Page 3 of A Scottish Country Escape

‘So, what have you two ladies been up to? Are you both heading home?’

Grandma craned her neck forward in her seat to get a better view of Marjorie. ‘Yes. We were just in, taking a look around the shop.’ She reached over and clasped my hand.

Marjorie shifted the weight of the straw bag she had slung over her shoulder.

She explained that Graeme was at home watching the cricket while she popped out to pick up some milk and a few other essentials.

‘Well, we’d better get home,’ said my grandmother, her voice weary.

Marjorie insisted we let her know if we needed anything – which she always did and for which we were both so grateful – and were about to rumble our way out of the car park, when she rapped on my window. ‘Oh, I meant to say that if you’ve got time, take the longer route back to Pebble Brook.’

She offered Grandma a quizzical rise of her overplucked eyebrows. ‘I think you might be interested, Councillor Blackmore.’

Gran rolled her lined, light-grey eyes. ‘Ex-councillor, if you don’t mind.’

Marjorie gave a small smile. ‘You’ll never stop being a councillor, my lady, and don’t pretend otherwise.’

I wound up my window and prepared to tug my sunglasses back down over my eyes. Grandma observed her friend bustling down past the glinting shop windows, all coiffed burgundy hair and expensive loafers. ‘I wonder what she meant when she said to take the longer route back?’

‘What would you like to do, Gran? Do you want to take the scenic route home? See what Marjorie was talking about?’

Grandma turned around in her seat. ‘Yes. Let’s do that. We haven’t got anything to rush back for, have we?’

The thought of rattling around at home, consumed by thoughts of Mum and Dad, was too much to deal with right now.

‘No,’ I admitted, flicking up the indicator to turn right and wishing I could change everything back to how it used to be. ‘No, we haven’t.’

Chapter Two

The snaking road, sandwiched between frothing trees either side of it, led us out of the centre of Fir Haven.

As I arrived at the junction, my attention flew to the red and white ‘For Sale’ sign strapped to the balcony of my former second-floor flat situated on the corner. It was one of twelve that occupied a beige Edwardian building.

I’d lived there with my long-term solicitor boyfriend, Lloyd, up until a year ago, when he’d failed to be any kind of support to me when I lost my parents. Instead of offering words of comfort, he had put his law firm ambitions first and would work consistently late in the office, insisting that if he wanted to succeed, he had to be seen to be a ‘go-getter’. I was left to cope with all the shock, grief, and anger on my own. Lloyd would vanish out of the flat at half past six every morning with his briefcase and gym bag and not get back until late.

I realised then that he wasn’t the man I’d thought he was, and after three years of being together I finished the relationship – such as it was. The last I heard; he had taken himself down to London to join a law firm there.

One of his parting shots had been, ‘You don’t seem to realise there is more to life, Elle, than Fir Haven. If I never see one more sodding tourist leaflet about red deer or hear the call of a reed bunting and tufted duck, it’ll be too soon!’

Needless to say, Lloyd hadn’t been able to process that I loved living here, ‘in the back of beyond’.

I was born and bred in Fir Haven, whereas he had moved into the area from Edinburgh because he had managed to secure a job as a solicitor with a local firm. We met when my dad and I dropped by his office to ask for some legal advice regarding a client’s proposed house extension. Lloyd Mullen had been all teeth, smooth charm, and floppy fair hair and after providing us with the information we needed, kept dropping by Brick by Brick’s offices on a series of pretexts.

In the end, he asked me out, I said yes, and our relationship took off. I’d really thought we could make a go of it.

Bereft at our relationship dissolving so fast after three years, I had finally got myself together. I arranged the clear-out of our flat and put it on the market only a few weeks ago, and moved back in to Pebble Brook, my family home, with Grandma.

My grandmother had a gorgeous little annexe, the building of which Dad had overseen, which offered her company but also privacy when she wanted it.

Thoughts of what had happened to my parents clutched harder at me. I gripped the steering wheel.

My knuckles became blocks of white marble as I drove on. The visit from the Phil, our local policeman, in the middle of the night, to tell Gran and me what had happened; the wails and screams coming out of both of us, like two wounded animals…

My imagination conjured up images of their buckled car; them laughing and joking together right before the smash—

My grandma’s husky voice from beside me in the passenger seat, made me flinch. ‘Do you miss him?’

I blinked back at her through my sunglasses. ‘Who?’