Wildflower Bay

by Rachael Lucas

  ‘You OK?’ Isla looked at him, concerned.

  ‘Just trying to take it all in. You didn’t –’ He looked at her, suddenly feeling anger. ‘She didn’t tell you she was suffering from heart failure, did she? You didn’t know she was sick and not tell me?’

  Isla shook her head, stung. He was grieving, and lashing out; she knew that instinctively. She remembered when her mum died, how everything was brushed under the carpet. The only emotion she’d had left, the only one she’d seemed to be allowed, was anger. She’d smashed a cup by accident in the kitchen one night, and, realizing that it somehow made things feel better, had picked up every single piece of crockery on the draining board, crashing them down on the tiled floor, furious tears streaming down her face. She’d expected to get into trouble but her dad had just quietly sent her to bed and swept it all up. The next morning when she got out of bed there was a brand new set of dishes in the cupboard, and nothing was ever mentioned about it again.

  So it wasn’t surprising to her that the first thing that Finn would do was lash out.

  ‘Honestly, I promise – if she’d said something, I’d have told you.’

  She’d known something was up – the swollen ankles had been getting worse, and the breathless wheezing – but Ruth had made it clear that she didn’t want to discuss what she’d have called ‘any of that nonsense’.

  Finn hung his head, shaking it slightly. ‘I’m sorry, Isla. I don’t know why I said it. I just –’

  ‘It’s OK. You don’t need to explain. You loved her, and she loved you so much, and . . .’ Her voice was choked, and she felt the tears spilling over again. Oh, Ruth.

  Finn rubbed his forehead, pressing his brows together, screwing up his face in thought. He looked up at her, his whole face registering shock and sadness.

  ‘I’m going to have to ring Shona now, let her know. And the rest of the family.’ He put his head in his hands for a moment. ‘Oh God, Isla. What a bloody mess.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  ‘Isla?’

  Shannon, who’d stayed on after work to tidy the salon in preparation for Jessie’s visit back to the island, shook Isla’s arm. She’d been staring out of the window and into space again, something that she’d done a lot of in the few days since Ruth’s death.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I was wondering if we should lock the back room before Jessie gets back?’

  ‘Jinny’s room?’

  The little back room – which had previously been filled with ancient stock and out-of-date equipment – had been cleared out one weekend by Jinny and Shannon, who had borrowed Jinny’s dad’s pickup truck and taken most of it to the little scrap yard on the hill towards Scalpsie Bay. Jinny had taken it upon herself to paint the room a pale violet and hang bright sari material – which she’d bought from the market in Glasgow – on the walls. With the addition of some of her Buddha statues and some fairy lights, she’d made the little space beautiful. Isla had signed off the expense of a massage table, saying she’d deal with Jessie later, and Jinny, delighted, had started doing the occasional holistic treatments on their regular clients.

  ‘No,’ Isla decided on the spur of the moment. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll handle Jessie.’

  Shannon looked dubious. ‘She’s not going to like it.’ She shook her head. ‘She says all that stuff has no place in a hairdresser’s and if people want that kind of hippy nonsense they can go up the hill to the weirdo retreat place.’

  Isla stood firm. They’d worked hard, and she wasn’t going to back down now – and anyway, putting it off until Jessie was back on the island full time, rather than popping over for a few days’ visit, wasn’t going to make it any easier. She couldn’t help thinking that Ruth would approve of that, too.

  ‘Well,’ Jessie looked around the salon, taking in the changes, ‘you’ve got this place looking like a new pin.’ She gave a nod of approval. ‘I knew I’d be leaving it in good hands with you, Isla. Have these lassies been behaving for you?’

  Isla looked at the girls, who were both dressed neatly in black today – they’d decided that with Jessie coming over for a visit, they were going to pull out all the stops. So whilst Shannon’s hair was still peacock blue and her tattoos spun in a riot of colour down her arm, her black jeans were spotless, her silk vest ironed perfectly. Jinny’s tiny frame was engulfed in a voluminous, flowing black dress, her hair ironed straight, no jangling bracelets on her wrist, but huge, ornate Indian silver earrings that hung down to her shoulders.

  ‘We thought as the shop was closed we could give you a special treatment,’ said Jinny, twisting one leg behind the other, pulling out a chair. Shannon poured a cup of tea and handed it over.

  ‘What’s this?’ Jessie sniffed the cup, surprised.

  ‘It’s an ayurvedic blend,’ Jinny beamed, looking pleased with herself. ‘Designed to rebalance your chakras and bring body and soul into alignment.’

  Oh God, thought Isla, you’re going too far. She looked over Jessie’s head at Jinny, pulling a face.

  Jessie took a sip, sitting back in the chair. ‘Very nice,’ she said, her tone surprised.

  ‘We’ve made a few – changes,’ Isla began. ‘I mean, you’ve probably heard from Calum . . .’

  ‘Och yes, he tells me the place is heaving and I tell you what, it was a surprise when I took a look at the accounts on the computer. What have you been doing, Isla? Have you been printing money out the back room or something?’

  Isla saw a fleeting glance of panic exchange between Shannon and Jinny.

  ‘Not quite, Jessie, but –’ No time like the present, thought Isla. ‘Actually, before Shannon does your hair, Jinny’s got something up her sleeve to show you.’

  Jinny gave a tiny squeal of excitement. Released from her silence, she whirled across the room, opening the door with a flourish to reveal the brand new treatment room. There was some spa-type music playing quietly, and the scent of essential oils wafted out from a burner.

  ‘If you’d like to come this way, madam, and slip off your shoes, you can settle yourself down on the bed for a treatment . . .’

  Forty minutes later, Jessie emerged looking completely blissed out and not quite on the same planet. She sat amenably whilst Shannon blow-dried her hair (‘There now, you look gorgeous – off you go for a date night with Calum, and maybe his luck will be in tonight . . .’ Shannon said at the end, causing Isla to fix her with a glare that said ‘don’t push it’).

  ‘You’re looking braw, hen,’ said Calum, winding down the window as he pulled up outside the salon.

  Jessie turned around and gave them a wave, pausing just as she was about to climb into the passenger seat. ‘I’m away to be a lady who lunches, girls. Have a lovely day.’

  Isla closed the door of the salon and turned around.

  ‘Yes!’ shouted Shannon and Jinny, fists in the air in celebration.

  ‘Well, I think we could call that one a success.’ Isla gave them a massive smile, and the three of them hugged in delight. She was fairly certain that Jessie – who’d confided to Isla that she was enjoying playing granny far too much to come back to working in the salon full time – wouldn’t be getting under Shannon’s feet for too long, but she wasn’t going to say anything just yet. Right now, just knowing that they’d passed the first major hurdle was enough.

  ‘So what are you two up to with the rest of your day off?’ Isla locked the salon door.

  ‘I’m away to the park for a picnic with Rab,’ said Shannon, hitching her bag over her shoulder and waving as she saw his little car pulling up at the end of the street. She’d finally given up on The Rules and the two of them seemed to be getting on enormously well, spending all their spare time together. He was another reason Shannon would have for wanting to stay here on the island, Isla realized. With Jessie seemingly quite happy, things seemed to be working out for both the girls.

  ‘Jinny?’

  Jinny gave an impish grin before pulling on a motorbike helmet that looked ridi
culously huge on her tiny frame. She’d recently been given an old moped by her dad, and took great delight in trundling around the island at thirty miles an hour, beeping excitedly to everyone she knew, waving an arm that caused the scooter to waver alarmingly on the road.

  She flipped open the visor. ‘I’m taking myself off on a secret mission,’ she explained, wrinkling her nose with delight. ‘I’m going up to Lily’s place because she’s looking for someone to do some extra treatments on the retreat clients, and I met her in the street the other day, and we got talking.’

  ‘Oh Jinny,’ Isla couldn’t help laughing. Jinny and the crazy Lily were probably the perfect combination, and her retreat clients would absolutely love Jinny’s quirky nature. ‘That’s brilliant. So what’s the secret mission, or can’t you tell?’

  ‘Och no,’ said Jinny, shaking her head. ‘The secret mission was going up to Lily’s place to talk about working there part-time. I was a bit worried that you’d be concerned I couldn’t fit in working at the salon and up at the retreat, and –’ she put a hand to her helmet, where her mouth would have been had it not been masked – ‘I’ve just told you the secret!’

  Isla shook her head, still laughing. ‘I’m sure we can work around you. It sounds like a brilliant idea.’

  Everything was getting sorted, and Ruth was gone. With a sudden wave of tiredness, Isla decided to go up to the little flat and have a rest. There wasn’t anything else to do.

  She’d just settled down on the orange and brown sofa with a book and a drink when the doorbell chimed. Pulling herself up with a groan, she looked out of the window – she didn’t get visitors, as a rule.

  The only person besides the girls it could be was Finn, but he’d popped into the salon that morning, surprised to see it open, checking she was OK. He’d looked tired and drawn, and she’d hugged him goodbye as he headed off to the funeral directors’ to discuss Ruth’s funeral service. When Isla turned back both the girls had been studiously looking away, pretending to busy themselves with last-minute preparation for Jessie’s arrival, but she’d felt their stares. Isla knew they were dying to know what – if anything – was going on. The idea that she and Finn could just be friends seemed impossible for them to comprehend.

  She headed downstairs, not having been able to see a thing from the window.

  ‘Hello, darling.’

  Her father was standing there looking pleased with himself, a couple of M&S bags in hand.

  ‘Thought I’d take a day off, see how my girl is doing, seeing as Jessie’s over for a couple of days.’

  ‘She knew you were coming?’ Jessie hadn’t said a word.

  ‘Aye, I said we’d maybe pop in later on and say hello, but she tells me she’s off out for a fancy meal after having her hair done in some posh salon?’

  ‘Come upstairs.’ Isla paused to give him a huge cuddle. He was exactly what she needed.

  ‘I nipped to the shops before I came, picked up a few bits – I know you said you were fed up because the food here is terrible.’

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ Isla peered into the bag, seeing he’d stuffed it full of meals for one and packets of her favourite sweets and their shared favourite, ginger ale. ‘Actually, I’ve discovered there’s some amazing shops here, and places that sell stuff so fresh it’s straight off the farm, but –’ she pulled out a packet of Percy Pig sweets, tearing them open – ‘these are gorgeous. Want one?’

  He shook his head, patting his stomach. Isla looked at him properly, realizing as she did that he’d lost even more weight. He looked great, better than she’d ever seen him – much more like her old dad that she remembered from the years when her mum was still alive.

  ‘Nope, I’m watching the calories.’

  ‘I’m amazed.’ Isla shook her head as they sat down on the sofa. ‘All those years, I’ve been nagging you to stop eating biscuits, and as soon as I go away—’

  ‘Aye, well, I decided it was time to make a few changes.’ He looked a bit uncomfortable, reaching into his pocket for his phone. ‘In fact . . .’

  Oh God, Isla thought. Please don’t be moving to Australia to start a new life, or something like that.

  He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking down at his phone screen. ‘The thing is –’

  He handed the phone across to Isla. There was a photograph of a smiling middle-aged woman with kind eyes. She was half-kneeling, dressed in outdoorsy clothes, hugging a huge black German Shepherd dog.

  ‘That’s – well, she’s – I met someone.’

  Isla looked down at the picture and back up at her embarrassed-looking father, who looked desperate for approval. She put the phone down on the sofa, reaching across and wrapping her arms around him. ‘Dad, she looks lovely.’

  He pulled back, looking at her directly. ‘You don’t mind?’

  Isla looked at him, wrinkling her brow. What on earth did he mean?

  ‘I just – well, I didn’t ever want you to think I was replacing your mum. But when you came over here, I was lonely without you popping by after work and dragging me out for walks on the canal.’ He laughed. ‘Anyway, I went into the cab office one day and Estelle – that’s her name – was new. She’s working on the control desk. We got chatting, and—’

  ‘Mind?’ Isla squeezed him tightly again. ‘I’ve never seen you looking this well and happy, Dad. And you’ve been on your own far too long.’

  ‘Ah, darling,’ her dad said into her hair, ‘you’re such a sweetheart.’

  ‘I love you, Dad, and I want you to be happy.’

  ‘And that’s what I want for you. Now tell me, my Isla, how are you doing?’

  Isla, who wasn’t sure exactly how to answer that, hid her face in his shoulder and thought.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Finn paused for a moment, his hand on the door of Ruth’s little stone cottage. The sun was beating down on his back, and he felt irrationally angry that the summer – which she loved so much – had arrived at last, but too late. The lavender bushes by the front door were beginning to flower, and the smell made his head spin with memories.

  ‘You OK?’ Isla reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Yeah.’ He shook himself briefly. ‘It’s a bit weird, I don’t know why—’

  ‘It’s all right. That’s why I’m here.’ She smiled at him gently. The sun had brought out freckles on her nose that made her look much younger, and somehow, more vulnerable. She was hurting too – and with that reminder, he braced himself, and opened the door.

  Nothing had changed inside. A shift in energy, perhaps – a sense of everything having stopped. But the house still smelt sweetly of Astral hand cream and the floral scent that Ruth had worn, and in the sitting room the crochet blanket sat folded neatly on her armchair beside the remote control. The bed where she’d slipped away had been stripped, the mattress lying bare. Annabel, Ruth’s neighbour, had wanted to do that (‘one last wee favour,’ she’d said, rubbing his arm in sympathy, ‘dinna worry yourself, I’ve got a spare key, I’ll just pop in and sort it out for you’).

  He found Isla standing quietly in the kitchen, hands on the side of the sink, staring out at the little walled garden where the roses were blooming prettily.

  ‘I wish she was here to see them,’ she said, turning to him.

  ‘Me too.’ It was strange, but being in the cottage seemed to be making him feel more at peace. He could almost sense Ruth there with them, smiling with approval that he’d taken Isla along to help choose something for her to wear. When the funeral directors had asked if he had any thoughts about it, he’d looked blank. It hadn’t occurred to him that they would want to change her clothes – but Ruth had always been well turned out. She wouldn’t want to make her way to wherever she was going dressed in a nightie and a quilted dressing gown. The thought of it made him smile.

  ‘What’s funny?’ Isla looked at him with her head to one side.

  ‘Just imagining what she’d say if she was here. She’d be telling us to get a move on,
and get the kettle on for a cup of tea, before she was too late to watch the lunchtime news.’

  Ruth’s cupboards were tidy and minimal – she hadn’t been a believer in keeping hold of stuff she didn’t need. Isla opened the wardrobe, and they chose something for Ruth to wear.

  ‘Hang on.’ Isla paused, looking down at the dressing table. There was a little black and white cameo photograph of Finn’s grandfather sitting there. ‘Do you think we should put this in with her?’

  Finn picked it up, looking down at the picture. He hadn’t noticed before just how much he looked like his grandad, who had died from a heart attack the year Finn was born. Ruth had been on her own from the age of forty-five, and never married again. He nodded, smiling at Isla. ‘Yes, I think she’d like that.’

  Isla looked up at the painting on the wall, done by Ruth as a young girl. It was a posy of wildflowers tied up with a ribbon, which her father – Finn remembered being told the story as a young boy – had framed for her as a surprise present. She’d kept it in her bedroom ever since.

  ‘I’d like to do one more thing,’ said Isla.

  They left the house, and drove up through Kilmannan towards the funeral directors’. As they reached the park, Isla asked Finn if he’d pull over for a moment. She jumped out of the Land Rover.

  ‘I’ll just be a moment.’

  He watched as she ran across the park to the far side, where the oak trees stood. A few moments later she came running back with something in her hand. As she drew closer, Finn realized with a smile what she was holding.

  Isla climbed back into the car, cheeks flushed pink from running, her hair ruffled by the sea wind. In her hand was a posy of harebells, daisies, pink campion and the sweet peas that grew in a wild tangle, caught up in the hedge that edged the park.

  ‘Wildflowers.’