Page 11 of The Scottish Island Inn

‘It’s not okay. I am sorry.’

‘Okay. Thank you.’ There was an awkward silence, then he said, ‘Can I ask… what happened?’

‘I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s okay.’ Sorrel thought about how best to explain how she felt. ‘I realise that you do deserve an explanation, but…’ she trailed off. ‘I was… in a bad place. I found something out that really upset me. I decided to leave home. And the island. It wasn’t about you.’

‘What upset you?’ Tam frowned, looking concerned. ‘I was so worried, Sorrel. We all were. Your mum and dad were beside themselves. And then no one heard from you for all those years.’ He shook his head. ‘And then, you just… come back. Like nothing happened. It’s just weird, okay? I’m trying to get my head around it.’ He scuffed his foot on the floor. It was an old, wood floor and it too had degraded since Sorrel had last been in here. She could smell damp in the air. The smell of wet mud, coppery like blood. She shivered, wishing they were having this conversation outside in the fresh air.

‘I know. I’m sorry,’ she repeated. She felt sick. Ashamed of the pain she’d caused, but the pain and the sickness and the shame weren’t hers; they should never have been hers to carry. None of it was her fault, though she’d left the island thinking it was, and it had taken several years of therapy for her to understand that it wasn’t.

‘Won’t you tell me what happened?’ he asked, again. ‘We were… well. You know what we were to each other.’ He looked so sad, Sorrel’s heart wrenched. ‘I had no idea. I saw you that night, the day before you went. We counted the stars, remember? At Sligachan. I gave you that stone in the shape of a heart. I found it before then, but I wanted to wait for a romantic moment to give it to you.’

‘I remember,’ she said, quietly.

The stone heart had been precious to her for so long. There had been so many times that she’d taken it out – she kept it hidden in her sock drawer – and turned it over in her hands. It was a painful reminder of what she’d given up. Tam. Skye. Her parents. Her sisters.

Tam had pressed it into her hand as he’d held her. They’d stood there, under the stars, and she’d breathed in the closeness of him, grateful for the constancy of his presence. His smell, so familiar, like home. A good, wholesome smell like woodsmoke, fresh coffee, honest sweat.

She’d wondered if it was her heart that was made of stone. It had felt that way, sometimes. In the years after she’d left, occasionally she looked back on her old life on Skye with a kind of wonder that it had happened at all. London was so different that it blacked out her memory of the island, as if it covered her remembered Skye with an inky, poisonous smog.

There was a long silence.

‘Well, maybe we’ll chat about that another time,’ Tam said. ‘I can tell you don’t want to talk about it now. But I hope you’ll stay, and we’ll have another chance to.’

‘Okay.’ Sorrel didn’t know if she would ever be able to explore that topic with Tam Blackwood. Or how long she was going to be here. But it was more than she had in her to say that right now.

Tam set his torch on the end of one of the shelves and started examining the corners of the space. ‘It looks like your dad might’ve come in here to hang out, though. He’s got the TV and the cosy chair down here.’ He indicated a side of the room that wasn’t covered in stacked metal shelves.

Sorrel nodded. ‘Yeah. I guess so.’

‘Six daughters. I imagine you’d want some time to yourself.’

‘Rude. We were a delight,’ she sighed. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Oh, I’m not saying that you weren’t.’ Tam held his hands up in mock defence. ‘Just, you know. It’s a lot of oestrogen.’ There was a twinkle in his eye that Sorrel knew meant he was joking. She had missed that twinkle.

‘And what exactly is wrong with that?’ Sorrel raised one eyebrow.

‘Nothing at all. I’m ready for the women to take over.’ Tam held a sensor to the wall for a minute until it beeped. He looked at the display and frowned. ‘Patriarchy hasn’t done a great job of anything, let’s face it. I’d far rather have the Balhennie sisters in charge.’

‘Agreed.’ Sorrel blushed. It was so strange, so sudden, to be in the same room as Tam again. They’d spent so many nights together, cuddling in his single bed at his parents’ house, or arm in arm at the Fairy Pools, walking in the enchanted landscape, talking, laughing. She’d known him so well. They’d been so close. Once.

‘He likes to stockpile food. He says you never know when you’ll need it,’ Sorrel said, looking around her at some metal shelving containing tins of baked beans, bottled water and several bottles of whisky. ‘I’m surprised he hasn’t moved all this stuff out.’

‘He’s got to before work begins seriously on that,’ Tam said, indicating the crack in the brick foundations. ‘At the moment I’ve just done a basic shoring up and assessing the damage. But it’s months of work.’

Sorrel’s eyes strayed to the shelves along the wall. She realised that one of them ended a little short, and that was because there was an old-looking bevelled wood door set into the wall behind it. She walked over to it and reached out for the small knob.

‘What’s that?’ Tam watched her.

‘I don’t know. A funny little door.’ She pulled it, but it seemed stuck. She pulled it again, and felt it give a little.

‘Let me try.’ Tam reached for it, his fingertips grazing hers as she pulled her hand away.

He pulled it, and the door creaked open.

‘What’s in it?’ Sorrel leaned forward, peering into the small space.

‘Dunno. Old stuff. Here—’ Tam handed her an old glass jar with a screw top. It was large, the span of both of her hands in height, with thick glass; it looked like an old preserving jar.