Page 120 of Scotch on the Rocks

Unlocking my car with the fob, I reached for the handle when tyres crunched over gravel.

Callum.

A taxi swung around in a small arc, and hope quickly gave way to disappointment when a small woman in big sunglasses stepped out, her hair a little more sun-streaked than its usual dark brown. Wait—

“Fiona?” She straightened. “I thought you weren’t coming home until Tuesday?”

Beaming, she pushed her sunglasses onto her head. “I caught an early flight.”

Three strides and I had her in my arms, squeezing her tighter than ever before. “I missed you.”

Shock stiffened her limbs for a single heartbeat, and then her arms swept around me too, clutching just as tightly. “I missed you too, love.” She pulled back, running that assessing gaze over me. “What on earth, Juniper? You’re all covered in mud.”

Yeah. Too eager to get to Callum, I hadn’t exactly hung around to change. “That doesn’t matter.” Picking up her case, I all but dragged her to the door, ready to get this over with. “I need to tell you something – well, show you, really.”

The flight must have really worn her out, because she was very un-Fiona-like, barely uttering a word of protest when I abandoned her luggage in reception, or when I flaked dry mud on the staircase. At the threshold to room five, I didn’t hesitate, flipping the lock and pushing open the door wide with sweaty palms.

She’d either like it or she wouldn’t.

Entering first, I held my breath as she turned in one slow circle, eyes skimming over the new soft furnishings and freshly painted panelling – the soft sage that made the space feel bright and airy – then pausing to dance a finger over the antique dresser. Callum had helped me hang photographs of Skye on the largest wall a few days ago, the frames all various colours, shapes and sizes.Disordered tranquillity, he’d said, when we stepped back to admire our handiwork.

I’d liked the phrasing then, now I worried if perhaps it were too much.

As a child, I’d always admired the way Fiona never let her emotions show on her face. On the days she’d frustrated him, Alexander …my dad, would say it was like arguing with a brick wall, you got nothing but silence and a sore head. On the good ones he loved the fact he was the only person alive who could accurately read that twinkle in her eye. I wished he was here now to read her for me,because when she smoothed a hand over the new linen bedding, easing the corner into a perfect square I could never quite replicate, I’d have given anything to know what she was thinking.

Then she noticed the pictures – the largest frame right in the very centre displaying a large swathe of Dad’s tartan wallpaper. She sat down with a thump, the air punching from her lungs just as soundly.

“Mum—” The title came instinctually, if a little awkwardly. “I’m so sorry if you hate it, I … I should have asked you first.”

Her lips wobbled into a watery smile. “Aye, probably.” And then she rolled her eyes, just like I would have done. “But Hank – busybody that he is – might have pointed out that it was time I loosened the reins around here.”

“You spoke to Hank?”

“Aye, a few times. He told me you had it all in hand and I should leave you to it.”

Hank had actually covered for me? “So you knew what was going on?”

She laughed, tossing her thick brown hair. “Of course I did, I’m your mother. You were creeping around, taking secret phone calls, looking guilty as sin for weeks. I knew you had something planned, though I didn’t know it was all this.”

“If you hate it—”

“It’s beautiful.” Gnawing her bottom lip, she folded her hands in her lap. “I should have let you play a bigger role at Ivy House a long time ago, after your father … I needed something to hold onto and I thought it must be this place, but it wasn’t. I … I needed you, baby girl, and I didn’t know how to tell you.” She held out her arms, her face so hopeful it tore my heart from my chest.

Crossing the room, I sank to my knees, dropping my head into her lap. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an awful daughter.” She stroked my hair with tentative movements and I squeezed my eyes shut. “I think … ever since you adopted me I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. That you and Dad would see I was nothing like the perfect child you dreamed of and then I’d be alone all over again.”

“Never …you were our baby, born from me or not. You have nothing to be sorry for, love. We should have tried harder to be a part of your life. You were such an independent wee girl, forced to grow up too soon. You didn’t need me to brush your hair or tuck you in at night.” Her hand didn’t slow. “Your dad wanted to push but I … I feared pushing too hard would only drive you further away from us.”

Throwing my arms around her waist, I held her like I was seven years old with a cut knee. “I love you, Mum.”

She whimpered, kissing the top of my head. “I love you too, baby. Always have. Your dad would be so proud of you.”

The words were like a warm blanket thrown over every miserable moment in my life. Still being me, when tears rolled down my cheeks again, I wanted to stuff them back inside my eye sockets. Three people had seen me cry this morning, if you counted that sheep judging my knee-deep breakdown in the bog, and I most certainly fucking did.

I pulled back, swiping at my cheeks. “I didn’t even ask about your trip, did you have a good time?”

“The best.” She smiled, looking lighter. Like years of grief – hadn’t disappeared exactly – but lifted some. “I think I’ll do it again now that I’m stepping back as manager.”

“You’re what?”

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