Page 13 of Scotch on the Rocks

I rolled my eyes only once my back was turned. “I’m not going to hurt myself lifting a suitcase. Who would look after this place?”

“Better not to test the theory.” Her attempt to wrestle the suitcase back fell flat when I set it down on the gravel. The wheels instantly sank deep into the little stones.

“What the hell did you pack?”

“Only a month’s worth of clothes.” Despite the cool September wind, she wore a large floppy sun hat.

“You know the ship has a laundry service, right?”

“What if I get bored with my clothing options?”

“Touché.” I might have been adopted, but inthatregard, I was truly my mother’s daughter. Though different in style, we were just as finicky about our fashion choices.

Shivering, she pulled her cardigan more tightly over her floral sundress. She’d be half frozen long before arriving at Glasgow airport, but I didn’t say a word as I watched her fight against the wind tearing the brim of her hat. Relieved she’d finally accepted my Aunt Sylvia’s invitation at all. Fiona never took holidays. Days off were few and far between.

Shaking off the thought, I urged her toward the waiting car. Neil, the only taxi driver based out of Kinleith, idled between the few visitor vehicles in our compact car park, an open book in his hand.

“You won’t be late for the breakfast service, will you?” Fiona asked me.

“I still have thirty minutes and Hank is already well prepared.” Hank had been in charge of the breakfast service long before I arrived as a frightened, gangly seven-year-old. He was basically part of the furniture. If the furniture had mutton chops and swore like a sailor.

“What if someone has an allergy?”

“Then I’ll give them the allergy menu.” I set the case down beside the car, offering Neil a small wave and nodding to the boot. He beat me there, slipping easily from the seat, and with a cheerful “Good morning” he stored it away.

Fiona wrung her hands together. “Remember the leaky shower in room five, don’t put a guest in there unless you absolutely have to.”

“I remember.” I squeezed her shoulder, understanding that this separation couldn’t be easy for her. Ivy Househad been her baby long before I came along, even more so after Alexander’s death. “You deserve this break. Let me hold the reins for a little while, yeah? You can trust me.”

Her hand went to my cheek, stroking lovingly as always.And as always, I fought the urge to draw away. “Of course I can, my darling girl, you know how I worry about you.”

I held in my millionth rendition of my “I’m a grown woman …”speech and instead nudged her toward the back seat.

“You’ll phone me if anything goes wrong.” It wasn’t a question.

“Cross my heart.”

“And you have all the emergency phone numbers?”

I almost deflated with my sigh. She claimed to trust me and yet it was becoming clearer by the second that she didn’t. “Yes, they’re laminated and taped to the front desk. Exactly whereIput them two years ago.”

“Of course.” She gnawed at her lip and I felt like the worst daughter in the world.

“Go and have fun. Get drunk every night and sleep with a sexy, too young waiter.” She laughed but pain, clear and acute, dulled her eyes. A pain so ingrained in her features I wasn’t sure I’d recognise her without it. Years filled with heartache and Ivy House were all she had to show for it. And me.

Though I wasn’t sure I counted.

I flicked the brim of her hat. “Hold onto this thing on the ferry.”

“I love you.”

I love you too. I didn’t say it, pulling her into a quick hug I hoped sufficed. “Make sure someone helps her with her case at the other end, will you, Neil? It’s too heavy for her to lift alone.”

“You got it, June.” He winked in the mirror. “How about a drink later?”

“In your dreams.” He knew good and well I no longer dated men from Skye.

I gave Fiona a final wave goodbye, listening to the crunch of the tyres as the taxi manoeuvred down the narrow lane that would take her through Kinleith village to the ferry port in Armadale.

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