Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
S hortly after, Ivy sat wrapped in a large wool blanket, and huddled in front of the growing fire while she watched Ross hold up articles of varying degrees of use and offence from the lost and found.
“I think that one would suit you well,” she offered as he held up a tiny pink base layer.
“Maybe for your birthday,” he replied, continuing his search. He didn’t know that Ivy’s birthday was a whole six months away. Even if he did, it likely meant nothing. But Ivy’s heart soared at the suggestion that he could be there and then sank rapidly when she acknowledged it. Things were getting out of hand.
“That will do me,” she said as he held up an old fisherman’s jumper that was either a very fashionable off white or was in desperate need of a wash.
He tossed it to her as she moved to his side, barely concealing his searching his periphery as she dropped the blanket and pulled it on. She smiled to herself when she caught him. As she pulled the jumper over her head, she knocked free her bun at the same time, allowing her just about clean hair to tumble loose. Indulging herself a moment, she imagined what he was seeing from the corner of that wandering eye. She had a very nice image of an oversized jumper, perfectly tousled curls and a teasing hint of thigh until she looked down and remembered she was 5’8, and whilst it was a man’s jumper, it was a man’s medium, and the thing barely covered her arse and skimmed closely over her hips. It was a nice idea she thought, giving up completely and recapturing her hair in a bobble.
Ross had uncovered some treasure of his own, now clad in a navy half zip and shorts, and more worrying, new socks.
“Please tell me you aren’t wearing lost and found socks.”
“Mine are wet.”
“No shit, mine are wet too. But still.”
“That jumper has definitely seen worse than these socks,” he replied, his eyes dancing over her.
“Don’t remind me. But definitely better than socks. Think of who’s feet might have been in there.” She grimaced. He laughed.
“There’s more right here.” Freeing another pair from the bowels of the old box he’d found and holding them up, chasing her back round to the fire as she fled.
Ivy squealed as he caught her in a bear hug from behind, old socks pressed to her cheeks.
“Aren’t they soft?” He shouted as she wriggled, both of her feet in the air as he held her from escaping.
“Ross!” She managed to get a toe onto the floor, using it to pivot herself around to face him. She could have tried harder and broken free of his arms. Could have. “I’m sleeping outside,” she huffed, finally nabbing the offending socks and throwing them over his shoulder.
“Great, more room for me in here.” He loosened his grip on her, parting his hands and allowing them to slide down her back and come to rest on her waist.
“Unbelievable.” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t totally suppress the smile.
Reflecting it back at her, he dipped and pressed a chaste kiss into her curled lips.
“Shall we check the photos in case you need any more tomorrow?”
“Sounds good,” she replied, reluctantly stepping back from him.
They sat side by side on one of the benches at the large table, the last two scones from the Mòr hamper in front of them. After this it was cheese and biscuits, so Tomas had better be coming up with a plan, Ivy thought as she took a bite.
Scrolling through, she was in awe of what he’d managed to capture. For such a small island, the sense of scale and possibility shown on that tiny screen floored her.
“These are ridiculously good, Ross.”
“Bit rusty, but I’ve still got it.” He took the camera from her and began to make suggestions for editing and what images would pair well together in print. He lit up.
“Seriously, thank you so much for this. Not that I’m glad Mhairi broke her ankle, but— Oh my God.”
“What?” Ross appeared immediately on edge, shooting a quick look over his shoulder and then back at her, carrying out a brief inspection of the now wide mouthed woman in front of him.
“Mhairi! I haven’t checked in on her!”
He knit his eyebrows together curiously, taking her in.
“Tomas said she got off to hospital no problem.”
“And then?!” She shrieked.
He winced. “I didn’t exactly ask when I spoke to him this morning. More pressing concerns, you know.”
“We’re bad people.”
“I sincerely doubt Mhairi was expecting to be radioed in. She’s probably drugged up and none the wiser anyway.”
“You have to ask when you speak to Tomas tomorrow.”
“We’re the ones stranded on a deserted island. She should be checking on us.”
Ivy threw the back of her arm against his chest, tutting. She knew he didn’t mean it, but maybe it was easier to cling to some part of the dickhead she’d arrived here with, to make it more palatable when it all fell apart. Whenever that was.
“I will ask.”
“Thank you.”
They filed through the rest of the photos with impressive efficiency. Some he skipped straight over, and Ivy trusted his professional eye, not even asking to check she agreed before they were cast off. Others he hovered over, pointing out small details in what he had captured and what they represented, highlighting how editing would bring it together.
As the gallery came to a close, the conversation continued. They segued into other aspects of her work and Ivy was pleasantly surprised to find he was full of ideas. Maybe surprised was the wrong sentiment, though. He was smart, and sharp, and clearly passionate about the Western Isles, so it stood to reason that he would have plenty of suggestions on how to market them. What was unsurprising, from a native islander, was his suspicion of van life.
“There is, objectively, nothing worse than camper-van season in the Outer Hebrides, Ivy.”
“Objectively.”
“Yep.”
“War. Climate change. Forgetting to buy milk on a Saturday and then not being able to have tea on Sunday.”
“Close joint seconds.”
“I don’t know that I’d be doing marketing very well if I released a camper-van hate campaign.”
“Maybe just an informational campaign. Like, the good ones bring loads of benefits and it’s a shame they get lumped in with the ones who don’t spend any money, hold up the traffic, dump their waste on the machair and then fuck off after a few nice instagrams. So, smarten them all up and everybody wins.”
That… was genius. Well not what he had said, but the idea it gave Ivy.
“Do you know, I think you might be on to something.”
“Happy to help. Kirsty said you were pretty sympathetic with your strategies.”
Seeming to detect the moment Ivy’s eyes lit up in response to that accidental reveal, he pressed on hurriedly. “I mean, when they were discussing your plan for Mòr’s season. I was there. And it was… sympathetic.”
The tips of his ears had returned to a now familiar pink and Ivy was sure it would be painting her own cheeks as well. She didn’t mind.
As they worked over the ideas and suggestions a thought tickled at the back of her mind. It was possible that this dynamic was helping, not hindering, her process. She hadn’t felt so into a brainstorm in a while, and the new campaign gestating in her brain might be one of her best yet once she worked out some kinks. If she had been alone, she wasn’t sure she’d have come up with it. Friends with benefits.
“Right, I’m done. I feel like I’m back at work here,” Ross groaned, sliding his chair back from the table.
“You are at work. I literally hired you.”
He folded his arms across his chest and leant back, teasing a questioning creak out of the aging spokes of his chair when he did. The fire was behind Ivy, so lit him perfectly head on. His forearms rippled as he fiddled with a loose strand on his borrowed fleece and each soft line on his face was highlighted by the oncoming glow.
“You literally hired me for an eight hour round trip,” he mimicked her emphasis before continuing. “That we are now thirty hours into. And dare I mention the food promises?” When he cocked his eyebrow, Ivy wanted to crawl across the table.
“Send me an invoice,” she stage-whispered, leaning forwards.
“I’ll need your number then.”
“Not my email? For business?”
He didn’t reply, just kept watching her, the tick of his jaw highlighted by the flames.
Ivy cleared her throat. “Tomas has it.”
“I’d like you to give it to me .” His eyes flitted between hers, a subtle crease now in his brow.
Fuck .
“What?” He laughed, catching her mistake.
“That was supposed to be inside my head.”
“I couldn’t tell.”
It was an obvious enough misstep this time that he definitely could tell. The puffins huddled on the rocks outside could tell. But as he smirked at her, Ivy got the feeling that he might always be able to tell, because he was supposed to be inside her head. Worse still, as that feeling crested, it left behind it the niggling sensation that it wouldn’t matter anyway. Whether or not he could suss it out, she might just tell him herself.
“How fast can you boil water on that fire then Outdoors Man? I could murder a cup of tea.” Her voice was artificially chirpy, but he let it slide with nothing more than a knowing quirk of his mouth.
An impressively short time later, he handed her a mug and settled in close beside her. As he had complained earlier that the evening was feeling too much like work, they had left the table and were now sat up in bed, leaning against the probably rotting headboard.
“I know you had things you needed to do, but is this going okay?” Ross asked, adjusting the pillow behind his back.
“Which part?” She blinked innocently.
He mulled it over a second, looking down at his tea. “The work part?”
She exhaled deeply, tapping the side of her mug. “I think so?” Then, seeing him flinch, she put her hand on his arm and continued. “No, it is. Thank you for all your help. I just really need to show my boss I’ve got this.”
“Good boss?” He interwove his fingers with hers.
“He’s great. I’m trying to show him that I can step up, you know? Move on to better things.”
“Right.”
“And if I can deliver on this sort of project, then maybe I get a seat at the adult table.” She had been staring at the wall, but after a pause, she ran a hand through her hair and turned back to him. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you at the metaphorical grown ups table yet?”
His mouth opened while his eyes searched her face for a fraction of a second. Then he cleared his throat and almost imperceptibly shook it off. “That’s a long story.”
“Oh, save it then. I’m slammed over here.”
“I’m pretty happy with the set up at the minute. Helping out at Mòr and down at the marina keeps me occupied.”
“Just occupied?”
“As opposed to…”
“I don’t know. Entertained? Fulfilled? Happy?”
“Big words.” He fidgeted with a loose splinter from the headboard, while Ivy took him in.
She shrugged, “They didn’t used to be.”
How was it that you could be six, or ten, or twenty-two and being fulfilled and happy at work were just givens? Like, what else would you be? Then one day you’re pushing thirty and those are big words . Bigger than bills, rent, mortgage, dependents. Bigger than obligation and expectation.
He laid out flat on the bed, one hand behind his head then and closed his eyes.
“I do not miss sitting in the tourist office talking about new ways to photograph sheep.”
“Hey!” Ivy hit his arm and then lay down herself. “I thought you worked abroad?”
“Before I stopped photography, I did some work here. Just for a while.”
“Not for you?”
“I miss taking photos. And I love being home. But it was a weird time.”
“Why?”
“It—” He turned his head briefly, to see Ivy on her side watching as he spoke. Returning his gaze to the ceiling, he clenched his jaw.
“Life…” she offered.
“Something like that.”
“Do you think you’ll go back to it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Well, the ball is rolling now if you want it to. Consider me a gentle push.” She rolled over and put her head on his chest.
“Gentle,” he laughed, looking down at her. When she looked back, a new expression passed across his features and Ivy felt her pulse rise.
“Ivy, I—” He paused, and his mouth pulled into a tight-lipped smile, a moment passing that they hadn’t quite gotten a hold of. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” she whispered, as they turned, her body nestling into the hollows of his.
Something in her was shouting at her to press. Dig. Find out what he was going to say, because it surely to God wasn’t Thank you . But louder still was a scream from deep in her chest. She was too close to the edge and in real danger of falling, unsure if it would be forwards or backwards. It had always been backwards with men before. But with Ross…
She tapped her forefinger and thumb together as she listened to his breathing settle to sleep, the opportunity to delve going with it. As she was left a foot further back from the edge than she had been, she felt uncomfortably stable, an emptiness to her vision where the drop to the other side had been taking up space and adding colour right until she hadn’t asked.
* * *
At some point, bathing in the bliss, they had fallen asleep. It was probably reasonable to assume that the bothy had not hosted a night like that before. And the current wake up scene ensuing was likely a far cry from the usual hustle of well-wrapped up, stiff muscled walkers, shouting out weather predictions and bird sightings, unfolding OS maps and route cards amidst a jumble of flasks and boots and poles. Right now, they could be in a scene from a foreign language indie film, set in a ramshackle French chateau on the coast.
The fireplace held a final few dying embers, but the sun had returned, taking back the mantle to light and heat the Island. It streamed through the net curtains, catching on floating dust and casting spellbinding highlights across the crumpled face of Ross, perched on the edge of the bed.
Ivy was unsure whether she had stirred softly enough to not alert him to her waking, or that he was so absorbed in whatever he was thinking that he remained oblivious. She was fine keeping her study a secret for now, but the worry that it was the latter, and that he was not thinking good thoughts, gnawed at her.
As he sat there, gloriously naked still, his hands kneaded at each other while he stared hollowly at the floor beyond them. Every so often, he looked up and Ivy was able to glimpse the wince silhouetted against the window. His forlorn expression tried to summon Ivy’s hand from beneath the sheets, urging it to squeeze his shoulder, or gently caress the pinched eyes. She fought the feeling, remaining an unknown observer of the scene, reckoning with the churn in her own stomach. She was not looking at the profile of a man carefree and satisfied after the best sex of his life. Not even a man who was hours away from being rescued after a storm, a fire, and a pretty uncomfortable mattress, which should surely be a given. She also knew that, was the situation reversed, he would not have awoken to see a woman content and ready to get on with her life after getting her hot crush on her antagonist out of her system. Honestly, she was worried about what he would have seen. She was glad there were no mirrors in the bothy for the same reason. No one needed the confirmation that he may have ended much, much more in her system than he was twenty-four hours ago. Unfortunately, whilst she tried not to admit that she liked the idea of him staying there, he was sitting, fingers now on temples, as if he could extract even the memory of her from his brain. Maybe though, maybe, he was panicking over the best way to confess how much he liked her.
Her sigh must have been out loud, then, because he spun around to look at her. Finally getting the full frontal of his face, Ivy’s heart sunk. His eyes were hollow, circled in purple and slightly puffy, implying that he had not benefitted from the post-orgasm sleep she had. Worse still, before his irises spilled into the bags, there was a rim of red, still moist. He had definitely not been panicking over the best way to confess how much he liked her.
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Subconsciously, or maybe actually very consciously, soaking in the dying seconds of… whatever this was. Bidding a reluctant goodbye to what might have been, Ivy constructed a half-hearted smile.
“Hey.”
“Morning.”
A few years ago, Ivy had been driving to Glasgow in the early hours of the morning to set up for an event. As dawn began to creep over the M8, she shook her head as the driver a hundred metres ahead crept over the centre line momentarily. Maybe a nurse driving home from a long shift, relieved for the empty road so she didn’t have to hug the bends too tightly. Or maybe he was like her, fiddling with his radio as he tried to search for the perfect song to power up the early start. She was just hoping he had found the cheesy pop station, when the car swerved in front of her. She watched it slide into the central reservation and then become airborne. Slamming on her brakes, she knew she was well clear of being involved herself. There was nothing she could do. No benefit to watching. Watching would imprint the image into her brain, ushering it into nightmares for years to come. She knew this. And yet her eyes remained wide and fixed on the scene. Her temples and forehead ached from the effort of trying to tear them away, but she stayed watching. Even as she stopped her car, checked for life, phoned 999, she watched. Only when it was over, and the policeman took the blanket from her shoulders and told her she could go home, did she finally look away.
That was how Ross was looking at her. He knew there was going to be a crash, but he couldn’t look away. There was probably something innately human in that. Even if it increases your own suffering, even if you can’t do anything to stop it, you can’t let someone suffer alone. So, you watch.
“Are you okay?” She sat up as she spoke, hoping the morning excused the hoarseness of her voice. She didn’t touch him, but leant forward, propped up on an arm, with pinky outstretched, barely a centimetre from touching his own.
The smile looked like it physically hurt as he offered it. His eyes softened and she counted the fine lines that seemed to have sprung up overnight.
“Tomas will be here in an hour. We should get up.”
“Ross…” she tried to close the gap between their hands, but as soon as she made contact, he snapped his away.
“Mhairi needs an operation. Next week, she thinks.”
“You spoke to her?”
“I asked Tomas to check in. She’s at home in a cast waiting for the swelling to go down before they can fix it.”
“Ross, I?—”
“Kirsty’s up in town today anyway, so she’s going to drop her in some messages.”
“I can do that. I’ll go visit her anyway if we’re getting home.”
“I know. But you can go home and get changed, or showered, or nap or whatever first. No need to rush now.”
Her chest stung as she watched him there, awkwardly out of place on the edge of the bed where he had so belonged just a few hours ago. Every movement as he fidgeted under her gaze seemed stiff and inorganic and she wanted to drag out the man who snuck out of him over the last two days. The man who so naturally cared and helped, the man who had gotten his sister-in-law to drive two hours to Stornoway to bring bread and milk to a woman he’d spent maybe an hour with, all so Ivy could have a shower, because they both knew Kirsty did not just happen to be in town today. Currently, Ivy had no interest in having a shower. Coated as she was in two days of hiking and rain and sea, it was also mixed in with two days with him. If she washed it off, she wasn’t sure she’d ever find herself mingled with it again.
Fighting down the sob that almost escaped her, she pressed on.
“We don’t have to talk about… it right now. But maybe when we get back, we could?—”
He stood then. Too quickly, catching his foot in some discarded item of clothing and nearly losing his balance. Ivy knew the feeling, despite being firmly anchored in the bed.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” She kept her voice level, hoping that the water was murky enough to hide her legs frantically paddling to remain afloat beneath the surface.
“I think this was a mistake. We shouldn’t— I shouldn’t have done that. I’m really sorry.” He was throwing on clothes then, his eyes still caught on her.
“Can you slow down for a second? We should talk?—”
“Talk about this. I know. I’m sorry. This is all the talking I have.” His voice was breaking as he stood, fully dressed, half-way between her and the door. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I?—”
“Well, I hardly planned it, either. But?—”
“Ivy…” The strain in his voice shattered her.
“Okay.”
“Thank you.” He hesitated for a second, his mouth opening as if he had more to say, but no sound came, and then he was out the door. He closed it gently behind him, as if sparing them from a slam would soften the blow. Instead, with no clear bang to end the scene, Ivy was left to sit in the moment as it dragged on endlessly in front of her.
She flopped back onto the bed, pulling a pillow over her face and screaming. This made things, conservatively, one million times worse as the deep inhale of the yell allowed his scent to pour into her. Fuck anyone who spends a day drenched in a storm, fighting a fire, and then having no option for washing, and still has the audacity to leave that intoxicating a smell on a pillow for the girl they just crushed to accidentally absorb when she’s trying to think ‘fuck them’ thoughts.
As the shout died out, Ivy remained under the shedding down pillow. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to slow her rapid breathing. Listening to her pulse transition from thunder in her ears to a steady drum, she felt safe to think.
It was objectively ridiculous to claim heartbreak over this. She had met the man mere days ago. Anyone could be gorgeous and anyone would fancy them. That part didn’t have to be deep. She would be fine being mildly annoyed that the hot man who’d shagged the life out of her had left in a hurry the morning after, and then she would be equally fine moving swiftly on. Been there, done that. The quintessential woman-in-her-twenties experience.
What she would not be accepting was overstating any other feelings. Definitely not. Historically, Ivy had been a friends-to-lovers gal. Sure she’d had an app date here, a night out hookup there, but the people she had liked and loved were long term works in progress. She categorically did not believe in love at first sight and felt most at home in a slow burn. So, she did not like Ross. She wanted Ross. Over, and over, and over and— well, yes, she wanted him. And seeing as she was in this pillow sanctuary, not the real world, she could admit that she had indulged in some minor fantasising.
But— fuck. But she really liked him. Was that realistic given the minimal details she knew about him? No. But the heart wants what it wants. Or the heart-brain-vagina axis responsible for the first bloom of like wants what it wants.
With that admission out there, tears that she hadn’t realised she was holding back spilt over her cheeks. Grateful that he had left, she allowed the sobs, proportionate or not, to wrack her, and once the emotional reservoir had been drained enough to shove the lid back on, she got up.
She should be excited to be getting back, not grieving a non-issue. She had work to do, and before even setting foot here, she had said the goal was to get things over and done with and Ross out of her life. Ivy had done what she had come here to do, and now she was getting back to productivity and efficiency. Admittedly, the whole crying and pining thing was less than efficient, but she’d be fine once she got back on that boat and remembered who she was. Ross would be on the boat too, though. Which may prove a bit of a distraction. She pinched the bridge of her nose, digging her fingers in deep, as if they would find a reset button in there. As tears mounted a threatening sting at the back of her eyes, she scolded herself, forcing them to remain unshed. This was ridiculous, she thought. She was here for work, and she needed to get it together so she could do exactly that. She had already let a man hinder her career once. Twice would be a habit. Twice would suggest that maybe she wasn’t cut out for her dreams after all.
Pulling on yesterday’s clothes again felt wrong. The material was warm and dry as she retrieved them from the pulley above the fire where Ross had hung them. Because of course he had. As they slipped over her, they felt too big somehow. Close fitting Lycra and fleece now seemed to billow around her, and bunch awkwardly around her chest and joints, as if she had shrunk overnight. Maybe if she’d gotten dressed before they’d spoken this morning, the outfit would’ve fit. As she shifted in the empty sensation, tears prickled again beneath her lashes. Rubbing over the puffy eyes as she scraped her hair up, she hoped Tomas would take smoke and old mattresses as an explanation.
Looking down at her watch, she realised it was close to time to find out. Ross had taken both bags, but the cooler remained on the table. Taking a final deep breath, she lifted it and left the bothy.
* * *
Ivy crested the hill over the beach and clocked Ross sitting on a ledge just above the sand. Sitting was a fairly normal thing to do. Mundane, even. Certainly no more significant than any other way he could be taking up space down there. Yet Ivy clocked it. Maybe because the last time he was notably sitting did not have a great outcome.
The dark green fleece he wore set him apart from the grass, highlighting his arm enough for her to follow it down and watch as he plucked blades absentmindedly.
All roads off Sandaigh led past Ross, so she ignored the twinge in her chest and groaned, setting off down the hill.
Arriving at his side, she remained standing and he didn’t flinch. They watched Tomas’ teal boat appear on the horizon and draw closer in silence at first. Eventually, though, she couldn’t control herself. Ivy was a talker at the best of times, well known to fill a conversational lull with an awkward client with the sort of witty repartee that gets a room in the mood. In this instance, there wasn’t even a lack of things to say driving the silence. If anything, there was too much to say, all circling around them, itching at Ivy’s skin. It just needed a bit of oiling, or a gentle push to get it out there.
“Don’t.”
She almost jumped when he said it. Maybe she’d said the bit about encouraging conversation out loud.
“Don’t what?”
“I can feel you winding up to a speech.”
“I was going to go with awkward small talk, actually.”
He didn’t smile back, and Ivy’s heart sank.
“I’m really not in the mood.”
“Weird, because I’m having a great morning, and this stilted bullshit is exactly what I was hoping for.”
He ran a hand down his face and stood up.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything, Ross. Literally anything.”
“I said I was sorry, if I could go back and not…” He gestured helplessly before continuing, “…I would. But I can’t, so this is the next best thing.”
“This is your best?”
“Yep.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation for why I don’t want to sleep with you again.”
Ivy recoiled, physical pain scorching through her chest.
“No, but an explanation for why you did it in the first place in that case would be nice!”
Tomas’ boat was close. He was likely anchored, and they could head there right now. He could almost definitely hear this conversation, so what did it matter anyway? But they stayed rooted as they were, inches from each other.
“I don’t know, Ivy. Fucking… Adrenaline or… something. There was a fire and… I don’t know!”
“You’re a grown man! You can’t just not know why you’re doing things?”
“Then why did you?!”
“I—” For someone who started an argument dedicated to the audacity of not knowing why a person would do something, it was unfortunate that she didn’t have an answer to this herself. “Do you know what? Never mind.”
“Oh, well that’s convenient.”
He was picking up the cooler and bags now. Ivy was left with nothing as he began storming out towards the boat.
Fuck’s. Sake.
She trudged through the water after him, barely registering as damp crawled along her skin where she hadn’t properly secured her gaiters in her haste.
Ross was empty handed, staring at the ladder when she reached his side by the boat. His fingers tensed around the rung he was gripping, and he hovered with one leg already on the first step, stuck in a strange in between. Ivy knew the feeling. She didn’t say anything, not sure what the right thing to say was, if such a thing even existed.
He half turned his head to her, his chin pointing in her direction alone, his eyes downward.
“I’ll send you the raw images from yesterday. Mhairi can edit them.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“That’s all I can do. With anything.”
She opened her mouth to ask a million questions. The tours? Project Campervan? Mòr even? He looked up at her, squinting into the sun that had finally shown its face, just over her shoulder. Taking him in, she shut her mouth, pressing her lips into a thin line and nodded.
He hung there for a second longer, then pulled himself up the ladder, leaving her there alone.
Ivy stepped up onto the deck and looked up to see a bewildered Tomas stood in front of her, holding the cooler.
“Thanks Tomas,” she said, taking her bag off the top of it.
He watched her, eyes flitting between her forced smile and the cabin, where she assumed Ross had slunk off to immediately on handing off his cargo. If Tomas had taken the stuff, he’d been just above them for that last moment. Realistically, they’d probably heard the shouting on the beach from Harris anyway. As much arguing and tension as he’d observed between the pair of them, the look on his face suggested the older man had detected a changed in the nature of it this time.
Ivy shifted awkwardly, about to ask about Mhairi to break the silence and avoid the looming question, when she was saved by the traditional Hearach emotional paralysis.
“Not a problem. Home soon.” He turned on his heel and Ivy moved to the bench at the bow, sitting down and tucking her knees to her chest, hood up.
Halfway to Tarbert, she could hear the two men in the cabin arguing over something she couldn’t quite make out. Ivy turned over her shoulder to see Ross’ stormy gaze on her and Tomas glaring at him. Caught, he snapped his head away and they lowered their voices. Glances from both flicked to her occasionally and she watched the pink of Ross’ cheeks turn to red and then a deep purple, his arms alternating between a rigid fold across his chest to erratic gesturing. As they finally fell silent, Ivy properly looked away, rather than her previous position of simply trying to look like she was looking away whilst keeping the commotion in her peripheral vision. Before her eyes fully refocused on the water, she was interrupted by the slamming of the cabin door and Ross stormed out.
Ivy watched him as he stalked up to the bench opposite her, his eyes burning into the deck. Her mouth hung just open as he lifted the seat, lifting a box from the storage compartment within.
“All good?” She asked, her voice adopting the same light and hollow tone she used when something was going wrong at work, and she was trying to keep the client in the dark about it.
When he stood up and faced her there was a brief scowl distorting his face, but it quickly melted away, fading into a blank wall. He nodded.
“We’re forty-five minutes out.” Then he walked away, box secured under his arm.
Ivy shot her eyes to the sky and half laughed. The man had a nerve. When she dropped her sights back to earth, her gaze fell on the bench in front of her, where there now sat a heavy grey blanket.
Her head whipped round to the cabin. Ross’ back was to her as he leant against the controls, but Tomas was watching her and when their eyes met, he offered her a shrug.
When they finally reached the Marina, Ross didn’t emerge from the cabin. Tomas offered a hand down this time, and Ivy sloped back to her car.
Sitting in the front seat, she leant backwards, thudding her head against the seat rest.
“What are you doing?” She said out loud, open to an answer from either herself or any eavesdropping deities that might be interested in a new recruit. She assumed an appropriate position to return home, slipping the car into gear and starting up a playlist. Before pulling out, she pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing up her eyes and sighing.
“Who fucking knows.”
She was already past Laxay when the music dropped and her phone rang. Ivy groaned as Chris Calling flashed up on her dashboard.
“Of course he is.” Why wouldn’t he be? It was a day of men doing exactly what she wanted them to, wasn’t it?
Propping the corners of her mouth up into some semblance of a smile, she pressed the green button on her wheel.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Ivy! Glad I caught you, sorry for not checking in yesterday.”
“You’re fine, I was out of signal before now anyway.”
“Perfect timing then.” Wasn’t it just?
“How’s the office?”
“All good. Great, in fact. I have news.”
She could practically hear him wriggling his eyebrows as he laid his intrigue. They’d done this dance so many times before, either side of the breakup, and the familiarity, the knowing exactly what the other was thinking, stung today.
“Yeah?”
She wasn’t fulfilling her side of the choreography this afternoon. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, chewing the inside of her cheek as she scolded herself.
“I was speaking to Matt Holmes— the guy from BBC we worked on the Fringe project with?”
“With the hair?” She warmed slightly and was met with a laugh.
“The very same. Anyway, his production company is making a Discover Scotland staycation sort of series.”
“Oh cool, keep me on your radar if they have any events to get involved with, they were good guys last time!”
“Well that’s why I’m calling. As he was spitballing, he mentioned wanting to get out to some of the islands.”
Ivy’s ears pricked up, and she fought to keep her eyes on the road.
“My islands?”
“Your islands now, are they? That’s new.”
“Shut up. What did he say?”
“He didn’t say much at first, was thinking Skye, Mull, Arran?—“
“The usual.” She tutted.
“Which I remembered you whining about— sorry, mentioning. So I let him know how busy the Western Isles were keeping you these days.”
“Christopher.”
“And he loved it.” He had to fight through the rest of his news over Ivy’s squealing. “He wants a call on Monday if you’re free?”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Monday absolutely works, are you joining?”
“I’ll sit in, but this is all you, Ives. Make it count.” There was an undeniable thrill in his voice, but he was leaving something unsaid. Something exciting, she was fairly certain. She’d get it out of him after the meeting.
“I’ll get onto the proposal straight away. I’ll be back in the house in half an hour and I’m right on it.”
“Great, I’ll send you over details once I confirm with Matt. See you Monday.”
“Bye.”
About to scream as the call clicked off, she slammed on the brakes noticing the sheep step out in front of her. Coming to an abrupt halt, the quiet was punctuated only by her heavy breathing. Ideas bounced around her head, and she grinned, the buzz clearly not rubbing off on the animal chewing lazily on the road. Once it shuffled far enough aside, she restarted the car, and moved passed it.