Page 63 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

‘Sorry, I assumed you’d heard the truck.’ It wasn’t the quietest of vehicles, being over fifteen years old and with a blowy exhaust. He’d take a look at it as soon as the next storm hit, when the boat would be unable to go out.

She said, ‘I was too busy wondering where to put this.’ She jerked her chin at the tub.

‘Tell me what you need.’

‘A table or two, a stool, a shelf…’

‘I’m sure I can manage that.’ Mack strode over to his workbench and began putting away the tools sitting on top of it. He’d dumped them there because he couldn’t be bothered to put them back where they belonged, which was supposed to be on the hooks attached to a board on the wall above.

Glancing at Freya, he caught her frowning. ‘Will this not work?’ he asked, tapping the bench.

‘It will, but I don’t want to put you out.’

‘You aren’t. I’m not in here much in the summer – too busy out on the boat.’ He made a face, feeling guilty. ‘I’m sorry if I landed you in it with your dad. I didn’t realise you hadn’t told him about New York. Let me…’ He stepped forward to take the tub from her and set it down on the bench’s rough scarred surface.

‘It’s OK. No harm done.’ Her smile was genuine, so he guessed she wasn’t saying it just so he wouldn’t feel bad. ‘He’s thrilled to bits for me.’

Her teeth worried at her bottom lip and his gaze was drawn to her mouth. It was a very kissable mouth.

Dragging his eyes away, he placed a hand on the box. ‘Is this it? Or do you have more?’

An apologetic expression stole across her face. ‘I do have more. Quite a bit more.’

He got the feeling she wasn’t comfortable with this arrangement and would prefer her own space – which he could understand, as she probably felt beholden to him.

‘That’s no problem. I’ll give you a hand bringing it in,’ he offered, and her expression cleared.

Expecting the back of her small van to be crammed with stuff, he was surprised to see it virtually empty. There were three more of the same kind of plastic tub she’d already brought in, plus a length of wood and a bag of clothes with what looked to be a respirator resting on the top.

‘Is this all of it?’ he asked.

‘Is it too much?’ She looked worried again. ‘I can keep most of it in the van, if you prefer.’

‘I was expecting much more than this. Where’s your wheel?’

‘I don’t have one. I mean, I do, but not with me. I don’t need a wheel for what I’ll be doing.’

He must have looked as flummoxed as he felt, because she said, ‘Didn’t you ever make little pots out of clay when you were a kid? There’s this spot at the other end of the village where the burn enters the loch, which has some clay deposits. When I was about eight or nine, me and my friend Alice used to make pots and let them dry in the sun.’

Mack flinched. He remembered Alice all too well. Alice, his first love; Alice, who had moved to Aberdeen when her father got a job there; Alice, who’d told him she was leaving and had gone without a backward glance, breaking his tender young heart in the process.

It had taken him a long time to get over her. A succession of girlfriends had helped, and he hadn’t thought about her in ages, but hearing her name suddenly brought it all back. Especially since he had a feeling of déjà vu. Freya was another woman who wasn’t going to be around for long…

Keeping his tone light, he said, ‘I can’t say I did, although I know where you mean. I preferred grubbing about at the water’s edge, looking for wee beasties.’

‘How about in school? Mrs Blake got everyone in the first year to make pots and stuff by hand.’

Mack’s mind flashed back to the art room, and he chuckled. ‘Now you come to mention it, I do recall making an odd-shaped bowl once. It could hardly be called a thing of beauty.’ His eyes widened and he cursed silently. ‘I’m not saying that your vases and such are ugly, or that they’re weird shapes. They’re… They’re…’

‘Weird shapes.’ She giggled. ‘That’s OK, they’re supposed to be.’

‘They’re actually quite beautiful,’ he said.

She was laughing at him. ‘You can’t walk it back, so don’t bother trying.’

‘Ah, shite.’ He was mortified.

‘I’m teasing,’ she said. ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as they say, so I don’t expect everyone to like my work.’

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