Page 29 of The Boathouse By the Loch

Jake turned back. David was sitting in the driver’s seat, his window wound down.

‘The Winky?’

‘You know, The Winking Owl.’

‘Sorry, I don’t know what that is.’

‘It’s a pub.’ David shot him a look. ‘I can tell you’re not a local, despite your accent.’

Jake shot him a look. Of course David knew he wasn’t a local – he was Jake Campbell-Ross.

But he hadn’t always been a part of the Ross family. ‘I used to live here once, years ago, when I was a boy.’ Jake could hear the sadness in his voice, the ache for what might have been. He might have grown up in this small community in Aviemore if his parents hadn’t died. Perhaps he’d have known David all his life, gone to school with him, and called The Winking OwlThe Winky, like the locals obviously did.

Jake glanced at Mr Gillespie’s store. Perhaps his mother hadshopped there. He wouldn’t be surprised. The large chain supermarkets had only been in the town for around ten years. Until then, this store had been the main grocery store unless you travelled further afield. Jake could just imagine his mother taking him shopping there as a child. Jake hadn’t been in the store since. It made him wonder if David’s father would remember him – the little kid whose father was in the RAF.

Although Jake and his mother could have travelled with his father, and lived abroad during his postings, his mother loved Scotland, and her home town of Aviemore, and The Lake House – their home. So they’d lived there, the two of them, while his father was away.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in that pub,’ Jake thought aloud. He hadn’t really ventured into Aviemore much over the years, even though he’d been there every winter for Christmas.

‘It’s up the road there, right in the centre of town.’ David pointed. ‘I’ll be drowning my sorrows,’ he said, ‘so don’t expect too much coherent conversation. But you’re welcome to join me for a drink and … well, whatever it is you want to show me.’ He offered Jake an unexpected grin.

David was out to get plastered tonight, and he’d invited Jake along for the ride, although Jake intended to stick to soft drinks.

‘I’ll be there,’ Jake said, surprised by the invitation.

Jake watched David start the engine.

David’s plans to book into a fancy hotel and patch things up with Robyn had presumably gone awry. That morning, at breakfast, Jake had noticed that Gayle was unusually subdued. She hadn’t said why. Now Jake guessed that Robyn had phoned her and told her as much. Perhaps Robyn was staying in London for the weekend. Or maybe she was coming home, but didn’t want to see David.

‘Lost my girl …’ said David.

Jake nodded knowingly.

‘And I haven’t even got a proper job.’

Jake looked back at the store, then back at the truck.

David read his mind. ‘I’m helping out the old man, just temporarily – I hope.’

Jake lost his chance to ask David about his plans for the future by the appearance of Mr Gillespie at the door, casting a disapproving glare in his son’s direction and shouting, ‘You still here?’

‘Speak of the devil,’ said David, starting the engine. He looked out of the window at Jake. ‘I’ll be in the pub ‘til closing time most probably. I’ll buy you a pint,’ he said. ‘It’s the strong stuff, mind, none of that wishy-washy English rubbish.’

‘I’ll be there, but I’m not drinking—’ Jake’s voice was drowned out over the rumble of the engine. There was a crunch as David put the truck into gear.

Jake stepped back and watched the van drive off, feeling sorry for David. It sounded as though things had been going great one minute – he and Robyn had got engaged, and had moved into his boathouse – and then something had suddenly happened, and everything had changed.

He swallowed hard at the thought of how life really could turn on a dime. He’d heard that phrase when he was working in America, and he’d had to ask his American colleague, who had recently suffered an unexpected bereavement, what he’d meant by that. He’d told him it was a figure of speech, meaning the course of a person’s life could change direction very quickly.

Jake could empathise. It had happened to him as a child. But he’d had no clue back then that it would happen to him again.

Eleanor.

Jake breathed a heavy sigh, remembering what he had gone there to do.

He turned around to find Mr Gillespie senior still standing outside his shop, arms folded over his chest, eyeing Jake suspiciously. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, you can,’ said Jake, following him into the shop. ‘I need a sledgehammer.’

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