Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Portree was popular with tourists because of its scenic harbour views, but it was also the place where you could find the most options for somewhere to eat.
Sorrel’s favourite had always been the Fisherman’s Rest, a cosy little café tucked away on one of the winding streets in the tiny town that was the capital of Skye.
There was also a selection of local shops – a good bakery, a little supermarket, a fishmonger that sold local fish and seafood, a post office that was open in the mornings only.
Sorrel had driven into Portree to have a look around and get away from everything for a day. It had been… a lot… since she’d been back, and today, she’d woken up and decided that she would go and see if her favourite café was still there.
As she walked in, a man, perhaps in his mid-forties, looked up from where he was wiping down a table. His eyes widened as he saw Sorrel.
‘As I live and breathe! Is that you, Sorrel Balhennie?’ he exclaimed, dashing over to her. Unlike most people on Skye, he had an upper-class English accent, and he spoke with the kind of flourish and gravitas of a theatre actor – which, in fact, he had been, once.
Before she could say yes, the man had enveloped her in a warm hug. ‘Oh, it is! It is! You’re back!’
‘Hello, Dom.’ Sorrel did a little curtsey. ‘At your service.’
‘Well, this is a turn-up for the books and no mistake, missus! Farid! Farid! Come out! Guess who’s here?’ he called impatiently to the back of the café.
‘Love, I’ve got both hands in the sourdough,’ a deep voice replied.
‘It’s Sorrel Balhennie, Farid!’ Dom called out. ‘Come and see!’
‘I do honestly feel like a really underdressed and under-resourced Santa, right now,’ Sorrel said to Dom as he looked her up and down in delight. ‘How are you, Dom? You look well.’
‘Oh, what you can’t see is I’ve got a girdle on under all this.
’ He chuckled. ‘And you would make the most simply irresistible Mrs Claus, darling. Always vastly underrated in the festive pantheon, and certainly it’s a gift to see your lovely face again!
Farid!’ he shouted again. ‘Honestly. How long has it even been? Eras have passed. We missed you, Sorrel. Canasta was never the same without you and Tam.’
‘Ten years. I know. Too long.’ She blushed and looked away. ‘It was all a bit sudden. I’m sorry I didn’t stay in touch… I didn’t talk to anyone, though. Not even family.’
‘Oh, lord… you know, I always said to Farid, it had to be something big. You wouldn’t just have left without a word unless you had a very good reason.
’ He tapped her cheek lightly with his forefinger.
‘I know. These things happen. I haven’t been back to Essex for fifteen years.
But that’s only because Farid can’t stomach spray-on tans, and you’ve seen my nieces.
Sit, sit. Tell me everything.’ He pulled out a chair for her at the one free table in the café; Sorrel took off her jacket and sat down.
‘How’s the café doing?’ she asked, looking around. ‘Looks like it’s thriving.’
When Dom and his partner Farid had taken over the café about twenty years ago, it had been a decrepit fish and chip restaurant with a sticky floor, dark wood furniture and orange lighting.
They’d ripped everything out and refurbished the place as a light, airy café specialising in seafood: it had been an instant hit in Portree.
The menu was simple but delicious – Farid was the chef, sourcing all his ingredients locally and making his own bread, which Sorrel guessed he was still doing.
It was the sort of place where there would be four things on the menu for the day, but each thing was one of the most delicious dishes you’d ever eaten.
‘Oh, it’s doing well, indeed, missus. The tourists haven’t let us down yet, and we’ve had some lovely listings and reviews from critics that’ve put us on the map over the years.
Ah, here he is, finally.’ Dom looked up as Farid made his way from the kitchen to where they sat. ‘Look, love! Look who it is!’
As well as Farid’s food, people loved Dom.
He had such a natural warmth and kindness about him, as well as his sonorous, actorly voice and hilarious observations, that everyone – from little kids, to whom he gave free ice cream in the café in summer, to old ladies, foreign tourists, and all those in between – adored him.
Sorrel had seen him flirt outrageously with the gruff fishermen on the harbour, chat politics with the tweed-jacketed sixty-somethings in the Conservative Club and gossip with her and her sisters about the latest reality TV.
There hadn’t been that many gay-owned businesses on Skye when she’d left, but she could tell from the busy tables when she walked in that Dom had continued to make sure that he and Farid had stayed a loved fixture in the community.
‘Sorrel? Oh, my goodness! Why didn’t you tell me?’ Farid fixed Dom with a perturbed glare for a moment before sweeping Sorrel into a hug.
‘I did, silly. You had your hands in dough,’ Dom reminded him, smiling fondly.
Farid was taller and broader than Dom, dark-skinned, and worked out a lot.
He was gentle and soft-spoken, and had trained as a chef in some of the finest restaurants in London before he and Dom had decided, more or less on a whim, to come to Skye and start a business.
‘I did. But this is more important!’ Farid exclaimed. ‘Has he offered you a drink yet? I bet he hasn’t.’ Farid glanced affectionately at his partner, who shrugged.
‘I was simply caught up in the drama of the whole thing, my sweet,’ Dom trilled.
‘But yes, absolutely. Farid, could you perhaps make us all a berry spritz? It’s a celebration to have Sorrel home, after all.
Gosh, hang on, missus – you are home, aren’t you?
Not just visiting for the day, only to leave us high and dry for another decade?
Because, I’ll tell you now, I don’t think my nerves could take it. ’
‘I have no plans either to stay or go, currently. Cannot confirm or deny,’ Sorrel said, sheepishly.
‘Oh, like that, is it?’ Dom sighed. ‘Well, I hardly know where to start. I’ve had gout.
There’s that. The rich man’s disease, so they say.
I say, try being married to a chef and not get it.
I’ve had to go on a strict diet and eat punnetfuls of cherries every day.
Not that you can get them year-round. Farid’s got his knee, of course,’ – Sorrel recalled that Farid had had a knee replacement from a rugby injury, before she’d left the island – ‘and we’ve got the dogs now.
Stella and Monica. Absolute hussies, the both of them.
’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Other than that, it’s all been work, work, work, with a few sailing trips in between.
We did take the boat around the Hebrides last summer. It was glorious.’
‘That sounds amazing, Dom. I’d love to do that sometime.’
‘Oh, you should. Obviously in the good weather. You can come with us if we go next year. Plenty of room. We upgraded.’ He winked.
‘Ha. What do you have now? A cruise liner?’ Sorrel teased him.
‘No, silly. But we did find an absolute bargain on a yacht. It’s really quite luxurious if you don’t mind Eighties décor.
I don’t mind at all, of course – I’m living out my Joan Collins fantasies.
Farid has unfortunately decided that we need to modernise.
I hear from your sisters you were doing well in the home renovation biz?
You could help us with that, darling!’ He turned to Farid as he reappeared, carrying a tray of delicious-looking magenta-coloured drinks.
‘I was just saying, love. Sorrel could help with the boat refurb! Now that she’s back. ’
‘Oh. Yes. All help welcome. It’s what you imagine Margaret Thatcher’s secret sex den to have looked like.’ Farid rolled his eyes and handed her a large gin glass that tinkled with ice and was decorated with a mint sprig. ‘Berry spritz for the lady, and the lady.’ He handed one to Dom, who beamed.
‘I’d love to,’ Sorrel chuckled. It was good for her soul to see her friends again.
She’d always loved Dom and Farid’s warmth, and she immediately felt happier being in their presence.
‘I’m not sure what’s happening with the business I share – shared, I guess – with my partner in London, but I could definitely give you some pointers. ’
‘Oh, that would be lovely. Come around for dinner, and we can give you the yacht tour!’ Dom’s eyes widened excitedly. ‘Then we can have a proper chat. We’re a bit slammed for lunch at the moment. Do come?’
‘Um. Okay. That would be lovely. Thank you!’ Sorrel grinned. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t want to take you away from the lunch rush – I just wanted to say hi and get something to eat.’
‘You are absolutely not taking us away from anything.’ Dom wagged his finger at her.
‘Back from London. Ten years!’ he called out to the nearest table, where a group of three ladies in hiking gear were sharing a huge bowl of mussels dripping in garlic butter and a mountain of crusty bread.
They smiled and nodded over at Dom, Farid and Sorrel.
‘But yes, we do have a busy café right now. So, come for dinner, and we can concentrate on you. Bring your sisters!’ Farid drank a little of his spritz and stood up. ‘I’ve got to get back to the lunches, sweet. Let Dom know when you can come, okay?’
‘Okay.’ Sorrel blew Farid a kiss as he made his way back to the kitchen.
‘Cheers! To old friends and surprise visits.’ Dom clinked her glass. ‘This really has made my day.’