Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
‘W ild camping?’
I gripped tighter onto my new, shocking pink rucksack with both arms, cradling it like a baby. ‘But I thought…’
Logan’s attention drifted to my rucksack. He arched one brow. ‘You thought we’d be staying at a five-star spa, with champagne running from the taps?’
‘No,’ I blustered. ‘Of course not. But I thought maybe glamping.’
Logan flashed me a grin as he threw his bulging black backpack into the rear seat of his bottle green, American-style pick-up truck. ‘I thought your publishers wanted you to have a genuine outdoor experience here on Skye.’
‘They do.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t be getting that in a luxurious hotel or lodge, would you?’
Outside The Gorse, Logan had parked up by the edge of the kerb. He gestured to me to pass him my rucksack.
I clung on to it.
He lent one muscular arm on the edge of the open passenger side door. ‘Are we going to stand here all day or are we going to get going? We’ve research to do.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘For your first day, I thought we’d go to the Coral Beach. It should only take about half an hour to get there.’
‘And that’s where we’re camping?’
‘Aye.’
‘For one night.’
Logan’s lips twitched. ‘One night?’
‘Yep. If you think for one minute, I’m going to torture myself under canvas, when I could be cosied up in there’—I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at The Gorse, all tartan drapes and glowing with warmth behind me— ‘then you’re even more deluded than I thought you were.’
Logan held up both hands in mock surrender. ‘OK. OK. Tell you what, let’s see how we get on tonight and if you really hate it, no more camping.’
I pushed out my bottom lip. ‘There’s no two ways about it. I am going to hate it.’
Logan’s eyes twinkled at me through the pale, March light. I straightened my back.
‘I hope your tent’s to your satisfaction. I borrowed my sister’s for you.’
My lip curled. Heaven only knows what that would be like.
Logan shot me a mischievous look. ‘I’m afraid it isn’t made from Italian lace, so you might just have to slum it.’ His full lips flexed at the corners.
I jumped into the car, mouthing a rude word at him as he strode round to the driver’s side and then fired up the engine for the journey to Coral Beach. He shot me a glance. ‘What food and cooking utensils have you brought with you?’
Blood rushed to my cheeks. ‘Er… I mean…’
He grinned at me. ‘Lucky for you, I’ve already packed food, a first-aid kit and stuff to cook with.’
Oh, what a complete knobhead! Look how pleased he is with himself. ‘So, I should think.’ I prickled, hoping to disguise my embarrassment. ‘ You ’re supposed to be Skye’s answer to Action Man, not me.’
There was a charged silence.
I reddened again. ‘Thank you. For bringing the food and cooking equipment.’
Logan slid me another look. ‘You’re welcome.’
I fidgeted in my seat and snatched a look across at his stubbly profile. He was making me feel like a flustered idiot.
The scenery reeled past my window in a cacophony of pine trees bumping along the dramatic folds of landscape.
The interior of Logan’s truck smelled of old leather and there were tattered maps stuck inside the pocket of his door.
I leant forward into the footwell and rummaged around inside my bag to find my phone. I held it up to the passenger side window and recorded for a minute.
Then, I began scrolling through my social media. I also checked out River’s latest posts. They seemed to consist of her peering seductively out from under her sunglasses, as she waggled Techno Phones’ latest designer mobile.
I gritted my teeth. That should’ve been me!
‘Would you like some advice?’
Logan’s deep, Scottish rumble made me start. I jerked my head around to look at him. ‘No, but I get the impression that won’t stop you.’
He slowed and indicated left, driving past a patchwork of fields and rickety fences that looked vaguely like old broken teeth. ‘If you want to appreciate Skye for the true beauty that she is, you should put that thing down for a bit.’
I frowned. ‘It’s my job. My career.’
Logan concentrated again through the windscreen. ‘What? Gawping at technology?’
I bristled. ‘Blogging.’
A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Logan’s mouth. ‘Right.’
I offered him a withering look. ‘And what do you mean by that?’
‘I didn’t mean anything.’
‘Yes, you did. It was the way you said it.’ I sat up straighter. ‘I might not go around gawping at rocks, but that doesn’t give you the right to downplay what I do.’
His hands shifted on the steering wheel. ‘I’m not downplaying what you do at all. I’m just suggesting that if you’d put that phone down for two seconds, you’d be able to appreciate how stunning this island is.’
‘If it stopped raining, that’d help.’
‘It isn’t raining at the moment,’ pointed out Logan, gesturing to the scenery spread ahead of us through the windscreen.
I made a grumpy tut and set my phone down in my lap.
‘Over there, that’s Dunvegan Castle,’ he explained.
The building’s buttery stone turrets erupted out of the trees on our left, all spikes and crenelations, with frilly brickwork running around the top of it. ‘It was built around the thirteenth century and is home to Clan McLeod.’ Logan nodded over at it. ‘It’s been occupied by the same family for eight hundred years.’
He glanced across at me. ‘Sir Walter Scott and the late Queen Elizabeth II visited it.’
I tried to appreciate the shiny vista of Dunvegan Loch fringing the view, but my mind kept shooting back to River’s smug face as she promoted the Techno Phones under that dazzling sunshine.
Logan’s attention drifted back to me. ‘Something bothering you?’
‘Oh, just work stuff,’ I replied.
‘Yes, well, hopefully you can forget about influencing for a while and relax.’
I shot round in my passenger seat. ‘Relax? Are you joking? I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere; I’m freezing my butt off and I’ve just bought a new wardrobe that my late great grandmother would approve of.’
‘Ah, but you’ve a capable, rugged, expert guide to accompany you.’
I pretended to stare into the back seat, as though I was jokingly looking around for who Logan was talking about. ‘That sounds wonderful. If you tell me who this expert is, I’ll thank him.’
Logan’s handsome face split into a grin. ‘Ouch. Careful. You’ll hurt my feelings.’
I snapped my head away and watched the little red brick and white cottages stippling the hills as they flitted past. How come he was always so smiley and cheerful? It wasn’t normal. Did they put something in the drinking water up here?
‘Skye has eleven Munros,’ explained Logan with pride.
‘What’s a Munro?’
Logan jokingly shook his head. ‘Dear me. You Londoners. A Munro is a Scottish mountain that’s over 3,000 feet in height. They’re named after Sir Hugh Munro, who was a mountaineer and London aristocrat. He was the first person to start compiling a list of them way back in 1891.’
‘Congratulations. I’m very happy for you.’
He looked like he was trying not to laugh. That made me even more annoyed.
‘We’re the most northerly and the largest of the islands in the Inner Hebrides. And that’s the town of Dunvegan,’ explained Logan, pointing into the distance as he parked. ‘Not far to go now.’
‘I thought we were there,’ I grumbled, taking in the gravelly car park.
‘You sound like my friend Robbie’s five-year-old niece, Scarlett. Whenever he takes her out, she’s always asking if they’re there yet.’
‘Not soon enough,’ I grunted out of the corner of my mouth.
We clambered out and I threw my rucksack onto my back. Logan fastened on the tent and I adjusted the straps, aware of him where he was standing right behind me. I could almost feel his breath on the back of my neck.
I cleared my throat. Bloody rucksack! It was so cumbersome. ‘So, what now?’
Logan gave me a look.
I clamped my mouth shut.
‘It’s not far. Only takes about another twenty-five minutes to walk from here down to the Coral Beach.’
‘Twenty-five minutes?’ I echoed, incredulous. ‘Isn’t there a bus service to get us there?’
Logan strode on ahead, carrying his camping equipment like he was juggling a mini grocery shop. ‘You’ll be fine. It’s called walking and is very good for you. You just put one foot in front of the other.’
He glanced at me over his broad shoulder. ‘Be grateful. It’s not like you’re still wearing those ridiculous boots. You’ve got proper footwear on now, so this should be a breeze.’
I threw a dismissive glare down at my feet. Yes, I had to admit my new walking boots were comfy, but they certainly wouldn’t win any prizes for style.
We’d been striding along for about ten minutes over some farmland, when I pulled out my phone and took a panoramic view of the hills. Then I took out the camera. It was while I was trying to take a shot of the buffeting clouds and the way they were sitting over the top of the mountains, that I thought I noticed a flicker of movement out of the corner of my right eye.
No. I must’ve been mistaken.
Shifting the position of my rucksack on my back, I carried on walking a few more steps, before stopping again to take a couple of photos.
There was that sense again though, that something was advancing on me. I lowered the camera and turned my head to the right.
The breath caught in the base of my throat.
Oh shit! Something had indeed been moving over there.
I’d hoped it might be a small bird or a squirrel, but it wasn’t. It was a great Highland bull, two grey horns twisting out of its shaggy head.
Oblivious, Logan continued to stride ahead on his long legs. ‘Be careful,’ he threw over his shoulder. ‘This is farmland, so you might see the odd sheep or coo wandering around.’
The Highland bull stood still for a moment, appraising me. Then it took a few heavy steps forwards and drew to a halt, eyeing me from under its clump of fringe again.
I swallowed; my new boots frozen to the grass in fear. What the hell should I do? Should I scream at it? Should I run? Would it chase me if I did that? Maybe if I yelled at it to go away, it’d do as it was told?
Nope. Something told me, by the way it was standing there, that it had the moveability of a brick wall.
It continued to eye me from under its impressive toffee coloured quiff of hair. It was like a game of who was going to blink first.
I felt like a frozen statue, but I knew I couldn’t remain there for the rest of the day. I blew out a cloud of terrified air and took a couple of short steps backwards. I didn’t want to turn away from it, in case it took one look at my big arse in the waterproof trousers and decided to use me as target practice.
But the animal took a couple of steps closer.
It was as though both my feet were trapped in treacle, stuck fast and unable to move. My heart was clattering against my ribs. ‘Logan,’ I squeaked. ‘Logan.’
But he couldn’t hear me. He was too far ahead now, his backpack bouncing against his broad back as he walked, his confident stride suggesting he was completely at peace.
Oh God, why the hell was I putting myself through this?! Was all this really worth it?
I decided to take another couple of steps backwards. Maybe the bull wouldn’t copy me this time. Maybe it would get bored and trot off.
But he wasn’t bored. He did the same thing again and moved on his hairy, heavy legs towards me. In fact, his muscly, furry pins jolted forwards a couple more steps than they had before. I watched with increasing dread as his hulking great hooves squashed the grass underfoot. He was getting ever closer.
‘Logan,’ I bleated a little louder. ‘Logan. Help me!’
Still, he carried on walking, the sea air carrying my voice into the ether.
Fear gripped me harder. This was useless. If I didn’t get Logan’s attention right now, by the time he came back, I could be at the mercy of this fur-clotted creature. Taking a ragged breath into the depths of my lungs, I opened my terrified mouth and screamed, ‘For Christ’s sake, Logan!’
At last, he spun round and spotted the Highland bull. He looked from me to the bull and back again. He held up one hand. ‘OK, Darcie.’ His voice was calm. ‘Don’t panic, OK? Everything’s going to be fine.’
‘Don’t panic?!’ I screeched out of the corner of my mouth. ‘I’m face to face with Skye’s answer to a T-Rex and you tell me not to panic?’
Logan ignored my petrified sarcasm. ‘Listen to me. I want you to just walk slowly towards me. Don’t run. Just take your time and walk away, OK?’
I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times, before shooting more fearful looks back over at the bull. ‘But turning my back on him?—’
‘Forget about him. Just focus on me. Don’t look back. Just look at me, Darcie. Take a breath and start to walk towards me.’
My rucksack felt as though it was a dead weight, compressing my spine. I couldn’t run, even if I’d wanted to.
I tried to move one foot but it was as if my head and limbs were refusing to engage together.
Logan noticed. ‘It’s OK. Nice and easy does it.’
I sucked in some air and the fresh, zingy salt from the sea hit the back of my throat.
‘That’s it. Just forget about everything around you, except me. When you’re ready, just walk towards me. OK?’
I blew out a frightened breath and nodded. Fighting the burning urge to look back and see where our friendly neighbourhood monster was now, I raised one boot and then the other. I took a series of tentative steps towards Logan. My breath felt like it was lodged in my chest, fighting to get out, with every deliberate step.
I did as Logan told me to, though. I kept my gaze fixed on him. He was straight ahead of me, all legs, shoulders and close shaven, dark brown beard.
‘Just keep looking at me,’ he instructed. ‘That’s it. You’re doing great.’
‘Is he following me?’ I whimpered; my limbs stiff with worry.
‘No, he isn’t. Just forget about him and keep going.’
‘He’s following me, isn’t he? You’re just saying that to lull me into a false sense of security.’
Logan rolled his eyes. ‘I promise he’s not following you. Just keep walking.’
As soon as I reached Logan, the relief was so palpable, I almost threw my arms around him. I gazed up into his arresting eyes for a few moments, then remembered what an insufferable twat he was and hastily looked away. ‘Thank you. For helping me just now.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
I straightened my waterproof jacket for something to do and turned away, pretending to appreciate the sea. ‘Right. Well. Seeing as we’ve thrown off Godzilla, I suggest we get down to the beach as soon as we can…’
I turned around. My voice died.
The bull was approaching us, its flanks and shoulders swaying this way and that as it crossed the windswept hillside.
I let out a desperate shriek and reached to grip onto Logan’s arm, but he wasn’t there.
I did a double take.
He was moving towards it.
What the hell was he playing at?!
Then my mouth fell open in shock. They were saying hello to one another. The Highland animal was lapping up Logan’s gentle pats. My jaw clenched. ‘Hold on a second. Are you telling me you know this bull?’ I blinked at Logan. ‘He’s friendly?!’
‘Oh aye. This is old Rusty. I’ve known him since he was a calf.’
My temper took off like a rogue firework. ‘But you… You…’ Indignation flared in my cheeks. ‘You let me think he was dangerous!’
‘No, I never told you Rusty was dangerous. You just assumed he was.’ Logan carried on rubbing Rusty’s furry flank. ‘And anyway, he could’ve been a marauding beast, but he isn’t.’ Logan’s lips threatened to tremble at the corners. ‘That’s your first lesson for today. How to behave if you come across farm animals.’ He broke into a winning smile. ‘You did good. Well done.’
I made a series of indecipherable noises, that only made Logan’s smile wider. ‘You’re a cretin,’ I finally ground out. ‘A hairy-faced, arrogant tosser.’
‘That’s no way to speak to a poor, defenceless animal.’ Logan laughed, bounding up to me with his rucksack on his back.
I gritted my teeth. Oh, I bet he had a right laugh just now, watching the London girl with no clue about the countryside, in fear of her life from a harmless creature. ‘I won’t forget this,’ I seethed, gripping the straps of my rucksack. ‘If you ever need my help, you can get stuffed, because I won’t be there.’
I marched on, with my rucksack furiously bumping against my spine. ‘Tidal waves, quick sand, volcanic eruption … let’s hope it’s all three of them.’
‘You mean when I need help with colour co-ordinating an outfit or choosing what curling tongs to use on my beard, I can’t count on you?’
‘Dickhead,’ I grunted.
I dumped my rucksack down by my feet, yanked out my mobile, swung my rucksack back on my back and took off again ahead of him.
‘Watch out for the killer sheep just ahead,’ he joked, striding up behind me.
I pretended not to hear.
‘Hey. Hold on a second.’ He drew up and made me do the same. ‘Seriously though Darcie. Just stay close to me, OK? You’ll be fine.’
I stared up into those silvery eyes of his. I jerked my head away.
‘But it would help if you walked a bit faster.’
I fought to keep my temper. ‘And it’d help if you walked a bit slower!’
We carried on, crossing a couple of streams, the pebbles and rocks like shiny jewels under our feet.
Then we negotiated a kissing gate to take us onto a track downhill.
‘Get your camera ready,’ advised Logan. ‘You won’t want to miss this.’
I flexed one cynical brow. ‘Oh really? Don’t tell me, there’s mermaids and killer whales down there.’
‘Now you’re just being stupid.’
I tossed my ponytail back over my shoulder. Sarcastic sod!
‘So, what’s so special about this beach then?’
Logan’s eyes locked with mine. ‘See for yourself.’
I began recording with the camera, making verbal notes so I had material and facts to refer to when it came to writing the travel guide. ‘It’s a cloudy March lunchtime here on Skye and today, I’m making my way down to Coral Beach.’ I angled my camera and swept down in the direction of the beach. ‘Coral Beach…’ My voice disappeared into the wind.
There was a long, wide smile of what looked like pale gold sand, lapped by endless navy-blue water.
It was only as we approached that I noticed that it wasn’t sand.
‘It’s crushed, bleached skeletons of Red Coralline seaweed,’ said Logan, as though reading my thoughts.
My walking boots scrunched down on the multi-coloured, crunchy bed.
‘It grows out on the reef by the island of Lampay.’
Logan beckoned me on.
I raised my camera again, scanning the tumble of lemon, white and ice blue shells. It was as though a painter had used a palette of his best pastel paints to create the scene and using his paintbrush, swept the colours this way and that.
After a few stunned moments, I attempted to compose in my head what I was going to say next as I prepared to record more images. But the lure of the shades of tossed shells, was distracting me. It was gorgeous; I’d never seen anything like it before.
‘Be careful of the rabbit holes,’ he warned, breathing in the tangy sea air. ‘I don’t want you breaking an ankle.’
Unable to answer, I swung my camera around, capturing the myriad of shells and the swish of the water.
‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ he asked, giving me a long look.
I didn’t say anything for a long time. I was too busy drinking in the skyline and the pastel, crunchy carpet beneath my feet. ‘Yes,’ I faltered, with a slow smile. ‘It’s stunning.’
Logan glanced down at his chunky wristwatch. ‘Right. Let’s go and find somewhere to set up the tents and then we can have lunch.’ The corners of his mouth flickered. ‘That’s unless you want to head back and say hi to old Rusty again?’
* * *
The afternoon vanished in a haze of studying the contents of the nearby rock pools, making more recordings of the spectacular scenery, which had caught me off-guard, and dealing with Logan’s teasing.
He rustled up chicken burgers for lunch on his camping stove, complete with crunchy salad and juicy tomatoes, all sandwiched in soft, doughy bread rolls.
Justine would’ve been appalled at the way I’d devoured my food. But boy, did it taste incredible! All the walking and the fresh air seemed to enhance my appetite and the flavours.
We spent the next few hours taking photos and meandering further up the beach, before it was time to start thinking about setting up camp for the night. I was dreading it.
Logan had suggested a place on a nearby grassy incline and once we were sorted, I watched the flaps of our tents ripple in the stiff sea wind.
After a dinner of chicken and prawn stir fry Logan assembled a small campfire, which crackled and spat. ‘Are your parents supportive of your career?’ he asked me.
I shifted my attention to the horizon. The water was rising in peaks and troughs of navy blue. The rose gold sky was gone, replaced by a thick cloak of black velvet, and stars shone down. All you could hear was the whispering rush of the North Atlantic on the shoreline.
‘My parents passed away four years ago,’ I managed, the words sticking in my throat. ‘Within a matter of months of each other. They went everywhere together. Really devoted to each other.’
Logan closed his eyes for a few seconds. ‘Shit. Sorry, Darcie.’
I managed a wobbly smile. ‘I’ve still got my aunt and uncle. They’re great and have been such a support to me.’
I wanted to shift the conversation onto something else. Anything else. I hated talking about myself, revealing things that might encourage people to try and peel back more of my layers.
That was one of the reasons why I enjoyed my career so much. It allowed me to focus the attention on other people, places and lifestyles. I didn’t have to go into depth about myself. I could instead put all my time and energy into pushing the exotic places I visited and talking about what made them so special.
My ability to talk to people gave me a feeling of being part of a community, and if I was the one always asking the questions, I didn’t have to pull back the covers of my own life.
‘What were your parents like?’ Logan asked, clearly missing the fact that I didn’t want to continue this discussion.
I didn’t like to talk about them because the pain of their loss was still burning bright in my chest, but it sometimes felt as though not talking about them was denying they’d ever been here. I steadied my voice as pictures of my parents flashed in my head; my dad, Gary, with his booming laugh and love of cars. ‘My dad owned a couple of garages and was a workaholic. My mum was convinced it was the strain and stress of him working all hours that triggered his stroke.’ I gazed ahead as I spoke. ‘He never recovered and passed away a week after falling ill. My mum couldn’t face life without him. She collapsed and died of a heart attack six months later.’ Pictures of Lizzie Freeman, with her wild riot of black corkscrew curls and her infectious smile assailed me.
‘I’m still convinced Mum just gave up and died of a broken heart. Fancy loving someone like that so completely, that a part of you dies when they do. It’s so sad but kind of beautiful too.’
I missed both my parents so much, but I stuffed my feelings into a box in my head and did what I could to keep a lid on it. I had to, otherwise, at moments like this, they would spill out and swamp me.
‘I lost my dad several years ago,’ admitted Logan, prodding the campfire with a stick. His words dragged me out of my memories. ‘He’d been ill for a while.’
I twisted around on one of the two camping chairs Logan had brought with him. ‘Were you close?’
‘Yes. Very. It hit me and Iona hard when he died, but our mum even harder. She couldn’t stay on Skye after he passed away, so she moved to Lerwick to be near my uncle Dougal.’
‘Do you see your mum often?’
‘Only a few times a year.’
Logan continued to prod at the campfire, turning over the logs. It wavered and spat amber flames. The heat rising from it was welcoming. ‘What made you want to become a social media influencer?’
I squinted up at the shards of stars. ‘It’s something I seem to be good at. I enjoy it. Talking about countries and places that interest people; trying to let them see what a big, beautiful and varied world there is out there, even if they never get the chance to visit the places themselves.’ I dragged my knees up to my chin. ‘It’s opened a lot of doors for me and I’ve been able to help my aunt and uncle pay off their mortgage.’
‘That’s really kind of you.’
I pulled an embarrassed face.
‘But what about you?’ Logan asked.
I eyed him, our tents flapping behind us in the dark. ‘What about me?’
‘Has what you do improved your own life?’
I felt my spine stiffen at the direction his questions were taking. Had it though? Was it always fulfilling? Did it complete me? Did my career meet my expectations? It was wonderful, travelling to such stunning places but did I want to do it forever? Could I envisage that?
I pretended to yawn. ‘I think I’ll head to bed. Think the excitement of being chased by a wild animal is catching up with me.’
‘That’s not a very nice way to talk about me.’ Logan stood up and stretched his arms above his head. His dark grey fisherman’s jumper lifted up, exposing a taut stomach and a smattering of brown hair.
I quickly focused on the skyline again.
‘I want to take you bird watching tomorrow, so we should set off early.’
‘Yes, boss,’ I moaned, fantasising about my non-existent lie-in.
He loitered a moment or two by the campfire. ‘Goodnight, Darcie.’
‘Night, Logan,’ I replied, watching him dip his dark brown quaffed head and vanish into his tent.
My limbs were crying out with all the walking I’d been doing, my hair was beginning to rebel and twist into its natural, long tangle of waves and all I wanted to do was submerge myself in a hot, scented bath.
Instead, I was squeezed into a camping chair that my arse was struggling to get out of.
Surely something good would come out of these twenty-one days of torture? Or was I just kidding myself?