Page 44 of Surprises on the Scottish Isle

Tara felt surreal, as though this was a dream and she would wake from it with his name on her lips and the ghostly feel of his body curled around hers. In the early days after the split, she’d woken from that same dream night after night, the brief moment of bliss shattered when she remembered he was no longer hers. That he had never truly been hers.

But it seemed he hadn’t been Yvaine’s either, despite what a marriage certificate said. And maybe Yvaine had sensed it. Or maybe Tara was reading too much into it, and she should get a grip.

‘We’ll eat on the deck,’ Cal said, when he saw that the salad was done and the bread was cut.

The deck was a small wood-slatted area to the front of the cottage, the boards silvered by the elements. It housed a table, two chairs with bright cushions, and a lantern containing a stubby candle. After helping Cal carry their meal outside, Tara sat at the table and realised she could see the boathouse quite clearly from there. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering she could see Cal’s cottage from her bedroom window, but she nevertheless found it unsettling.

Movement caught her eye. A rope swing, not too high off the ground, swung idly as a breeze caught the branch above.

Cal followed the direction of her gaze. ‘Bonnie loves that swing, but don’t tell her mother. She reckons they’re not safe.’

‘Are they?’

‘It’s probably not as safe as a swing in a play area, but the excitement is in that little bit of danger.’

Tara felt he had described what she was doing right now. Cal was exciting and dangerous. However, the danger wasn’t a scraped knee. It was a broken heart, but only if she let him get close again, if she dropped her guard a second time and let him in.

The salmon was delicious, the salad edible, and the bread reminiscent of her holiday to Corfu the summer before she’d met Cal. But she’d had to force the meal down, too tense to enjoy the food properly, too conscious of the man sitting at right angles to her with his knee almost touching hers.

‘Cheese and biscuits? And a coffee?’ he asked.

‘Just coffee, please.’

He laughed. ‘Thank goodness for that. I’ve just remembered that the only cheese I’ve got is the plastic slices that come in a plastic container, along with slices of plastic ham and those round salty crackers. The crackers are quite nice. Not too keen on the ham or the cheese, though.’

‘Bonnie?’

‘How did you guess? And those salmon steaks could easily have been fish fingers.’

‘I quite like fish fingers.’

‘In a sandwich,’ he said. ‘I remember.’

‘Hey, I was a poor student. I couldn’t afford salmon steaks.’

‘That’s because you preferred to spend your money on wine, not food.’

‘True.’

‘Do you remember that girl who used to work in the student union bar? The one who always won the yard of ale competition?’

‘Gosh, yes. I’d forgotten about her. She must have spent a fortune on booze to get as good as that.’

‘I saw her last year. She was visiting Skye with her wife and three kids. I didn’t recognise her, but she recognised me.’

Tara wasn’t surprised. Cal hadn’t changed much. He was still a handsome guy.

Over coffee, they reminisced about the people they used to know, and Tara realised they were both being careful not to touch on anything that might bring their relationship to the fore. The conversation flowed easily, and a second cup of coffee was called for as the sun dipped below the mountains on the other side of the loch, the sky’s palette painted in dove grey, with mauve ribbons of high cloud highlighting streaks of apricot and pink.

Tara tried not to think about how romantic this would be if the man she was experiencing this beauty with had been anyone other than Cal.

‘I never tire of this,’ he murmured, lifting his head to the sky. The sunset was reflected in his eyes, wonder on his face.

‘It’s stunningly beautiful,’ she admitted, and she was suddenly glad to be sharing this breathtaking moment with someone.

The waters of the loch grew still and dark as the light faded from the sky, only the flame from the candle in the lantern keeping the night at bay. The air held its breath. Not a leaf stirred, not a wave lapped. The silence was so deep, she thought she could hear Cal’s heart beating.

A fox’s harsh bark broke it.

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