  Isla looked up. The ceilings were unbelievably high, the walls decorated with a pale eau-de-nil wallpaper that gave the room a calm air, and—