Page 91 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

‘Are these your grandchildren?’ he asked.

Mrs Henderson’s face glowed with pride. ‘They are. Rosie is six and Reba is eight.’

‘Do you want a sweet?’ the younger of the two children asked. She was holding out a packet of Haribo.

‘No, thank you, but it’s nice of you to offer.’ He said to Mrs Henderson, ‘Aren’t they bonnie!’

‘They’re a pair of little terrors,’ she said, but Freya could tell that the woman didn’t mean it. ‘How about you, Freya, are you married? Got any children? The last time I saw you was at—’ She stopped and bit her lip.

‘At Mum’s funeral,’ Freya finished for her. An image of that awful day flashed into her mind and tears pricked at the back of her eyes. She had been coping so well up to now, living back in her childhood home surrounded by so many reminders of her mother, that this abrupt unfurling of the coiled grief she would always carry with her, but usually managed to corral, was an unwelcome surprise.

Moments like these, caught off guard by emotions she had little control over, was the reason she had always been so reluctant to return to the island, and the reason she never stayed long. In London, she could bury the grief deep and ignore it for the most part. Here, she was ambushed by it when she least expected it.

She forced a smile to her lips. ‘No, I’m not married and I don’t have children.’

‘She’s got a career,’ her dad said grandly. ‘She’s a professor in London. Just got a promotion, she has.’

‘Ooh, how wonderful. Sandra would have been so proud.’

Vinnie nodded. ‘She would. She always said Freya would make a name for herself. She works in the top art college in the world, and she’s been offered a job in New York.’

‘Not quite, Dad.’

‘It’s in the top five, then. And she had an exhibition of her own work a few weeks ago.’

Pearl turned her gaze on her. ‘An exhibition? What of?’

‘Ceramics. That’s what I lecture in.’

‘Och, now I remember! You and Alice used to make wee clay pots from the mud in the burn when you were bairns. So, you made a career out of it, did you? As I said, your mum would have been proud. New York, eh?’

Freya asked, ‘How is Alice? We lost touch when I went to university.’ The truth was, Freya hadn’t been able to face her friend’s sympathy and pity.

‘Doing well. She still lives in Aberdeen and is married to a nice chappie who’s got his own plumbing business. These two are hers. We’re here for a wee visit for a few days. I’ll tell her you were asking after her. Anyway, I must get off. It was nice seeing you again, Vinnie. You too, Freya. Come on, girls, your mother will be wondering where we’ve got to.’

Pearl gathered her grandchildren, ushering them ahead of her, and when she reached the door, she looked back and waved.

Vinnie waved back thoughtfully. ‘I haven’t seen her for years. It’s strange to think your mum would have been her age now. But Pearl’s right, she’d have been cock-a-hoop about your new job. And so am I. I know I keep saying it, but it’s true. I wish she could have seen that exhibition of yours.’

So did Freya. Her mum would have loved how the colours, textures and shapes of her homeland had such an influence on her work. Without Skye, Freya wouldn’t be the potter she was now, and although she’d run away from the island and from the memories that even now were so hard to bear, Freya understood that wherever she went in the world, Skye would always be in her heart.

Chapter 23

This isn’t a date, this isn’t a date, this isn’t a date.Freya kept having to repeat the mantra over and over in her head, because it certainly felt like it. Here she was, in the most glorious of settings, about to eat a fantastic meal, sitting opposite a simply gorgeous man – tonight was the most date-like non-date she’d ever experienced.

Mack had also made an effort with his appearance. No shorts and no T-shirt. Instead, he was wearing a navy suit with a navy shirt. The shirt had a tiny pattern of white leaves, almost too small to see. His golden hair was tied neatly into a bun and he’d trimmed his beard. He was a cross between a surfer-dude and James Bond.

The delicious smells emanating from the hotel’s kitchen weren’t the only thing making her drool. Mack had taken her hand when they’d entered the bar, and his touch had sent her into a tailspin.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said, as they sipped their drinks.

His was non-alcoholic, which she felt bad about. He’d insisted on driving this evening, despite her argument that since she was taking him to dinner, she should drive so he’d be able to enjoy a couple of glasses of wine or whatever he fancied. Mack Burns could be as stubborn as her dad when he wanted to be, she was discovering.

‘I love the dress,’ he added.

She’d found it in a second-hand shop, the last place she’d tried before she’d been about to give up and return to the cafe and her patient dad.

Her dress-buying mood had evaporated after meeting Mrs Henderson. Freya would have given anything to have had her mother go shopping with her and help her pick out a dress for this evening. She was reminded yet again that her mum hadn’t been there to witness many other milestones in her life – her twenty-first birthday, graduation, first job, attaining her PhD… And she wouldn’t be there if she ever got married or had children. Freya hoped Alice Henderson knew how lucky she was.

---