Page 26 of A Secret Scottish Escape

I didn’t answer her. I went inside, with only the echo of my tapping footsteps on the wooden floor for company.

The interior of the boathouse was deceptively long, running out a fair way towards the water because of the jetty. It was the colour of a washed-out pebble.

Spirals of dappled evening light trailed through the two windows in the wall, and through a larger window down at the far end. It was like a dusty, empty shell.

There was a large storage cupboard at the back, with a smaller cupboard next to it. To the right of that was a generous-sized bathroom.

There were hooks running down the walls from when Norrie had displayed his array of fishing rods and equipment and there was a semi-circular Formica counter halfway in.

Outside, the landscape rolled out before me, weaving and dipping in a carpet of silvery water and craggy hillsides.

From over my shoulder, I could still hear the drifting throb of Hector’s bagpipes. Victor’s comments about Hector struggling to secure a gig echoed in my mind.

I drank in the soaring views of water and sky again. What the hell was I thinking? Where were these random thoughts coming from? I couldn’t even blame a sojourn to the pub, as we hadn’t made it that far yet.

Faith materialised at my shoulder and I jumped. “Crikey. You almost made my hair turn white then.”

“What are you up to?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “I can see there are cogs turning.” She stared at her surroundings. “Don’t tell me you’re a secret angling obsessive?”

I forced a smile, flustered. “Oh, you know me. Just being nosey.”

Faith made for the door, seemingly satisfied by my explanation. “Come on then. Are you ready for that drink?”

I didn’t reply. I was too spellbound by the loch spread out at the end of the long wooden jetty and the way the old boathouse was surveying it. “I never realised this place had such a fantastic view.”

“Yes, it’s not bad, is it?”

She rested one hand on my shoulder. “I suppose you don’t appreciate things like that as much, when you see it all the time.”

I nodded silently.

We said good night to Victor and then Faith linked arms with me again and started to lead me away from the boathouse.

“Are you OK?” she asked, as we made our way back along the shale path.

But I didn’t say anything.

I was too occupied by the stream of crazy ideas running through my head.

Chapter Twelve

I lay in the spare room bed that night, like an agitated starfish.

I still couldn’t face returning to my bed – our bed.

It all felt so false and contrived now. I kept remembering myself lying there beside Mac, laughing about our wedding plans and seeing his blue eyes flash in the dark. Then there was his sweep of greying hair indented against the pillow.

He was confident and solid…

I stopped myself. The rose-sprigged curtains were too thin. I could already see wisps of the sunrise feeling their way onto the duvet cover.

Over in the far-right corner of the room sat Mac’s writing desk and swivel chair, as though they were waiting for him to return.

I was used to seeing it littered with his pens and notebooks. A coffee percolator would be stationed by his laptop and there would be a flurry of Post-its with arrows drawn on them, indicating plot twists and turns for his latest novel.

Now it was empty, except for the drizzle of early light striking its surface.

I averted my eyes. I would speak to Lois about what she wanted to do with it. I preferred not to keep it. It was still too much of a painful reminder, and I was sure Lois would be more than happy to inherit it.