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Part Two
Chapter 10
Anna
Saturday 2nd June
Day 1 of the storm
‘Anna. Anna?’
I turn and smile. Even after a week I’m still not used to the way David says my name. I feel as though I’ve been rechristened. Back in London I was Anna – An-na – emphasis on the first ‘n’ and the last ‘a’. Now I’m Ah-nah. My name sounds softer and warmer when David says it in his soft Scottish burr. For the first couple of days on the island my shoulders remained up by my ears, tight, knotted and wary. But I can feel them loosening; the tension that curled me into myself is fading away. I’m softening, just like my name.
‘Yes, David.’
‘Do you have the list of guest names?’
‘Yeah.’ I swipe a piece of paper from the printer under the desk and hand it to him.
I had my reservations about David when he interviewed me on the phone. He was direct, gruff and pompous, continuously referring to me as ‘young lady’ (even though I’m thirty-two years old) and repeatedly asked me if I was prepared to work hard and not moan. I pictured him as a tall man, broad shouldered, bearded, ex-military. When the ferry docked on Rum and I walked down the ramp and onto the quayside I passed the small, round, pink-cheeked man in a yellow waterproof jacket and bowled straight up to the bearded man in a flat cap, standing beside a large black Labrador.
‘Anna?’ I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned sharply.
‘David?’
‘Yes.’ He held out a hand. ‘How was your journey?’
He had told me on the phone that visitors weren’t allowed to bring cars to Rum, and I’d boarded the small boat with a dozen or so people who were also on foot. Half of them had bicycles. The rest wore bulging rucksacks on their backs. I was the only one dragging a suitcase behind me. I carried it up to deck three and took a seat next to the window. After a couple of minutes the ferry pulled away from Mallaig, the sea as grey as the sky. After about forty minutes we passed Eigg, to our left, rising out of the sea like the dark nose of a whale. If Eigg was a whale then Rum was a dragon’s back, curving out of the water. I thought I was prepared to see it for the first time – I’d watched and rewatched the Small Isles programme on iPlayer after David confirmed on the phone that he’d give me a three-month trial – but my breath still caught in my throat and my stomach tightened with anticipation. I left the lounge and stepped onto the deck, smiling as the wind slapped my cheeks then lifted my hair and wrapped it around my face. With the sky and the sea stretching for miles I felt as though I was being transported to another world, not a tiny community on the west coast of Scotland. I felt vital and energised, alive and free.
I didn’t tell David any of that. Instead I said, ‘Rum’s a long way from Reading. It took forever. But the ferry ride took my breath away.’
He smiled broadly, his eyes almost disappearing in the rise of his cheeks as he read the expression on my face. ‘Still gets me too, even after all these years. That everything?’ He gestured towards my suitcase and I nodded.
‘Okay.’ He picked it up. ‘This,’ he raised a hand in the direction of the dozen or so buildings surrounding us, ‘is what we call “the village”, by the way. We’re on the other side of the island – Harris.’
I climbed into his white Land Rover and for the first time in months I didn’t close my eyes after I fastened my seat belt. I still clung to the hand rest as the car climbed the hills, juddered over the stony roads and swung around tight corners but I drank in the view: the hills as grey as an elephant’s hide, the grass, the gorse, the sky stretching forever, the sea and the—
‘Ponies! Look!’
David laughed. ‘Yeah, there’s a few. Deer too.’
By the time we arrived at the Bay View Hotel, nestled into the side of a hill and separated from the rest of the island by a shallow river that we had to drive through, I felt drunk with happiness.
‘That’s the mausoleum, isn’t it?’ I said, pointing at the grey-brown sandstone building that stood incongruously in a field of green. With its pitched roof and imposing pillars, housing three granite tombs, it looked as though it had been dropped from the sky or whisked through time from ancient Greece.
‘That’s right.’ David nodded. ‘It’s Sir George Bullough’s family mausoleum. He’s buried there along with his son and wife.’
I suppressed a shiver, remembering the last time I’d been in a graveyard.
‘And who lives there?’ I pointed at a small cottage on the edge of the river; the hotel’s other neighbour.
‘Gordon Brodie. He guides the walks. He’s also the caretaker at the primary school. Part time.’ He laughed. ‘There’s only four children.’
‘Four children in the whole school?’
‘Five next year when Susi McFarlane’s little one turns four. There’s only thirty-one of us living here, remember.’
‘Can they not go to school on the mainland?’
‘The secondary school children do but there’s only three ferries a week at this time of year. Most of them can only come back every other weekend. They stay with relatives and what not.’
I stared at the darkening sky. ‘What if there’s a storm?’
‘Then there’s no ferries for a while.’ He shrugged. ‘We make do.’
Now, David scans the list of names on the printout in his hand, nostrils flaring as he runs a bitten-down fingernail down the page.
‘We’ve got seven. That’ll mean two trips in the Land Rover.’
He reaches behind the desk and slides the keys off their hook on the wall. He presses them into my hand. ‘There you go then.’
‘No.’ I dangle them from my thumb and forefinger like I’m holding a dirty nappy or a wet tea towel. ‘I can’t.’
‘What do you mean you can’t? You told me on the phone that you can drive.’
‘I can but I … I was in an accident a few months ago and I ended up in hospital. I haven’t been behind the wheel since.’
‘Well, you’ll need to soon.’ He snatches the keys back, shaking his head as he sidesteps from behind the reception desk. ‘Because I won’t always be available to fetch and carry the guests. I did warn you that you’d have to pull your weight— Oooh.’ He presses a hand to the wall, steadying himself.
‘David, are you okay?’
He waves me away. ‘Just a …’ He presses a clenched fist to his chest. ‘Just a bit of indigestion. Oh God, I thought I was going to be sick there.’
A bead of sweat rolls down his temple then gets lost in his stubble.
‘David, are you sure you’re okay? I could call someone.’ I touch a hand to the phone, prepared to ring the Small Isles medical practice on Eigg. There’s no doctor on Rum. One visits once a fortnight, on a Thursday, but today is Saturday. There’s a team of first responders though. The nearest is in Kinloch, which is a fifteen-minute drive away, on the other side of the island.
‘No, no.’ He straightens up, still rubbing at his chest. ‘I’m fine. Double-check the rooms are in order while I’m away. Oh, and check on the bread. It’ll need to come out of the oven in twenty minutes. Don’t just stand there looking vacant, girl. There are jobs to be done.’
Cold air blasts across the lobby as David opens the front door and disappears outside. Dark clouds, heavy with rain, scuttle past the window as trees whip back and forth in the wind. According to the weather forecast this morning we’re due a storm soon. That won’t go down well with the guests who came here to walk, cycle, fish and deer-stalk but we should still be able to get them to Kinloch Castle and the craft shops. And if the weather’s really bad there’s a TV in each of the bedrooms and books and magazines in the lounge. And the hotel is well stocked with booze and firewood. I jump as my mobile phone scuttles across the desk, then snatch it up. It’s a text from Alex:
I’ve been thinking about you. I hope you’re well and happy and that the fresh island air is helping you sleep.
Chapter 11
Alex
Alex grips the bunch of flowers a little tighter as the doors to the Royal Free Hospital slide open and a cloud of warm, bleach-scented air hits him full in the face. It’s a beautiful summer day and his shirt is sticking to his back. He wants to take off his jacket, get some air to his skin, but he’s worried about the sweat patches under his arms. He glances at his watch: 2.55 p.m. He didn’t want to risk being late, so got here early and spent the last hour sitting in KFC around the corner, sipping a Coke. He’d rather have had a coffee but he was worried about bad breath.
He takes a seat in the waiting area near M&S and rummages around in his pocket for the packet of mints he bought on his way here. He pops one into his mouth then props the flowers between his knees and wipes his palms on his jeans. He knows he’s being ridiculous, sweating and worrying like a thirteen-year-old on a first date, but he can’t slow his hammering heart or shake the sick feeling in his stomach. He’s never done anything like this before, never got so worked up about someone he barely knows. But Becca likes him, she must, or she wouldn’t have replied to his Facebook messages, never mind agree to a date. His stomach clenches as his phone vibrates in his pocket. Is she cancelling? Is she, as he sits in the hospital foyer and waits for her to finish her shift, secretly sneaking out of a back entrance so she doesn’t have to see him?
He looks at the screen and heaves a sigh of relief. It’s just Anna.
Are you trying to be funny?
He frowns, confused, and rereads the message he sent her earlier. It was a nice message, wasn’t it? Asking how she was doing.
He looks around to check Becca’s not on her way over to him (it wouldn’t be done to be caught texting an ex), then taps out a reply.
No. What do you mean?
She replies immediately.
The comment about sleep.
He cringes. Oh, that. If he’s honest he’s barely given those messages a second thought since she left. He’s thought about her, obviously; you don’t spend nearly two years with someone and then forget all about them the moment they walk out of the door, but he’s enjoyed having the bed to himself and waking up without her lashing out in her sleep, or else staring at him, wide-eyed and frantic from across the room. He did feel guilty though, logging on to Facebook when he returned home to piles of boxes and a flat stripped of Anna’s things. Her side of the bed was barely cold and there he was, searching for the nurse who’d cared for her. The attraction was there from the first time they’d laid eyes on each other – an invisible spark that made him catch his breath. He was sure she’d felt it too, from the way her cheeks had coloured and she’d glanced away, at Anna’s unconscious form. He tried telling himself that he was misreading her friendliness, that looking after relatives was as much a part of her job as caring for her patients, but Becca genuinely seemed to enjoy their little chats while Anna slept and she checked her vitals. He was terrified when Anna came to and started screaming. Her eyes were glassy and empty, as though she were looking straight through him. And the noise, he’d never heard anything like it. He could have hugged Becca for the professional way she’d taken charge of the situation. He hadn’t, of course. Not only would it have been wholly inappropriate, but Anna’s return to consciousness, made him feel utterly ashamed of himself. What kind of despicable shitbag was he, perving over the nurse while his girlfriend recovered from a horrific accident? If he was being kind to himself he’d explain it away as a coping mechanism, a way of climbing out of the pit of fear he’d fallen into after her stepdad had rung him, his voice cracking as he broke the news about the accident.
But Anna hadn’t died. She’d survived the crash and the operation, and when the surgeon told them both that, other than a scar across her mid-section, there would be no lasting damage, he raised his eyes to the white ward ceiling and said thank you to a God he didn’t believe in. He knew it was his duty to look after her when they got home, he owed her that much after two years together, but he could barely drag himself out of bed in the morning after being kept up by Anna half the night, thrashing around fighting night terrors. He felt trapped and unhappy whenever he returned home. It wasn’t her fault, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop the resentment from rising, threatening to burst the banks of his patience like a river after a storm.
He hadn’t expected her to end things. He thought she’d keep plugging away at their relationship, as she always had. But no, she’d had enough too. He was so grateful she’d had the courage to speak up that he’d hugged her, so shocked that he asked her to stay one more night in case there was anything left to be said. There wasn’t, other than a strained conversation about a note she’d found on the car. As he’d walked to the tube afterwards he couldn’t help but feel relieved that Anna was no longer his responsibility. And guilty for feeling that way.
‘Alex?’ Someone touches him on the shoulder, making him jump.
He almost doesn’t recognise the woman smiling down at him, in her red mac with her long brown hair swept across her forehead and resting on her shoulders. Brown eyeliner is smudged in the corner of her eyes and her lips shine cherry red.
‘Becca?’ He stands, hastily, and presses an awkward kiss into her cheek. ‘You look lovely. I almost didn’t recognise you.’
‘Thanks a lot.’ She laughs and takes the flowers he pushes into the space between their bodies. ‘These smell lovely,’ she says as she dips her face to the bouquet of white lilies and roses. She looks up at him, her nose still buried in the blooms, and he thinks how lovely her eyes are, how smiley, the most startling cornflower blue.
His stomach tightens as she looks away from him, her blue eyes flitting over the diners who surround them, folded over magazines, coffees and mobile phones, all lost in their own little worlds.
‘What is it?’ he asks as a frown creases Becca’s smooth brow.
‘Nothing.’ She straightens and shakes her head lightly.
‘Are you sure? You looked like you were looking for someone.’
She reaches round for her hair, gathers it in her hand and swings it over her shoulder. She’s nervous, Alex thinks with a pang of surprise, as she continues to twist her hair and gaze wonderingly at him. The urge to put an arm around her shoulder and pull her close is almost more than he can bear.
‘I was just …’ She shifts her weight from one leg to the other. ‘Things are definitely over between you and Anna, aren’t they? She’s not suddenly going to jump out at us and call me a boyfriend stealer?’
He laughs, amused by her paranoia. ‘No, of course not. Like I told you by text, things were over between us long before her accident.’
‘Good.’ She slips her arm through his and taps her head against his shoulder. ‘Then I’ve got you all to myself.’
Chapter 12
Anna
Alex hasn’t replied to my last text and now I’m regretting snapping at him. He was only wondering how I’m doing but the mention of sleep was like a jab in my chest. I thought, by coming here, that I’d leave what happened behind. But grief can’t be cast off like a jacket. It becomes part of you, an invisible film welded to your skin. Some days you feel it, some days you don’t, but it’s always there.
‘Come in, come in, come in.’ My boss shepherds five guests into the centre of the lobby, two men, two women and a teenage girl, their coats and bags dappled with rain. He squeezes past them to reach the reception desk and stands next to me.
‘Welcome to the Bay View Hotel, the best hotel on Rum,’ he says, his hands spread wide in greeting. Several of the guests smile. One, a thin, midde-aged woman wearing a red cagoule and a matching bobble hat, forces a laugh. The Bay View Hotel is the only hotel on Rum.
‘Anna here will check you all in,’ David continues, ‘and I’ll carry your suitcases and bags up to your rooms.’ He turns to the man standing nearest to him – tall, average build, dark hair, wearing a pale blue fleece, dark trousers and walking boots – and reaches for one of the straps of his rucksack. The man lurches backwards as though stung, knocking into the woman in red who’s standing directly behind him.
‘Sorry, sorry.’ His eyes dart wildly behind his frameless glasses as he searches for somewhere, anywhere, he can stand in the small lobby without touching another person. ‘I’ve just … I’ve just … I’ve got important stuff in here and I … I—’
‘No problem.’ David raises a hand in apology, his lips pulled tightly over his teeth in a half grin, half grimace. ‘If you don’t want me to take your bags that’s no problem at all.’
‘You can take mine.’ The woman in the red cagoule squeezes through the crowd then reverses up against David so her rucksack is almost pressed against him. ‘It’s killing my shoulders.’
The balding older man who was standing next to her raises his left hand in protest, a gold wedding ring glinting on his finger. ‘I told you I’d carry it for you, Mel, but you did insist …’
The woman ignores him and gives David the nod to help her remove her rucksack. He glances over at the husband and nods tightly.
‘Actually, ladies and gents, I’ve got to get back to the dock to collect the other guests. If you’d like me to take your bags to your room, just deposit them here and I’ll bring them up to you when I get back. Anna will show you where you need to go. When you’re settled in do come down to the lounge where there’s a complimentary tot of whisky waiting for you. When the other guests arrive I’ll explain the itinerary for the week.’
He raises his hands in the air as he sidles out of the hotel, sidestepping like a crab. I see a flash of relief on his face when he reaches the front door.
With David gone the guests turn hesitantly in my direction. First to reach the table are the couple. The woman takes charge, nudging herself in front of the man so she can spread her hands wide on the desk.
‘Melanie and Malcolm Ward. And … Katie.’ She takes off her bobble hat then glances at the small, sallow-skinned teen who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. ‘Also Ward,’ she adds.
Unlike the girl in her oversized parka and pink Converse, Melanie and Malcolm are kitted out like serious hikers in branded waterproof jackets with walking poles, well-used walking boots and bulging rucksacks. Malcolm’s clutching a map in a plastic slip. Melanie has mousey-brown hair tied back in a ponytail and a fringe that finishes just above her remarkably thick eyebrows and red-rimmed glasses. She looks lithe and strong, as though she could leap up Rum Cuillin without drawing a breath. Her husband is older: mid to late fifties. His grey hair is receding, showing a large expanse of forehead, speckled with liver spots. His brows have thinned so much at the edges that they appear to end mid-pupil, making him look as though he’s permanently frowning.
I enter their details into the laptop, then reach round to the hooks and hand Melanie a bunch of keys. ‘There you go, you’re in rooms 7 and 8. They’re at the front of the hotel. If you walk up the stairs to the first floor, the rooms are directly opposite you as you come—’
‘At the front?’ Melanie glances at Malcolm, who sighs heavily.
‘Yes.’ I force a smile but it has no effect on the pained expression on Mrs Ward’s face.
‘So no view of the sea?’
‘No, I’m sorry. We allocate the rooms according to the list the walking tour company sends us and I’m afraid …’ I shrug. ‘W was at the end of—’
‘Seriously?’ Malcolm Ward says. ‘That’s how rooms are allocated? In this day and age? I spent my entire childhood being last for everything because my surname is at the end of the alphabet.’
I glance at Katie, who looks like she’s wishing the ground would open up and swallow her.
‘It took us the best part of two days to get here,’ Melanie says. ‘We’ve come all the way from London. Malcolm was ever so excited about having a sea view. Weren’t you, Malcolm?’
He nods. ‘Gloria at the Hikers’ Friend practically guaranteed it.’
‘But you’ll have an amazing view of the mountains.’ I glance at the closed front door, willing David to walk through. When I first arrived he told me, in no uncertain terms, that he was the face of the hotel and he would be the primary point of call for the guests. I tend to their every need, he said, then added quickly, Well, almost.
Melanie leans into the desk, her pupils small and black behind her glasses. ‘Can’t you change it?’
‘I can’t really. All the rooms have been allocated. We are a very small hotel and we can only accommodate eight—’
‘I’ll swap.’ A woman in her mid to late sixties, with white hair cut short at the sides and as curly as a sheep on the top, steps around Melanie. ‘If I’ve got a sea-view room.’
I search her face as she smiles warmly up at me.
‘That’s very kind of you.’ I return her smile. ‘What’s your name, please?’
‘Christine Cuttle.’
‘Like the fish?’ Malcolm comments.
‘Yes.’ Christine smiles tightly. She’s probably heard that a thousand times.
‘Thank you, Mrs Cuttle,’ I say. ‘I’ll just check the—’
‘Christine, please.’
‘Okay.’ I glance down at my screen. ‘You’re in luck,’ I tell Melanie. ‘Christine is down to take Room 1, which has a sea view.’
Melanie squeaks with joy and shares a look with her husband. She pauses and glances back at Katie. Her smile slips. ‘You won’t be next to us any more.’
Katie shrugs. If anything she looks slightly relieved.
‘She’s only across the corridor,’ I say. ‘It’s a small hotel, all the rooms are very close together.’
Melanie’s pinched expression slackens. ‘Do you mind, Katie? This is your break as much as ours.’
Again the young girl shrugs. ‘I don’t care about views.’
‘And you’re quite sure,’ Melanie says to Christine. ‘About swapping with us? You really don’t have to, you know.’
Oh yes you do, her face and her tightly curled hands say. You do now you’ve offered.
‘I’m more than happy,’ Christine says. ‘I could never grow tired of looking at that landscape. It’s so beautiful here.’ She returns her gaze to me. ‘You’re very lucky to live here.’
‘Yes,’ I nod. ‘I am.’
Having dispatched Christine, Melanie and Malcolm to their rooms I beckon the final guest, standing stiffly near the door, to approach reception. He avoids eye contact as he walks towards me, then draws to a halt about a foot from the desk. A loud crack of thunder breaks the silence, making both of us jump. Two seconds later lightning tears through the dark sky beyond the window, and the rain, which has been falling lightly for the last hour or so, suddenly buckets down.
I laugh. ‘Welcome to Rum!’
The guest keeps his gaze fixed on the shiny expanse of desk that separates us. He’s younger than the others, I’d guess late thirties. His dark hair is thick and curly but it’s receding either side of his widow’s peak. Though he’s of average build his face is strangely fleshy, all cheeks and chin, with a long, wide nose. His eyes blink rapidly beneath the sheen of his wireless glasses.
‘Trevor Morgan.’ He holds out a hand and I raise mine to shake it.
‘No.’ He slaps his palm against the desk. ‘The key.’
‘Oh.’ I glance at the laptop, then twist round to the key rack. ‘You’re in Room 2, at the back of the hotel. If you go—’
‘I’ll find it, thank you.’ As he takes the key from my outstretched hand his eyes meet mine. He couldn’t have looked at me for more than a second, but the uncomfortable tightening in my chest lasts long after he slips silently up the stairs.
Fifteen minutes later, the front door opens and David strides in with a man and a woman around my age, both wearing rucksacks. The man’s tall, with a long hipster beard and dark hair, shaved around the sides and long and swept back on the top. The woman’s about five foot five with blonde wavy hair, a sturdy physique and a scowl on her face. Her expression couldn’t be more different from the man’s. He positively beams at me as he crosses the lobby, his heavy boots reverberating on the polished wooden floor.
‘Joe Armstrong.’ He holds out a hand. ‘You must be Anna. David told us all about you.’
I shake his hand and return his smile. ‘Has he now?’
‘All good!’ David calls as he hangs his coat on a hook. ‘Well … mostly.’
‘Fiona Gardiner.’ The blonde woman squeezes herself between Joe and the wall.
‘Nice to meet you.’ I offer her my hand and she shakes it firmly.
‘Okay … um …’ I tap at the keyboard. The system is showing that they’ve been allocated separate rooms. ‘Mr Armstrong, it says here that you’re in Room 6, which has a view of the mountains. Ms Gardiner you’re in Room 3, with a view of the sea.’ I look back up at the guests. ‘You’re welcome to choose which of those rooms you’d like. I can cancel the second room. You won’t be charged twice, there’s obviously been some kind of mistake in the booking.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Joe Armstrong looks at me blankly. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’
Fiona gives me an equally confused look and I feel the colour rise in my cheeks. David, heading into the dining room, chuckles as he opens the door. He knows exactly what I’ve done.
‘I thought you were a couple,’ I explain. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just when you walked in together I assumed—’
‘Oh, God, no!’ Joe laughs heartily then catches the hurt look on Fiona’s face and quickly corrects himself. ‘Not that … Fiona’s lovely. I’m sure you’d make a wonderful girlfriend but …’ He runs a hand over his hair. ‘We’re not a couple. We don’t know each other. We only got chatting on the dock.’
‘It’s my fault, sorry.’ I shoot Fiona an apologetic look. ‘I’m new. I haven’t worked on reception before.’
‘Right.’ The edges of her lips rise but it’s more of a grimace than a smile. She holds out her hand. ‘If I could just have my key?’
‘Of course.’ I hand her the key to Room 3 and Joe the key to Room 6.
‘Can I take that for you?’ Joe says as Fiona adjusts her rucksack.
‘No, thank you,’ she says tightly. ‘I’m quite capable of carrying it myself.’
I turn back to the laptop as they plod their way up the stairs, Fiona leading and Joe following behind. As their footsteps reverberate on the guest corridor above my head, David pops his head out of the dining room door.
‘Sorry,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I could have corrected you but where would the fun be in that?’ His eyes flick towards the top of the staircase. ‘We’ve got a few interesting personalities this week. I think they’re going to keep us on our toes.’
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