Page 49 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

Chapter Nineteen

I called Reece while I slid two slices of pumpkin-seeded bread into the toaster.

‘Would you be able to pop round in an hour or so?’ I asked him.

‘Is everything alright, Rosie?’ Reece sounded concerned.

‘Yes, I think so. It’s just there’s something I’d like you to see.’

I wandered through to the sitting room and watched the chilly light slide across the cliff face outside. The water looked like a still, ice-blue curtain.

‘Och, sure. I just need to pop to the supermarket to get a couple of things and then I’ll drop by.’

I showered, dressed and took Bronte out for a walk in the woodland opposite. She bounded over the cross work of twigs and branches scattered over the woodland floor.

We’d just arrived back inside the cottage; I’d closed the front door and was swiping off my hat, when there was a knock.

Bronte let out an excited bark.

I opened it to see Reece standing there on the step. He was sporting a snazzy tartan peaked cap like Peaky Blinders and was huddled in his winter coat and a matching scarf that was knotted at his throat.

His hands were behind his back. Like a magician, he produced a beautiful, festive looking bouquet of roses and carnations, interspersed with berries and holly and ivy. He proffered them to me. ‘For you.’

I gawped at him, touched by his thoughtfulness. ‘They’re beautiful. Thank you.’ A lump clotted in my throat as I accepted them. The fragrant, perfumed scent wafted up out of the red and white tissue paper they were wrapped in. A huge, silky green bow was holding them together. ‘What have I done to deserve these?’

I beckoned Reece in from the cold.

Bronte jumped up at him as he entered and she was rewarded with pats on her head.

Reece pulled a dismissive face at my question. ‘You were so kind and welcoming to me yesterday, even after I told you about what happened between your grandmother and me. I appreciate it.’ He gave me a wink. ‘And it’s also to apologise for almost frightening you half to death.’

I gazed down at the delicate heads of the flowers. As if out of nowhere, everything hit me with brute force: Joe, Mum and Dad, Christmas looming, my grandparents no longer here, Barclay moving on, my writing career finished and my loss of direction. I tried to bury a tearful gulp, but it was no good. Out it came, followed by a tear sliding down my face.

Horror shone out of Reece. ‘Oh no. Och lass, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m such an old eejit!’

I shook my head and swallowed. ‘It’s not you. I’m just letting things get on top of me, that’s all. It’s been rather a tough time of late.’

I dashed my face with the back of my right hand while still clutching the flowers. I hurried into the kitchen. I placed them in the sink and rooted around for one of Grandma’s vases, which she’d stored in a cupboard under the plates.

I found a pretty, cranberry coloured vase with white dots painted around the rim, and filled it with cold water. I fetched a pair of scissors from the cutlery drawer, snipped off the ends of the stems and cut open the sachet of flower food. I watched it swirl and drift to the bottom of the vase – a bit like how I felt at the moment.

I gave my head a mental shake. Come on, Winters!

I set the flowers on the kitchen window sill and turned.

Reece was watching me with concern from the kitchen doorway. ‘Are you sure you’re alright? I know we don’t know each other very well, but I’m a good listener. Well, actually, I think I’m beginning to go a bit deaf.’

I managed a laugh.

Reece cocked one greying brow at me.

I found myself fiddling with the flowers. ‘My husband died in July. He was knocked over by a car and killed.’

Reece’s jaw dropped. ‘Och lass. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.’

I shrugged, not knowing what else to say myself. ‘It’s tough, isn’t it?’

He nodded. ‘It is. You just have to give yourself time. There’s no textbook for this.’