Page 2 of A Scottish Country Escape

Rumours swirled for years about who might be in possession of Miller’s most lauded work, but it remained officially lost. That was another tantalising tale which lured culture vultures to the town.

Miller was said to have found great inspiration up at the reserve, and I wasn’t at all surprised.

I might enquire about having a commemorative bench or a tree planted up there in my late parents’ honour. They would both have loved that.

I hauled my attention back to the shop. One thing at a time. I offered Gran a reflective look. ‘Remember how Dad was always popping in and out in his builder’s overalls and Mum had often just swept the floor.’

We shared a fleeting, reflective smile at the memory.

‘If I can turn this place into a sweet little stationer’s, we’d still be carrying on the business, but just in a different guise.’ I stared around myself, conjuring up images of the shop as it could be. ‘I’ve contacted suppliers already to obtain rough quotes for stock and I’ve also been thinking about colour schemes for redecorating the place.’

I hadn’t been able to face the prospect of continuing to work for Dad’s old building firm when his best friend Stuart offered to buy it from us. I had been my father’s PA, girl Friday, and confidante all rolled into one since quitting the marketing job in Perth I’d had up until about five years ago.

I had worked for a successful family of magazine publishers and was supposed to have been their marketing and advertising manager, but had instead found myself carting around posters, tables, and flip charts whilst the publisher’s daughter had been shoehorned into my team and had taken great delight in undermining me.

Needless to say, after four years of study that had resulted in me pouring endless cups of coffee for colleagues and placating frustrated members of the public over the phone as to why their latest copy of Golf Now magazine hadn’t been delivered, I reached boiling point. I quit after sticking it out for a painful eighteen months.

That was when Dad had swooped in to the rescue and asked if I could put my organisational, creative, and social media skills to good use and work for him at Brick by Brick. Seeing the impact I had on his business and the harmonious way we worked together had made the past five years one of the happiest and most rewarding experiences I could have had.

I set up social media accounts for the company, regularly updating them with news on the latest designs, offers, and competitions; made sure Brick by Brick advertised and was featured in the relevant trade magazines, and came up with ideas for radio & TV campaigns, as well as managing Dad’s work diary.

I had loved it.

But things had changed beyond all recognition for us now. Cassidy’s newsagents was no more and I realised I had to do something. I’d always had an obsession with pretty stationery and there were no other businesses like that in the surrounding area.

Grandma sensed my attention was elsewhere. ‘You don’t want to live your life in your mum and dad’s shadow, Elle. They wouldn’t want that for you.’

I dashed a weary hand down my face. ‘You have to admit that my parents are a tough act to follow around here though, Gran.’

Mum and Dad had been Fir Haven’s answer to a real-life Disney couple. Not only had they made a strong marriage together, they had been best friends too. Coupled with their friendly little business, my parents had been respected stalwarts of the local community.

Grandma’s lips twitched. ‘It’s not easy, is it, when folks expect you to live up to your parents?’

‘And that’s why I won’t even try,’ I explained. ‘I want them to always be proud of me, but I know I have to do this in my own way.’

She inclined her head. ‘You have to be you, Elle, and if that means you turning the shop into something new, then so be it.’

My heart zinged with a mixture of hope and apprehension. ‘Seriously, Gran? You’re OK with it?’

She squeezed the tops of my arms. ‘I don’t need this place as it is to remind me of my daughter and son-in-law. They are up here and in here.’ She raised one finger and tapped at her temple and then at her chest. ‘And, most importantly of all, I have you.’

I buried my face in her shoulder, breathing in her lavender-scented perfume and blinking back more tears which were clustering on my lashes.

‘Come on,’ she managed after a few moments. ‘Let’s lock up the shop and go home. You’re going to be busy.’

Grandma buried herself deeper into her billowing black velvet cape which she wore despite the pleasant temperature. We made our way out and I gave the empty shop another forlorn look, before rattling the key in the lock of the heavy, knotty wood door behind us.

We negotiated the sun-washed cobbles in silence. Children were being ferried past us in buggies and mums had sunglasses propped on top of their highlighted heads. As we walked, the shadows of the trees licked across the dry-stone wall that ran along the other side of the road. How could all these people be brandishing smiles and telling jokes to each other when I was still mourning the loss of my parents?

I’d parked my car, a lilac Mini, up a lane which led to the library. Grandma settled herself in the passenger seat and I slid on my smoky sunglasses. It was a relief to hide my tear-stained face. I caught a glance of my reflection in my rear-view mirror. I looked haunted. My fair, freckled skin was washed-out and my dark-brown eyes and slightly bemused-looking mouth were all blurred at the edges. Still, it was a relief, in a sense, to have come to a final decision about the newsagent’s, and the fact that my grandmother was being so supportive was a weight off my mind.

I’d only just fired up the ignition when Marjorie McDade, one of Grandma’s oldest friends, appeared at the side of the Mini. I switched off the car engine and wound down the driver’s side window. A cooling breeze, carrying the rich aroma of cherry blossom from the nearby park, danced in.

That took me straight back to Mum and Dad’s funeral, when the heavy cherry blossom trees had bowed their heads in the church grounds. It was as if we had all been surrounded by pink candy floss as we stood there by the graveside.

Marjorie and her husband, Graeme, were two long-standing friends of my grandmother, though Graeme was nowhere to be seen today.

Marjorie delivered a kind smile as she approached the car window.