Page 19 of On The Edge

11

Early the following morning, Cat packed a picnic and drove to the potential rental property Monique had kindly brought to her attention. She squinted at the inky scribbles that she had been given earlier. Not entirely confident in her interpretation of the instructions, Cat eventually found herself approaching the shadow of a large mansion at the end of an empty road looking out to sea. Here, she pulled into a passing place to consult the cryptic directions. She was to turn up the single lane skirting around the side of the big mansion and go to the end of the road. Cat continued slowly on her way, praying that she wouldn’t encounter another car on the narrow lane. On her left, fields of corn swayed gracefully in the wind and to her right were the waves; roaring and crashing gloriously against the rocks. She drove on a little further, noticing a small weatherbeaten church on the hill, blending in almost entirely with the landscape, with its stone roof showing tiles with gaps like a toddler's teeth, and more than a few of the gravestones beneath slanted in different directions. Cat made a mental note to go up there and explore. She found old graveyards fascinating, giving her a glimpse of a life long-past. That was something she would always do when visiting a new city or town, stroll around any cemeteries and read the inscriptions; for some reason it made her happy. Dave had found this pass-time extremely odd: “It’s very creepy,” he’d inform her on numerous occasions, whenever the subject was broached.

Cat cleared the memory from her head and continued on again, driving down the single-track road until finally she came to a cottage at the very end. It stood nestled between a few sparse bushes and trees, its roof and chimney exposed starkly against the clouds. Cat parked up in a tiny lay-by; she presumed people would usually drive up to this point, realise there was no further road, and out of apparent necessity, reverse to go all the way back to the mansion house crossing. She got out of the car, looked around at the empty scene, but not a soul was in sight. She had never known this particular type of luxury before; it still took time to get used to after living in a city all her life. She went up to the little gate, which was red with rust and already open, then slid through. There was a small overgrown garden, fenced off with bushes and weeds dominating the earth. A small shed stood behind the house, sheltering from the wild Atlantic sea out onto which the front of the cottage faced. Rattling in her pockets for the keys that Dominique had given her, she unlocked the back door and stepped into a kitchen. It was cold, that was the first thing that hit Cat, and there were boxes everywhere; it seemed that all Marge’s belongings were packed up with nowhere to go. She walked around the icebox to where a wooden table and worktops lay, beside an old Rayburn. The space looked very old, with its traditional oven and stone flags underfoot. She walked into a larger room which had wooden floors exposed and a wood burning stove in the corner. The wall before her had its curtains drawn; she pulled them back and let in some much-needed light. She peered out of the large window and saw bushes blocking the view of the sea ahead; this woman really enjoyed her privacy, thought Cat. She went through another door that led her to the side of the house, this had a few more windows than the other rooms, giving it a brighter sunnier quality. She assumed this was where Marge had read her newspapers in the mornings. Cat sighed for a moment, and then retraced her steps. She spent a long time going into rooms over and over again, each time seeing the dormant possibilities within. The two bedrooms upstairs were of a good size, and anyway, she did not need a lot of space; it was only going to be herself here. From the upper floor, Cat could see the view from out over the shrubs. The ocean’s grey swells heaved under the moody dark sky, with a distant rumble, and odd flashes of light reflecting off the water. It was breathtaking. Grabbing the piece of paper that had Monique's directions on, Cat scribbled down the equipment and tools she’d need to mend the house. Excitedly, she locked up, and hopped into her car, determined already on an immediate shopping splurge: she would live here, and there was no ifs or buts.

Once parked in her now usual spot in Kirkwall town, Cat walked briskly down the cobbled street in search of supplies. She was peering into a hardware shop window, deciding whether or not to enter, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Springing around, she gasped softly to find Patrick looking down at her. She had forgotten how tall he was, but not the piercing green eyes, which shone at her, making her skin tingle.

“I, er, didn’t mean to scare you!” He had his hands in his jean pockets, looking a little awkward.

“Oh you didn’t, it’s OK!” she stuttered, “I was in my own world, as usual. How have you been, Patrick?”

“Good, just doing the usual. Bit boring at the moment, been on the ferry back to back shifts, though today I have the day off. Just adjusting my feet to steady ground, you know!”

“That must be so strange. Honestly I think I’d be sick everyday if I worked on a boat!” Cat confided.

“Na you get used to it, trust me. You just need more practice.” With this he gave such a small wink that Cat wasn’t quite sure if he had in fact winked at her. “So doing some shopping?” He nodded to the goods behind her.

“Well spotted sir! But I have a special reason for this quest – I'm going to be the tenant of a cottage by the sea and need to do a few things to make it more…. habitable!”

“That’s great! It's always nice to get new people here. Especially ones I can lure to my gigs!”

“Oh I see!” Cat laughed resisting the urge to look at his lips. “Here was me thinking you like having more people on the island, but really you just want a bigger audience to watch you play!”

Patrick chuckled and looked up the cobbled lane they were both standing.

“Fancy a coffee in there?” He pointed up to the café where Cat had been once before.

“Sounds lovely” she smiled but then looked down at her list, suddenly panicking inside, “but I do need to buy some tools….”

“OK.” He scratched his stubbled chin. “Well this is just a thought; I don’t want to take up your time if you have a lot to do. But if we nip in for a coffee - I desperately need, and maybe a bite to eat - then take a look at your list and see if I have anything I can loan to you rather than you having to buy something new.”

“Oh yes please!” Cat erupted a little too suddenly with delight, coughed hastily, and stepped sideways away from the hardware shop window.

They stepped into the cozy café, which smelled of cinnamon, as the weather changed to a stormy downpour of rain.

The waitress came over while they both slid into a booth next to the window.

“And this is summertime, can you believe it?” The waitress tutted at the sky outside.

“You’ll just need to take a wee trip to some Spanish island, Bernie,” Patrick suggested. “You know the true beauty of Orkney lies in the people and the land. Not the weather!”

“Oh yes of course,” Bernie scoffed. “But still a little bit of sunshine goes a long way!” She looked Cat up and down, and winked at Patrick. Patrick shook his head, sighing, and introduced Cat to the waitress. “Are you the new barmaid then?” Bernie looked Cat over again appreciatively. “My brother Angus said there was a pretty barmaid, apparently all the boys have been over to the pub to get a look at you.”

Cat sat with her mouth open, unsure of what to say.

“If there’s an attractive girl around, the boys move fast. I’m surprised you’ve not been asked out by any of them yet!” Bernie grinned and waved to happy customers leaving the café. “But I see Patrick has beaten them all to it, eh?” Bernie winked at Patrick and Cat was sure he blushed ever so slightly.

“OK, away with you, you stirrer!” Patrick shooed the waitress.

“But you haven’t ordered anything yet!” Bernie said with hand on hip.

After their order was taken, she trotted off grinning back at Patrick.

“That one is full of mischief, never you mind her”. He ran his fingers through his hair and they both sat in an awkward silence. Outside the rain lashed down. They watched people running quickly down the street, and others hanging about in shop doorways waiting for the onslaught to stop. Their coffees arrived and Cat sipped hers happily while an Ella Fitzgerald record played faintly in the background.

“I love this song...” She relaxed her shoulders and hummed along with the melody.

Patrick watched her with a smile. “It is a classic, her voice is like silk.”