Chapter 3
Skye sat up and blinked, her eyes dry and scratchy. It wasn’t surprising. After the initial shocked hollowness, she had cried all the way from Edinburgh. At some points her vision had been so obscured by tears, she needed to pull over for everyone’s safety. And between her trips to the rock, the cottage and the surgery, she hadn’t thought to have a drink. The lattes from the shop were still in their carrier, untouched, on the passenger seat of the car.
She glanced around the sitting room of the cottage Holly had taken her to. It was light, airy, all blues and whites which mirrored the hues of the sea, which she could see through the window from where she was positioned on the sofa.
Her own little flat in Edinburgh was a maximalist’s dream, all colour and clashing patterns, pictures fighting for room on the walls, and trinkets she’d collected from her travels cluttering every space. She had wanted it to have the allure of an antique shop, inviting and cosy, and it was exactly the way she liked it. This place was so neat and neutral, which she didn’t mind except it made her feel more disassociated from normal life than she already did.
Skye sighed as she looked down at the white floorboards, and crossed her legs underneath her. She noticed a bucket by her feet too, although she was pretty certain her stomach was empty. She felt a pang of mortification — the latest in a long line of them — at what had happened at the surgery, bringing her own problems into the lives of complete strangers.
If she had known her uncle wasn’t going to be around, she would have escaped somewhere else. Her best friend from work, Houda, had two small children, so she couldn’t impose on her, but she might have gone to a university friend in London. Or booked a last-minute B&B on one of the less busy Western Isles. Anywhere she could find some peace and quiet to work out what to do next.
Eastercraig had been her first choice though. Hugh had always been her port in a storm, and — heaven knew — she had been in one permanently when she was younger. Less been in, more been one . Hurricane Skye, her mum had nicknamed her. Whenever she wound up in trouble, worrying her mum and infuriating her father, she had been sent up to Hugh and Dorothy’s house for some time out.
‘Batten down the hatches,’ she’d said to Hugh once, as a sixteen-year-old, as she stepped off the train at Inverness. ‘I’m back.’
She had said it with relish, like she was daring Hugh to be angry with her. Really, she had wanted to check he was still on her side.
‘The only storms to be weathered are out there.’ Hugh had nodded to the sea, as he drove her back to Eastercraig. ‘Here you can be just Skye.’
As he’d said it, she’d felt her shoulders release the tension they held. Felt her lungs exhale fully and her mind stop buzzing, the way they always did whenever the pretty harbour town with its rainbow-coloured cottages came into view.
What was it that lifted her spirits in Eastercraig? Perhaps it was the sea air, threading its way into her veins. Or the slower pace of life. There was a leisurely way of doing things here, from the speed at which you got served at the pub, to the unrushed conversations being held in front of you in the queue at the shop. She loved how people wound down car windows to chat to friends on the pavements, holding up the traffic — not that there was ever very much.
Or perhaps it was simply that Eastercraig meant Hugh and Dorothy. Well, just Hugh now. Wonderful, wise Uncle Hugh.
Even though, years ago, Skye had gathered from her mum that Hugh had a reputation for being a little gruff, he had always had time for her. He was patient and kind, lending an ear and a reasoned word of advice. He was her mum’s older brother. He and Dorothy had never had children of their own, and Skye’s mum said that made their niece even more special to them, and Skye had cherished their close relationship. She had been grateful to have these extra adults in her life.
It made her chest tighten once more, the thought that she had let that relationship fall by the wayside these last few months, especially now that Dorothy was gone. Skye knew she hadn’t seen nearly enough of Dorothy either, in her last years. She regretted that bitterly. They had always shown up for her, however much trouble she’d been in.
Now here she was, in trouble once more.
That Hugh wasn’t in Eastercraig was probably a sign. She should head back to Edinburgh to tell Tanya Green, the head of Human Resources at her firm, what had happened. Or some of it, at least.
Skye pulled her phone out of her handbag, and checked the display. Eight missed calls, three voicemails, seven texts. With her newly chipped nail, she scrolled though the list. Six calls and two messages from Houda. A call and a voicemail from Tanya. One of each from Will.
There was also a text from her mum. We are thinking of you today, pet. Let us know how you get on x. They would be so disappointed. Dismayed. She had let them down. She would hold off replying to that until she could muster the strength to tell them what had happened.
She looked at Will’s next.
Call me. W
Skye chose to leave that one as well, and to ignore his voicemail too. There was no point in talking to someone when you felt nothing but loathing towards them. He had betrayed her so completely, she couldn’t have imagined uncovering a worse secret other than maybe Will admitting that instead of heading to rugby on Sunday mornings he was out clubbing baby seals.
And Tanya? She would need to tell Tanya about the exam. Tanya probably knew already. Not the Will thing though. There were rules about dating people in the office. She felt her stomach roil, like the sea when in full fury, unclear if it was a response to the prospect of confronting Tanya or Will. She leaned over the bucket, willing the feeling to pass.
The Will thing started at the Christmas party, in a noisy bar in one of Edinburgh’s grander hotels. A Christmas tree towered in the corner, toeing the line between tasteful and garish with its festoons of giant gold bows, and metallic helium balloons stuck to the ceiling, their dangling ribbons brushing people’s hair. Wham! and Mariah Carey competed for volume with the increasingly drunk staff of Tilling and Browne, who were determined to drink the tab dry. A wiser person would have recognized it as exactly the kind of atmosphere in which regrettable decisions got made.
Will had approached her, not the other way round. He was dressed down in a shirt and jeans, plus a hideous Christmas tie covered in snowmen. Not the greatest get-up, though it made him look more approachable than he did when suited-up in the office.
Honestly, Skye had always been a little in awe of him. Will Tomlinson rarely lost a case. People often came to the firm and asked for him specifically. Outside of that, she didn’t know much about him, although his secretary, Rosie, said he gave the most generous Christmas presents — Diptyque candles, spa vouchers, huge hampers from Harrods — and that beneath the tailored suits which matched his steel-grey eyes, he was ‘a pussycat’.
Will said he had noticed her at the office. Very few people were in the office as early as he was. He had seen her with her head down, completely absorbed in whatever task she was doing. Skye had smiled, and told him she was a paralegal, but taking her exams that summer. Come September, the firm would be employing her as a fully qualified lawyer, a solicitor in the corporate law department.
Will already knew, which surprised Skye as she had never worked with him before. She knew that he, like her, was a lark, but had never realised he had noticed her .
He handed over a glass of champagne, and Skye accepted, and they carried on chatting. They weren’t flirting, not really. In fact, having had a few gin and tonics with Houda before the party, Skye wasn’t sure she was on her best form. But Skye had enjoyed talking to Will. She had split up with her previous boyfriend because he behaved like a child half the time, unable to load the dishwasher or handle an argument. Will was fifteen years older, he was interesting, clever and sharp. A grown-up. Eventually, Houda, an eyebrow unsubtly raised, had dragged Skye away to go and dance.
At the end of the night, as the lights went back up and the shattered bartenders refused to pour any more drinks, the crowd started to thin out. At the coat check desk, a hazardously tipsy Skye found herself stood next to Will.
‘Skye, I was wondering . . . would you like to go for a drink some time?’ His voice was low.
He was charming. And Skye was single, flattered, and propelled by what was undoubtedly a few glasses of fizz too many. She wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t against the rules, but he seemed so confident that it was probably fine. It wasn’t as if she was working on any cases with him. And she was a lawyer, she could be very discreet when she wanted to be.
For the following six months, their relationship developed — very discreetly. Far from the watchful eyes of the office, they skipped in and out of bars, took day trips to the beach at Portobello, spent weekends at Will’s cottage in Pittenweem — which Skye loved because it reminded her of Eastercraig — and edged closer and closer.
When Skye finally commandeered a drawer at Will’s house, she had reached the joyous conclusion that things were getting serious. Aside from a ring on your finger, wasn’t having your own toothbrush at your partner’s house the ultimate sign of commitment? Or perhaps that would be confessing to HR you were together.
‘I think we ought to come clean to Tanya Green,’ Skye had said. ‘It’s been five months. Or I could tell Norah.’
Gorgeous and chatty Norah was Tanya’s assistant and, confession-wise, telling her appealed more than a potentially dicey chat with Tanya.
Sitting across from her in a quiet corner of an upmarket Thai restaurant, Will shifted in his seat, barely suppressing the look of discomfort on his face. ‘Skye. You know how much I care about you. You’re wonderful. I thank my stars every day I found you. It’s risky though. It might backfire.’
Skye understood or, rather, forced herself to understand. He stood to lose a lot, if Tanya decided this relationship wasn’t above board. They both did. Skye didn’t push him about it.
Besides, she’d had other things on her plate. As well as her normal workload, Skye had internal exams to focus on. It was the culmination of years of work: her law degree, the Diploma in Professional Legal Practice, and then her training contract. She was technically qualified, she just had to pass the paper and have a quick interview with some of the partners. After that, she would at last be a solicitor at Tilling and Browne, one of the top firms in the city.
She could ask Will about telling HR again then.
Bloody exam. Along with her relationship with bloody Will, that had gone down the bloody drain and all. She might leave calling Tanya too.
She looked at Houda’s stream of messages. The most recent two said:
Tanya looking for you. Warpath-ing. She’s gone so far as to exploit our friendship and ask me where you are. Said you missed the exam. I told her you’re sick.
There was a vomiting emoji next to it. Houda must be psychic. She had sent another an hour later.
Call me, S. I am getting a *little* worried. What happened?
What happened? Skye’s future, for once so perfectly mapped out it deserved its own page in an atlas, had imploded.
Less than twelve hours ago, she was all prepared to sit down to the paper. She had revised her arse off to the point where she had practically dropped a dress size. Caffeinated, she had gone into the office to deal with incoming emails, a better use of time than staying at home and sweating through the armpits of her shirt while pacing the short length of her flat.
Will was in early too. He always was. And that was when the clinch happened. Skye winced.
The clinch she saw Will in. With another woman.