Chapter 1
Driving down the hill into the tiny but perfectly formed coastal town of Eastercraig was like coming home. There was no other place on earth that made Skye’s heart sing a sweeter song. She slowed the car to a snail’s pace to take in the scene opening up ahead and felt a wash of tranquillity.
It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been able to scream from the rock. After watching the man disappear back up the coast path, she was too surprised to take her turn and instead gave him a ten-minute head start before returning to where she had parked her car. A good scream would have been immensely cathartic, but her Uncle Hugh was the real reason she was in town. Seeing him would help her far more than yelling from a clifftop.
Before her was the terrace of pastel-painted houses, the little shops dotted along the front, her uncle’s veterinary surgery among them, the B&B and a few more white rendered houses beyond. At one end sat the harbourmaster’s office, fishing boats bobbing about on the sea in front. Even from here she could make out the flock of rowdy seagulls that lurked in the hope of nabbing a snack from a fresh catch. Down at the other end was the pub, the Anchor, where the giant yellow umbrellas slotted into the outdoor tables, heralded the arrival of summer.
Skye flicked her eyes to the water, a glistering sapphire blue under the June sun. Once she got to Uncle Hugh’s house, and apologized profusely for her unplanned appearance, and had a long-overdue catch-up over a cup of Hugh’s favourite Earl Grey, she might have a restorative di p . Fresh air and wild swimming being good for the mind and all that.
She paused at the top of the road that led to Hugh’s old crofter’s cottage, and on an impulse pulled into the town’s small car park. After the shock of encountering the angry-handsome man, and seeing him roaring from her rock, an extra few deep breaths of salt air were just what she needed. Plus, she could grab some eclairs from the café. She’d like to arrive on her uncle’s doorstep bearing his favourite treat — it was the least she could do for turning up so unexpectedly. She pictured her uncle, recently retired, digging in his veg patch — one of his favourite hobbies — and smiled to herself. He was probably doing it right now, tending to the young plants, or perhaps deadheading the early flowering roses. She could help out with that, just like she used to when she was younger, when Hugh’s wife, Skye’s Aunt Dorothy, had still been alive. She bet Hugh still used Dorothy’s rose snips, the ones with pink handles. Hands in the pockets of her suit trousers, she strolled down towards the front. She crossed the road and leaned against the railings. What was it about the ocean that was so calming? Someone had once told her the lack of a pattern in the movements of the waves forced the brain to relax.
Today the tide was fully in, bringing the sea right up to the front, the colloquial name given to Eastercraig’s main road, curving around the harbour in a near-perfect crescent. The water was also as flat as glass. Skye’s heart suddenly fell. She felt her tear ducts twitch, which seemed almost impossible. She’d thought she was all cried out.
You’re being ridiculous , she told herself. Just because there aren’t any waves to focus on doesn’t mean you can’t be calm .
It occurred to her that if she knew how to be calm, she wouldn’t be here in Eastercraig, picking over the ruins of her life.
Yet here she was again, hurling unhelpful hyperbole at the situation to boot. No tears came, and she blinked a couple of times, her eyes still feeling a bit raw from the morning.
‘Come on, Skye,’ she said aloud. She had to stem the lurking panic, force out the fog that was trying to invade her head once more. ‘Give yourself some room to breathe, and then you can put yourself back together again. Hugh will know what you should do. He always does.’
Peeling herself from the barrier, she walked briskly to the café.
At the counter, she ordered two eclairs, a doughnut, and a slice of flapjack, plus a couple of enormous lattes to take away. Normally, with such a haul, Skye would be drooling in anticipation. But as she left the shop, she felt her mouth go dry and her chest begin to tighten.
Skye? Skye! Come back! Will’s words echoed in her head.
As if she could. As if she would.
It’s a misunderstanding. That’s all. Come on, Skye. Don’t be silly. And it’s a big day for you.
The patronizing, condescending liar. She had never felt so brutally wounded in her life. At this moment, she hated the very thought of him.
Climbing back into the car, her stomach grumbled. Using a neatly manicured baby pink nail, and chipping it, Skye unpicked the tape on the box and considered the cakes. None of them now appealed. Will had managed to ruin cake too.
She placed the box on the passenger seat and headed towards Hugh’s cottage.
Five minutes later, Skye pulled up in the driveway of a low whitewashed building, with a red door, and little dormer windows poking out of the roof. Pelargoniums spilled over terracotta pots either side of the front steps.
Everything at the cottage looked exactly as it always did: comfort incarnate, welcoming. Even the pelargoniums, shifting on the breeze, seemed to be inviting her in. Skye thought back to when she came here as a teenager, battling with her emotions, but always finding solace in Hugh and Dorothy’s open arms, and wisdom in their words.
Her aunt had died three years ago, and while Skye often called Hugh for a catch-up, she hadn’t spoken to him properly since the New Year, only sending occasional texts, and she now berated herself for it. A twist of guilt worked its way through her. She had been so focused on work and Will that she had neglected her relationship with Hugh. She would try and make up for it over the next couple of days.
Everything was going to be OK. She was back in her happy place, and Hugh would know exactly what to do.