Page 65 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

It was strange. At first, I’d experienced pangs of resentment towards Reece. I’d felt angry and disappointed in him, on my grandmother’s behalf.

But then, after reading my grandma’s diaries and witnessing Reece’s pain and regret over what had happened all those years ago, he’d made me see that we all fumble through life at times, stacking up regrets, making mistakes, and carrying with us dreams and wishes we’d never realised. I knew that now only too well.

And it was clear just from seeing Reece’s face whenever he spoke about Grandma, that he wanted to try and make amends. ‘We’ll keep you informed about how things are going with the exhibition planning,’ I said, rounding off the call. ‘When do you want to drop by again? You could come by for a coffee or we could have lunch if you like?’

‘I was going to suggest tomorrow,’ said Reece. ‘Although, if the weather forecast is right, I think it might not be such a good idea to try and venture out.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, a hellish snowstorm, snow bomb, or some such thing. Anyway, forecasters don’t always get it right. Speak to you soon, Rosie.’

I hung up.

Mitch brandished his phone, having caught some of what Reece was saying about the weather. ‘Reece is right. Awful snowstorm on the way, by all accounts.’

Mitch set down his phone on the arm of the chair.

‘I’m sure it won’t be as bad as they’re making out,’ I said, trying to sound hopeful.

Mitch didn’t look convinced. ‘Red warnings for this part of the country. Means the lighthouse and I will be busy.’

I flopped down in the opposite armchair.

Bronte took this as her cue to plonk herself down in front of me for some fussing. ‘I appreciate you helping us, Mitch.’ I paused. Was it a good time to ask him again his reasons for helping? Why had he been so keen to get involved? ‘I know you’re probably not going to tell me…’

‘Then why ask the question?’

I ignored him. ‘You still haven’t told me why you were so insistent on helping us out.’

Mitch shuffled in the armchair. I watched him fiddle with his phone. ‘Och, of course I have.’

‘No, you haven’t.’

He took a pointed look at his wristwatch. His wall was up again, deflecting any personal questions. ‘I’d better head back and take Kane out. The big guy will be crossing his legs.’ Mitch was an expert at dodging questions, refusing to open up. He rose from his chair and towered over me. ‘You sure you’re okay with everything?’

I wrapped my arms around myself. His gaze was intense. ‘Yes. Well … kind of.’

When he frowned down at me, I nodded. ‘I mean, yes, of course I am.’

‘Good. When I hear from Ruth, I’ll let you know.’

And in a whirlwind of dark hair and long, black, swirling coat, he was gone.

* * *

I woke up the next morning with a sense that there was whiteness through the curtains.

I clambered out of bed and peeked out of my bedroom window.

Sure enough, the forecasters had predicted the white stuff today. There were snowflakes being whisked in the air. It didn’t look too bad, but I guessed snow was to be expected at this time of year.

Christmas was sticking its frivolous, glittery nose around the corner.

My head was whirring at the thought of that and what Mitch had got me into with this exhibition. It was my choice though and I’d said yes.

Mitch could be rather persuasive, I surmised. I felt myself blush and mentally changed the subject.

I drifted around, tugging open the cottage curtains in the sitting room and then hitching up the kitchen blind.