Chapter 16
The sun covers every inch of my bedroom the next morning as I get ready for the boat trip. I still can’t get my head around it. One minute Rory and I are head-to-head and it feels like we’ll never be civil, the next he’s inviting me on an expedition.
I deliberate over my outfit for a silly amount of time and end up wearing a green top and the jeans that Seb always said made my bum look good.
I can still hear his voice in my head as I stand in front of the mirror.
He liked seeing me in pink, which also happened to be Macy’s favourite colour.
Maybe she’d won him over with a flutter of the eyelashes and her collection of Barbie-inspired clothes.
I sigh. This is the problem with having a day off: it means I have – gasp – time to think. It’s just as well Finlay bullied Rory into inviting me out for the day. Too much time alone would have sent me spiralling.
I’m hardly looking forward to spending the day with Rory, but I can’t wait for the boat trip itself.
Tourists visiting the shop have mentioned seeing dolphins jumping in and out of the water.
Dolphins! It is so far removed from London life that I’m practically jumping up and down with excitement as I pack my things and set off down to the pier.
Rory is already waiting by the time I arrive, first in the queue.
In fact, he is the only one in the queue.
‘Ready?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘Looking forward to it?’
‘Can’t wait,’ he says. ‘Thanks for the ticket.’
‘No problem,’ I say, shifting from one foot to another. ‘Thanks for giving me the spare. See, isn’t this nice, being civil to each other?’
Rory almost smiles. Almost. It is more of a smirk, really, but it still counts. ‘Sure, we can stay civilized for one day.’
‘Good. Because I want to have a good time. This has been top of my to-do list since I got here.’
‘So you said.’
A few more people join the queue behind us. I recognize two of the women as the American tourists who fought over the book in my shop.
‘Oh my God,’ I hear one whisper to the other. ‘It’s him.’
‘And you!’ the other exclaims, pointing at me with an impressively long gel nail. ‘You’re the bookstore owner. You’re with him? You didn’t say anything.’
‘Oh, no,’ Rory says.
‘We’re not together,’ I say emphatically.
They both brighten up immediately, introducing themselves directly to Rory as Lynnette and Melissa, while the tour guide starts the safety briefing.
‘The safety briefing is pretty much don’t fall in the water, isn’t it?’ Rory mutters.
Lynnette and Melissa throw their heads back, squawking like seagulls.
A family with three young excitable boys joins the end of the queue.
The dad struggles to fold the toddler’s buggy, so the mum takes over and, even with the child on her hip, manages it with a flick of her foot.
Their two older children jump up and down, asking if it’s time for the boat to leave as we’re ushered on board.
The white boat has seating at the back, an observation deck where a maximum of eight people can be at one time, plus a space at the very front of the boat where we are able to sit on the deck. I make my way to the front and take a seat. Rory appears behind me.
‘It’ll get pretty cold out here,’ he warns. ‘Once the boat starts moving.’
‘I don’t mind.’ I shrug. ‘It’s just lovely to be here, to see the scenery and soak it all up.’
He nods, standing still. It looks like he’s planning to stay here beside me. As the engine roars to life, we listen to the tour guide chatting through the loudspeaker about the islands that we are set to see and the wildlife we might catch a glimpse of on the way.
The wind picks up as the boat propels forward and, within minutes, it blasts me full in the face. I put on my sunglasses to shield my eyes, not from the sun but from the intensity of the wind, and pull my jacket closer around me.
‘You weren’t kidding about the wind,’ I say, as my teeth start to chatter. ‘Tears are being extracted from my eyeballs.’
He laughs. ‘Yeah, it’s a different kind of wind out here, isn’t it? Feels like it’s cutting you in half.’
‘Too right,’ I say. ‘That’s why we’re the only ones on the front deck, I guess.’
‘It’ll be worth it. You’ve got to weather the storm to reap the rewards,’ he says, pulling a flask from his bag. ‘Plus, I brought coffee to keep me warm.’
‘I see your cup of smugness,’ I say, pulling out my own flask from my backpack. ‘And I raise you hot chocolate.’
‘Touché… Nice work. I see your hot chocolate,’ he says, rummaging in his bag, ‘and I raise you a wool blanket. MacGregor tartan, for good measure.’
I shiver as a gust of wind whips around my face. ‘Does the blanket being tartan make it extra warm, by any chance?’
Over the tannoy, the tour guide points out two eagles soaring towards the mountains in the distance. Rory lends me his binoculars, and I gasp at the sight of the majestic birds. The tour guide walks around with a claw that is the same size as an eagle’s, to demonstrate their strength.
As I sip on my hot chocolate and gaze out to the mountains, I sigh contentedly.
I’ve been full steam ahead with moving, renovations and the bookshop opening.
Everything has been a million miles an hour for months now.
Years, in fact. During my London life, I’d barely taken the time to breathe.
Looking back on it now, I’m not sure how I kept up the pace.
Early starts to prepare for meetings, writing last-minute pitches, team meetings, launch nights, late finishes, and then back up to do it all again the next day.
I barely had time for anything but work.
Macy had been the first to complain that she never saw me any more.
Seb never said anything, but I guess they decided to take matters into their own hands.
Not that it gave them an excuse. I wasn’t letting them off the hook that easily.
But, thinking back now, I had probably become too work-focused over the last few years as I’d climbed the corporate ladder.
Verging on obsessed. And for what? The company went into liquidation, and I was more alone than when I started.
I can’t remember doing anything fun for myself during those four years.
I couldn’t even read when I got home. Instead, I collapsed into bed in an exhausted heap at the end of the day.
As it starts to drizzle, I make my way inside and Rory follows me.
‘Your cheeks are rosy,’ Rory says, as we sit down on a row of cushioned seats inside the boat. He coughs, a little awkward. ‘It suits you.’
‘A compliment? Who are you and what have you done with the Rory I know?’ I ask, as I feel my fingers start to thaw. ‘Are you nicer out at sea?’
‘Yup, the minute we’re back on shore, you’re dead to me.’
He pulls out his sketchbook from his backpack, looking into the distance, and starts moving his pencil expertly around the page. Within minutes, he has reproduced the outline of the mountains.
‘Wow,’ I say. ‘Your American fan club up the stairs will be very impressed with your artwork. I heard them say you look like a young Marlon Brando.’ I wrap my jacket tightly around my body as someone opens the door to the deck area, bringing a blast of cold wind.
‘I told them you’ve got a personality like Shrek. ’
‘Always around to bring me down to earth.’
‘You’re welcome. Although, in all seriousness, your work is very impressive. How long have you been an artist?’
He laughs. ‘I’m hardly an artist. I just dabble.’
‘I think you’ll find that I commissioned you to paint a mural in my shop. That makes you an artist. Professional, even.’
‘Well, it’s not like I’m inundated with requests.’ He shrugs and goes back to concentrating on his craft.
‘You could be,’ I say. ‘If you wanted.’
He sighs. ‘You’ve worked in The Toolbox. You can see how busy it gets. Margaret’s toilet seat won’t fix itself, you know. It’s a family business. I can’t just abandon it.’
‘Family business,’ I say, raising my eyebrows. ‘But where’s your family? Sorry, I hope you don’t mind me asking. It just seems like you’re doing it all by yourself.’
‘I’m the youngest of eight and all my brothers and sisters have moved away.
Hopefully not forever, but who knows? My mum and dad went to stay near my sister, who’s just had a baby.
They should be coming back in the next few weeks.
Until then, I’m the last man standing in Ullapool.
I have the family home and business to take care of.
I can’t really mess about with painting and drawing. I need to keep the business afloat.’
Here I am thinking how lucky Rory is to have a business handed to him on a plate. Watching him sketching away in his book, I realize he isn’t exactly lucky. He’s trapped.
‘That’s a lot,’ I say. ‘All on you.’
He shrugs. ‘I like it here. The quiet. I can’t imagine living in London or New York or anywhere like that. I think I’ll always come back here. This is home. But I have always wanted to see a bit more of the world and maybe have some more time to draw and paint – to pretend to be an artist.’
‘It’s not pretending.’ I nudge his knee. ‘You are an artist. Rumour has it you planned to buy my shop?’
I say it as gently as possible. I’m so pleased with the bookshop. I know it would have stung if someone had nabbed it from me in an auction. And I had to work right next door.
‘Ah, so you heard about that? Probably worked out for the best, anyway. I wouldn’t have had the time to do much with it.
The rest of my family are pursuing their dreams just now.
I’d like to have my turn, too, at some point.
My siblings are all over the world. France, Australia, even, God forbid, Edinburgh.
Two of them are writers. My sister Ailsa, the one who’s just had the baby, is an interior designer,’ he says proudly.
Although he speaks of them fondly, it doesn’t seem fair that Rory is the one left to keep everything ticking over while his siblings chase their ambitions.