Chapter 8
Meg was almost in the car when inspiration struck. If she was going to the shop, she really ought to check and see what Helen had in the way of cleaning products. It was going to be one extreme or the other – mountains of the stuff, or nothing. She headed back inside, where Eliza padded through from the sitting room to see what she was up to, wagging her little tail and nosing her in the hope of treats.
In the cupboard under the big white Belfast sink there was a tidy-tray with a bottle of furniture polish, a half-used roll of disposable J-Cloths, and a tin of Brasso silver cleaner which was rusted shut. Well, that answered that question. The half-empty bottle of washing up liquid on the kitchen window ledge wasn’t going to get her very far, either.
‘Back in half an hour,’ she promised Eliza, pulling the door closed behind her and heading back to the car.
She drove into Applemore, surprised to discover that she couldn’t find a spot to park the car on the main street. A huge delivery truck was parked at the far end, nose jammed up against a tiny orange Mini which looked like it must be about fifty years old.
I must find another point of reference, she reprimanded herself. For as long as she could remember that had been her mental line of demarcation for “quite old, really” but in less than a year she, too, was going to be about fifty years old, and she very definitely didn’t feel it. Not that she knew what it was supposed to feel like, but somehow when she thought about people being fifty in her head they were in sensible shoes and possibly a headscarf and a cardigan, and not jeans and a hoody and a pair of snazzy pink converse trainers, humming along to Nirvana on the car stereo.
Anyway, that was enough thinking about that. She had a parking space to find, which wasn’t something she’d thought was going to be an issue in the far northwest of the Scottish Highlands. She got to the end of the street and slowed up, trying to work out what to do. In the end, she took a left and turned into the petrol station up the hill, squeezing the little car between the pump and a massive blue tractor, which gave her the fright of her life as she turned to double back on herself. The engine started and a huge belch of thick smoke shot out before it made an alarming banging noise and cut out completely.
‘Lucky escape,’ muttered Meg to herself, turning the car right and slowly heading back onto the High Street. There had to be room for a little one in there somewhere…
She got right to the end of the street then spotted a side turning, nipping down and neatly parking in front of a huge and utterly filthy black pick-up truck. She climbed out, locking the door – discovering as she tried that Helen’s little car had nothing as modern as central locking – and was barked at furiously by a very cute but incredibly vocal black cocker spaniel who was standing on the passenger seat of the truck.
Seeing it on foot, it was apparent how much Applemore had changed since her last visit. When she’d wandered along the main street with Helen back then, it had been faded and a bit sea-battered around the edges, the paint peeling on the railings that ran along the edge of the little harbour, and the hotel sign faded and tired.
Now the hotel had been freshly painted a sparkling white, and the sign was stylish and modern. Baskets tumbling with pretty spring flowers stood outside the entrance and filled the windows, which had recently been painted a dark slate grey. Old wooden whisky barrels had been painted, and were dotted along the pavements, stuffed with daffodils and nodding heads of tiny bright blue muscari. There was a café – that had definitely not been there before – with two little wooden tables outside, and a neatly painted blackboard announcing the bakes of the day. A little girl sat at the table by the window looking out and gave a shy wave, one hand holding tightly onto a sticky iced bun. Meg’s stomach rumbled. Maybe she’d pick something nice up on the way back to the car. But first things first… the little supermarket. Helen had told her all about the drama there had been in the village when the tiny village shop had closed, leaving villagers with nowhere to go for their daily needs. There was a farm shop on the grounds of Applemore House itself, up the hill and out of the village on the other side of town, but that hadn’t worked for the older villagers, or people who didn’t drive.
The door slid open, and she stepped inside. It was exactly the same as her local branch back home in Heatherby, and she found it strangely comforting to potter along the aisles with a basket on her arm picking up bleach, and more washing up liquid, rhubarb scented cleaning spray and packs of fresh cloths and dusters. She threw in a pack of Eliza’s favourite gravy bones, too, and a few bits and pieces to stock up the cupboards to keep her going until she made a trip to the bigger town ten miles away where there was a big supermarket where she’d fill a trolley and get some cooking bits and pieces. For now, though, she grabbed a nice looking pizza covered with charred baby peppers and mozzarella, some milk for the all-important coffee to keep her going, and a bottle of red wine in case she fancied a glass after she’d finished clearing up that evening. Maybe if she really got down to it, she could get the sitting room sorted and put her feet up with a drink by the fire. She made a face at herself in the security mirror by the gin bottles. It would take some doing to get that sitting room sorted by this evening, especially as it was already – she checked her phone to see the time – half-past one.
She was heading for the checkout when she dropped her phone. Bending to pick it up from under the shelf where it had slid out of reach, she straightened up awkwardly, and narrowly avoided crashing bodily into a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark blue sweater.
‘Sorry,’ she said, flushing, because she realised as she looked at him his mouth was twisting into a half-smile and something in her had registered as they bumped into each other that he smelled very nice – of outside and fresh air and pine trees.
‘My fault,’ he said, surprising her with an English accent in the depths of the Scottish Highlands. ‘I should have been looking out for people underfoot.’
Some part of Meg managed to process that along with dark hair flecked with steel grey, he had a strong jaw which hadn’t seen a razor for a good few days, and dark blue eyes (which almost matched the sweater) with a kind twinkle to them. The same part of Meg that processed this information gave a tiny swoop of something in her chest that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. If ever.
She laughed. ‘I dropped my phone.’
Obviously you dropped your phone, Meg, you idiot,she heard herself thinking. He hardly thinks you were crawling around on your hands and knees for fun.
‘Well, as long as you’re okay,’ he said, and she nodded.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘Excellent.’ His eyebrows lifted slightly. ‘In which case,’ he said, gesturing with his free hand towards the end of the aisle. ‘I’ll just –’
‘Oh –’ she stepped sideways.
‘Not at all. After you,’ he said, letting her past with a gentlemanly wave.
Fortunately, the shop didn’t appear to have CCTV, so the shake of her head and roll of her eyes that Meg did to herself as she headed toward the checkout remained un-noticed by anyone.
‘Did you get everything you needed?’ A pink-cheeked girl with hair so blonde it was almost white smiled at her from the other side of the counter. Her nose was scattered with freckles, and she smiled at Meg cheerfully as she hefted the heavy basket up onto the counter.
Meg tried to gather herself.
‘Yes, thanks so much.’
The girl reached behind her, gesturing to the stack of paper bags.
‘Do you need a bag, or have you brought one?’
‘Yes, please.’ She hadn’t even thought about bags when she’d rushed out of the house. Back in Heatherby she’d always kept them ready to go in the car, but they’d been folded and passed on to Janey when she was packing and tidying up.
‘Righty-ho,’ said the girl, humming to herself. She popped the groceries in one by one as she rang them through the till. Meg watched as a couple of older women rushed into the shop, exclaiming with surprise and brushing spots of rain off their shoulders. A clap of thunder boomed overhead, so loud that the floor almost seemed to shake.
‘I had a feeling that we were about to get caught,’ said one woman, who was short in stature with close-cropped grey hair and a cheery red raincoat. ‘Is it alright if we put this up on the noticeboard, Holly?’
She unfurled a small, printed poster and waved it in their direction.
‘Of course,’ said the girl, nodding and smiling again. ‘I had a feeling there was a storm on the way. I always get a headache beforehand, and I’ve been feeling weird all morning.’
Meg looked out of the door, eyes widening in surprise at the suddenly dark skies. ‘It was sunny a moment ago.’
‘Welcome to the Highlands,’ laughed the girl. ‘Give it five minutes and the weather’ll have changed again.’
A crack of lightning lit up the sky and out of nowhere huge torrents of rain started falling.
Meg looked down at her shirt and blue jeans. ‘I hope you’re right about that. I’m parked at the far end of the street.’