Page 50 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

I shook my head. ‘No, there certainly isn’t.’ I gave him a long look. He was easy to talk to. A good listener, with those compassionate, world-weary eyes. I readied myself. ‘I found out in September that he’d been cheating on me with another woman for three years.’

There was a heavy silence. Reece let out a long, low gasp. ‘The bastard.’ He coloured. ‘Och lass, I’m sorry for speaking ill of the dead, but still.’

I flung my hands in the air for something to do. ‘Please don’t apologise. I’ve been doing the same thing.’

He shook his head in shock. ‘And how are you doing? I mean, how are you coping with it all?’

‘Sometimes I think I’m beginning to cope, and then other times I know I’m not. Sometimes I wish he was here, so I could scream at him. Other times a part of me is glad he isn’t.’ I managed a brief smile. ‘Keeping busy helps. Right. Come on. Let me show you something.’

I led a still-stunned Reece down the hallway and back into Grandma’s studio.

The light spiralled and twisted through the window and down onto her paintings resting there.

I reached over to her desk and retrieved one of the journals. ‘I was tidying up Grandma’s desk last night as you can see, when I came across these. There’s a whole stack of them and they were all together in that bottom drawer. I couldn’t open it at first. It was locked. But after a bit of searching around, I located the key.’

Reece shrugged off his coat and draped it over one arm. ‘What are they?’

‘Journals. Diaries. My grandma’s.’

Reece’s brows lifted. ‘I didn’t know she kept diaries.’

‘Neither did I.’ I picked up the pink, suede one in which I’d placed a few strips of coloured Post-it notes for reference, so I wouldn’t lose the place. ‘Take a look at the pages I’ve marked.’

Reece ran one hand over the cover, as though trying to connect, by touch, with my grandma. His fingertips caressed it for a few seconds. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course. Here, let me take your coat.’

I took it from him, while Reece eased himself into the desk chair and turned to the page I’d flagged up with a sliver of zesty yellow Post-it. He hesitated again.

‘I didn’t realise what they were at first, but when I started reading some of her entries… Well, I’m glad I did to be honest.’

Reece gave a silent nod of understanding and turned his attention to my grandma’s loopy swirls of handwriting. He began to read.

I watched his faraway expression shift from sadness to surprise. ‘Rosie,’ he choked, jerking his head up to look at me.

‘I know. Turn to the next page I’ve marked.’

Reece opened and closed his mouth a few times, but did as I asked him. His gnarly fingers moved the pages with the utmost care.

The next entry was the one I’d earmarked with a purple Post-it note.

Reece started to read again. An emotional crack escaped from the back of his throat. ‘Och, no. Oh, my Tilda. My beautiful Tilda.’ He set the journal down in his lap as though in slow motion. ‘What the hell was I thinking of? What did I think I was doing?’ His pale eyes shimmered. ‘I loved her. I never loved anyone else the way I loved her. And yet I let her walk away. I ended our engagement and took the coward’s way out.’

I reached out and patted him on his right shoulder. ‘You were a lot younger then. You were under pressure from your parents. If you’d been a bit older and more independent, it probably would’ve been a different story.’

Reece’s eyes shone with regret. ‘I wish I’d come to see her sooner.’ His heavy eyes dropped back to look at the journal he was holding.

Now it was my turn to have glistening tears. ‘Take your time. When you’re ready, turn to the page marked up with the blue Post-it note.’

Reece turned to the page I’d mentioned. It was the one where she’d poured out her heart, just after Reece had ended their engagement. She’d spoken of wanting to believe in herself and her art, but she didn’t think she could do it. She didn’t think she had enough self-belief.

Reece’s eyes scanned the diary entry. As he took in what she’d written, his shoulders sagged. ‘So, she did want that after all.’ His voice faltered. ‘She did want to become a successful artist.’ He closed his eyes and then spoke again as though murmuring to himself. ‘I knew she was never satisfied, working in that bloody picture framer’s shop.’ His frustration changed to pensiveness for a few moments. ‘What was the name of it again?’

‘Picture Perfect.’

‘Aye. Of course it was.’ His small smile vanished. ‘She’d always bat away my suggestions when I tried to encourage her.’ He looked agonised. ‘Was that because of me, Rosie? Because I never fought for her? Did I make Tilda feel that way about her talent? That she wasn’t good enough?’ His mouth became grim. ‘My damned parents made her think she was beneath me, beneath us all, and I knew she was growing tired of me not standing up to them.’ A dark expression clung to Reece’s face and refused to let go. ‘I didn’t deserve her. Even after all these years, she still thought about me, though. She painted my bloody portrait, for heaven’s sake!’

He let out a shallow, dark laugh. ‘Some people go through their entire lives never experiencing a love like that, and I had it, but I ruined it. I was a coward.’