Chapter 4
FOUR
Inside the caravan, everything was in chaos.
Instead of turning towards the Inn as they usually would, Catriona had led her to a large off-white caravan parked at a haphazard angle.
Sorrel gazed at the Inn; it was her home, and it had been ten years since she’d been inside.
Ten years since she’d walked into the busy, homely kitchen and smelt Catriona’s shortbread cooling on the long wooden counter.
Ten years since she’d climbed the creaky wooden stairs to the room she’d shared with her sister Primrose.
Ten years since she’d found something out that made her feel like a stranger in her own house.
Sorrel tried not to let her feelings show, but she’d always hated mess, and it took all of her effort not to frown at the piles of dirty mugs on the sink, the half-unpacked suitcases on the floor and the laundry hanging on the backs of chairs.
‘Bit of a squeeze with four of us here, but it’s just temporary.
’ Catriona was being breezy, but Sorrel knew her mother well enough to know that she actually hated not being at the Inn, where everything was organised to her liking.
Catriona loved to say a place for everything, and everything in its place and sometimes even cleanliness is next to godliness as she slotted a plate in the right pile on the dresser, or wiped the kitchen surface clean.
Catriona was always up with the lark, putting the bread on in the mornings, and last to bed, making sure the Inn was spotless.
This level of disorder must be torturing her, Sorrel thought. But perhaps it was also representative of everyone’s state of mind. Their lives had fallen apart overnight, too.
As she looked around, she also looked at her mother.
Catriona had changed. It had been ten years: of course she had.
But there were lines around her eyes where there hadn’t been before.
Catriona looked sadder, somehow; more weighed down.
Her hair was different: it had used to be a dark blonde, and now she’d dyed it platinum.
It was longer. She wore glasses. She was thinner.
‘I could do with a cup of tea, if there’s one going. ’
‘There’s always one going.’ Catriona smiled at her daughter anxiously. There was so much unsaid between them. Do you trust me? Can I trust you? Are you still angry? Do we still love each other in the way we once did? Can we ever be as close as we once were? ‘Tea, I can do.’
Sorrel stood awkwardly, feeling isolated.
It was home, but it wasn’t: she’d expected to walk into the warm kitchen, cats curled up by the fire and her mother cooking dinner on the large range stove.
There was always the smell of freshly baked bread, which Catriona made for the guests every day, as well as baking buns and cakes.
This was all wrong. Everything had been disrupted.
‘Hmm,’ Sorrel said, noncommittally. ‘So it’s you, Dad, Heather and Bluebell?’ Cautiously, she pushed a pile of folded laundry to one side, clearing space on an orange corduroy sofa and sliding in behind an ancient Formica-topped table.
‘That’s right. Let me put the kettle on.’ Catriona busied herself in the tiny kitchenette, washing out mugs and opening a small fridge to retrieve milk. ‘Your aunts are staying at the castle with James and Evelinda.’
‘I bet they’re loving that.’ Sorrel raised an eyebrow.
Aunt Joan and Aunt Chrissie, the family matriarchs, had come to live with the family a few years ago; she knew that from Bluebell’s emails.
Prior to that, they’d lived in their own flat in Portree, which was a ‘town’ on Skye, though it was really only the size of a small village.
Portree had shops, a harbour, restaurants and pubs.
But the aunts’ flat had been on a hill and up three flights of steps, and when Aunt Chrissie couldn’t climb them any more, the aunts moved to the Inn.
‘They are. James has given them a big suite on the ground floor, and they’re annoying the gardeners and the housekeeper with advice on a daily basis,’ Catriona chattered nervously.
‘Naturally, your father is enraged by the whole situation. I’ve had to stop him storming up there a number of times since they moved in, but what other option do we have?
We can’t have them here.’ She gestured at the general surroundings.
‘There’s only three bedrooms, and no space for all of us as it is. ’
‘The aunts definitely got the better part of the arrangement.’ Sorrel nodded. ‘How long do you think you’ll have to be here?’
‘I honestly don’t know, love. How long is a piece of string? Your dad says the work is considerable.’ Catriona set a mug of tea on the table in front of Sorrel. ‘And we can’t afford it. Nowhere near.’
‘Will James help?’ Sorrel sipped her tea.
She was wondering how to tell her mother about the break-up.
Ten years was a lot of life to catch up on.
In that time, she’d met Simon, fallen in love, built a business and then found him cheating on her, and found herself ￡20,000 poorer. The thought of it made her sick.
‘He would, aye; the Inn’s part of the estate, and it’s very close to everyone’s heart. But your father will have none of it.’ Catriona sighed and sat down at the table, opposite Sorrel. ‘You know how he is.’
‘I do,’ Sorrel said, nodding. ‘Listen. I have money.’ She blinked, feeling the awkwardness between her and her mother; the chasm of silence that had lain, unchallenged and unbridged, for ten years.
‘I know that… we’ve been estranged a long time.
But I can help. I want to help. That’s partly why I came back. ’
‘We don’t need your guilt or your charity, Sorrel.
’ Catriona met her daughter’s eyes levelly.
Sorrel was reminded of who the real powerhouse was in the family.
Catriona was just like Aunt Joan: she was warm and loving, but she could be flinty and tough.
Even though Angus made all the noise, Catriona held the silence.
Sorrel had known that when she’d walked away and refused to talk to her family, Catriona wouldn’t be the one to break the impasse.
She knew that she had to be the one to do that, and she’d railed against it for years.
Her mother’s intractability had felt like stony silence over the miles between them.
She’d received nothing from Catriona. Not one apology, not a note, not an email.
Bluebell had been the one who had kept the line of communication open – even if it had been one-sided.
And the longer the silence went on, the more difficult it became to maintain.
Yet Sorrel and Catriona were as stubborn as each other.
Regret filled the aching hole in Sorrel’s chest that had been deepening ever since she had driven over the Skye Bridge. Maybe she should have called years ago. But she had been so angry, so hurt.
‘It’s not charity,’ she replied, choosing her words carefully. There might have been some guilt in there; she could accept that. ‘This is my family home. I grew up here. I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want you to lose your home, and I don’t want my sisters to lose the Inn. It’ll be ours one day.’
‘Hm. You’re right about that, I suppose.
’ Catriona pursed her lips. ‘It’s a very kind offer, Sorrel.
But you have to admit, it’s all rather sudden.
We don’t hear from you in ten years, and suddenly, you’re back, offering us money.
Don’t think I’m not pleased to see you. I am.
’ Catriona reached for her daughter’s hand across the table.
The contact – the feel of her mother’s touch, her skin touching Sorrel’s skin – made Sorrel uncomfortable, and she pulled her hand away.
‘But… we’ve got a lot to talk about. You know that. ’
‘I know,’ Sorrel replied, quietly. ‘But you can’t live like this.’ She looked around her, taking in the mess, the general sense of decrepitude.
‘We can, if we have to,’ Catriona replied, stubbornly.
‘No, Mum. You can’t. Not forever,’ Sorrel argued.
‘Hmm. Let me talk about it with your father.’ Catriona nodded.
‘I won’t say that the offer isn’t very welcome, because it is.
Look at how we’re living.’ She gestured at their surroundings.
‘But I’m not sure how either of us feel about taking your money.
We haven’t seen you in all this time. Are you planning to stay?
Is this a flying visit, and then you’ll be gone another ten years? Are you our daughter again?’
Catriona looked away for a moment, composing herself. There was a silence. ‘If I’d known you were coming, we could have got ready. You’ve caught me off guard.’ She was making an effort to be polite.
‘Sorry,’ Sorrel muttered. There was an awkward silence.
Sorrel was thinking about the last time she’d spoken to her mother.
The things that Catriona had said, coldly, without emotion, that had hurt Sorrel so deeply.
She hadn’t thought she would ever speak to her mother again.
Now that she was, it wasn’t exactly going well.
‘You don’t need to be sorry. Perhaps just a bit more notice would have been nice,’ Catriona said, stiffly.
‘I didn’t plan it,’ Sorrel confessed. She took a gulp of tea. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’
‘No need to be sorry. Truce.’ Catriona shot her daughter a tired smile.
‘Where are Heather and Bluebell? I’d like to say hi.’ Sorrel felt bad: she felt sorry for Catriona. The stress of the Inn was clearly taking a toll on her.
‘They took the car to Portree for a food shop, and they’re stopping at the castle on the way back to see James. He’s going to put you up,’ her mother said. ‘They’ll be back soon,’
‘Me? At the castle?’ Sorrel did a double take.