Page 25 of A Secret Scottish Escape

I turned and caught a glimpse inside the boat shed through the creaky door which was swinging open.

“Norrie has had enough and has decided to sell up,” explained Victor, puffing a little. “End of an era,” he observed sadly. “I’ve been coming up here for my angling equipment since Julius Caesar was a lad.”

I took in the tired, ice-blue slated roof and dusty windows.

The boathouse was positioned on a long planked jetty and possessed spectacular views of the loch. There were moulded rocks and sprays of majestic woodland all around it.

“I didn’t know Norrie was selling up,” I said to Victor. “Dad hasn’t mentioned anything.”

Victor jerked his balding head at the boathouse. “It’s all been rather sudden, lass. He only just decided.”

He dropped his voice an octave, before glancing around. I don’t know who he expected to be listening in. We were in a copse and there wasn’t another soul in sight. “Norrie wants to take things easier now, but neither of those two lads of his are interested in carrying on the business.” Victor looked pained. “We’ll have to go into the city now to get all our angling bits and bobs.”

Dark thoughts clouded in his small, button-like dark eyes. “Don’t fancy having to run the gauntlet of bloody muggers and graffiti artists, just to buy my 3D Twitch Minnow.”

Faith and I fought to hide smiles.

“I tell you, ladies,” announced Victor, hooking his thumbs into his quilted waistcoat, “we need to inject some life into this place, otherwise Loch Harris will end up like a morgue.”

“Not when we’ve got Loch Harris’ answer to Tom Jones,” said Faith with a straight face.

Victor was confused. “Who?”

“I think she means Big Bob and his Bobcats.”

“Oh right.”

While Faith and Victor proceeded to discuss Big Bob’s temporary and unsuccessful diversion into performing Ed Sheeran covers at the local pubs, there came a sudden burst of bagpipes from somewhere near the buttery shoreline.

“That’s young Hector Fleming,” said Victor, anticipating my question. “He often comes down here to the loch to play. Poor bugger can’t get a look in at either of the pubs for a gig.”

He leaned on top of the For Sale sign. “I tell you, if things carry on like this, you won’t recognise Loch Harris soon. There will be bloody tumbleweeds blowing along the High Street.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Victor,” I answered, trying to smile.

Victor raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Mrs McNab is even talking about taking early retirement and closing up.”

Mrs McNab’s crockery shop was entrenched in Loch Harris history. Her great-grandparents had owned that business, and her grandparents and then her parents had continued the tradition.

My mouth dropped open and I turned to Faith, alarmed. “She can’t do that. The Crockery Rockery is an institution around here.”

Victor gave a shrug of his shoulders. “She said she used to shift a lot of Loch Harris and Galen Waterfall inspired tea sets to tourists, as well as those Scottish-themed mugs in her window, but since visitor numbers have dropped…”

A despondency settled in my stomach. Good grief. I knew Loch Harris could be busier, but I didn’t realise things were that serious.

I had been born and raised here. If only there was something that could be done to bring a bit of life back into the area. Surely someone with a bit of cash behind them would be able to see the potential of Loch Harris…

I drew up, weird thoughts catching me unawares and tripping through my head.

Visions of a deserted Loch Harris, with its gift shop trinkets sitting unsold in the windows, shuttered tea rooms, and dinky bed and breakfast accommodation flashing desperate Vacancy signs, cartwheeled in front of me.

I examined the boathouse, splashed with sleepy sunlight. Then I found myself taking a few tentative steps up to the creaking door. What the hell was I thinking? What was I doing?

I was going to move away. I was going to sell the cottage and leave behind the ghosts that Loch Harris now carried for me. I was going to start over somewhere else. “Victor, would you object if I took a quick look inside?”

“Not at all, lass. Be my guest. I’ve got to ring Diane and tell her I’ll be home a bit later, before I lock the place up.”

Faith wandered over and squinted at me. “Why are you looking like that? What is it?”