Page 29 of Happiness Under a Summer Skye

That evening, after dinner, Meghan disappeared to her room to call Ezra and Angelia decided she would like to go back to Glentorrin to visit the shop again. She hadn’t made a habit of venturing out on her own since she had met the group of college kids the other day, but she saw no reason why she shouldn’t. Her mum and dad were not so sure. They were concerned about something happening with her condition while she was alone, even though she had explained, in detail, that it was unlikely. She couldn’t be upset with them, however, they simply cared about their daughter.

‘I’ll come with you,’ her dad, said reaching for his car keys. ‘We can have a chat about things on the way.’

Angelia held up her hand. ‘No, Dad. It’s okay. You stay here. I think I’d like to just go by myself. Scrappy can come too and I’ll take my phone and call you if I need you, but Ruby’s in the village if I do need anything. I just want to go and have a really good look around and see what plans I can come up with.’

Her dad glanced at her mum and then back to Angelia. ‘But⁠—’

‘I’ll be fine, Dad. You don’t need to worry.’

Her mum nudged him. ‘See, stubborn just like her father.’

Angelia put on her baseball cap and tucked her hair up into it, pulled on her jacket and within minutes, Scrappy was clipped into his car seat.

Just under an hour later she parked her car by the village hall, which was all in darkness this evening. The sky overhead was now a little overcast, and the temperature had dropped but it was by no means cold. She lifted Scrappy out of the car, and as they began to walk across to the shop, she spotted two men standing by the inlet. As she got level with them, she noticed they both had cameras and presumed they had been photographing the wildlife or the pretty location. But one turned and spotted her and hit the other on the arm and in her periphery, she saw him nod towards her. They began to follow her, which caused Scrappy’s ears to prick up. He kept looking behind himself and giving low growls.

‘Hey! Hey, love, are you going to pose for us?’ one of them asked in a Glaswegian accent. Angelia didn’t reply. The other began to type on his phone and within only a few moments two more men came out of the pub and made their way across to the others.

‘Are you going to stop for a chat, Angel?’

Angelia stopped and turned to face the men. ‘I’m sorry, who?’

‘You’re that Angel lassie, the singer from the band. We saw yous on the Instagram here with some kids a few weeks ago and we’ve been coming over ever since to try and catch you. We’ve come over special from Glasgow to see if we can get some good shots. Don’t leave us disappointed, eh?’

Angelia scrunched her nose. ‘Nah, I think you’re mixing me up with someone. I’m a shop owner, not a singer, pal.’

‘I told you it wasnae her,’ one of the newcomers said with a huff. ‘We’ve wasted weeks coming back and forth here on a bloody wild moose chase. You should never just believe what you see on Instagram, Davey. AI is everywhere now. You’re too gullible.’

‘I think you mean wild goose chase,’ the fourth one said.

‘Goose, moose, what’s the difference? Neither of them is here, you numpty. And neither is the Angel lassie.’

‘Aye, she is. It is her,’ the first man, presumably called Davey, said. ‘She’s the same height and every’hin’.’

Angelia turned, tugged on Scrappy’s lead and began to walk briskly away. She safely made it a few hundred yards, and the group continued to argue amongst themselves with raised voices. ‘I told you she was going to be here. Apparently, her mum and dad stay up by Portree. It’s definitely her.’

They hadn’t even noticed that she had walked away which amused her no end. It was like listening to something out of a Monty Python sketch and Angelia was tempted to stay and watch it all play out.

‘I think it’s her too. Come on, let’s get some shots and then we can get back to the pub. We can make a decent amount on shots of her fae the tabloids, I’m telling yous,’ Angelia heard the first one say just as she ducked out of sight behind a leafy spruce tree in the churchyard. She glanced down at Scrappy and whispered, ‘Shhh.’ The dog gave a wag of his tail and turned to make sure they hadn’t followed.

‘Don’t forget I’m bloody driving, Boaby, and I’m no driving yous all home pissed oot yer heids, I can tell yous that for nohin’.’

As their contradictory conversation ensued, Angelia paused behind the tree as she watched them look around, confused. She finally managed to lose the group of so-called paparazzi by sneaking in through the unlocked door of the church.

13

Churches had always been a bone of contention to Angelia. She had always been spiritual but never religious. She was uncomfortable with organised worship and a God who somehow – according to doctrine, at least – keeps tabs on people’s attendance at a purpose-built structure with fancy windows and opulent outfits. She had felt out of place at every church wedding and christening she had ever attended. Add to this the fact she was a singer in a rock band called Angel and the Fallen, which could potentially be seen as blasphemous, and she was grateful that she hadn’t burst into flames when she had crossed the threshold.

A group of people stood at the front of the church but had, thankfully, not noticed her entering. They were too deep in an intense conversation so she picked up Scrappy and slipped into a pew at the back where she would be hidden by a pillar if anyone were to look around in her direction.

A petite elderly woman with, bizarrely, purple hair was standing, arms folded across her chest and shaking her head. ‘So not only has Geraldine broken both her wrists falling off rollerblades – I mean what was she thinking at her age – but now you’re telling us Amelia has chicken pox?’ she said with a huff. ‘All we need now is for one of those steroids to hit the earth and we’ve a complete set.’ She harrumphed sulkily as Angelia stifled a giggle.

‘Come on, Granny, it’s not as bad as that,’ a blonde woman told her with a small laugh as she slipped an arm around the older lady’s shoulder. ‘And I think you mean asteroid.’

The purple-haired woman glared up at the blonde. ‘Aye, Arabella, that’s what a said.’ She then added, ‘We’ve lost our organist and our choir manager less than a month before the summer concert, so I’d say it’s pretty bloomin’ castratory.’

The woman named Arabella grimaced. ‘Catastrophic, Granny.’ And Angelia chuckled. She liked the purple-haired lady already.

‘Hi, can I help you?’