Page 102 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

All the things she needed to do flitted through her mind, but she had trouble grasping them and pinning them down, and even more difficulty summoning the energy to actually do them. The main thing was to pack up her apartment and decide whether to keep the flat on.

Would she go back to London one day, after her dad—

A sob caught in her throat. She didn’t want to think about that. It would be years away, decades. Those years stretched ahead of her, the shape of them indistinct. She had to fill them in the only way she knew – she had to make her ceramics.

But what would she do for a studio? She could hardly expect to keep using Mack’s byre, and neither could she impose on Rob at the castle. She would have to find somewhere to rent, somewhere either in Duncoorie or a short distance away. But that was easier said than done. There weren’t many commercial properties around. And she couldn’t pack up her studio in London until she had somewhere suitable for her wheel and kiln.

Dear God, this was going to be a logistical nightmare.

There wasonething she could do, though – she could start the ball rolling and look into how to go about having a stairlift installed, because before too long her poor old dad was going to need it.

Chapter 26

The gusty wind caught Freya’s hair, tugging and snapping at it until it streamed out behind her like a pennant. She wished she’d thought to tie it up, but when Mack had messaged her to ask whether she fancied a walk to blow away the cobwebs – and told her that if she did, he’d be there in ten minutes – she’d only had time to change and make sure Dad didn’t need anything.

Since Freya had discovered his secret, nearly a week ago, her father had been much less argumentative (though he still had his moments). He seemed to have resigned himself to the inevitability of her being there.

After a few more attempts at trying to persuade her that he could manage on his own if he had a bit of help with his shopping and maybe a cleaner to come in once a week, he’d finally stopped trying. Freya had made it clear that she wasn’t going anywhere, and that nothing he could do or say would make her change her mind.

She’d continued to stand resolute, even when he’d threatened to go into a nursing home. As if she’d letthathappen!

It wasn’t a day for being out on the loch. The wind whipped the sea, churning the surface into racing white horses, as wave after white-topped wave battered the shore. Mack, understandably, had decided to cancel today’s excursions.

He asked, ‘How have you been? I haven’t seen you all week.’

‘Oh, you know… Taking one day at a time. Dad’s improving slowly.’

‘Not Vinnie. You. How areyou?’

‘Fine.’ It was her stock response these days whenever anyone asked.

‘I don’t think you are,’ he observed.

Freya squinted into the distance, ignoring the breathtaking view as she struggled to hold back unexpected and unwelcome tears. ‘I will be,’ she said eventually.

‘I know you will.’ Mack stopped walking and turned to face her. She stopped too and when he took hold of her hands, his touch sent tingles up her arms.

He was the one – theonly– light in the twilight that her life had suddenly become, and even that glow was dim. Just because they’d shared some passionate kisses didn’t mean he loved her. He liked her and he certainly fancied her, or he wouldn’t have kissed her the way he had, but lust didn’t equate to a relationship.

However, it was the quiet hope that love might blossom one day which had kept her going these past few days, that something positive might rise out of the ashes of her hopes and dreams for the future.

Mack was studying her intently, and she blushed under his scrutiny.

‘Can I ask you something?’ he said. ‘If your dad didn’t have Parkinson’s, would you have definitely gone to America?’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t hesitate. There was no question that she would. ‘But he has and I’m not, so I don’t want to dwell on what might have been. I can’t afford the headspace. I’ve got too many other things to think about.’

‘Such as?’

‘How I’m going to earn a living, for a start. I need to work, but there’s not much call for a ceramics professor on Skye, and the craft centre already has a resident potter.’

‘I’ve seen your website – you sell things on there, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but I’m not sure as to its sustainability. I’ve always had a day job alongside.’

‘Maybe it’s time to take the plunge? Those pieces in the byre… They’re beautiful, Freya.’

She hesitated. ‘I could, I suppose, but I can’t do it without a studio, and there’s nothing suitable nearby. I thought about begging for some kiln time from Rob, but that wouldn’t be fair on either of us. And even if I do manage to find a studio, I keep asking myself whether there’d be any point. All my contacts are in London, as are all the galleries.’

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