Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
I vy had stood on the dock for God knows how long in silence. Only this silence wasn’t the normal silence she found when she was by the water. It wasn’t quiet, or peaceful. It didn’t rest her or let her think. Instead, it roared, tearing at her skin. She fought to fill it, a thousand words clawing at the back of her throat, but nothing made it past her lips. She choked back sobs, tears rolling down her face without fanfare, forbidding them to disrupt this moment, allowing the silence to eat her. The silence was right.
Eventually she had made it to her car, and when she arrived, her phone, bag and last night’s clothes were in a heap on the roof. The door handle stung as she pulled on it, baking all morning in the sun. Her hand lingered anyway, but she never convinced herself to look over her shoulder. It would be worse to know he wasn’t there.
* * *
She had texted him, and he hadn’t replied. Ivy could hardly say she was surprised. With the tables turned, she didn’t know that she would have granted a reprieve, or even the chance to ask for one in person.
Every email she had received for work had been swiftly replied to, so she had managed to successfully rot for the last twenty-four hours, without arousing any suspicion. She had phoned Duncan back in a trance, as soon as she’d arrived back from Ross’, hoping the patchy phone signal would explain the high pitch of her acceptance and then excused herself from regular contact until she arrived back in Edinburgh, stressing the importance of tying things up out here, which he had been no less than thrilled about. In full retreat, the bed had never had so much company, the kitchen never so little. Unfortunately, this afternoon, she had to get up. More unfortunately, still, she had to sort of glance sideways at the music, given he wouldn’t allow her to face him.
The meeting with Kirsty and Ally had been pencilled in before she even arrived on this visit. Planned as a wrap up before she returned to Edinburgh in a few days, it now felt too final. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Ivy worried it might be more than just a wrap up of this specific visit, if they even made it to the end of the meeting. Two hours later, she was walking into Mòr.
Opening the door and crossing the dark hardwood, she watched the MacLeods talking across the bar. Kirsty sat on a high stool, with her back to Ivy, on the public side, leaning over to her husband, whose elbows propped him up on the other. While she couldn’t hear any specifics, the occasionally sharp tone of the whispers cut through the air toward her, and her stomach churned as she took in Ally’s creased brow. His eyes lifted and caught hers as she hit a loose floorboard. Barely pausing on her, he looked down at his wife and straightened awkwardly.
Ivy inhaled deeply and squeezed her fists at her side, waiting for them to officially acknowledge her. When her red headed friend spun around on her chair, Ivy’s determination to maintain composure and not act like she was the one in pain, as if she had any right, faltered.
A brief flicker of a smile passed across Kirsty’s face before it fell, leaving behind unusually dull eyes. Keeping her breathing controlled became more effort as Ivy thought back to their last conversation. Kirsty had said her cancer was so far asymptomatic, and chemotherapy was yet to start. That pallor was all Ivy.
“Hi,” she said, lingering at a professional distance, inexplicably surprised by the dryness of her mouth when she opened it.
“Ivy, thanks for coming.” Kirsty rose, her face trying to crumple as she closed the distance and wrapped them in a hug.
Hands hanging by her side, Ivy fought to keep her eyes dry. The only motion between them seemed to be her heart thumping against her chest, until she looked up enough to catch Ally’s narrowed eyes on her. As if sensing her husband’s jaw twitch, Kirsty let go, looking at her friend with a soft sadness etched over the smile she was attempting.
“I’ll be out of your hair quickly.” She breezed past a newly awkward tongue. “I just have a few points to go over about the BBC project.”
“Are you okay?” Kirsty murmured.
Ivy froze, on hand stuck in her bag as she reached for her laptop. Her eyes darted between the couple for a second, before she retrieved the device and nodded.
“I should be asking if you’re okay.”
“We spent hours talking about me, Ivy, nothing has changed since then. Hasn’t changed since your million texts that night, or your flowers the next day.”
“Right. Good. So can I show you this deck?” Her voice was artificially high, and she just hoped they’d take their cue.
A laugh slipped out of Ally, transitioning to a cough when Ivy glanced at him, with just enough clumsiness to read as a scoff.
As damp prickled between her shoulders, Ivy squeezed her lips tight. Static began to fill her ears, and she tapped her index finger against her thumb while her foot bore into the crossbar of her stool as if earthing herself would redirect the wave passing through her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, to the wrong person entirely, but she had been waiting for days. Turning to Kirsty when he just stared at her, she repeated. “I’m so— I’m sorry.” She tripped over the words, though they came so easily. It took too much concentration to not have the rest of the sentence barrel out after them. It wasn’t their crime to absolve, and not her pain to claim. She could be sorry, but she couldn’t give them an explanation. Couldn’t tell them about the fear and the panic that loosened her tongue, then the crushing silence after she’d said what she had said. So, she just repeated herself again, choking back the rest as it clawed at her throat.
“He was really trying, Ivy.” Ally’s voice was even, but his fingers wandered around the edge of the bar top, threatening the raw wooden edge as they betrayed him.
Tears fell in their periphery, staining Kirsty’s cheeks as she watched her husband.
Unable to decide which one jarred her more, Ivy’s head spun between them, without her saying a word.
“He just—” Ally ran a hand across his face, the mirror of his brother brutal. “Whatever he said to you, give him a break.”
“Ally,” Kirsty bit out, drawing Ivy’s gaze to her.
He hadn’t told them. He— what ? Her brow knit together as she watched them exchange silent words across the bar. Whatever they knew, it was not what Ivy had been about to confess.
“Thanks for coming, Ivy. Kirsty’s going to finish up for me.”
“Ally!” His wife called as he stalked away, slamming the kitchen door behind him.
They both stared at the empty space in front of them a moment. Ivy’s skin stung as she fought the urge to probe. Ross’ heart had clearly been at the table for breakfast, lunch and dinner service here. Her name echoed around the room. Even if they didn’t know specifics, Ally and Kirsty had the gist.
Ivy cleared her throat, turning her screen. “Should I…”
She watched something shatter behind Kirsty’s eyes before she spoke.
“Ivy, can we talk?”
* * *
It made sense, she told herself as she slipped back into her car, to do list suddenly lighter. And Kirsty had been gentle, so this really should have been one of her more successful partings. She thought of all the times she had been let go with insults and shouting, with stern follow ups with her boss and awkward walks with red cheeks through the office. But this was the first time she had sobbed when the door closed.
They were heartbroken, and angry, and hurt. Ross was all those and more, and he was their brother, so of course they needed space. Kirsty couldn’t speak to what Ross had told them, it wasn’t their place, but Ivy could see everything she needed to know in her eyes as she let her down agonisingly gently. This was over. Her and Ross, her and the MacLeods. Her and the Western Isles, now that she’d taken Duncan’s offer, she supposed.
They were still going to go ahead with the programme, Ivy had insisted. Even with Kirsty going through treatment, it would be minimally invasive and massively beneficial. Beyond just Mòr itself, Ivy hoped. Mhairi would be taking over as their liaison, more than competent to handle such a project, and she’d already met the family through the Sandaigh trip.
They had their programme, Ross had some peace, and Ivy had her promotion. Gripping her steering wheel as her lashes dampened, she congratulated herself on a successful trip.
* * *
“Of course I can do it,” Mhairi said, lying on her sofa with her casted foot propped up on a ridiculously perfect highland cow footstool. “But can I ask why?”
Ivy had come straight here from Mòr, thinking it best to rip all the plasters off at once, and then she could go. They had made it through pleasantries, a worrying account of Tomas’ chat while he ferried Mhairi to the marina after the ankle incident, and more than half a teapot by the time she had to explain why.
She had assumed she’d done a good job of handing over the reins to the Mòr projects, without raising suspicions. Mhairi had no reason not to believe she was just busy, and very few would be surprised to hear of another wannabe islander running back to the city. Certainly not surprised enough to actually ask why, Ivy had assumed.
“They asked.”
“They asked for me?” Mhairi flashed an indignant look her way.
Ivy took a sip of her tea, tapping her nails against the ceramic while she debated how much to reveal.
“They asked for not me.”
“But they love you.”
She shrugged, running a hand through her hair. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m very clearly not going anywhere,” Mhairi replied, waving at her foot.
Ivy slumped back against the sofa, looking up at the ceiling. Mhairi was one of those friends who sat right on the precipice of ‘close’. Ivy would have loved to get her over the line fully but wasn’t sure that this was the reveal for it. Confessions and gossip may keep friendships alive, but one where she was definitely the bad guy might kill this one instead. On the other hand, she had lost a confidant in Kirsty, and Anna had already said her piece. Another chance to vent before she got on her new flight tomorrow morning might be the closure she needed.
“Client relations are difficult things.”
Mhairi watched her a moment, and Ivy looked back in horror as realisation crept across her face.
“It’s Ross, isn’t it? He’s Ally’s brother, no?”
Wide-eyed, Ivy stuttered. “I—what do you mean?”
“You looked like you wanted to eat each other that whole boat trip.”
“We did not.”
“That was me being polite.” She quirked an eyebrow and Ivy felt blood rush to her cheeks. “Plus, Tomas said he barely shut up about you.”
“You and Tomas covered a lot of ground during your rescue.”
“The gossip is a good painkiller. So, what did you do?”
“I slept with him.”
“On Sandaigh?” Mhairi sat bolt upright, grinning. “Ivy Hamilton, you dark horse.”
“There was a lot going on, okay?” Ivy bit back a smile, relaxing into the conversation, as if the worst was not still to come.
“Was it good? Of course it was.” She flopped back, a hand melodramatically draped across her forehead. “God, he’s so hot. When I first moved here, I was devastated when I met his wife. She was—” She trailed off.
“Don’t worry,” Ivy sighed. “I know about Julia.”
“And that wasn’t?—”
“Why I got sacked? No.” She sighed. “I got a promotion while I was at his house the other day. I freaked out a bit, and I…” She chewed the inside of her cheek, deliberating. “We had a fight and aren’t talking.”
“He had a hard time. Ally and Kirsty are probably just being protective.”
Or reacting entirely appropriately to how shittily she’d acted. “Right.”
“Well, I’m sure you will sort it. But until then, sure tell them I’ll cover everything once I’m back in the office next week. Though I’m probably not trekking down there as much as you until I get this thing off.” She heaved her foot off the cow, attempting to wave it in the air.
“Thank you. And anything you need, just call me. I’ll give you the number to my office in Edinburgh too.”
“When do you go back?”
“Tomorrow, first thing.”
Mhairi’s brow knit briefly. “Oh. I thought you were here through the end of the week. I had our catch up in the diary as face to face.”
“Yeah, I just—” Ivy cleared her throat as her eyes stung. “I want to get back.”
Mhairi swept her hand into hers without fanfare. “I’m here if you need.”
Squeezing back, Ivy sniffed. “It will be good to hit the ground running before the new job is finalised anyway.”
“The promotion you freaked out over?”
“Yeah.” She looked up. “Wait, no. It wasn’t the promotion I was freaking out over, it was— I’m happy about the promotion.”
“That’s good.”
“What?”
“What?”
“That’s good,” Ivy mimicked. “I’m happy about it. I am!” She half-laughed, gently shoving Mhairi’s arm.
“No, it is good. I’m happy for you. I just got the feeling you wanted to come here more permanently.”
She fiddled with a loose strand on her T-shirt. Did everyone think that? “I’m going to make sure I get first dibs on any work out here. It’ll be just like it is now, except I’ll have a better title and better salary.”
“Which is what you want.”
“I’ve been working at this for years. Now I’ve got it.”
“Well, I’m sure the job openings in our office will miss you.”
A weight fell through Ivy. The openings were hypothetical, as far as she had known, but the ‘what if’ had always made her time here that much special. Now she’d be coming back each time knowing there would be an end.
“You could take any opening they had. You could run the whole place, actually,” Ivy answered
“I was so sure you were going to ask for a job this year. All those subtle remarks and longing looks. But it’s not for everyone, I get it.”
“The Edinburgh job will be great.”
“No Ross MacLeod in Edinburgh though.” Mhairi bit into a biscuit, eyeing Ivy over the top of it.
“Not entirely convinced there’s a Ross MacLeod anywhere anymore. For me any way.”
“Well, you’ve hardly got competition if he’s out here, unless he’s a taste for retired English women...”
“I’m sure you and the half a dozen other women under forty could put a proposal together,” Ivy mumbled, rubbing her thumb over the rim of her mug.
Mhairi groaned. “Ivy!”
“Seriously, trust me when I say he’s done.”
“But he’s so,” she flopped her arms out dramatically, “ everything .”
“Mm Hmm.” Ivy’s eyes hazed over slightly while she tried not to engage.
“Sorry,” Mhairi replied, biting her lip.
“You’re fine.”
“Leaving the job and the man. Edinburgh better be paying well.”