“And did staying away make you happy?”
Flora shook her head.
“I’m not sure I even know what happy is. It made me busy. Isn’t that enough?”
“I don’t think so.”
He reached his hand over to her.
“Sorry I yelled. It’s been brewing a long time.”
“I know,” said Flora. “I realized that.”
“And I have . . . It has been good since you got back, Flora. I mean it. You’ve just . . . I shouldn’t have gotten stuck in that stupid rut. I was so bitter.”
“Thanks,” said Flora.
“Still, don’t tell Dad just yet,” said Fintan.
“I won’t. He’s barely talking to me anyway.”
He smiled.
“He’s pretty awesome, though, don’t you think?”
“Colton?”
Fintan nodded.
“Yes. Did he keep the hat on?”
“None of your business.”
“His great big gigantic feathery headdress.”
“Shut up, you!”
Flora smiled.
“So, you’re not seeing your boss tonight?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You do like him, don’t you? I’m not imagining things?”
Flora shook her head.
“You can forget about that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He met Inge-Britt.”
“Oh, the Spicelander.”
Flora nodded.
“So. It’s okay. I’m fine.”
She debated whether to tell him about Charlie and decided against it. Presumably it would be round the island by the morning anyway.
“He didn’t seem like your type.”
“I wish everyone would stop saying that.”
“I mean . . . well, I don’t know. I think I just saw you with somebody nice. Like Charlie MacArthur.”
“Joel is nice!” flared Flora.
“Is he?”
“Oh God, I don’t know. You know what it’s like when you’re just so mad for someone and they’re all you think about and you can’t get them out of your head and you just want to—”
She stopped herself.
“Oh yes,” said Fintan. “God, the crush I had on Officer Clark.”
“Really?” said Flora, remembering a certain Viking festival a long time ago.
“Oh yes. Years.”
“But I . . . I got off with him!”
“Yeah, I remember. Thanks for that.”
“Christ, no wonder we used to fight so much.”
Fintan smiled.
“Don’t worry. I got my revenge at the Christmas party.”
“Who with?”
Fintan named Flora’s boyfriend from when she was fifteen; he had worked down at the garage and she had thought he was terribly risqué because he rode a motorcycle. Her mother had been incensed.
“NO WAY!”
“Och aye the noo, up here on Mure there’s nothing much going on, you know.”
Flora narrowed her eyes at him.
“I’m going to bed before you tell me anything else utterly horrifying.”
“Oh yes, nothing to see here, just us and the pixies and the selkies and the—”
“Shut up!”
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I’m off to bed. It’s the bloody yearlings’ transportation tomorrow. Off to the mainland with a bunch of coos. What could be more fun?”
They embraced, warmly, and Flora switched off her phone and felt better. Just about.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Joel stood staring at the white waves outside his window. Behind him on the bed, Inge-Britt lay fast asleep, magnificently long and tousled, looking to Joel like so many other girls. She’d already told him she had to get up first thing to make breakfast.
He turned back to the streaked window. It was broad daylight again, even though it was only 5 A.M. How could anyone stand it? When did anyone here ever sleep? How could they? Did you just get used to living your entire life in the light? He supposed you did. It wasn’t dawn; it was morning.
But a rough, squally, frenzied morning it looked to be. The waves were pounding, and although there weren’t any trees to gauge the wind speed, he could see the heather bowed low in the gusts. A heron took off down by the edge of the surf, and he saw it struggle for a moment, stretching out its wings and heading determinedly into what looked like a proper storm.
He looked up. There was just so much sky here. The clouds were moving across it so fast it looked like they’d been sped up, as if he was watching a film in fast motion. He found himself slightly hypnotized by them.
Even though he was tired, so tired—he never slept these days, even by his standards—there was the dim and distant fact that work would be piling up on his desk; things he shouldn’t be missing or losing out on; that the world was rushing on without him; that he should probably sit down and get a few hours in right now if he wasn’t going back to bed.
But he didn’t. Instead he grabbed a glass of water, pulled on a large navy sweater from the pile Margo had packed for him, and sat in a chair next to the window, his feet up on the ledge.
He found himself just watching the clouds, losing himself slightly drowsily in the whirling patterns and shapes they made fleeing across the sky, and he realized that in some strange way, despite everything, he hadn’t felt so calm for months, for a long time. He thought about Flora. He had dodged a bullet; he had seen her face. That should make him feel better. But somehow it didn’t.
On the other hand, he would see her that day. And that made him feel oddly comforted.
He watched the clouds tumble here and there, and as he did so, he felt his heartbeat gradually slow, and before he knew it, it was eight o’clock, and although he hadn’t realized he’d dozed off, there was no sign of Inge-Britt, and the storm was still blowing, and it was time to go to work.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Can I have it to go?” Flora was saying to Iona and Isla, who were both nursing the truly gigantic hangovers only achievable by students who haven’t met a free bar before. Also Isla had pulled in young Ruaridh, which was not pleasing Iona. Unless it was vice versa.
“You shouldn’t have a paper cup. You should bring a thermos,” said a bossy voice.
Flora turned around. There was Jan, wearing a bright pink fleece that would have looked unflattering on Mila Kunis. Her heart skipped.
“Jan!” she said. “Look. You have to believe me. I had absolutely no idea . . . Charlie told me you’d split up. I would never have—”
Jan passed over her thermos without acknowledging her.
“Hello, Isla.”
“Morning,” said Isla. “Did you have a good time at the party?”
“No. Apart from everything else, such terrible showing off,” said Jan. “I can’t stand that kind of over-the-top display, can you?”
Flora thought about how much food she’d seen Jan stuff down her gullet last night at Colton’s expense, and clenched her fists.
“Och, I thought it was nice,” said Isla. “You looked bonnie, Flora.”
“Thanks,” said Flora. “I thought I looked a bit daft.”
“Yes, there’s a time for squeezing yourself into a dancing kilt, isn’t there?” said Jan, as if she weren’t, Flora thought crossly, wearing a bright pink fleece. “And a time when you’re just a bit past it.”
She swept out, leaving Flora staring behind her.
“Can I bar her?” she wondered aloud.
“You’re going to start barring locals?” said Iona in surprise.
“You’re right,” said Flora. “It’s not wise, is it?”
“What did you do?” said Iona.