Page 14 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

‘Not too bad,’ he replied, but he couldn’t hide a grimace, and she knew the transfer had taken it out of him.

‘I’ve got to pop back to London…’ she began, before realising how ridiculous she sounded: one didn’t just ‘pop back’ from Skye. ‘I need to fetch more clothes and—’

‘Stay there,’ he interrupted.

Freya blinked. ‘You don’t mean that?’

‘I do. I can manage on my own. You’ve seen me with the walker.’

She had, and it had been painful to watch. Gone was the strong, striding father she knew, and in his place was a hesitant, shuffling old man. However – and Freya took comfort from this – her dad was making good progress, and although he would need her help for a while, she was confident that he’d be walking well in a few weeks, even if he did have to use a stick outside the house. And if necessary, she’d arrange for a cleaner to come in a couple of times a week and for him to have his shopping delivered.

She worried whether he’d be able to drive again, but they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. She needed to get him home first, and for that to happen she had to bring his bed downstairs. Thank goodness the bathroom was on the ground floor. In fact, she’d tackle the bed situation this evening, in case he was discharged early next week. It was better to be prepared than to leave things until the last minute, she reasoned, knowing she would be away for at least two days.

‘There’s no need for you to come back,’ he insisted. ‘You’ve got your own life to lead.’

He’d been singing variations of the same song all week, to Freya’s growing irritation. Anyone would think he didn’t want her there.

‘We’ve been over this, Dad. I’m staying for as long as you need me.’

‘But that’s what I’m trying to tell you,’ he argued. ‘I’ll manage.’

‘You won’t.’ She could be just as stubborn as him, and she was determined not to back down. She could never be so selfish as to leave him on his own when he needed her, no matter how much he protested that he didn’t. And if something happened to him, she’d never forgive herself.

‘I’m staying and that’s final,’ she insisted. ‘So get used to the idea. Anyway, it won’t be forever, will it? You’ll soon be as right as rain.’

As Freya got to her feet and began to unpack the bag, she almost missed the flash of guilt and sadness on her dad’s face.

Her heart went out to him; it was going to be hard for such an independent and self-sufficient man to accept that he needed a bit of help – even if it would only be for a short time – and she vowed to make the next few weeks as easy as possible.

Chapter 6

Mack couldn’t resist telling his mum that Freya Sinclair was back in town, so he called in on his way home. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t on the way home at all and he could have phoned her instead, but he secretly harboured the hope that he might bump into Freya. He wanted a proper look at her, now that he knew who she was. Boy, had she changed! He remembered a flame-haired, skinny girl with brown eyes that were too big for the pale, freckled face they stared out of. But the woman he’d seen last night had been gorgeous. She’d really grown into herself, and she had oozed confidence.

As he marched back down the mountain, his feet sure and steady on the narrow rocky trail, Mack realised he knew very little about her, other than that she lived in London and taught pottery in a college. And hadn’t his mum mentioned something about her work being in a gallery? He hadn’t paid much attention, assuming that was what craftspeople did – display their stuff in shops and such.

He found his mother in the garden, weeding. She had a floppy sun hat on her head and a pair of ankle-high wellies on her feet.

‘Are you expecting a heatwave or snow?’ he joked when he saw her.

‘It’s Skye,’ she replied. ‘Any weather is possible.’

‘Och, that’s true enough.’ It was nice at the moment, the evening warm and pleasant. Insects darted among the flowers, and sparrows argued in the bushes. Next door’s cat lay sprawled on the path, taking a keen interest in the weeding process and one eye on the birds.

‘Guess who I bumped into in the pub last night?’ Mack said.

His mum straightened up. ‘Freya Sinclair?’

‘How did you know?’ Mack was put out that she’d stolen his thunder. She hadn’t had an inkling that Vinnie’s daughter was home when she’d told him about the old man’s fall yesterday.

Jean raised her eyebrows as the sound of a crash was followed by a loud yelp. The noise came from two doors up – Vinnie’s house.

‘Rhona told me. She spoke to her this morning. Freya’s going to be staying a wee while.’

‘What on earth is she doing?’ he asked, wincing as an expletive floated on the air.

‘Moving furniture, by the sounds of it. Why don’t you see if she needs a hand?’

Mack was more than happy to, and he was off like a shot and chapping on Vinnie’s door before he knew it.

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