Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
A fter leaving the marina, Ivy didn’t have far to drive. As her time with Kirsty for most of the trip was business heavy, they had arranged a night in this evening, so she was at least staying in Harris. Whilst the restaurant was out at Seilebost, Kirsty and Ally themselves lived just beyond Tarbert, meaning Ivy had only had twenty minutes to collect herself enough to show up not raging with her hosts’ brother.
The MacLeod residence was a cute end terrace house with windowsills and door jams all different colours awaiting Kirsty to make up her mind, and a completely overgrown garden that Ivy had been assured was a rewilding project in the name of environmentalism. If she were an insect or bird, this is where she would choose to be, so it evidently worked. She wondered to herself if it could perhaps work too well. The garden, like Mòr as well as the couple themselves, was irresistible and could surely not only appeal to the native wildlife they were trying to support. Every inch of their lives seemed to be dedicated to creating a home and, present company included, sometimes it was tempting to leave your own in order to enter theirs. Ivy couldn’t quite compare to the bees though. They were more refugees, fleeing their original habitats up in the flames of climate change. She ought to find a hermit crab for a nice analogy. They probably had those on the island. Kirsty would know. But a hermit crab seemed a more accurate comparator. The old home was still perfectly workable, and someone would almost certainly snap it up from her as soon as she left it behind, desirable as it looked to the outside eye. But it had become tight on her, squeezing and rubbing in all the wrong places and so she was making the first steps outside of it, hoping no predators came along while she was exposed.
“What are you doing loitering out here?” Ally’s voice boomed from the front door. Ivy looked up to see him standing there grinning at her, with one shoe on.
“Just checking how much of this garden is wildflower yet, rather than just overgrown grass.”
“She tells me August will be the best time of it.” He replied rolling his eyes affectionately.
“And the fact that the meadow at Mòr is in full technicolour is just…”
In addition to all the other wonderfulness, the restaurant kept its own bees for honey. In order to keep the hives happy, they had rewilded the back lot, which with careful research into the right flowers, had turned into a spectacular meadow that now featured heavily in their promotional materials.
“Logic is not a massive factor in my wife’s day to day, Ivy.”
She laughed in agreement as she hopped up the step to the doorway. They hugged and he planted a kiss on her cheek, apologising that he was on his way out.
“Explaining the lack of shoe.”
“Maybe it’s a new fashion statement.”
“Well, Hearachs are notoriously fashion forward.”
“Woman, do you want into my house or not?”
“She’s already in!” Kirsty’s voice floated from the back of the house.
Sticking her tongue out at him, Ivy moved down the hall. He followed along behind her and hung in the door of the conservatory as she plopped onto the sofa beside Kirsty.
“Behave yourselves ladies, I don’t need to be coming home to a repeat of last time.”
Last time had involved a very scientific tasting of a selection of island gins, two-man karaoke and an impromptu feng shui-ing of the open plan living room-diner.
“Mach a seo!” Kirsty tutted, waving him off.
Her husband laughed, shouting an I love you over his shoulder as he went.
This conservatory was in Ivy’s Top Ten places to visit in the Western Isles. Not somewhere she could share with the public, admittedly, but definitely on the list. This evening, Kirsty had set the table with gorgeous mustard and turquoise napkins, overlapping a magenta table runner. Glasses made from cut down bottles held pink gin and raspberries, and a selection of snacks filled in the gaps. In the winter, Ivy knew the fairy light thats stretched across the roof would be switched on, complementing Kirsty’s selection of candles, however being June, they were hours away from dark, and the room had been warming in the sun all day, so no additional light or heat sources were needed.
Slipping off her shoes onto the worn rug, Ivy tucked her feet under her and attempted to summon Ruadh MacLeod, the ancient collie they had adopted when they moved back and who Kirsty fought to keep off the furniture, usually losing to Ally, Ivy and any other guest in the house.
“Ivy Hamilton, I can see you. Leave that dog be.”
“He wants to come here Kirsty, look at that face.”
The dog was halfway out of his basket, head down and eyes averted, as if avoiding eye contact with his mother would stop he and Ivy losing this battle.
“I get one child out of the house only for another to arrive,” she teased. Kirsty was barely five years older than Ivy, and Ally was older than that by another year, but her mothering instinct was strong.
“Dinner will be ready in fifteen. I’ve done salmon and salad— is that okay?”
Despite her husband officially being the chef, Kirsty could hold her own in the kitchen, so Ivy knew it would be more than okay.
“Sounds fab, can I do anything?”
“Nothing at all,” she replied, planting a gin glass into Ivy’s hand.
Ivy took a sip and rolled her head back onto the sofa. “Ugh, that’s good.”
“I have three more for you to try, so make notes,” she replied, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Ally’s warning duly un -noted.”
“He loves drunk us. And it’s basically for the business.”
“Cheers to that.” Ivy smirked, as they clinked their glasses together. “God, I’m wrecked.”
“Ross and Tomas work you hard today then?” It was certainly hard work, she’d give her that.
“You know how work stuff can be.”
“I also know how those boys can be, especially on that bloody boat.”
“Tomas is exactly what I was looking for on the tours though, he’ll go down a storm I reckon.”
“And my darling brother-in-law?”
“A very competent sailor,” she replied, biting her lip.
“Ha! I knew he’d pissed you off. When he phoned, he—” She stopped talking, eyes wide, realising her misstep.
“Oh my God, he phoned you to tell on me! What did he say?”
“No! No. No, we were just catching up, and I happened to ask if you’d left yet so I knew what time to put the salmon in.”
“And?”
“And what?” Kirsty sipped suspiciously on her own gin.
“You are such an annoying family. Was he bitching about me? I was on my best behaviour. Whatever he said was all him. All him.” She repeated herself to Ruadh, who had finally made it onto the sofa beside her, as she rubbed his chin.
“Honestly, he said barely anything. We were mostly talking about the colour he’s painting his kitchen.”
“He barely says anything full stop, if you ask me.”
“He’s a man of few words.” A sad smile tugged at Kirsty’s mouth as she ran a finger around the lip of her glass.
Ivy let out an indignant laugh, topping up both their glasses. “Where’d you magic him up from anyway? I didn’t see him at all until this trip.”
“He travelled a lot for work for a long time. And the last few years were rough.”
Ivy nodded. The island job market was non-existent, and the recent state of the world wasn’t helping.
“Thrilled he’s back now, been a real treat.”
Kirsty watched her for a second, her lips just parted, something on the tip of her tongue. An odd shiver passed through Ivy.
The moment burst and Kirsty snapped back into her usual self. “Ah you know how men are. Anyway, I’m sure he was very sorry for being a dick.”
“Did he say that?”
“I’m his big sister, so I inferred it.”
“Oh, for sure.” Ivy batted her with a cushion as they laughed. “Right, what film are we watching?”
They had finished dinner and were now halfway through Sleepless in Seattle. Sam and Jay were discussing getting back out there and Ivy and Kirsty were five gins deep.
“Imagine this nowadays. You could’ve been off the market for years, and now your wife’s dead and not only do you have to remember how to date but learn do it on the apps! You’d be terrified,” Ivy commented.
“I am simultaneously so relived but also a bit annoyed I never got to do the dating app thing. It’s so much less interesting to say I married the man I started dating at sixteen but had known since four.” Kirsty feigned a woe is me posture, holding her hand to her head, tilted enough that the gin in that hand threatened to spill down her forehead.
“You have not missed out, trust me.”
“You should be a seasoned pro. Didn’t you meet Chris on Tinder?”
“Bumble.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Not really.”
“So why aren’t you getting back out there then? It’s been, what, six months?”
Ivy was just about to start a stint on the island when they split, meaning Kirsty was there for the full debrief. All one thousand of them.
“Who am I dating here, then?”
“Well whip out your Tinder and let’s see. We could find you a lovely crofter in no time, I’m sure.” Seeing the pointed look from Ivy, she continued. “What? There are men here. Maybe not a lot of them. But they’re here.”
“And like your husband, they were all locked down at four years old.”
“At least a few are divorced.”
“You’re terrible.”
“So you admit you would date if the right candidate appeared?”
“I don’t date.”
Kirsty sucking her teeth drew Ivy’s sight line towards her, just in time to witness the indignant look on her face.
“What? I don’t!” She pressed on, folding her arms
“You’re just never going to date again?”
“Nope.”
“Oh cool, yeah, that makes total sense.” Kirsty looked back to the tv.
Groaning, Ivy took the bait.
“I have made an active choice to prioritise myself and my career, rather than men.”
“What shitty podcast did you get that line from?”
“Fuck you.” Ivy laughed. “I’m serious, I think it’s good for me.”
“The floor is yours. Explain.”
Now wasn’t that an ask? Ivy had the theory floating nebulously in her own mind for the last six months. And in your own brain, there is no obligation to fully eke out the details. She had shared a portion here, another there, with various friends as she developed it. But the whole thing in a neat enough package to get the evening moving back onto more interesting things? That may be more of a challenge.
“Well, like with me and Chris. We were together two years. And by the end of it, our goals- our lives, really- had just blurred into this one homogenous mess. And sure, as we were just merrily rolling along that all seemed fine. Like, it wasn’t causing aggro on any sort of level- relationship or personal validation wise. But when we were stepping outside the blob, it was increasingly obvious that we weren’t working on a new, shared dream, we were just half arsing our individuals dream to keep them tame enough to play nice together.”
“I’m with you so far. Tentatively.”
“So we split up, and Chris gets the promotion literally weeks later.”
“I’m not sure that counts as proof.”
“Felt like it. And not only did it seem like, ‘yeah, we were right, our careers will go better apart’, it suddenly made me pissed off. Like maybe he’d been held back, but he was close enough to the dream that he just cut off a little bit of extra weight and then there he was. Whereas I was nowhere near. I barely even knew what The Dream was now I was going it alone. So now I’m thinking that the sacrificing was not even. I was giving my shit up just for him to get to his.”
“Is that true? Like I know Chris would never move out here, whereas once I find the right gin to persuade you, you’ll be on the next ferry.”
“So that’s why you bring so many out?”
“Ha Ha. It never seemed like he was deliberately stopping you from exploring it is all I’m saying.”
“I don’t even think it was conscious, never mind deliberate. But it felt like I was seeing it everywhere. Women quitting jobs, staying home, having kids, while their partners got to keep on the same track. Girls watching football and learning about video games or fucking IPAs when their boyfriends were never trying a new yoga class or going to a Taylor Swift listening party.”
“But surely there’s something nice about bending a little if you love someone. Like, you can’t actually think I was fifteen and fantasying about Mòr. It was just a natural progression of falling for Ally. And I’m happy.”
“Sure, there’s always give and take. But I just don’t think the imbalance of it is for me.”
“So you’re tapping out of the whole thing?”
“I’m tapping out.”
“Even if we found a really nice man with some good acreage?”
“Even if.” Ivy leant over, bumping their shoulders together affectionately. “Anyway, I think that would just confuse things. Like, I finally have a handle on what I think I want. But if I met a man here, and stayed, would I just spend forever wondering if I might’ve changed my mind about the dream and found something different if I’d had the choice? Or had to constantly try and convince folk that I moved here for me, not for him, so that I don’t just blend into his life?”
“Or you just fall in love and are happy and contented. Like, I think all the time about who I might be if I had been single when I went to uni. But whoever that woman is doesn’t have this amazing life, you know? So I don’t even have to try not to dwell.”
“I don’t know. I feel good about this new approach.”
Kirsty’s eyes narrowed, but she slowly raised her glass, clinking it to Ivy’s reluctantly.
“To feeling good.”
* * *
They had talked long into the night, to no-one’s surprise, least of all Ally’s who arrived home around midnight with leftover desserts.
The following morning, Ivy had lingered in their kitchen over breakfast. Kirsty sat on the island, running through checklists for the day at Mòr. Ally affirmed and queried as she went along, interrupting her every so often with some of the new sauce he was trying out on the stove before turning his back to her again in order to respond to her suggestions. Watching the familiar dance warmed the hangover out of Ivy’s heart. Almost. She would take care of the last of it with a walk on the beach on the way home.
An hour later and she was there. This was her spot. Her absolute favourite beach here, and it made her work for it every time.
Stepping out of the car and closing the gate behind her, she headed down the steep path to the shore. Hills banked high on either side of her, and the promise of ocean was kept close to the island’s chest. People rarely came down here. It was only ten minutes away from the stunning Traigh Mhòr, smaller and less accessible, so it managed to fly under the radar. Ivy smirked, remembering the first time Kirsty had brought her here.
She had mentioned going for a swim and Kirsty had claimed to know the perfect place.
“Nice wee bay, tucked in so the current isn’t too bad. And there’s never anyone there.”
“Sounds great, drop me a pin.”
Ivy had been so caught up in the look of the place on the way down, she didn’t quite process the extent of the hill. An hour later, still damp and bare foot, she was assuring Kirsty they would never speak again.
“It’s not my fault you came in flip flops!”
“To go for a swim!” Ivy shouted up at her, bent over and hands on her knees.
“But doesn’t it make the cup of tea so much more worth it?”
“We already drank the tea. You’re a sadist.”
“No rain, no rainbows, Ivy.”
She looked up at her then. Kirsty’s cheeks still flushed pink from the chill, clashing with her red hair hanging damp over her shoulders but starting to regain its curl, grinning with a hand outstretched.
“A sadist,” Ivy repeated, taking the hand with a laugh.
Today, she was well prepared with Proper Shoes on, and her belongings strategically packed into a small bag. The downhill approach felt right these days, driving her towards the beach, and she just let her legs take her. One more corner and she would be able to see water, framed by a deep V of sheep strewn hills alongside the boat slipway. She spun on her heel to look back up the way she’d come as she took a few strides backward. The breeze caught her hair, and she lifted her arms to sweep it into a bobble as she turned back around.
“Oh. Hi.”
Ross MacLeod stood on the edge of one of the deep cuts of grass a few metres ahead of her, looking caught.
“Ivy,” he said with a nod.
“Morning.”
They both remained locked in place, metres apart with nowhere to flee, ocean to his back, the hill to hers. His eyes darted about, skipping her with each movement, seeming to double check they definitely were where they were.
The late morning sun backlit him, and Ivy noticed the damp clinging to him.
“Were you swimming?” She asked, and he seemed to soften.
“Just a dip.”
“Nice temperature?”
“Is it ever?”
Ivy grinned, the relaxed smirk on his face some of the first light she had seen from him.
“Very true.”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts and the awkward fizz returned to the air between them.
Rocking on her feet, Ivy searched for something more to say, recognising they were going to have to spend the whole day together tomorrow, and the success of her project somewhat depended on him not torpedoing that. She came up empty each time she took in him watching her with that slight furrow to his brow.
“I’m just—” “Are you?—”
His face flushed as they spoke at the same time, Ivy smiling sympathetically.
“I’m going to head down to the beach,” she continued, giving him a wide berth as she moved on. She had barely passed when he spoke again.
“Are you?—”
Ivy turned again and he cleared his throat, his right hand tugging at the hair behind his ear.She folded her arms across her chest, looking uphill toward him.
“Are you swimming?” He finished.
She shot him a quizzical look. “I am.”
“Ceart. Good. It’s… there’s no one down there.”
“Just how I like it.”
“Is that safe?”
“Swimming?” She asked with a light laugh.
“On your own, I mean.”
“You were just doing the same, were you not?”
“Well,” his voice sounded thick now. “I was only waist deep.”
“Duly noted. It’s my favourite beach, I know the water. I’m good.”
“Right, of course. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Ivy looked over her shoulder toward the water, before turning back to him.
“It’s Kirsty’s favourite beach too,” he offered.
She squinted at him, fiddling with the toggle of her fleece while he waited for a response.
“I know. She showed it to me.”
“She likes the seclusion, I think. And something about the bay being good for swimming.”
“Exactly.”
“I’d never been before.”
“And now you have.”
The flush to his cheeks deepened and the shadow over him betrayed his chewing the inside of his cheek. He dropped her gaze, stiffening once more and nodded.
“I’ll let you get on, then.” He turned before she had time to reply.
She watched him stalk up the hill for a few more seconds before rolling her eyes and heading the last few steps to the sand.
* * *
It had been nearly two hours by the time Ivy was making her way back up the hill, so she was surprised to see Ross sitting at the picnic table that overlooked the beach from half way up.
He had a small notebook in front of him, a pen tucked between his lips, drumming his fingers on the weathered wood.
“Working hard?”
Engrossed as he had seemed on her approach, he didn’t appear surprised by her appearing behind him. His eyes flicked up and down her as he closed the notebook, tucking it into a pocket of his hoodie and the pen behind his ear.
“Good swim?”
“I’m sure you could see,” Ivy said, jutting her chin toward the view in front of them.
His blue eyes lingered on her for a second more before following her gaze to the water. When he turned back, he at least had the sense to look bashful.
“It’s dangerous. Swimming on your own.”
Ivy rolled her eyes, shoving her hands into her pockets, allowing the neckline of her fleece to part and a chill to skip across her chest.
“It’s fine.”
He stood up, barely a foot from her now, forcing her chin to tilt upward.
“People drown. They can?—”
She scoffed, taking a step back. “Did we not just cover that I know this beach better than you. Didn’t need a lifeguard. Or is that how you get your kicks?”
“What? I wasn’t— I had work to do. And—” His eyes darkened as a heavy brow shifted over them. “It’s a lot of work. For the coastguard, I mean. If they get called out because you were out of your depth.”
Ivy tensed at the shift in energy, her still damp skin beginning to itch under the heavy fleece. A lecture from this man was not on her agenda today.
“The coastguard are fine, Ross. I was fine.” She stepped close enough to see the heavy strain of his breathing.
Ross stared down at her a second too long. Ivy’s gaze slipped from his for a beat, falling to his broad chest and exposed forearms, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his right hand twisting in his left. Just as her lips parted to speak, he straightened, letting out a coarse sigh and throwing his notebook back onto the table.
“Glè mhath,” he sniped as he sat himself back down.
“See you tomorrow then,” Ivy huffed, turning to slope back up the hill. Twice she looked back over her shoulder. The notebook remained closed in front of him, as his hand clasped the back of his head.