Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
O nce upon a time, Ivy had been big into ballet. Surprising, given her current level of grace, but that was neither here nor there. Toward the end of her teens, she was mostly in it for the exercise and socialising, with no grand plans of being at the Bolshoi, but she loved it all the same. Jess Hayes, however, was going all the way. In Ivy’s class since they were three, there had always been something different about her. They took the same lessons, the same exams, danced in the same shows, but the spark in each of Jess’ movements just didn’t fit into a curriculum or mark scheme. By sixteen, she had an invite to the Royal Ballet School in London. For the six months leading up to the big move all anyone heard about was London. The cafes and restaurants she was going to go to, the shows she would see, the people she would meet. She spoke about ballet too, like she loved it, of course. But London was the main character. Two months before leaving, she wrecked her knee, and that was that.
Except it wasn’t. Ivy had gone to her house a few weeks after Jess got discharged from hospital, arms laden with get well soon cards and chocolates from the rest of the girls. She had spent hours googling what to say to someone after loss , and how to tell your friends their life isn’t over . Was Jess the happiest bunny in the world? No, but she wasn’t done either. Last Ivy had seen on instagram, she was now a doctor, in London, and filled everyone’s feed with all those cafes and restaurants and shows and people she’d always talked about.
“Ivy!” Mhairi called as she walked into the office in Stornoway the following day.
“Hi,” she replied, looking around. “Is Charlie in?”
“Yeah, he’s just on a call. What’s up? I thought you were back in Edinburgh.”
“You know me, like to keep a hand in everything.” She fidgeted, looking over at the only enclosed room in the office. She rarely saw Charlie, the department manager, in person, used to dealing with clients directly knowing he trusted her judgement.
“Right,” Mhairi didn’t seem convinced. “Only, you look like you’ve done a couple of lines and not slept in a week.”
Ivy laughed despite herself, taking in her be-cardiganed colleague. “You very familiar with the effects of lines?”
“I might be,” she grinned. “Seriously though,” she continued, nudging Ivy with her shoulder. “Are you good?”
“I turned down the promotion.”
“Seriously?!” Mhairi caught herself on the tail end of the final syllable and returned to an office appropriate decibel. “Does that mean?—”
“That’s what I’m here to ask the boss.”
“He loves you. Every vacancy has your name on it anyway. Go ask.”
“You just said he was on a call.”
Mhairi rolled her eyes. “He’s talking to what’s-her-name in Inverness. They never do anything useful on those anyway. Go!”
Ushered through the room and deposited directly in front of the door, Ivy was surprised she had been left to knock for herself. Taking a breath, she reminded herself that this was it. One part of her life here might have gone tits up, but she had this. Or at least, she would hopefully have this if Charlie said yes. He would, though, she was fairly sure. In the corner of her eye, she could see Mhairi grinning at her, holding a pair of thumbs up, and she rolled her eyes, raising her fist to the door.
Twenty minutes later, she had a job. The job. Some shuffling had to be done, and she still had to work her notice for Duncan, but in eight weeks, she would be here. For good.
While she was in the business of sorting things out anyway, she texted Kirsty. Nothing strenuous, no expectations, just a hello, I’m here . There was no way a MacLeod knew she’d been here for twenty-four hours and hadn’t told Kirsty, but Ivy made the offer anyway. She was waiting for a coffee when her phone pinged.
Kirsty : If you’re free, I’m up in town anyway
Ivy : Hi, yes, that would be great
Ivy : I’m just getting a coffee— join?
Kirsty : I’ll see you in ten
Ivy leant over the counter and let the girl making the drinks know that she was going to grab a table, then went and sat down. This particular coffee shop had a small section of art and home bits by the seating area, and she had to fight to keep herself in her chair, lest she leave with a suitcase worth in the name of distracting herself. She settled for separating the sugar and sweetener packets in the cup in front of her, readjusting the pot over and over until it sat perfectly centred on the small table. The coffee they served here came from a small roaster down in Harris and must have been a particularly strong batch this week considering how Ivy’s pulse thrummed against her throat after only half a cup. Just shy of counting the flecks of copper in the glaze of her mug, she caught sight of Kirsty walking up to the door and edged to her feet, balancing awkwardly beside her chair.
“Ivy,” Kirsty said, sweeping her into a tight hug.
The knot in Ivy’s throat tumbled loose as she returned the embrace, a smile relaxing her cheeks. The squeeze drew on longer than was probably appropriate for a public place, but neither seemed overly bothered.
When she finally did lean back, Ivy took her friend in. She looked well. Just like herself, really. The smile became increasingly less relaxing as it stretched over her, warming down her neck and shoulders. Eventually the elastic grin between them snapped and they laughed.
“What are you doing up here anyway?” Ivy asked, finally releasing her fully.
“I was at the hospital.”
She wanted to start that hug right back up again. “Shit, if you’re tired?—”
“It’s fine. It was just a pre-op before I go to Inverness next week.” She smiled tightly. “I need a mastectomy.” Before Ivy could say anything, she waved a hand and continued. “Don’t. Seriously. I feel fine for now. Talk to me in a month when the first round of chemo’s done.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”
Rolling her eyes, Kirsty flashed her a genuine smile, only a little worn, as they sat down.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, pouting over the table.
“It’s been, like, two months,” Ivy teased, not meaning it. The feeling had been mutual before she’d even made it out of the door at Mòr that day.
“I didn’t— We didn’t know if you were going to come back.”
“I’m not taking the promotion.”
Kirsty stopped stirring her tea, setting the spoon against ceramic calmly. “Are you?—”
“Just spoke to the team. I’m moving up here. Properly.”
Kirsty slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes bursting. “Ivy!”
“It won’t be for over two months, with my notice period and everything. But yeah—” She grinned.
“Have you told Ross?”
The grin slipped and she sighed. “Have you spoken to him?”
“I speak to him every day. Can’t get rid.”
Rolling her eyes, Ivy rephrased. “Did he speak to you yesterday?”
The brow across from her creased.
“He told me about the podcast he’d listened to over dinner.”
Ivy’s mouth twisted briefly, and she readjusted her parting. Picking at her chipped nail polish, she looked back at Kirsty. “I went round at lunch.”
“Oh.”
There wasn’t much more to say, in fairness to her friend. Oh about covered it. Oh meant I know that if it was good news he’d have told me . Oh meant I might have to pick a side properly now. Oh meant I have to leave off the ‘fuck’ from the end because this cafe’s quite busy right now .
“What can you do?” Ivy shrugged, avoiding her direct gaze.
“Not the smartest pair, those boys.”
Ivy mmm’d noncommittally, distracted by the same mug handle she’d held a hundred times before, flicking her nail over it.
“Lovable, though,” Kirsty continued, and smirked when Ivy’s wide eyes snapped up to hers. “Thought so.”
“Shut up. You’ve got cancer, let me go back to that.”
“Not as interesting.”
Ivy groaned, dropping her forehead to the table. Her hand was quickly covered by a firm squeeze.
“I’m such an idiot,” she said into the wood.
“Ross MacLeod is an idiot if he turned you away yesterday and then prattled on to me about the stock market for an hour afterwards.”
Ivy sat back up again and ran a finger over her lower lip, hesitating. “He didn’t tell you what I said.”
“Yesterday?”
“When we ended. Why he’s done with me.”
“Because you were leaving. He’s just—” she sighed. “After Jules, he doesn’t want to lose someone aga—” She trailed off, taking in Ivy’s burning eyes. “What?”
That was the kicker, Ivy had come to conclude over the last few weeks, since they parted as friends and fought to pretend they meant it. He had a dream to execute too, of course. And she wanted him to do that. But every time they caught up over FaceTime, or send stupid videos back and forth, she tried to work out why he couldn’t do that with her. Actually with her. He’d been willing to do Lewis to Edinburgh before. Been willing to try when she had gotten the promotion that day. Her in Lewis and him intermittently abroad shouldn’t be a barrier. So it mustn’t be. The thing that had changed since then was how they’d ended that day on the dock. That stick of dynamite had gone up so slowly, it had taken until now to see the scorched earth.
“Kirsty, I was definitely the fuck up in this scenario. I?—”
She held a hand up. “That boy has not kept anything quiet for thirty years that he didn’t think he had a reason to. He’d have told us himself if he thought we needed to know.”
“But—”
“What did you tell him yesterday?”
“That I was sorry. That I wasn’t taking the promotion.” She coughed and scratched the back of her neck, rushing the next part. “That I loved him.”
“Did you tell him you were moving back?”
She nodded.
“What did he say?”
“To which part?”
Kirsty glared at her.
“Nothing to that part.” She went back to fiddling with a blob of glaze on the mug. “Then that he wasn’t interested.”
“You’re both idiots.”
That, Ivy did have to concede.
* * *
A few weeks later Ivy was catching up again with Kirsty on the phone. For one, her friend was miserable with side effects and was seeking all available opportunities to vent. To Ivy’s shame, for two, they were discussing Mòr. The crew had been in to film Kirsty’s content just before her surgery, but they wanted to ensure they had a plan for the expected increased demand after the show aired in just over a month. Really, Kirsty should be on sick leave, or at least taking it easy, not discussing social media strategies, but she had insisted. Ivy had gotten the distinct feeling that Ally was avoiding her, which was a more believable excuse than Kirsty being unable to sleep at night, overcome with enthusiasm for online booking forms.
If Ally was avoiding her, so was Ross. Obviously, she knew he hadn’t spoken to her since she left his house, but knowing it was intentional avoidance felt different. Stung more. At least if Ally had been around and normal, she could fool herself that Ross was just busy, off photographing the world. Now that he was back in her time zone, she would even put it down to jet lag, or an editing lock-in. Even having slipped his mind would be preferable. Wilful evasion wiped out any dying scraps of hope Ivy was clinging to.
“I know they told me I’d feel like this, but Christ it’s bad,” Kirsty croaked, curled up on the sofa with a damp cloth over her head. Ivy had thought damp cloths on foreheads was a film thing, but apparently it was helping with the headache.
“Can I do anything?”
“From Edinburgh? Not really.”
Ivy pouted at her phone. “I know. I’ll be over next week to help.”
She watched as Kirsty’s eye line drifted from the camera slightly, presumably catching sight of herself in the corner.
“I look horrendous. Can you fix that?”
“I will be your humble servant. What are you up for?”
“Technically you’re supposed to be working.”
“You use me like a slave at work, anyway, might as well get to do something fun for a change.”
“Ha Ha.” She coughed, then groaned, rolling onto her back. Pressing her hand to her eyes, she continued. “I’ve got a hair appointment up in town, if you’ll take me?”
“Of course.” They’d already discussed this. Kirsty had tried cold capping for the first dose and hated it. My hair’s shit anyway, so not worth it, she’d told Ivy afterwards, her eyes glassy. It wasn’t shit hair. Even if it had been, hair’s hair, isn’t it? A barrier, or mask or crown depending on the day. And if it fell out, what was left behind was A Thing as well. Look in the mirror, catch your reflection in the kettle, brush your bare scalp placing your damp cloth to treat your throbbing migraine— a hundred micro-reminders a day that you were sick. To try and minimise how quickly it ended up falling out, she was going short. Troublingly though, she was also going to colour it. Colour colour it too, but what colour was a secret. Even Ally was in the dark as far as Ivy could tell. It was going to be criminal knowing her. Highlighter green. Bleached with racing stripes. Maybe just every colour they had on the island.
“I see that look,” she warned, eyes nowhere near the phone screen.
“I’m sure you’ve picked something very tasteful,” Ivy replied
Kirsty smirked without turning her pounding head but still managed to hold up two fingers to the camera.
“No tits, no hair, puffy and spewing. My lucky husband.”
“I’ve seen pictures of you in school, he’s probably glad of the improvement.”
The damp cloth hit the camera, and Ivy caught a view of the ceiling, until Kirsty’s grinning face appeared over it. “The braces were involuntary.”
“And the fringe?”
“Eh, hello, cancer? Stop being mean to me.” Despite her scrunched nose and stuck out tongue as she repositioned the phone, Ivy’s heart sank when she watched her climb back onto the sofa, wincing.
“Are you sure you still want to have the party?”
They’d discussed this at length as well. The programme came out the same week Ivy arrived back in Stornoway with no return ticket and Kirsty was going all out. She had been adamant that she didn’t want to miss out on things and would be the first to let anyone know if anything was too much. Still, Ivy had to swallow back the urge to tell her to take it easy, not to push herself. Anytime she had, she was given a stern look and ended up stuck in the undercurrent of what if this is the last time that swirled beneath too many conversations these days. This was a family that knew what could be coming to them and Ivy was not going to be the one denying her anything. Ally would kill her if she was the one exacerbating the strain though, knowing his headstrong, do first, think later, wife, so she still had to ask the question.
“‘Course I do. Where else will I wear my new dress?” She fluttered her lashes, the picture of innocence.
Ivy groaned, flopping her head back onto the sofa. “Why do you do this to me?”
“You want to dress up for it. You just haven’t realised it yet.”
“I’m not wearing heels.”
“You are.”
“I’m not— Don’t play the cancer card!” She rushed out before Kirsty had a chance, then laughed at the protruding lower lip and doe eyes she was met with.
“Well, if there just happens to be a pair in the office, and you just happen to get something on whatever shoes you wear, then I might just happen to help.”
“So kind of you.”
“Have you got any leads for a house to move into before I throw you a moving party anyway?”
No one in Scotland was a stranger to the housing crisis these days, but particularly those in the islands. As property got swept up for short term lets and house prices soared, it was harder and harder to find somewhere to actually live.
“I have two to view when I’m up next week so far. Really, I’ll take anything they rent me,” Ivy replied, pressing her fingers into her temples.
“It’s a nightmare. I’ll keep an ear out if I hear anything. I think a friend of Ross—” she trailed off, the final S floating off into the void before it could land. Ivy hoped she was being cautious, rather than responding to having actually seen the brief fall of her face at the sound of his name. Kirsty cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll pass anything decent along.”
Ivy smiled, though her eyes didn’t get the message, grateful anyway for being let off the hook for once. Another bad sign, being let off the hook. Ally avoiding her, Kirsty not even saying his name. Hope springs eternal.
“Thanks, that would be great. Right, I have to love you and leave you, but I will see you soon.”
* * *
“Yes, coffee would be lovely. I’ll let you know!”
Ivy stood on the doorstep, key in hand, waving off her new landlord. Landlord was maybe a stretch in terms of formality, considering she’d come by this agreement in the butcher’s a day after arriving back, not needing to see either of the places she’d come here for. But whatever she was, Catrìona had given her the keys to the lovely two bed cottage in Tong and told her it was hers as long as she liked.
This wasn’t it for good, yet. She had two more days here and then was back to Edinburgh. ‘It for good’ was another month away. Twenty-seven days to be exact, going by Kirsty’s daily countdown. In the few days she had been up here, they’d spent excessive amounts of time together, even for them. Most of the chemo side effects had been settling— just in time for the next round in a week— so they’d managed to tick off most of the to-do list, Kirsty’s now purple-hair included. She’d been at Mòr most days, planning and arranging and trying to regain some ground with Ally as he skulked about, not officially avoiding her, but never free enough to sit down with them.
Kirsty had banned him from constantly trying to wrap her in cotton wool, so he kept his distance in order to keep his balls attached to his body— not Ivy’s phrasing, rather a poetic interpretation from the woman herself. And Ross was seemingly busy, though the details on that had been vaguer still. She was used to him being around, even if she didn’t see him, so it was weird for him to have left Ally as well. As Kirsty had been telling her all of this, in hushed tones as her husband lingered by the bar, she battled a rising panic. What if he was withdrawing again, slipping back into the seclusion they’d all barely survived after Julia? They’d never forgive her. It had only been a couple of weeks. Well six. But not time for full blow crisis stations yet. He would resurface before long, and Ally could go back to a proper excuse for avoiding her.
She shut a cupboard in her new kitchen, redirection herself back to the present moment. Or the future, maybe. That would be more productive, more in line with her new start. And in the spirit of productivity, she made a quick mental list of everything needed to start filling the cupboards. Some of it could come over with her from the Edinburgh flat, but she might as well get a jump on things. Grabbing her keys, she headed into town. Nothing she bought on a lap of the shop was perishable, so after loading the bags into her boot, she went for a walk.
With a coffee in hand, Ivy crossed into the castle grounds. While the beaches would always take first place, she did love it in here. It was a manageable loop of a walk, right in the heart of Stornoway, that had the benefit, on a quiet evening, of making her feel much more secluded than she actually was. She had two favourite spots. One, a lovely look out that allowed a perfect view of the ferry coming in and out if you timed it right. It was also well placed along the route to be a good stopping point on a run. But today, she was heading for another place, praying the wind would be keeping the midges at bay, as it was right down on the water.
It was an easy spot to miss, down the less obvious of two forks in a path, so was usually quiet enough. Even when people did venture down there, they were often just walking by, so Ivy usually got the bench to herself. She had read books, drafted pitch decks and untangled many messes of thought on that bench over the last year, so it seemed as good a place as any to finish her coffee while the sun went down.
That was the best time for this bench anyway—sunset. The position of the small bay meant that the rhododendron opposite her seat was bathed in gold for a short window each day in the summer. Not native to the islands, rhododendrons. A pest, in fact, and a subject of great debate at times. But Ivy had a soft spot for them.
Rounding the final corner, the bench came into view. The sun was just right, splashing warm light over the tucked away corner of Lewis. Small waves lapped gently against the low wall butting up against the grass, mixing softly with the birds’ evensong. Ivy stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide as her stomach rolled inside her.
She couldn’t hear them from where she had stilled, and, even in the quiet, she went unnoticed herself.
The woman sat tucked into the crook of his arm, her legs curled under her. Blonde hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders and down the back of the bench, allowing him to absentmindedly twist a strand of it round his fingers as he spoke. His head was just angled enough as he murmured into her to let Ivy see the soft look of his eyes and lazy smile, burst periodically by a laugh when she looked up and replied to him, her own expression placid.
Busy, Kirsty had said. Not around much, being the excuse for Ally’s malingering. And Ivy— fuck. Tears blurred her exit route as she spun on her heel, a ragged sob escaping with her. Ivy had been worried that he was absent in his grief and confusion as he tried to restart his life. Panicking herself about his wellbeing, about the impact on Kirsty’s recovery if he slipped into isolation again, about herself if they all pulled away from her as a result. On the days in between she lauded him for following his dreams, letting go of the burden to look after others that seemed to plague him and do something for himself. Ross MacLeod was plenty occupied, just not with his own thoughts or his reborn career.
Her thighs burned along side her cheeks as she tore up the hill at twice her normal pace. Her throat closing, she squeezed her eyes tight, as if the image of the two of them she couldn’t rid her vision of wouldn’t be scorched into the backs of her eyelids anyway. When she stopped, opening them again to release captive tears, she dropped her head back against the hedge. Her chest heaved as she begged to be swallowed by the mass of pink and purple flowers.
So sex, love and rhododendrons it was. The plant had been brought to the island going on a hundred years to ornament gardens. The bright shock of colour must have seemed a welcome sight at first, warming up the otherwise dark, peaty moorland. Maybe even as the initial bounds were broken and it crept over crofts and gardens alike, people might have smiled at the blushing land, some going as far as to plant their own seeds in admiration. Then the roots took hold. Large, sprawling systems and tangles, laying claim to the grounds here. What initially felt strong and secure, eventually suffocated and strangled. Anything else succumbed, unable to claim their fair share of support from the land, disappearing. People fought back, cutting them off at the root, spilling chemicals and digging down to its core. Yet others smiled, looking out their windows at the colourful stems, brightening things up because their foundations had yet to crumble. Passers-by with no skin in the game rolled their eyes as sweat beaded off the cavalry fighting back, asking how bad could it possibly be?