Chapter 18 #2
‘What happened?’ Sorrel asked, concerned. ‘I was just there the other day with Heather and Bluebell.’
‘Oh, she toddled down there for a walk and a bun. She was feeling quite energetic, so she decided to get some air.’ Joan stared determinedly at the television, her fingers working automatically on her crochet.
‘Anyway, she got down to the café okay. She was sitting at one of the tables and some fella came over to her, she says. Tall, sandy hair, tattoos, looked like a workman. He asked her if she knew Catriona.’ Joan looked up, a worried expression on her face.
‘Well, Chrissie is a trusting soul, you know that. So she said, Why yes, she’s my niece.
’ Joan rolled her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t have told him anything, of course. ’
‘Oh. And why did he want to know?’ Sorrel asked, warily. Immediately she thought of the man in the castle café who had been staring at her. He had had sandy hair. She didn’t know how tall he’d been, because she didn’t see him stand up. But he could have been tall.
‘I don’t know. In my day, grant you, a man was tall at five feet eight inches,’ she said, distractedly. ‘Oh! Look at that! A caution. Undeserved.’ She pointed at the screen. ‘He’s had one already. One more and he’ll be disqualified.’
‘Auntie. What did this man want with Aunt Chrissie?’ Sorrel prompted her aunt gently.
‘What? Oh. So impatient. Goodness. Then he says to her, I knew her from a long time ago. So, Chrissie, being the wide-eyed dolt she is, says, Oh? Did you go to school together or something? And he says, Don’t you remember me, Chrissie?
And your auntie gets a little bit spooked then because, god love her, you know her memory isn’t the best, and this fella knows her, but she has no idea who he is.
And she said that she suddenly felt that he was a bit aggressive. ’
‘How was he aggressive?’ Sorrel asked. Aunt Joan stared at her great-niece as if she’d temporarily lost her train of thought.
‘Hm. Chrissie said that he stood over her, very close, and it was in the way he looked at her. He didn’t smile. He didn’t sit down. She said it was very unsettling,’ she answered.
‘I bet. Waylaying an elderly lady in a coffee shop isn’t very nice.’
‘Indeed. It certainly is not,’ Joan continued archly.
‘Then what happened?’ Sorrel was trying to keep Aunt Joan on track.
‘Well, Chrissie said that he asked her a lot of questions about whether Catriona still lived at the Inn, how many children she had now. And asked about the oldest one. You.’ Joan blinked.
‘Can’t say that I’m sure it’s any of his business.
But Chrissie told him that Catriona did still live at the Inn, even though it was having building work done at the moment.
And she also told him that the oldest, Sorrel, had been gone for ten years and she’d just come back, would you believe. ’
‘Oh.’ Sorrel felt a cold sense of dread grip her heart and her stomach.
Somehow, there was something worrying about all of this.
Was it the same man who had been staring at her at the café?
And if it was, why was he asking questions about her?
‘Was he just making polite conversation, do you think?’ she asked, hoping that Aunt Joan would dismiss the whole thing: maybe it was just Aunt Chrissie being too sensitive. But her aunt shook her head.
‘I don’t think so, dear. I think he was trying to find out something about you.
Because he said, Catriona Balhennie has worked hard to forget me.
Just like you seem to have forgotten me, Chrissie.
But I remember everything, and I remember my family.
’ Joan frowned. ‘Now, what do you think he can have meant by that?’
Sorrel froze. The realisation of who this man was had fallen upon her, and dread roiled in her stomach.
I know who he is, she thought. But Sorrel hadn’t prepared herself for what she would do if her biological father ever showed up in her life.
Now that he had, she felt a spiralling sense of panic – but there was intrigue there too. The idea that Sorrel might suddenly find out something more about her true identity was tantalising.
Of course, she had thought about who her biological father was over the years.
She had lain awake, thinking about it, for so many nights that she’d lost count of them.
All she knew was what Catriona had said that night – that he had come back to the island after being away, and that he had wanted access to her. Sorrel had no idea who it could be.
‘Sorrel?’ Aunt Joan broke into her thoughts. ‘Is there something I should know?’
‘Aunt Joan, I’m going to go for a walk,’ Sorrel said, getting up. ‘I hope Aunt Chrissie feels better soon. Tell her that I’ll look in on her later.’
‘Oh. All right, dear,’ Aunt Joan replied, looking slightly baffled. ‘So, you don’t know who this fellow is, from the café?’
‘I don’t know who he is, no,’ Sorrel said, partly truthfully.
She didn’t know what his name was, or anything about him, apart from the fact that she could only think of one reason that anyone would be asking those kinds of questions.
‘Did he give a name, or where he lives? I can tell Mum. She might know. I’m sure it’s just one of her old friends.
’ She was trying to mollify her aunt, but she wasn’t sure that it was working.
‘Not a name. He said that he works over at an archery range, on the road out of Portree.’ Aunt Joan scowled. ‘I’m inclined to get your uncle to drive me over there so I can give him a piece of my mind. Upsetting poor Chrissie. How dare he?’
‘You don’t need to do that. I’m sure it’s nothing,’ Sorrel placated her aunt, deliberately keeping a calm facade, but her heart was beating fast.
Her aunt had just told her where the man she suspected might be her biological father worked. Out of the blue, she had information that she had never expected.
Sorrel couldn’t quite believe it. She’d always wondered about it, but she’d finally come to the conclusion that she would never know. It was possible; she could have gone hunting, she could have pestered Catriona for the information, but she knew that her mother wouldn’t tell her.
It was a door that she had thought of knocking on for a long time, but she had assumed that the door would remain firmly closed, even if she did knock. But now, when she least expected it, that door had been flung open in the most casual of ways.
‘Well. People just think they can do what they like. It’s not right, is it? Being rude to old ladies,’ Joan said, protectively. She spent most of her time bickering with her sister, but, Sorrel thought, when it came down to it, sisters were always the same. Sisters had each other’s backs. Always.
‘No. But perhaps he didn’t think he was being rude,’ Sorrel said. ‘Auntie, I was going to head out, but I can stay with you if you like?’
‘No, dear. I’m fine.’ Joan waved her hand at her great-niece dismissively. ‘Go about your business. It’s all right.’
‘Try not to worry, then,’ Sorrel said, knowing that Joan would still worry, privately, about her sister.
‘All right, dear. Wrap up warm,’ Aunt Joan called after her. ‘And don’t you worry, either. Whoever that man is, it’s nothing to do with us. Any of us.’
Sorrel nodded, but she didn’t reply. She was too emotional to trust herself to speak.
Aunt Joan knew. She knew that the man Chrissie had seen in the café was her real father. Joan wasn’t stupid; she was the sharpest thinker that Sorrel had ever known. Aunt Joan telling her that it was nothing to do with us meant that Joan, too, wanted to keep Sorrel away from her biological father.
And that meant that Joan – and probably Chrissie – had always known who he was. They had kept the secret, along with Catriona and Angus.
Sorrel stood at the entrance to the castle car park with tears welling up in her eyes. She felt the familiar roiling panic start in her chest; she took some deep breaths.
She knew what she wanted to do, but she wasn’t sure if she had the courage to do it.
Aunt Joan had told her where this man worked.
What was to stop Sorrel just turning up and saying hello?
The temptation was huge, but the fear was bigger.
What if he was mean? What if he rejected her?
What if her family found out and rejected her after, just as she was starting to rebuild her relationships with them? What would Bluebell think?
I can’t. Not yet, she thought. There was too much at stake, and her heart couldn’t take it.
There would be a day when she felt ready, but today wasn’t it.