Chapter 21
I remember Logan as a teenager moaning that I didn’t have a TV, and I told him I didn’t need one when I have mountains, sea and lochs on my doorstep.
I enjoy early nights and being up at dawn.
I feel at peace listening to the sounds of nature: the music of birdsong, the honks of geese, the bubbling water on the shore, the roaring of the wind on the hills and the sigh through the trees. Time on Mull should be prescribed.
Extract from Joy’s journal
The drive along the scenic west coast was Tilly’s favourite.
During their summer on Mull, Joy had insisted they take Tilly to the Isle of Iona which was just off the southwest coast, and so Logan had driven this route.
With Logan and Joy’s company, it had felt like a family outing, something she’d never experienced as a child, so she’d lapped up their joyful camaraderie and easy-going chatter.
They’d bought fish and chips from The Creel Seafood Bar at Fionnphort and had eaten them on the grass bank overlooking Fidden Beach, before taking the ferry across to Iona.
Of course it was different this time with just her, Logan and Barney, and she was the one driving, her attention firmly on the narrow road. She caught glimpses of Loch Na Keal to her right, glistening in the early-morning light as she kept an eye out for other vehicles and passing places.
After a birthday breakfast made by Logan of smoked salmon with smashed avocado on a breakfast muffin, they’d left early, which was just as well when she’d woken at dawn with all sorts of thoughts tumbling through her head.
She’d tried to quieten them by reading Joy’s journal, but picking up a novel might have been more helpful, when Joy’s writing focused so much on love, Logan and the past. Although Joy had always had a bright and upbeat personality, a sadness wove through her words, even if she articulated her thoughts and feelings beautifully.
Tilly loved the dramatic landscape with the mountain disappearing into the clustering clouds.
They hadn’t gone far before Tilly stopped, herding sheep out of the way as she pulled into a parking area.
They strolled to the edge of the loch and took in the mountainous landscape of sea and sky, sharing it only with the sheep and birds.
Tilly was rarely somewhere this peaceful.
Not that it was silent, with the rushing lap of the water and the birds twittering and sheep munching, but there were no man-made noises.
They weren’t lucky enough to spot an otter, but then they didn’t have the patience to sit quietly for an hour to see if one would appear.
After their enlightening conversation at the pub, they hadn’t explored things further, but it was certainly playing on her mind as she continued driving along the winding road that was wedged between a rocky cliff and the loch.
Huge pewter-grey boulders littered the water’s edge where they’d tumbled down the hillside.
Tilly gripped the steering wheel and held her breath, constantly expecting another vehicle to appear at every turn, but they didn’t meet anyone until they reached a straight stretch where they could pull in to let them pass – fellow travellers in a campervan who gave them a wave.
She liked how friendly everyone was, holidaymakers and locals alike.
How could anyone not be when they were somewhere as beautiful as this?
They left the edge of the loch, the curving road climbing until they reached a breath-taking view to a valley that dropped away with patchwork fields rolling to the sea.
They passed a lone house clinging to the edge and Tilly couldn’t help but wonder how inhospitable it would be in the depths of winter, even if the views were spectacular.
Logan popped on a noughties mix CD and, as they cut inland, they sang their hearts out to Gnarls Barkley’s ‘Crazy’, Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ and Nelly Furtado’s ‘Maneater’.
Tilly was transported back to the good times in her life, when fun and friendship had been at the heart of everything and Logan had been central to that.
Tilly told herself to let go of the weirdness, to relax and be open, to use this day together as a reset to get their friendship back on track. How hard could that be?
* * *
On the southwestern-most tip of Mull, Fionnphort took some effort to get to; it wasn’t a place you passed, but somewhere you intended to go. They left the campervan in the car park, and with the passenger ferry to Iona about to leave, Logan booked tickets online.
The journey across to the small island was short but choppy, with a blustery wind causing the medium-sized ferry to rock from side to side as it powered across to the concrete jetty.
Houses were clustered together in a line stretching past a patch of white sand beach, and Tilly could make out the island’s famous stone abbey.
She remembered it being such a peaceful and beautiful place and somewhere Joy had loved, which was the reason why she’d wanted to come here today even for a fleeting visit.
A whole day out was special when she rarely took time off, because she thrived on work and was happy to not be tied to a typical nine-to-five day or even a Monday-to-Friday week.
For many of her friends, the weekends were filled with family commitments, whereas Tilly had never had that.
Plus, she was now at the age where many friends were in a serious relationship or starting families, which had changed the dynamics of their friendship.
Tilly’s focus was on work and her business, which suited her fine, even if the let-up on the pressure had been replaced by a different kind of stress here.
They disembarked and it was a relief to stand on firm ground again.
The weather was a mix of sunshine and high white clouds, the blustery wind taking the edge off what little warmth there was.
The other passengers dispersed into the village of Baile Mòr or onto the small beach.
After deciding on a destination, Tilly and Logan set off with Barney, their strides matching as they headed along the lane in front of the houses and took the grassy path that cut past the abbey and alongside the white-flecked stretch of sea between Iona and Mull.
The grass rippled in the breeze and in the distance, Tilly spied a stretch of white sand that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a tropical island.
It was a brisk twenty-minute walk to the White Strand of The Monks, reached by cutting through a croft and along a farm track that dipped down so they were briefly sheltered from the wind before it rose up to small sand dunes.
Even wearing layers and with her raincoat zipped up, Tilly shivered.
The season was showing its true colours after a couple of unseasonably warm and sunny days.
The beach they emerged onto didn’t look as if it should belong to a Scottish island. The pale oyster-coloured sand was peppered with large grey rocks and the shore was lapped by aquamarine water. It reminded Tilly a little of Langamull Beach where Cal had bared his soul.
The bright white sand beach she’d spotted while they’d been walking belonged to a tiny island off the northern tip of Iona.
The water lapping the sand was a brilliant turquoise, while further out the sea darkened to a moody grey.
A boat cut across on its way to Staffa and its basalt rock formations.
That was another bucket-list place Tilly wanted to visit, but she was relieved to not be out on the water when the solid ground of the beach felt wild enough and the icy breeze was whipping her hair into a frenzy.
The volatile-looking sky added to the Scottishness of the place, with the clouds clustering over the mountainous interior of Mull.
The sunshine they were enjoying seemed as if it would be extinguished any moment, so they didn’t hang about, pacing across the silky sand to shelter within the clusters of looming rocks.
They perched on a flattish rock and Tilly faced into the wind so her hair was whipped out behind her.
They sat for a moment in silence, drinking from their flasks of coffee while listening to the wind whistling along the beach and watching the waves foam white onto the sand.
Logan broke the quiet with a sigh. ‘I keep wondering why Aunt Joy didn’t specify what she wanted me to do with her ashes, besides requesting for them to be scattered. Scattered where?’
‘She loved it here, didn’t she?’
Logan nodded and glanced away as if choking back tears. ‘Yes, but no more than she loved Ulva or Loch Ba or countless other places.’
‘Can’t you scatter them where she scattered your uncle’s ashes?’
‘I don’t know where that is, that’s the problem.’
‘She didn’t tell you?’
‘Her very words were “here, there and everywhere”. I’m assuming that meant somewhere close to the house, but I never pressed her for more because I never knew my uncle.
I never needed a place to grieve him. That was for her.
I figured she’d tell me if she wanted to.
Now I’ll never know, which makes it even harder to make a decision on her behalf. ’
‘Maybe she intended for you to scatter them somewhere that has meaning for you, where you can pay your respects, just like she did with your uncle. I say scatter them wherever it will bring you comfort and you can remember her with fondness. I’m pretty certain she’d be happy with whatever you choose. ’
Logan swigged some more coffee. ‘Did she leave any clues in her journal?’
Tilly watched the waves churn and break onto the sand while she considered what to say.
‘Not about that. She started writing her journal after the summer we were here. She was inspired to tell her story.’ At Logan’s frown, she continued.
‘She wrote about her and Robert’s love story and her love for the island through the seasons.
She hasn’t touched on more recent times, or if she has, I haven’t got to that part yet.
’ Tilly wedged the heels of her walking boots in the sand and leaned back.
The wind had ebbed a little, caressing her face now instead of pummelling it.
‘I do wonder about the bench in the garden and if it’s always been there.
It’s beneath a tree, so it’s cold and shady, which is lovely in summer when you want to cool down, but it’s an odd place when it rarely gets sunshine.
But it has an incredible view of the loch and the hills across the other side.
It’s also where she was inspired to write because she watched me that summer, but I followed the sun around, while that was her spot, which makes me wonder if it was where she felt closest to Robert. Do you think your uncle painted there?’
‘Possibly,’ Logan said. ‘The bench has always been there as far as I can remember.’
‘Maybe it’s where she scattered his ashes and they got whipped away by the wind, or she scattered them by the loch and the bench is where she can see it from. Either way, the bench feels special and meaningful.’
‘What else has she written about?’ Logan wrapped his arms tight around his knees, then shook his head. ‘Forget I asked. You don’t have to tell me. She left the journal to you.’
A buffeting wind slammed into them. The pearly, sun-kissed sand was plunged into shade as a petrol-grey cloud encroached.
Tilly was beginning to understand why Joy had written and left the journal to her, but it was hard to explain to Logan without revealing too much.
‘She’s made me think a lot about myself and my relationships through the way she’s analysed hers.
And not just hers and Roberts, but her love for you and that importance of family.
Not just because someone’s related by blood, but because they’re the most important person in your life.
’ Tilly shuffled on the rock so she was facing him.
‘You were that person for her and you’ve always been that person for me. ’
Logan glanced away with a sharp intake of breath.
He turned back, lips pursed and eyes glistening.
‘To be able to scatter her ashes on the day we celebrate her life, I need to make a decision. But right now, we need to walk so we don’t flipping freeze.
’ His sadness was erased by a grin – or was it a grimace?
– as he pulled her to her feet and cut the conversation short.
‘How does catching the ferry back and getting fish and chips from the seafood shack sound?’
‘Like a proper birthday treat.’
They left deep footprints in the compact sand as they made their way around the clusters of rocks and back up the narrow sandy path between the grasses. Tilly relished the sudden drop in the wind which stopped the roaring in her ears so she could hear herself think.
Logan caught hold of her in the sheltered dip of the sand dune. ‘Aunt Joy was a romantic at heart because she’d experienced the kind of love we all dream of, I guess.’
Tilly studied him, noticing the way he didn’t quite meet her gaze. His cheeks had tinged pink from more than just the cold, she assumed. ‘Is that what you dream of?’ she asked carefully.
‘Yes,’ he said simply, finally meeting her eyes. It was her breath that was snatched away this time. She imagined his heart was racing. Hers certainly was.
Her face felt tight from the salty air, and while her hair was windswept, her heart was twisted with worry and desire, confusion and sorrow, not just for the loving family she’d always craved, but for a partner who loved her the way Joy and Robert had loved each other.
What if Logan could be a permanent part of her life just as she’d suggested all those years ago?
Wasn’t that the outcome Joy had always hoped for?
What a way to honour her memory by making one of her dreams come true.