Surprises on the Scottish Isle (Coorie Castle Crafts #1)

Chapter 7

Calan had only taken his eyes off Bonnie for just one second, and she’d disappeared. He was in the office working through the list on his tablet, and his daughter had been sitting on the floor, colouring. She clearly felt better, but he had no intention of sending her back to school, not when she’d been so upset, and he didn’t care what Yvaine said. It was his decision to make because he was the one who’d collected her from school.

He tried to call his ex-wife again, but he got the same message as before. Yvaine was unavailable.

Sooner or later she would see that the school had phoned, as had he, and he knew she would panic and would want to speak to Bonnie herself to make sure their daughter was OK. So he had best go find the child, hadn’t he?

Whenever Bonnie was at the castle, she had free rein to go where she pleased, with two provisos: that she didn’t stray beyond the immediate castle grounds (no going down to the loch, for instance), and she didn’t get in anyone’s way. The crafters and the castle’s staff were wonderfully tolerant of her, with Gillian in the cafe slipping her hot chocolates or milkshakes depending on the weather, and slices of cake or cookies, but he didn’t want her to make a nuisance of herself.

At least by wandering off, Bonnie proved that her illness wasn’t physical, so he had no need to worry that she might be sick or have a temperature. However, her emotional distress was another matter, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it, especially since he was so upset himself.

Cal was hoping Bonnie had got the wrong end of the stick and Yvaine wasn’t really planning on uprooting their daughter and moving her to Portree, but he guessed the hope was a vain one. He wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth though, before he said anything further to Bonnie.

He was about to step into the hall when he heard his daughter calling him. ‘Dad! Dad!’ She shot through the door and barrelled into him.

He caught her by the shoulders. ‘What’s the hurry? How many times have I told you not to run or shout indoors? You’ll annoy the guests.’

‘Sorry.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You’ll never guess! There’s a lady making doll’s houses in the craft centre, and she said I could have a go. Can I, Dad? Please?’

‘Hang on, young lady, what did she say, exactly?’

‘Exactly? Um…’ Bonnie screwed up her face. ‘Tara said – that’s her name, Tara – she said that I would have to ask you if I could join her workshop.’

‘When is it?’

‘I don’t know, she hasn’t decided. But when she does, can I? Please? I want to make a doll’s house just like my house, so when we move I’ll always remember what it looked like. Tara can show me.’ Her face crumpled and her chin wobbled. ‘I don’t want to leave my house, or Duncoorie, or Grandma and Granddad. And I don’t want to leave Katie and my school.’ She stamped her foot as she began to cry.

As Cal gathered her to him, trying his best to soothe her, he felt a spark of irritation at the doll’s house maker for unwittingly upsetting Bonnie all over again. Which reminded him – he should go and introduce himself. After all, he would be the one she’d be dealing with on a regular basis.

But not yet; for now he needed to concentrate on Bonnie. She was his primary concern. His only concern.

When Cal’s phone rang, Bonnie was in the castle’s kitchen scrounging

something to eat even though she’d eaten a good lunch. It was Yvaine and

she was furious.

‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at, taking Bonnie to the castle?’ she yelled, and Cal winced, holding the phone away from him. When he put it to his ear again, she was saying, ‘Can you imagine what was going through my mind when she didn’t come home from school?’ She paused to take a breath and Cal wasted no time leaping into the momentary void.

‘Have you listened to your messages?’

‘No, but—’

He cut across her, his ire building. ‘I didn’t think so. If you had, you’d have realised I had no choice. You weren’t answering your phone, and neither was your mother. Or would you have preferred me to leave our daughter sitting with Mrs Brown when she was unwell? She feels better now, thanks for asking.’

Yvaine didn’t apologise, but at least she’d stopped yelling when she said, ‘I’ve got a new mobile number. I lost my old phone on holiday. It fell into the sea.’

‘You could have mentioned yesterday that you had a new number.’ He wasn’t at all mollified by her explanation.

‘I’ve only just this afternoon got a new phone. Can I speak to Bonnie?’

‘She’s pestering Cook for a snack.’

‘Please don’t let her eat too much rubbish, she won’t eat her tea.’

Cal held his tongue. Cook wasn’t in the habit of stocking ‘rubbish’ in her larder. Everything was homemade, using the freshest ingredients.

‘Are you at home now?’ he asked.

‘Where else would I be?’

In Lenn’s bed, he nearly said, before coming to his senses. He didn’t care whose bed she was in, but he cared about how her actions affected Bonnie. ‘We’ll be there in ten minutes.’

True to his word, Cal pulled up outside his ex-wife’s house within the promised timeframe. Usually when he dropped Bonnie off, he waited by the car until she was safely inside, unless she had a suitcase like yesterday. Today, though, he wanted a word with her mother, so he accompanied Bonnie to the front door, where Yvaine was waiting to greet her.

After checking with Bonnie that she was OK and placing a hand on her forehead to make sure she didn’t have a temperature, Yvaine turned her attention to Cal. ‘Was there something else?’ she asked, with raised eyebrows.

‘When you told me that you and Lenn were moving in together, I didn’t think you would be living at his place in Portree.’

‘Why ever not? It makes perfect sense. His house is twice the size of mine, and there’s more to do in Portree than in Duncoorie.’

‘Bonnie doesn’t want to move to Portree.’

‘I know, but she’ll get used to it. Children are very adaptable and it’s not as though we’re moving a hundred miles away.’

‘Her friends are here, her school—’

‘She’ll soon make new friends, and when she’s eleven her school will be in Portree. That’s where the high school is, in case you’ve forgotten.’

Calan hadn’t forgotten. But Bonnie wouldn’t be attending high school for another two years. ‘Why can’t Lenn move in with you until then? She’s settled and happy where she is. She doesn’t need the upheaval of moving schools and moving houses. She’s got enough to cope with getting used to you having a boyfriend.’

Was he being unreasonable? He didn’t think so, but Yvaine looked annoyed.

‘As I said, she’ll soon make new friends. And for your information, Lenn is more than a boyfriend. He’s the man I’ll be spending the rest of my life with. This isn’t about her, is it? It’s about you. Don’t worry, you’ll still have her every other weekend. That won’t change.’

Yvaine could be so infuriating.

‘This isn’t about me. It’s about Bonnie, and what’s best for her.’

‘Are you saying I don’t know what is best for my daughter?’

‘She’s my daughter, too.’

Yvaine lowered her voice and hissed, ‘And don’t I bloody know it. Get over yourself, Cal. Bonnie and I are moving in with Lenn whether you like it or not.’

With that, his ex-wife shut the door in his face, leaving him standing on her step, his mouth open and an ache in his chest.

The ache intensified when he saw his daughter’s pale face peering at him through the bedroom window, as he realised she had probably heard every word.

Tara stared at the middle-aged woman standing in front of her and said, ‘Did you just ask whether I could make a coffin?’

‘Yes. Can you?’ The woman’s eyes flickered around the studio before returning to Tara. Her mouth was downturned, her expression sour. She was clutching an oversized bag to her bosom in a white-knuckled grip, as though she feared Tara might attempt to wrestle it from her.

‘I suppose I could.’ Tara had never been asked to make a coffin before. There wasn’t much call for them in the doll’s house industry. Although she supposed she could try branching out into creating Halloween scenes. It was something to consider.

‘Good. When can you come to measure up? He’s been dead two weeks and frankly I want to get this over with.’

Tara’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened. ‘ Excuse me? ’

The woman peered at her, squinting behind her brown-rimmed glasses. ‘I must say, you don’t seem keen to have my business.’ The accent was pure Glaswegian and the tone was scathing.

‘I, er… You do realise I make doll’s houses?’

‘I do.’ The woman scowled and glanced around the studio again. ‘Can I speak to your manager? I might have better luck explaining it to him.’

‘Sorry, but I am the manager. This is my business.’

‘Is there someone up at the castle I can speak to?’

‘About what?’ Tara wished she hadn’t left her mobile on the workbench. She had a feeling she might have to call for backup.

Glancing at it out of the corner of her eye, she wondered whether she would be able to reach it in time if the woman decided to cause a scene. When several more people entered the workroom, crowding in behind, Tara didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed.

Smiling vaguely in their direction, she kept her focus on the decidedly odd woman and her decidedly bizarre request.

‘About false advertising,’ the woman said.

‘Um, I think you’d be better off speaking to an undertaker,’ Tara suggested, trying to inject sympathy into her voice. Grief affected people in different ways.

‘What on earth for?’

‘The coffin.’ Maybe it wasn’t grief. Maybe the woman was suffering from dementia? Tara’s heart went out to her. Should she call someone? She had to do something…

The woman tutted. ‘As far as I’m aware, undertakers don’t do scale models.’

And the penny dropped.

Tara breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Ahh, I see! You want a model of a coffin, not a real one. Silly me! When you said he’d been dead two weeks, I thought…’ She ground to a halt. No wonder the woman was looking at her strangely. She must think she was a right nugget.

The woman pursed her lips. ‘You thought I wanted you to make a full-sized coffin?’

‘Well, yes.’ Tara bit her lip.

‘And I suppose you thought I was asking you to measure him up for it?’

‘Sorry.’

The woman’s bark of laughter made Tara jump and she yelped in surprise.

‘Bloody hell, Willie would have found that hilarious.’ She was chuckling. ‘He always did have a morbid sense of humour. I suppose he had to, in his line of work.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He was an undertaker, of course. They cremated him in one of his own coffins.’

‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ Tara was mortified.

‘Och, we weren’t very close. Willie was my brother-in-law. My sister is a bit upset, though.’

‘I expect she is.’ Tara felt awful.

‘She loves that funeral parlour.’

‘Riiight…’

‘Which is why I’m here. I want you to make a model of it. Can you do that? Your leaflet says you can.’ She flapped it at her.

‘Yes, I can do that.’

‘She doesn’t want to carry on with it on her own. She can’t, you see – too squeamish. Can’t stand the sight of a dead body. Willie handled that side of things. He used to love laying them out in their Sunday best, powdering their dead faces, combing their hair. Did you know it’s a myth that people’s hair and nails continue to grow after death?’ When Tara shook her head, the woman sighed. ‘It’s amazing the things you learn when your brother-in-law is a funeral director. Was a funeral director. He stocked a lovely line of coffins.’ She seemed to gather herself. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes, a scale model of the funeral parlour. What do I need to do?’

Tara hastily gathered her own wits and briefly explained how it worked, before making a note of the woman’s name and email address. ‘Right, Mrs Esplin, I’ll send you all the details of the things I’ll need from you, and we’ll take it from there. Is that OK?’

It was, and Mrs Esplin left, a relatively happy customer, although Tara didn’t think either of them had quite recovered from the initial misunderstanding.

A funeral parlour was certainly a first, and her head was still swimming with just how much detail she would be expected to go into, as she turned her attention to her next customer.

He’d been very patient, examining the window display whilst she dealt with Mrs Esplin, and he continued to study it, his back to her.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting…’ Tara began, then drifted into silence.

Although she could only see his back, there was something familiar about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but whatever it was made her pulse quicken and a shiver go right through her.

It was only when he slowly turned around to face her, that she realised who he reminded her of. Come to think of it, he didn’t just remind her. It was him, Cal . The man she had fallen in love with at university. The man who she had thought loved her. The man who had broken her heart. Calan Fraser.

The total, utter shite.