‘You never asked,’ said Roderick mildly. ‘I was quite impressed with myself for sorting out a party.’
Men! She couldn’t even look to Sandra for commiseration. Head cocked slightly to one side, pink-lipsticked mouth pursed in an expression of prim satisfaction, Sandra made a little
‘hmm’ of smugness. So much for the sisterhood.
Roderick scratched his head in puzzlement.
Murdo chortled, giving him a nudge. ‘You’ll never please them, man, believe me. I’ve tried and failed for many a year.’
Roderick shrugged, his expression helpless. ‘I didn’t even think about a present. I’m sure you can find something in town.’
Kate gave a gusty sigh of exasperation.
Unable to resist the opportunity for a boast, Sandra ushered them into the hotel. ‘We’ve got a
lovely
present for Jean. Come away through and I’ll show you the spread
we’ve put on.’
She took Kate’s elbow and led her, with an unwilling Willow trailing behind, into the lounge bar. The walls were papered with dark-green paper, the carpet was tartan and, in celebration of
Jean’s birthday, there were huge tartan ribbons festooned above the polished mahogany bar.
‘Murdo has this place gleaming like a new pin.’ Sandra preened, like a smug hen. ‘And I’ve made my Coronation Chicken – I know how much you love it,
Roddy.’
‘Oh yes.’ His tone gave nothing away, but Kate had a suspicion he was trying not to laugh.
‘You can see the mainland from here on a clear day,’ said Murdo, slipping behind the bar. ‘It’s a fine spot. Now, will you join me in a wee something?’
‘I’m driving,’ said Roderick. ‘But our Kate’s developed a bit of a taste for whisky since she’s been here. When she’s not on the wine, that
is.’
She shot him a glance. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether or not he was joking.
‘It’s a bit early for that, don’t you think?’ Sandra’s expression was disapproving. ‘I don’t like to drink much, myself, as you know, Roddy. All those
empty calories.’
Kate sucked in her stomach, without thinking. She could feel Sandra’s eyes upon her.
‘A girl after my own heart.’ Murdo reached up to the shelf, moving a photograph of a blonde girl in traditional Highland dress to reach behind it for something. Kate sneaked a closer
look. The girl would have been quite beautiful, were it not for a slight curl to the nostril, which gave the impression she’d recently smelled something quite unpleasant. She had to be
related to Sandra. Kate covered her smile with a hand, disguising it as a cough.
Murdo opened a bottle and poured a hefty measure of whisky into a crystal glass. ‘Slàinte.’ He raised his glass to her and took a sip, eyes closed in appreciation.
Kate followed suit, feeling the liquid warmth travel through her body. Despite the baking heat in the bar, her fingers and toes were still frozen.
‘Will you have another?’
‘Thank you, but we ought to be getting back.’ She looked down, realizing that the tension on Willow’s lead had slackened. The puppy had slipped her new, too-big collar and was
squatting in a corner with an expression of relief, which rapidly changed to guilt.
Sandra, who had been straightening the serried ranks of glasses on a table in front of the bar, shrieked with horror.
‘Get that creature out of here. My new carpet!’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Kate scooped up the cringing Willow and rushed out into the freezing air.
‘Don’t be,’ said Roderick’s amused voice in her ear. ‘Extra treats for you tonight, Willow. What a good girl!’
‘We’ll see you at seven.’ Murdo stood silhouetted in the hotel doorway, whisky glass in hand.
Looking through the window as the Land Rover crunched down the drive, Kate could see Sandra beetling through the bar, bucket and cleaning liquid in hand, looking furious.
‘She didn’t seem all that friendly, for a landlady.’
‘Ah. It’s a long story. And we’ve got a firework display to get to.’
Having soaked for far too long in a boiling hot bath, Kate was scarlet in the face and had no time left to straighten her hair. She swiped green eyeshadow over her lids and
smudged on some eyeliner. Her mother had sent her some thermal underwear, and she pulled it on, looking at herself in the ancient, freckled mirror. The vest and long johns clung to her, giving her
the appearance of an overstuffed sausage. The woman on the packaging – long blonde hair tumbling carelessly – managed to look effortlessly sexy and radiate an aura of ski-chalet chic.
Kate looked more like a draught-excluder cushion. She laughed at her reflection. Willow barked excitedly at the sound.
‘Sorry, darling, you’re going back to Susan tonight. I don’t want you to be frightened by all that noise.’
She picked up her jeans from the tangle of clothes at the end of her bed. An old, long-sleeved T-shirt, a sweatshirt and a thick fleece completed the outfit. She caught another glimpse of
herself in the mirror. Her hair had a kink in it from her ponytail band. She was definitely putting on weight – it was all those cakes Morag kept feeding her. Combined with the Michelin Man
layers, Kate reflected that it was just as well she was off men.
‘I’m not exactly chic, am I?’
Willow didn’t reply. Kate popped on her coat and wellington boots, twisted her hair up into a woolly hat and they set off for Susan and Tom’s cottage.
‘Fireworts, fireworts, fireworts,’ Jamie crowed, opening the door.
‘Oh God, he’s going into orbit himself,’ laughed Susan, welcoming Kate and Willow into the chaos.
‘Willow will be fine in there tonight. Mum’s going to stay here with Mhairi, because she’s too wee. And, even better still, Dad’s going to take Jamie back afterwards, so
we can stay and have a dance.’
‘Dance?’ Kate looked blank.
‘The party at the Bayview afterwards. I thought you said on the phone you were there this afternoon?’
‘I did,’ said Kate, horror suddenly dawning on her. ‘I was so busy thinking of what to wear to keep warm, I sort of forgot that bit.’
‘Ah.’ Susan nodded. ‘So you haven’t gone for anything like this?’ She lifted up her fleece to reveal a tight black, sparkly vest, which clung to her flat stomach
and stopped short of her slim hips.
‘Er, no.’ Kate unzipped her coat. ‘More this.’ She lifted up her sweatshirt, showing off her deeply unbeautiful cotton thermals.
‘Oops!’ Susan laughed. ‘Nip down and grab something. I’ll shove Jamie in the car and drag Tom away from the computer.’
‘Aha, my fellow whisky-lover. Let me get you a wee dram to warm you up.’ Murdo spotted Kate as she climbed down from Tom’s huge four-wheel drive. He was
carrying a tray full of steaming mugs.
‘Mulled wine, yum. Thank you!’ Susan lifted Jamie out of the car and grabbed a drink.
‘I’m going to find Dad, make sure we’ve got a good spot at the front to watch the fireworks. I’ll save you a space,’ Susan said.
The grounds of the hotel were packed. Most of the island’s population was there, laughing, stamping their feet and waiting for the fireworks to begin. Jamie’s eyes were huge, and he
was so excited that he appeared to have lost the power of speech.
‘Come away in with me, Kate.’ Murdo was in good spirits, probably because Sandra was nowhere to be seen, thought Kate.
He pushed at a well-disguised panelled door in the hall. Inside she found Roderick sitting opposite Bruno, long legs in jeans, stretched out in front of a log fire. He was wearing a checked
shirt and thick woollen sweater, freshly shaved, his cheekbones deeply shadowed by the firelight. He raised his glass to her in greeting.
‘You found our hiding place.’ He moved over on the sofa, patting the space beside him.
‘Kate,’ Bruno took her coat. ‘Sit yersel down and get warm.’
She felt as if she’d sneaked into a corner of a gentlemen’s club. The little room was tiny, with two sofas facing each other. The walls were panelled with dark wood, and a
stag’s head leered down at her. It seemed picky to point out that she was already more than warm, having dressed for freezing temperatures, but having ended up in a centrally heated room with
a blazing open fire.
‘I’ll join you for a quick top-up.’ Murdo reappeared, bearing a bottle of Jura. ‘Sandra’s got her knickers in a twist about everything being perfect. If I stay
still too long, she’ll be tying a tartan ribbon round my head.’
Feeling outnumbered by the men and ignoring Roderick’s invitation to sit down, Kate perched on the arm of the sofa. The room was small and hot, and she could feel herself beginning to melt
under her many layers. Sitting in uncomfortably close proximity to her somewhat temperamental boss was the last thing she needed. She sipped her drink, the peaty warmth of the malt burning her
throat and making her cough.
‘Ye’re no on duty now, hen. You can relax,’ Bruno laughed.
‘I can’t. I have so many layers on my legs don’t bend,’ explained Kate, flushing as they all exploded with laughter.
‘It’s not even that cold tonight,’ Roderick placed his glass on the tray and stood up, holding out his hand. ‘Up you come, it’s nearly seven – time for
Jean’s surprise.’
In the field behind the hotel people had gathered in a semicircle, keeping their distance from the unlit bonfire. Kate and Roderick joined Jean and her husband Hector.
Murdo was weaving up the path with a loudhailer in his hand.
‘He’s lethal with that thing,’ Jean laughed. ‘I thought Sandra hid it after the Highland Games last year?’
‘He found it in the wardrobe in the spare room,’ explained Roderick.
‘Herself will not be happy about that, I’m thinking.’
‘Take a look.’ Roderick pointed at Sandra, who was storming across the field after Murdo, a thunderous expression on her face. ‘I think Murdo is about to be put back in his
box, don’t you?’
The loudhailer squawked.
‘LADIES – hang on, that’s a bitty loud . . . ’ Murdo fiddled with a button. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. I’m about to have this loudhailer snatched off me by my
good lady wife, who thinks I’m going to embarrass her again.’
The islanders around the bonfire erupted in laughter.
‘So, without further ado, let’s have a countdown to the Auchenmor fireworks. Get OFF, Sandra.’ He batted at his wife ineffectually as she grappled with him, seizing the
loudhailer and beetling away.
‘What exactly happened at the Games?’ As the rest of the islanders were counting down from ten, Kate turned to Roderick, intrigued.
‘Murdo had one too many to drink. And Sandra, as usual, was complaining,’ Roderick leaned forward, his mouth close to her ear, to make himself heard over the yelling crowd. She could
hear the smile in his voice. ‘He decided he’d had enough and tried to auction her off to the highest bidder.’
Kate’s laughter was drowned out by the first fireworks. The crowd had pressed forward with the excitement. Sensing Roderick’s body just inches away, she stood, frozen to the spot. He
was so close that she could feel his breath on her hair. Despite the crowds, the moment seemed strangely intimate.
When the last rocket had shot into the air, Roderick squeezed past her and darted out of sight. He re-emerged holding the loudhailer and flicking it on.
‘I wanted to take a moment to say thank you to someone very dear to me,’ he began.
Standing beside Roderick with a lemon-sucking expression, Sandra shot Kate a narrow-eyed glance of dislike. It was picked up by Jean, who gave Kate’s arm a reassuring squeeze.
‘Don’t you worry yourself about
her
.’
Kate laughed in surprise.
‘She’s got tickets on herself, that one,’ Jean sniffed disapprovingly.
‘She doesn’t like a lot of fuss,’ continued Roderick, his voice echoing across the field. ‘So this is for you, Jean.’
Out of the shadows came the sound of bagpipes. The piper strolled forward, clad in a kilt and a thick woollen sweater. The low bass drone filled the night air. Kate turned to a speechless Jean,
who was flapping her hands in front of her eyes, trying in vain to stem the tears.
‘Go on then,’ said Kate, pushing Jean gently forward. ‘Enjoy your moment.’
The piper’s tune changed. Kate realized with delight that the Highland melody had been replaced by ‘Happy Birthday’. Roderick turned to Murdo, who had reappeared bearing a
birthday cake. The candles flickered, lighting up Roderick’s face. He looked across at Kate, caught her eye and smiled. He put the loudhailer to his mouth and turned back to the crowd.
‘Three cheers,’ he roused the islanders, who yelled in response. ‘And now, Jean, if you’ll do the honours?’
He passed her a wooden stake, topped with a petrol-soaked rag. Murdo struck a match. The crowd roared again as he leapt back, swearing, at the sudden whoosh.
Jean circled the bonfire, methodically lighting her way around it, before throwing the lit torch onto the effigy of Guy Fawkes. She beamed at Roderick, who gave her a wink and smiled.
‘Get yourself inside and I’ll buy you and Hector a drink,’ he instructed her.
Kate turned, looking around for Susan now that the crowd had thinned. Parents were carrying tired, protesting children away from the field, looking forward to tucking them up, sitting down in
front of the television and having some time to themselves.
‘I can’t see Susan,’ she stood on tiptoe, peering through the darkness. ‘She said to wait for her outside.’
‘Ah,’ said Roderick, pointing into the darkness. ‘She asked me to mention that her dad was going back with Jamie, so the two of them have a night off. She’s away with the
fairies.’
Kate looked at him, puzzled.
‘Come a bit closer and I’ll show you,’ he explained. Torch in hand, he led her away from the bonfire and into the darkness.
As Kate drew closer to the edge of the field, she could see the outline of a twisted hawthorn tree, festooned with torn pieces of rag. She turned to Roderick.
‘What on earth is that?’
‘It’s the clootie well. I won’t take you any closer at the moment, in case we disturb the young lovers.’
‘So why is the tree covered in bits of cloth?’
‘Well, tradition says that if you tie a piece of the cloth to the tree and make a wish, the fairies will grant it before the cloth wears out,’ Roderick said. ‘People used to do
it when their family members were ill, but nowadays it’s more likely to be teenagers making wishes about the person they fancy. And of course it’s also a place where they can hide and
nobody knows what they’re up to.’