Chapter 5
You inspired me, Tilly, to write down my thoughts and feelings.
It’s been cathartic and I wish I’d thought of doing this years ago, but better late than never.
I loved watching you in the garden scribbling away in a notebook.
I imagine the combination of nature and peace inspired you. It certainly has me.
Extract from Joy’s journal
They didn’t venture out to the pub in the end when the rain didn’t let up and there was enough food in the house to knock up a quick pasta dish. With throws on the sofa, the lamps glowing and the living room fire lit, the place was as inviting as Tilly remembered, even without Joy.
Logan drew the curtains on the gloom and joined Tilly on the sofa.
The fire started to roar, spitting and crackling in the grate, banishing the shadows to the edges of the room.
Barney settled down on the rug as close to the warmth as he could get.
The colours were nature-inspired, with lots of greens, blues and neutrals throughout the house, plus a pop of orange and red here and there in the throws and cushions.
Tilly had had a hand in much of it, having helped Joy redecorate all those years ago, when she’d been inspired by the style of the house and the picturesque location.
‘You know, that summer we were here, Aunt Joy told me I’d inherit this place one day.
’ Logan pulled one of the tartan cushions onto his lap and clasped his hands.
‘I didn’t want to talk about it because I hated to even think of there being a time without her, so we never discussed what she’d like me to do with her house. ’
‘I expect she’d want you to do whatever feels right. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?’
Logan nodded. ‘There are bookings for the cottage though, made before she died. Nothing for the B she’d talked to him enough over the last few months to understand how much losing his aunt had affected him, taking him right back to the terrible time when he’d lost his mum at thirteen.
He’d been just as close to Joy, perhaps even more so as he’d had many more years with her.
‘You have options, whether you want to sell it or keep the house and cottage to rent out. Like I do with my properties – it could be a financial safety net for you. We have the next two weeks to figure it out.’
‘You’re sure you can stay that long?’ Even though they’d talked about it, he was still looking at her with a raised eyebrow.
She lived and breathed work, fuelled by a passion for the challenge of buying, renovating and selling properties.
Of course she’d had a leg-up with a generous windfall from her estranged grandma, but it was through hard work she’d become successful.
She was proud of the business she’d built, despite Ivor’s disdain when he’d spat the words ‘property developer’ at her.
Taking time out was a rarity when she was always chasing something and constantly scouring for properties, or planning and liaising.
‘This is important. I want to be here. I know you’d change the circumstances in a heartbeat, but I like that we get to spend time together – that this has forced our hand.
My hand,’ she stressed, knowing full well that Logan had suggested getting together for a decent chunk of time for years now, but there’d always been a reason not to.
It wasn’t only because of work; there had been partners who wouldn’t have been keen for them to spend a week or two together.
With Joy’s death and both of them single, there was no reason not to do this.
‘Anyway, it’s good to get away from Newcastle and all the shit that’s happened recently.
’ She tried to sound upbeat, but seeing Logan’s furrowed brow, she knew she’d failed miserably.
‘I’m not the only one who’s had a crappy time.’ Even the way Logan sat with one leg resting on the other and a cushion in his lap like he always did was comfortingly familiar. ‘Have you talked to him at all?’
‘No, and I don’t want to. He slept with another woman, for God’s sake! He clearly didn’t want me any more. I’m fed up of his excuses. I owe him nothing, least of all another conversation that will only end in an argument.’
‘You deserve someone who’ll treat you a hell of a lot better than he did.’ Logan scooted off the sofa, grabbed a couple of logs from the basket and placed them on the fire. Barney whined and stretched. Logan rubbed his tummy as the wood popped, the flames spitting as they caught.
The break-up with Stefan had been four months ago, yet Tilly was still wading through the aftermath of hurt and sadness, while trying to pick apart the reasons why it had failed.
She longed for a happy relationship, something that seemed to continuously be beyond her reach, yet part of her felt relief at being single again.
Logan returned to the sofa, his attention on the fire as Tilly watched him.
Unlike her, he’d been single for quite some time.
There’d been the odd mention of a woman or two, a name bandied about occasionally, but no one who’d become a permanent fixture.
He lived alone in Edinburgh and she assumed the driving force behind getting Barney was company, both at home and while working in his workshop as a leathersmith making notebooks, journals, wallets and dog leads and collars.
His passion for this kind of work had developed over the years, resulting in a business he was proud of.
‘You’re going to manage putting work on hold for a couple of weeks?’ she asked.
Logan switched his attention from the fire to her. ‘I’ve got a big lead time on future commissions and a friend’s posting orders for me for the next couple of weeks. It’s all good.’
‘What about your workshops?’
‘Not running them till the summer. There’s been too much going on.’
Tilly was well aware that dealing with a funeral, the will and being the executor and sole beneficiary of the house had taken up all of Logan’s time.
‘Are you going to start writing again now you’re here?’ Logan asked, curling his fingers around the edge of the cushion. Tilly must have looked bemused, because he continued, ‘You know, like you did that summer.’
‘I wrote a journal when travelling, but I’ve not written anything since. Newcastle isn’t exactly a wild and picturesque Scottish island or a jaw-dropping beach in Thailand.’
‘Nothing’s inspired you?’
‘Not really. I’ve been too busy working, which is inspiring in a different way. I haven’t written a journal for years,’ she said wistfully.
‘Maybe being here will fuel inspiration.’
‘Perhaps.’
The rain continued to drum on the windows and the fire was roaring now, filling the room with flickering light. She could feel the tension from the journey ebbing away as she began to relax.
‘Do you know, it was you who inspired Aunt Joy to start writing her own journal. I presume that’s why she left it to you.’
‘She did?’
‘It’s in a box in your room.’
Tilly laughed. ‘I had grand ideas of being a writer, thinking it’d be romantic to wander the world and share my thoughts, write creatively. This place inspired me with its landscape and wildness.’
‘Rather than a certain someone?’ Logan didn’t meet her eyes, which was just as well, because she heated at the memories of her summer with Cal.
‘I wanted to write poetry, not erotica.’
It was Logan’s turn to go red.
That was a worry though, seeing Cal again next weekend at the celebration party for Joy.
She’d collected a few regrets over the years, but Cal was one of the biggest – not because she hadn’t stayed, but because of the way she’d left.
The last time they’d communicated was when she’d sent a cowardly text to him on the ferry to say she’d had to leave and thanks for a helluva summer.
Or words to that effect. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t taken it well.
His anger and hurt had poured from his increasingly angry replies.
Tilly had been in tears by the time they’d disembarked at Oban.
It had been her own fault and she deserved to be on the receiving end of his upset.
Logan had said very little about it and, if he thought she was in the wrong, he hadn’t voiced it.
By the time they’d arrived in Edinburgh and were swept back into their lives and their friend’s leaving party, Tilly had pushed her regret and the memory of her summer fling to the back of her mind.
Now, she and Logan skirted around the topic of Cal and she didn’t probe him about Rosie either; it felt less emotive to talk about the practical plans for the next week or two.
They’d always had an easy-going friendship, yet this time Tilly felt as if they were still finding a way to be comfortable with each other somewhere that held so many memories and emotions.
They hadn’t lived together since they were students and spending so much time in each other’s company was a distant memory.
‘It feels a little like we’re heading to our dorms at school,’ Logan said an hour later as they went upstairs with Barney at their heels.
Except at school, they’d been in separate houses with the girl and boy boarders.
Not that it had stopped them from sneaking around and occasionally getting up to no good.
They hadn’t done anything awful, they’d just been high-spirited and two of only a few children who stayed for the shorter school holidays because they hadn’t wanted to make the long journey to wherever Logan’s dad and her divorced parents were, unless of course Logan had come here.
She’d envied him that, and one of her fondest memories was when she’d been invited to stay for half-term.
‘It’s a good memory though, school,’ Tilly said as they paused on the landing, ‘meeting each other and feeling less alone.’
‘The best,’ Logan said wistfully. ‘Night, Tilly.’
‘See you in the morning.’
Didn’t they usually hug goodnight? They used to. Why then did it feel different and awkward? Tilly sighed as she watched Logan retreat to his room with Barney.
Tilly’s bedroom was one of the rooms she’d redecorated that summer.
The muted stone-grey walls remained, although they could do with fresh paint, and the silky blue curtains that framed the garden view were the ones Tilly had chosen all those years ago.
The tartan bedding was new, though its blue, white and grey complemented the décor.
On the bed was a small box with her name handwritten on it.
Logan had known that his aunt would leave the house to him, but Tilly hadn’t expected anything.
She sat on the bed and pulled out a journal that was wrapped in a leather dust jacket.
Tilly ran her fingers across the leather, recognising Logan’s leathersmith mark.
It was even more special that Joy had something made by him to protect it.
She opened the journal and pulled out a handwritten letter on thick cream paper. As she read, she could hear Joy’s honeyed voice with the gentle Scottish lilt that she’d picked up from decades living on Mull.
Dearest Tilly,
It feels odd to write a letter that you won’t read until I’ve passed away, but I was inspired by you to start writing a journal and it’s my wish that I leave it to you.
Logan is the most important person in my life and you’re the most important in his.
This is my way of keeping my promise to Logan of not talking to you about the desires of the heart, because technically you’re reading my journal, nothing more.
Within the pages is my story, along with my thoughts and feelings.
My darling nephew would tell me off for meddling, and perhaps I am and my good intentions will backfire. I loved and lost, but I’m glad to have experienced love however brief it was and however much it hurts to still be grieving decades on. I wish for you and Logan to have that sort of happiness.
I wrote this journal to you and it’s for your eyes only. I suggest you start at the beginning.
With love,
Joy xx
Tilly read the letter again, frowning with confusion at Joy’s words.
She noted when the letter was dated – a little over two years before she’d died – so she’d obviously planned to leave it to her, which puzzled her all the more, particularly the ‘for your eyes only’ line.
And what promise had Joy made to Logan? Tilly had so many questions.
She turned to the first page and started reading.