Page 76 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

‘Och, no, thanks, it’s all under control. Feel free to go and grab a quick shower before I serve this up. The towel cupboard is right next to my bedroom. Help yourself.’

‘Oh, okay. Thanks.’

Outside the bathroom window, the weather was still angry, and snow was swirling as though a giant egg whisk was sending it everywhere.

I peeled off my clothes, set them on top of an Alibaba-style washing basket in the corner of the bathroom and switched on the shower. It rushed out in a silvery, hot gush behind the semi-circular screen. There were black and white tiles on the floor and a small, square, shiny mirror above the sink.

I let out a groan of appreciation as the water coursed over me.

Mitch had a bottle of zesty-smelling shower gel, so I lathered myself in that, before washing my hair with a dollop of his woodland-scented shampoo.

Once I’d patted myself dry with the stripey beach-style towel I’d fetched from the linen cupboard, I wrapped it around my wet hair for a few moments. My face was red and glowing.

There was a tube of toothpaste beside Mitch’s electric toothbrush on the shelf below the mirror, so I squeezed some onto my right middle finger and proceeded to give my teeth a DIY clean.

I’d just finished throwing my clothes back on and was about to leave his bedroom when I noticed a couple of glossy art books lying at the back of the chair where he’d been sleeping last night.

Curious, I flashed a look over my shoulder to make sure he didn’t spot me being nosey and crept over. I picked the first one up. It was all about the techniques involved when painting with watercolours. There were sheaves of scrap paper bookmarking certain pages, and on them were scribbled random notes, presumably in Mitch’s bold, sweeping handwriting.

Dry, flat brushes – blend paint and create smooth transitions; Sgraffito – technique used to remove paint while wet, to expose underpainting; Glazing – layering a coat of transparent paint over a dry paint to intensify shadows and modulate colour.

Mitch was researching painting techniques, so he’d be prepared if he was asked any questions about the methods my grandma had used in her artwork.

My heart gave a swoosh. I couldn’t believe he was doing this; devoting himself to help achieve Grandma’s dream, to help me. And going to such conscientious lengths too.

Overcome with gratitude and emotion, I set down the book where I found it and picked up the other one, which was all about chalk drawing. Mitch had undertaken the same system with this one, too, scraps of paper marking certain pages and his handwritten notes.

Wet chalk creates smoother lines; Feathering – taking pastel chalk strokes longer and working more quickly; Scumbling – creates a soft and velvety effect, by gently layering and blending colours.

I stroked the book in my hand. Okay, so I still strongly suspected that the main reason Mitch had been so keen to help me out with securing an exhibition of Grandma’s work was because of the guilt he was carrying about Noah (despite him refusing to openly admit that last night), but that didn’t take away from the fact that he’d gone to the trouble of reading up about art techniques.

I put the art book back beside the other one and gave a small, dreamy smile.

Looking after me when I nodded off in a drunken stupor, staying with me all night and sleeping in a chair, doing research like this and now cooking me breakfast.

He really was something else, I concluded with an odd jolt in my chest.

I busied myself and snatched up my wet towel, which I’d draped over the chair to look at the art books.

When I returned to the kitchen, Mitch was shovelling eggs, bacon, fried tomatoes and baked beans onto two warm plates. ‘I hope this is as good as it smells,’ he joked.

‘I’ve no doubt about that.’

He fetched a large brown ceramic teapot and set it on the kitchen table, together with a bottle of brown sauce and ketchup.

He eyed my wet towel draped over my arm. ‘Just dump that in the laundry basket if you like.’

I darted back to the bathroom, deposited the towel in the basket and came back to Mitch pouring out two mugs of tea.

‘Take a seat.’

‘Thank you.’

I sat down opposite Mitch at the oval, wooden table and set my mobile down beside me. I wanted to thank him for going to so much trouble with the art books and taking notes, but what if he thought I’d been snooping around his room? The last thing I wanted was for Mitch to think less of me or for me to embarrass him. I decided not to say anything for now.

I’d just taken a mouthful of crispy juicy bacon when my mobile rang. Reece’s name flashed up on the screen. ‘It’s Reece,’ I explained to Mitch. ‘He’s probably checking up on me after the snow last night.’

I answered the call and sure enough, that’s what it was. ‘I just wanted to check you were okay,’ he said. ‘That weather yesterday was terrifying! I did try to call you last night, but was struggling to connect.’