‘Congratulations!’ said Flora, genuinely delighted. She had felt bad about Charlie; the fact that he was happy enough in his life to pop the question to Jan was wonderful news. ‘That’s just great. I’m so pleased!’
Jan looked slightly discombobulated at that, as if she’d been secretly hoping Flora would throw herself to the ground and start rending her garments in misery.
‘So, when are you doing it?’ asked Iona.
‘Well, it will be at the Rock, of course.’
‘If it’s ready,’ said Flora. She didn’t know what Colton was prevaricating about.
Jan raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, I’m sure some people know how to get things done around here … Do you have any raisin splits this morning?’
And Flora had to admit, annoyed, that they didn’t.
‘Well, it’s wonderful news,’ she said again. Then she didn’t want to push too hard in case it looked like she was angling for an invite. Which she very much wasn’t. More than a few people had seen her and Charlie about town last summer and remembered Jan’s meltdown after she’d found them kissing. The last thing she needed was gossip sprouting again, not when things were finally calm and quiet.
So she went back behind the counter. ‘Can I get you anything else?’
‘Four slices of quiche. So. I know normally your stuff is too full of sugar and you waste a lot …?’
Supreme happiness hadn’t dented Jan’s love of stating the worst possible take on practically everything, Flora noticed.
‘Sorry, what was that?’
‘Well,’ said Jan, a smile playing on her lips. ‘We thought you might like to cater the wedding.’
Flora blinked. She was desperate to get into catering; there was no news on the Rock, and she really did want to turn over some more money. She’d be able to pay the girls a little more. She’d rather not have to watch everyone watch her watch Charlie get married. But on the other hand, she didn’t really care, did she? And they could really, really do with the money. And she’d be backstage all the time, looking after things in the kitchen. Actually, this might be the best possible solution.
‘Of course!’ she said. ‘We’d be delighted!’
Jan frowned again. It struck Flora that Jan had had some kind of scenario playing out in her head in which she, Flora, would be rendered somehow humiliated by this. She didn’t quite understand where the benefit was, but she certainly wouldn’t give Jan the satisfaction of thinking that deep down, Flora was anything other than pleased.
Jan leaned closer. ‘It would make a lovely wedding present,’ she said.
Flora blinked.
A silence fell, broken only by the bell above the door ringing, as their morning regulars started to file in, and Isla and Iona scuttled along the counter to serve them, judging a safe distance between being away from the difficult conversation and still being able to eavesdrop.
‘Ah,’ said Flora, finally. ‘No, I think … I think we’d have to charge. I’m sorry.’
Jan nodded as if in sympathy.
‘I realise this must be hard for you,’ she said finally. Flora could do nothing but look ahead, cheerfully. ‘You’d think with that rich boyfriend of yours you’d want to do something good for the island …’
Flora bit back from mentioning that that wasn’t how it worked, not at all, and she wouldn’t have dreamed of taking a penny from Joel, ever; in fact, the idea of ever asking him for anything filled her with terror. They’d never even discussed money. She was conscious as she thought this that they hadn’t discussed anything much, but dismissed it.
Joel, who didn’t understand this kind of thing particularly well, found it something of a welcome relief from the women he had dated in the past who pouted and always wanted to go shopping. But he also assumed that Flora didn’t actually need or want anything, which wasn’t true either.
But more than that, it was the idea of Jan and her wealthy, well-fed family tucking into one of the Seaside Kitchen’s famous spreads – lobster, and oysters on ice, and the best bread and butter, and local beef, and the best cheese to be found around, glistening pies, and freshly skimmed cream. That they would take that, guffawing among themselves that they hadn’t paid anything for it …
Flora bagged up the pieces of quiche and rang it up on the till without another word. Jan counted out the money very, very slowly, with a patronising smile on her face, then left, Flora gazing hotly behind her.
Iona watched her go. ‘That’s a shame,’ she said.
‘That woman is a monster,’ growled Flora, good mood almost entirely dissipated.
‘No, I mean, I really wanted to go to the wedding,’ said Iona. ‘I bet there’ll be loads of good-looking boys there.’
‘Is that all you think about – meeting boys?’ said Flora.
‘No,’ said Iona. ‘All I think about is meeting boys who aren’t fishermen.’
‘Oi!’ said a party of fishermen who were warming their freezing hands around the large earthenware mugs of tea and tearing into fresh warm soda bread.
‘No offence,’ said Iona. ‘But you are always smelling of fish and having not enough thumbs because you got them tangled in a net, isn’t it?’
The fishermen looked at each other and nodded and agreed that that was fair enough, fair enough indeed, it was a dangerous business mind you.
‘Right!’ said Flora, throwing up her hands. ‘I have a plane to catch.’
Chapter Two
Flora drove the battered old Land Rover past her friend Lorna MacLeod’s farmhouse on her way to the airport, but missed her by moments. That morning it was very windy, with a breeze off the sea and white tips of the waves beating against the sand, but it was definitely brightening up – the tide was in, and the beach known as the Endless looked like a long, golden path. You still needed a stout jacket, but in the air you could sense it somehow: something stirring in the earth.
On the way down from the farm, Milou bounding joyfully at her side, Lorna, the local primary school head teacher, and in fact teacher (there were two: Lorna took what was commonly known as the ‘wee’ class which covered the four-to eight-year-olds, and the saintly Mrs Cook covered the others) saw crocuses and snowdrops and daffodils beginning to push through their snaked heads. There was a scent in the air; over the normal sea-spray, which she never even noticed, there was an earthier scent – of growth, of rebirth.
Lorna smiled to herself luxuriantly, thinking of the months ahead, of the longer and longer days until the middle of the summer when it barely got dark at all; when Mure would be full and joyfully thronged with happy holidaymakers; when the three pubs would be full every night and the music would play until the last whisky drinker was happy or asleep or both. She put her hands deep into the pockets of her Puffa jacket, and set off, her eyes on the horizon, where the last rays of pink and gold were just vanishing and some cold but golden rays of early spring sunshine were pushing over.
She was also feeling cheerful as she now awoke when it was light, for starters. The winter had been mild, comparatively speaking – the storms had of course swept down from the Arctic, cutting off the ferries and causing everyone to huddle inside, but she didn’t mind that so much. She liked seeing the children charge around in their hats and mittens, pink-cheeked and laughing in the school yard; she enjoyed cosy hot chocolates in town and curling up beside the fire in her father’s old house. She’d inherited the house – to share, technically, with her brother. He worked the rigs and had a cool modern apartment in Aberdeen though, and he didn’t care really, so she’d sold her little high-street flat to a young couple and set about trying to build a home in the old farmhouse in a fit of spring exuberance. In fact, it was a shame she’d missed Flora, as Flora could have done with a good dose of Lorna positivity, for what came after.