Because of You

Chapter 14

On Sunday morning, Skye woke up bright and early. It might have been the early light, streaming in through a gap in the curtains where she hadn’t drawn them fully. A teensy part of her acknowledged that it might have to do with the prospect of spending the day with Bear.

The night before, she had taken Paolo for a post-work late lunch at the Anchor, as a thank you for having her, before heading to Glenalmond. She and Hamish had chatted over tea in the gardens, she’d cooked dinner and caught up with his parents, David and Moira. After washing up, she turned in reasonably early, wanting to be on form for the trip.

She yawned and picked up her phone from the bedside cabinet. She hadn’t looked at it last night — and yet at some point the previous evening Will had called. Twice.

Her stomach wound itself into what felt like a reef knot, that raw feeling of confusion and betrayal returning. Placing the phone back down, Skye looked up at the white plastered ceiling, her eyes tracing the intricate carved oak leaf motif that edged the room.

She could feel the tears coming, and took a shaky breath. She wasn’t going to cry over him anymore. Ignoring Will wasn’t going to help her consign him to history.

This was it. The moment had come. She had to turn over a new leaf. Which meant confronting him, facing what he had done to her. Was she ready to deal with the feelings that conversation would release? More than anything she wanted to avoid shouting, and crying, and making herself sound hysterical and foolish, which would only let him justify his actions. More than that, she feared that in the moment she might go mute, unable to summon the words to express herself.

It's what used to happen when she was younger. Unable to tell her father how corseted she felt by his views, she had acted out. Perhaps things would have been different between her and her father if she’d been able to express herself better. Then again, maybe not.

Still. That wasn’t the matter in hand. Will was.

Skye reached again for the phone, then paused. Was this an impolite time to be calling?

‘Come on, Skye,’ she said aloud. ‘Do you really need to concern yourself with what may or may not inconvenience Will Tomlinson?’

She scrolled through her favourites list, making a mental note to remove Will from that list the moment the call finished, and then pressed the green dial button. It rang a few times, and then Will picked up.

‘Skye,’ came the familiar voice. ‘I’m glad you called.’

A familiar full-body ache threatened to displace the lighter feeling she had enjoyed the last few days.

‘You’ve been ringing me.’ She stuck to the facts. They were easier to express than opinions.

‘I was calling to see if you were OK. How are you? You’ve had us all worried.’

Feigned concern was an interesting angle. Any anguish she had been feeling dissipated. Skye felt her blood begin to simmer, but if there was one moment in which she needed to channel nonchalance, this was it.

She ran her fingers over her duvet, letting a pause linger before finally answering. ‘Is that so? Including you?’

Will hesitated. ‘I’m sorry, Skye. I’d been meaning to tell you.’

‘Tell me what?’

She endured a short silence while Will chose his words.

‘About my fiancée We’ve been engaged for a couple of years, and been long-distance for ages, and to be honest I was wondering if it had run its course. I thought it was going to be over.’

Yeah right. Will would have kept both of them going for as long as he could.

‘ Going to be over doesn’t justify over lap. Besides, it didn’t look over from where I was stood,’ Skye snapped, noting, with what felt like a sharp kick in the kidneys, that he’d referred to The Woman as ‘my fiancée’.

‘Are you coming back to Edinburgh soon? I’d like to talk face to face,’ he continued, sounding strained.

If he thought Skye so much as wanted to be in the same room as him, let alone be anywhere near his face, he was dead wrong.

‘I didn’t think you’d . . .’

‘What? Find out?’

Skye tried not to feel too foolish in the face of his duplicity, but there was a buzzing in her ears which was part shock and part anger. Perhaps it had only been six months, not truly long-term, but Will had treated Skye like a proper girlfriend. She’d had every reason to believe that the need to keep it hidden was because of the firm’s policy.

But — Skye inhaled trying to clear her thoughts — there was no need to make this worse.

‘We don’t need to talk, Will. There’s nothing to say.’

‘So you’re not going to tell HR?’ he asked quickly.

That was the real reason behind the calls . ‘You mean inform Tanya, after the fact?’

‘We don’t need to, do we.’

Will was trying to sound offhand and failing. He was normally so smooth. She had seen him in client meetings, diffusing explosive situations without breaking a sweat.

‘Oh. You’re worried that I might go to Tanya, let her know, and you’ll be in trouble for abusing your position of authority.’

There was a pause.

‘Is that it? You think I’m going to do that?’ she continued. ‘You were never phoning to see if I was OK, or even apologize. You’re covering your arse.’

‘I’m not. But Skye — are you going to say anything?’

It was hard to say who would come out worse in a disciplinary, they both knew it. Older male members of staff hooking up with their secretaries was never a good look, but Will was one of Tilling and Browne’s top earners. They wouldn’t want to lose him. Skye would end up being collateral.

She levelled her tone. ‘We were both guilty of it, weren’t we. Both guilty of letting what started as a flirtation at the Christmas party spin out of control, when it clearly shouldn’t have.’

That much was true.

‘You’re not going to tell Tanya, then? Or Norah?’ The relief in Will’s voice was palpable.

‘You’ll live to fight another case.’ Skye was careful not to say ‘no’.

‘Thanks, Skye. I appreciate that. I hear you’re back at the end of June.’

Skye made a grunt of agreement.

‘And . . .’ Will continued ‘. . . I’m sorry about what happened with the exam. I feel responsible for throwing you off your game.’

‘Right,’ Skye said. She did not want to reflect on that again, and definitely not with Will. ‘I think we’re done here. Aren’t we? I guess I’ll see you.’

‘Yeah. See you. And Skye . . . I liked you. I did.’

‘Bye, Will.’

‘Bye, Skye. And good luck.’

With that, she hung up. Skye suddenly felt light-headed, tunnel vision narrowing her line of sight.

Good luck? She had spent six months with a man who wished her luck, after he had cheated on her. The casual arrogance must be the reason he drifted through life on a cloud of untouchability. Give him ten years and he would undoubtedly pop up in parliament.

She flopped back into her pillows, and gave a huff.

Positive mental attitude , she rallied, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The only way was up. And, right now, that meant getting up.

* * *

There are some days by the sea when glorious sunshine can reign all day, and yet as soon as you head inland, clouds envelope the hills in a damp fuzz. Sunday — the day of the trip — was one of those days, but even when shrouded by drizzle, Skye found the dramatic Highlands beautiful, and thanked her stars she had them to escape to.

‘Apologies for the weather,’ said Bear, lines appearing on his forehead as he took in the skies ahead of them.

‘I do hold you personally responsible,’ Skye joked, pleased to see his brow relax at her tone. ‘I rather like it, you know?’

Something about feeling the cool, wet air on her face grounded her, like walking shoeless on grass. As she and Bear drove out of Eastercraig and inland, towards the grey mist that hung in the air and swallowed the scenery, she was tempted to lean out of the window like a dog, hoping to get her fill of it.

Fifteen minutes later, though, visibility had progressively worsened, to the point where there was very little to see at all. A car on the opposite side of the road passed, hardly more than a shadowy outline and two glowing orbs of headlights.

Skye almost rubbed her eyes to check they were working. ‘Did I miss something? It’s like we went through a wardrobe into another world, only this one’s consumed by fog rather than blanketed in snow.’

Bear leaned forwards over the steering wheel. ‘I like to think I’d have noticed a large bit of bedroom furniture in the way.’

‘Mind you, given this is Scotland, who knows what might happen. The weather, I mean. Not the wardrobe. It could clear in an hour.’

Bear’s brows drew together once more. ‘Sorry.’

‘Why are you apologizing?’

Bear frowned fully. ‘I had visions of a sunny road trip, ambling around those buildings and then having a picnic somewhere. The blanket in the back seems optimistic now. I don’t want you to be disappointed.’

‘Why would I be disappointed?’

‘Well . . . You might. I mean . . .’ He tailed off.

Skye turned around and saw a tartan rug folded up on the back seat. Her heart gave a twitch, but then she remembered that this wasn’t a date. Nobody had mentioned the d-word. They were merely two strangers thrown together in a small town, who didn’t know anyone else, whiling away spare time. And she was healing her poor, shattered heart.

‘It would be nice to have company.’ Those had been his words. Not ‘It would be nice to have your company.’ That said, did anyone say the latter? Did the first essentially mean the same as the second? Working at a law firm so long had made quibbling minor grammatical points second nature. She told herself once more that it didn’t matter either way.

‘We might strike it lucky,’ she said. ‘Get some sunshine. Besides, it’s still a day trip, whatever the weather. And the blackhouse will still hold the same magic, right?’

‘You got me.’ He was suppressing a smile. ‘I bet you’re pinching yourself, wondering how you ended up hanging out with such an achingly cool individual.’

This trip they were on, she wouldn’t have found herself on anything like this with Will. He liked five-star restaurants, and fashionable clubs and bars, which admittedly Skye wasn’t completely immune to the charms of. But drives to isolated buildings would have been out of the question, unless they were five-star hotels or wilderness retreats featured in the pages of the Sunday supplements.

Skye exaggeratedly took a thumb and forefinger to the skin on her right arm, enough that Bear could see it out of the corner of his eye while he was driving.

‘Huge pinch. And as soon as we get back to Wi-Fi, I’ll get you a T-shirt made — Keep on crucking .’

At this, Bear let out a loud laugh. ‘Reckon I’d be a proper babe magnet with something like that.’

‘So you’re not seeing anyone at the moment?’

It fell out of her mouth before she’d had a chance to think it over.

Bear’s lip curled. ‘I was in a relationship until last year. But not since.’

‘Oh? And what happened?’ Skye sat cross-legged, nestling into the scratchy seats of the old hatchback.

‘She divorced me.’

Skye felt the slow fingers of discomfort creep across her chest.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

Bear looked at her. ‘It wasn’t working. We weren’t working.’

It was a brusque explanation, not that he owed her one. Skye looked out of the window and focused on the fog to give Bear space for a second — or at least as much space as you could get in a car that could barely seat two people. She wound down the window in an attempt to dispel the onset claustrophobia.

‘I didn’t mean to pry. Shall we talk about something else?’

Bear nodded. ‘Why not tell me about all the summers you spent here when you were younger? You mentioned them at supper, but didn’t go into detail.’

Skye, was used to censoring stories about her childhood, and focused on the positives. The beautiful scenery, swimming in the sea, being allowed to go on rounds with her uncle and visit remote farms, standing at the edges of barns and watching him treat the bigger animals, like cows and sheep. As she told it, it sounded idyllic. It was idyllic without the backstories she was withholding. Borrowing money from your mum’s purse to go to an illegal rave didn’t bring on nostalgia in the same way newborn lambs did. Who knew what Bear would think of that level of shenanigans.

Bear, for his part, had spent his summers in Sweden, where his grandmother had a cottage on the coast, a few hours from Stockholm. Various family members would decamp, and spend the holidays fishing, hiking, and eating rye bread. Days bled into each other, because they were so far north the sun hardly set.

‘The way you describe it, I can see those houses,’ said Skye. ‘That bold shade of red.’

‘It’s traditional,’ said Bear. ‘A lot of buildings are painted that same colour. It comes from copper by-products.’

‘You’re a mine of information.’

‘Very good! Honestly though, and don’t laugh, we once went to the actual mine the copper comes from. It was an hour inland, but my great-uncle had decided it would be a brilliant excursion.’

‘And was it?’

‘Come on,’ he scoffed. ‘Copper mines?’

Skye snorted. ‘I don’t know! You might have loved them. People enjoy all kinds of pursuits,’ she said. ‘Like cruck frames . . .’

‘What’s yours?’ Bear asked.

‘My niche pursuit? I’m not sure I have one,’ Skye said, dredging her mind for a mark of individuality. ‘And now I’m feeling bothered that I might be one of the crowd.’

The discomfort at this thought tried to anchor itself in her mind. She flicked the hair band on her wrist, to distract herself from it.

‘Don’t,’ said Bear. ‘We can’t all collect vintage poison bottles, or enjoy taking part in battle re-enactments.’

‘True. Although I think I’d look great in a suit of armour.’

She briefly wondered about telling Bear that she had once been part of a local girl gang who spent their spare time messing about in their local neighbourhood, but — like the details of tagging along to illegal raves — decided against it. Misspent youth wasn’t the same thing as a present-day hobby. Instead, they went back to talking about the work at the farm.

Before long, they’d arrived at a gravelled patch of ground by the edge of the road that might be a car park. Bear turned the car off, and they got out. Skye checked the pin she had dropped in the map on her phone. ‘I think this is it, don’t you?’

Bear pointed ahead. ‘Yes. There, past those trees. Hold this?’

He passed Skye a rucksack from the open boot, and a camera bag, then proceeded to swap his trainers for a pair of more suitable boots. Skye was glad she had worn wellies. She had also popped some midge spray in her bag, in case. She spritzed some over her arms and round her neck, before rubbing it in. She passed the bottle to Bear, who did the same.

They set off through the mizzle, the ground squelching underfoot. The air was heavy with that sweet, earthy smell that summer rains bring, but the sun was burning through, a hazy yellowness displacing the grey of the skies. Bear led with a determined pace, and Skye marched to keep up.

They stopped not far along the track, in front of a long, squat building. A flat-ish thatched roof rose out of chunky stone walls, on top of which grass was growing. The little house had a tiny door flanked by two windows. It looked primitive, but cosy.

‘This is it,’ said Bear. ‘What do you think?’

Skye came and stood next to him. She could completely understand Bear’s fascination with places like this, and found herself wondering who might have lived here all those years ago. It must have been a hard life, eking out an existence in such isolation, praying that you would get a decent yield from any crops, working yourself to the bone every day.

Her thoughts flickered to Will, whose own hands were kept soft by an expensive moisturizer. Someone who had once lived in a house like this wouldn’t have had time to gallivant around with a bit on the side. They’d never have had time.

She took in the building once more. ‘It’s incredible. You have to marvel at how people used to live. But you’re the one who wanted to see it. What do you think?’ Skye didn’t want him to feel underwhelmed. He had really wanted to come.

‘What do I think,’ he repeated, quietly.

‘Yeah.’ What if he wasn’t that impressed by the rough-hewn building? A knot of anxiety formed in her stomach. ‘You said in the car you didn’t want me to be disappointed, but I don’t want you to be disappointed.’

Bear shot her a grin, and the knot started to disappear.

‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘Or rather, I won’t be. Though it’s a shame the light’s not great. I was going to take a couple of photos.’

‘Keeping a scrapbook?’

She came to stand next to him, and he looked down at her. ‘Something like that. It’s for a project I want to work on.’

‘Yet more mystery. Is this the same project you’re saving up for? Hold on . . . Are you saving up to build your own cruck house?’

‘Not exactly.’ A slight crease appeared on the bridge of his nose. ‘Let’s go inside.’

Skye followed him in. It stood to reason that there was nobody else visiting today. Weather aside, the building was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by peaty bogs.

It felt like a hallowed space, and Skye felt the need to whisper. ‘It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it.’

‘You know you can talk at normal volume,’ said Bear, doing just that.

‘It’s my voice of awe,’ whispered Skye.

This raised a smile from Bear. ‘Really? You might find this interesting. Come here, let me tell you about these rafters.’

Intrigued, she walked over to join him.

* * *

By lunchtime, the mist had nearly evaporated completely. On a picnic blanket, on higher ground away from the bogs, Bear placed some paper plates, then laid out some Scotch eggs and a quiche, and opened a box of salad. Skye reached into the bag to help, retrieving a bottle of sparkling water and some glasses wrapped in kitchen roll.

‘This is a step up from curling sandwiches and a leaking flask of squash,’ she said.

‘I’ve even borrowed some cutlery from the B&B.’ He handed her a fork.

There was silence for a moment, as Bear sliced up the quiche, and put some on a plate for Skye. Her mouth watered, and when she took a bite, it didn’t disappoint.

‘Did you make this?’ She looked up at Bear.

He made a face. ‘I’d like to say yes, but this is slightly beyond my capabilities, even if I wasn’t presently without a kitchen. When I popped into Auchintraid yesterday to check something, I mentioned this picnic to Chloe, and asked if the shop had things like quiches. Instead, she insisted I took one she had in the freezer. It’s been defrosting in the mini-fridge in my B&B room overnight.’

Skye laughed. ‘You’re not a cook, then?’

Bear scratched his head. ‘Not of quiche. I can do a roast, make decent versions of some of my granny’s Swedish classics. You?’

‘I can. I spent part of one of my gap years cheffing.’

‘One of them? How many did you have?’

‘A lady never tells.’

Skye, who had a mouth full of quiche, regretted attempting to talk while chewing. She swallowed a large piece, which then caught itself in her throat.

She tried to clear her throat again, feeling her face turning red. Her eyes widened and Bear, correctly reading her expression as imminent asphyxia, took it as a cue. He scrambled to his feet and pulled her up, and had just put his arms around her waist when the quiche moved, travelling painfully down her throat.

‘I’m OK,’ Skye gasped, heaving deep breaths of air. ‘It’s out. Or in. I’m not choking.’

Bear handed her a glass of water, and Skye took a grateful sip.

‘Thought you were a goner for a second,’ he said, still looking alarmed. ‘Not least as I have no first-aid training.’

‘I think I was fine. But thanks all the same.’

Skye let a smile cross her face. What would she have done if Bear had stayed that close to her. Conveniently she was removing the potential life or death Heimlich thing from the equation.

At least if she was preoccupied by thoughts of Bear, it was a step on from dwelling on Will. She caught herself. Because now was not the time to catch feelings for someone.

‘Let’s take a break before pudding. I don’t want to trigger you by offering another plate straight away,’ Bear said. Skye laughed. ‘So you’ve moved into a castle. How does that work?’

‘I’ve known Hamish forever,’ she explained. ‘Once, when I was here one summer, I got lost in the woods. I’d gone for a walk, and after a couple of hours of bathing myself in the rays of sunlight which sliced through the canopy—’

‘This is very highbrow,’ said Bear.

‘Ha — fine. After getting lost and bricking it for about twenty minutes, I spotted Glenalmond at the edge of the trees. I ran like I was being pursued by bears, only to bump into Hamish, who was coming out of a side door to go for a ramble. Have you met Hamish yet?’

Bear shook his head. ‘I know him by sight, but not to say hello to.’

Skye resumed her story. ‘He’s a top chap. By that point I was close to tears. I didn’t have a phone with me, my parents had confiscated it, but when I explained who I was, Hamish nodded. I reckon I was fourteen or so, and Hamish eighteen or nineteen. He was at uni, back for the long summer break.

‘For some reason, he took pity on me, and took me under his wing for the rest of that summer. Despite what was then a massive age gap, we became friends, and then every summer after we’d hang out.’

‘And you and he . . . ?’

Skye looked at Bear. ‘He and I what?’

‘Were a couple?’

Skye let out a shriek of laughter. ‘Good lord, no. I mean, Hamish is a prince among men — a laird, to be precise — but we’re friends. Nothing ever happened. For a start, he was a good five years older than me. It would have been creepy.’

‘True,’ said Bear. ‘But you never know. Holiday romances and all that.’

‘Not what they’re cracked up to be,’ said Skye.

She’d had one briefly, only for the guy to lose his shine as fast as his tan once they were home.

Another of her mistakes, although not quite as idiotic as the one she made with Will. Why had she not known sooner that he had been a terrible idea? She realized her mind was wandering when Bear spoke and brought her back into the present.

‘You’re telling me. That’s how I met my wife.’ He ran a hand through his hair, which had become tousled by the damp air.

Skye felt her eyes widen. ‘Oh. Really?’

‘Yeah. At a bar in Ibiza. She was from Edinburgh too, and we got chatting, and found out we’d got loads in common. And we also drank a lot, and I woke up in her hotel room the next morning. I got ribbed by my mates, but it seemed worth it when we swapped numbers to meet up when we got back home.’

Bear didn’t seem the type to entertain a one-night stand, albeit one which graduated to a relationship. Moreover, Skye couldn’t picture him in Ibiza. He hadn’t struck her as the type to go large.

‘And then what?’ she asked, intrigued.

‘We dated for six months, and when the lease was up on her flat, she moved in with me, and I obviously thought it was going brilliantly. She works at an interior design company, knows all about buildings, loves them too. I mean, she was perfect. Smart, and clever, and beautiful — all those things. So perfect that I asked her to marry me. I mean, we were young and in love.’

‘That is the main reason to get married. The “in love” bit, I mean,’ said Skye.

‘Exactly. So we were married. We were happy. We planned to wait for a while before thinking about children. By this point, I was fully qualified, and started working at my mum’s firm. I should add that wasn’t my plan. When I was training, I’d imagined going to London, or abroad, at least at first. But my wife’s job was in Edinburgh, and she didn’t want to move, and seeing as Mum’s practice is one of the best, she encouraged me to ask there. In fairness, it seemed stupid not to.’

‘Makes sense,’ said Skye.

‘But I found myself drawn to certain projects, and not the big new buildings. My wife wanted me to work on Edinburgh’s answer to the Shard, whereas I liked working on existing buildings, restoring or reshaping. For her, that seemed to be a lack of ambition. We once had an argument about money, and she said: “I thought you wanted more.” And I was still only newly qualified, so I hadn’t been earning that much either, which seemed a sticking point. I don’t think she’d realized that not all architects get paid megabucks to design museum wings.’

Skye concentrated on a loose thread in the picnic blanket, not wanting Bear to feel as if all eyes were on him while he spoke.

‘I’ve recently had a breakup too,’ she admitted.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. A short relationship, a guy from my office. I found out he was cheating. Which means I’m well shot of him.’ Then, not wanting to dwell, she asked: ‘What’s her name?’

‘Her name?’

‘Your ex-wife. She does have one, doesn’t she?’

Bear blinked. ‘Did I not mention it?’

‘Nope.’ Skye shook her head. ‘I mean, I get that you might want to try strategies to disassociate yourself from a painful part of your life, I totally do.’

‘It is a period of my life I’d rather forget, the wedded years. But she does have a name.’

‘Which you don’t want to mention because it fills you with emotions you’d rather avoid? Sorrow, or regret, or hurt?’

‘Actually, the main reason I hadn’t mentioned her name was . . .’

He halted, and Skye wondered what on earth was holding him back. She gave him an encouraging look.

Bear put his hand on the back of his neck. ‘It’s weird, but I felt like you already knew. Like we’d already spoken all about her, and that I could go over events again without saying it.’

‘That is weird.’ And maybe it was flattering, too.

‘And somehow, I think it’s good that I haven’t mentioned it. Not breathing unnecessary life into the story means I’ve moved on from it. I got past the stage where I woke up every day thinking about it, then past the stage where I was worried that it would hang over me forever, and now I think I’m in the stage where it’s still a part of my life, but it’s not my future. Does that make sense?’

‘Total sense,’ Skye said.

It was as if Bear had summed up Skye’s teenage wasteland years with a succinctness that she had never quite managed. True, she’d not yet found complete closure. But even so, she smiled.

‘I didn’t think it was a happy story,’ said Bear.

‘I’m not smiling because it’s happy. I’m smiling because it resonated. And it is a happy story. It was very positive in the end.’

‘Maybe,’ said Bear. ‘Only I’m sure it’s going to make me wary about pursuing new relationships.’

‘I understand that.’ Skye conceded she’d likely find it difficult to trust the next man she went out with. It was too early to be thinking about it though, and she could cross that bridge when she came to it. She should give herself enough time to patch herself before entertaining feelings for anyone. ‘You still haven’t told me her name, by the way.’

‘Oh! Well. It doesn’t seem so important now, but it’s Georgia. You know, when I think about it, I can’t believe I could ever have been so stupid.’

‘Don’t we all have experiences we put in that box? Filed under “F” for “effed up”? I’ve got a few of those, if you hadn’t noticed.’ More than she was letting on.

Bear leaned back on his elbows. ‘Yeah. I’m glad I’m not the only one.’

‘Me too,’ said Skye. ‘Me too. Say, is it time for pudding?’

Bear reached into the bag, and pulled out a greaseproof paper parcel. He handed it to Skye.

‘Smells good,’ she said, unwrapping it. ‘What is it?’

‘Ginger cake, from the café, this time. I got it yesterday, and I’m hoping it’s so treacly that it can’t have gone dry.’ Bear held out a clean plate, and she carefully slid the cake on to it.

Skye watched as Bear retrieved a knife and cut two generous slices.

‘Thanks, this looks delicious’ she said, as he slid a piece on to her plate. ‘Look, Bear . . .’ She paused, wondering if bringing their first encounter back to the fore was sensible, when they had now reached a detente. She remembered how his face flared, how annoyed he had seemed at being caught. But he had discussed his ex-wife, and perhaps he was in the mood for openness.

‘I sense you’re about to ask me something personal.’

Skye put her plate down, and dusted the crumbs from her fingers. Given the stickiness of the cake, most of them stayed put.

‘The other day, on my rock. The rocks, I mean. Why were you yelling?’

‘Your rocks?’

Skye smiled. ‘I’ve gone to the rocks ever since I was a teenager, whenever I visit my uncle. Somehow I claimed them as my own.’

Bear looked into her eyes. ‘Did you now?’

‘Yes. At the time. But the yelling? I ask because I used to go there and shout from them too.’

Bear gave her a contemplative look, with a hint of uncertainty. ‘Did you really?’

‘Absolutely. Scout’s honour.’

Bear put his plate down too, and turned so he was looking directly at her. He placed his forearms on drawn up, open knees.

‘When I was younger,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t exactly trouble, but I would get all wound up, particularly about how I was doing at school. My parents placed a lot of importance on being academic, and I simply wasn’t, and it bothered them — Mum especially. Drawing, or design — that came easily, but everything else was harder. Ask me to write a coherent sentence at fifteen and it would look like it had been written by a ten-year-old. They were constantly on about it. I don’t blame them for their concern. They only wanted me to do well, and they’re part of that generation for whom that meant good grades.’

Same generation as my parents , thought Skye.

‘But that inability to get it right drove me to the edge. I didn’t want anyone to know how hard I found it. Couldn’t even tell my friends. I didn’t think they would understand.

‘Sometimes I was so frustrated I would want to break something. I did once — I threw a glass at the kitchen wall. But that didn’t help. Instead, I started going on long walks without telling anyone where I was going. Disappear for a day. I would go and find a space to shout it all out. Like an abandoned building, or derelict house. I’d go and yell until I’d cooled off.’

‘I get that,’ said Skye, as he paused to draw breath.

He fixed his eyes to hers. ‘You do?’

‘Of course! I used to yell from the rock, didn’t I.’

‘And why did you go?’

Skye was about to eat another bite of cake, and paused, her mouth wide open. She put the cake back down on the plate. ‘Similar reasons. Anger. Uncertainty. Sheer exasperation.’

Bear might have thrown a glass, but he had never stood guard while someone broke a window. Tagged an underpass. Been the active participant in The Event To End All Events. There were degrees of bad behaviour, and Skye felt that the worst of hers were off the chart. She never told anyone about her past if she could help it.

Bear met her eyes, and his mouth curled into a half smile. ‘In the end, it turned out it wasn’t wasted time, either. I reckon while I was there, the cogs in my mind were turning about the architecture of those deserted places and what could be done with them.’

‘Not everyone’s cut out for school.’ Skye shifted towards him a bit.

‘ You must have been.’ Bear raised an eyebrow. ‘What with your law career.’

‘You’d think,’ said Skye. ‘But I wasn’t a model pupil back in the day.’

Bear tilted his head as if this was unexpected. ‘Really?’

‘Not until later on. But back to you and school and the pressure and frustration . . .’

‘Yeah, well, it turned out they’d missed my being dyslexic. It took ages until a teacher spotted it. Thank heavens someone did, and they found the right strategies to help me out. Turned out I wasn’t too bad at school after that.’

Frowning at the memory, he took a sip of water from his flask. Skye shuffled a bit nearer again.

‘No wonder you were feeling frustrated, though. But I’m glad you got there in the end. So why the therapeutic shouting session on Monday?’

Bear’s eyebrows drew together. ‘The project is really behind. And there was a delay processing the Historic Scotland forms. I was so angry because it’s all beyond my control at the minute. It makes me look unprofessional. Right now, it’s crucial that my reputation isn’t compromised. And the costs will likely go up too, which is a bother for the clients. When I got back to the site on Monday I could feel this frustration rising, and so instead of firing off a handful of emails — something which generally takes me longer than it might — I went to yell at the sky. All I want is for this project to work. I need it to work.’

‘And did it help?’

Skye wanted to reach out and put her arms round Bear. She sympathized with what he had said about his struggles when at school, and then beyond. She had long thought that, with a decent quantity of elbow grease, she could accomplish the security one might expect in adulthood. A rewarding career, for one thing, or a stable relationship. That the world would play ball.

Skye found she couldn’t read his expression. His gaze searched her face, before he looked her right in the eye.

‘It did. Until I saw you,’ he said, softly.

Her heart gave an unexpected extra beat. A flex , she told herself. The heart is a muscle and that’s what muscles do .

She reached for her flask, and took a sip, and looked over at the blackhouse. ‘Oh,’ she managed.

* * *

Sometime after, they got in the car. It was far later than Skye had planned, but post-lunch, they’d taken a footpath that continued along past the blackhouse, to a small reservoir. Bear now turned the engine on, and they began the drive back to Eastercraig.

By the time they reached the turning for Glenalmond, Skye was fighting off yawns.

‘Keeping you up, am I?’ asked Bear.

Skye giggled. ‘Sorry! I’m not used to this much fresh air. I can’t remember the last time I even walked up Arthur’s Seat, can you?’

Skye thought about the large hill in Holyrood Park. It was a bit of a trek, but it offered an incredible panoramic view of Edinburgh. She didn’t think she had gone up it for at least a year. She hadn’t had time, in between work and seeing Will, who — and she now knew why — liked leaving the city at weekends.

Bear looked over at her. ‘I went up last month. With a couple of mates who were staying.’

‘Well, get you. Does that count though? When you’re posing as tour guide?’

Bear raised an eyebrow. ‘However I look at it, I think it counts. I definitely went up it and came back down. Is this a lawyer thing? Am I being cross-examined? If so, shouldn’t you let me know? You might be trying to catch me out.’ He shot her a grin, and Skye felt herself pinken.

She laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Look, here we are.’

They rolled on to the driveway, the gravel crunching under Bear’s wheels. In the late afternoon light, the granite looked silver.

‘Nice place, isn’t it,’ said Bear. He put on the brakes, and leaning towards the windscreen together, they both stared up at it. ‘I wonder how much one of these goes for.’

‘I think if you find one in the middle of nowhere, in a state of disrepair, you could get one for less than a flat in New Town. Perhaps that’s your next project,’ said Skye.

‘Maybe if you come in as consultant. With all your experience of living in one.’ He nudged her on the shoulder, which sent a thrill shimmying its way through her body.

‘I’ve only been here a night,’ said Skye. ‘Thanks for today, by the way. I really enjoyed it.’

She looked at Bear, who turned back from admiring the castle to face her. He had such great eyes. And, when he produced one, a winning smile.

‘I should be thanking you,’ said Bear. ‘For agreeing to come with me. If you’re free another time—’

‘I’d love to!’

As she had cut him off, Skye had been able to hear the exclamation marks, and she felt a fluster rising at her overenthusiastic response. Moreover, she could have been agreeing to anything.

As if he’d read her mind, Bear teased, ‘What would you have said if I’d asked you to come and help out on the building site?’

‘I’d ask you to pass me a hard hat, and get stuck in,’ she said. ‘With that, I’ll be off.’

She opened the door, and got out , then rounded the car to the driver’s side. Bear rolled down the window all the way, and Skye ducked down, resting her arms on the window sill. ‘I’ll await my personal invitation to join your project team.’

She caught his eye, then looked down, feeling a smile tugging on her lips.

‘In that case, I’ll call you,’ he said.

They were so close, Skye was sure she could feel his breath. She could hardly bring herself to look up. Instead, she stood up and took a step back, into the cool evening air, only able to meet his eyes once there was a good few feet between them.

‘Night, Skye.’ He lifted a hand as he spoke, clicking the key in the ignition with the other.

Skye gave a small wave as the engine started up. ‘Night.’