Page 19 of The Scottish Island Inn

‘Now, dear,’ – Aunt Chrissie leaned forward and peered at Sorrel, took a scone from the pile on the plate on the oval table – ‘tell us everything that’s happened over the past ten years. Don’t miss anything out.’ She cut the scone in two, and spread butter on both sides with a surprisingly deft hand.

‘Everything?’ Bluebell interjected. ‘That might take a while.’

‘It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do, dear,’ Aunt Joan intoned, theatrically. ‘Mouldering away up here in a castle. Two aged antiques that nobody wants any more.’

‘Will you pipe down, Joan?’ Aunt Chrissie glared at her sister. ‘I want to hear. Sorrel is blood. This is important. All the girls are important.’ She smiled at Heather and Bluebell and patted their hands. ‘And then I want to hear all about the wedding preparations, dear. So exciting!’

So, Sorrel began to recount the main events of the last ten years, but Aunt Chrissie’s comment about her being blood nagged at her.

Because she wasn’t blood. That was her big secret. That was what no one knew, apart from her and her mother.

The Princesses of Balhennie. It was such a lovely sentiment, but Sorrel’s heart ached at the knowledge that she wasn’t one of them. Her sisters were the jewels. What was she? A piece of costume jewellery, at best. A fraud.

Sorrel wasn’t a Balhennie. She was living a lie. And she always had.

TEN

‘Of course, he’s not the same since his wife died,’ Aunt Chrissie leaned over and murmured confidentially to Sorrel as she took another biscuit from the pile on the plate next to her. Aunt Joan had got derailed into talking about the wedding with Heather. Bluebell sat in the middle, listening to both conversations and interjecting here and there.

‘Who?’ Sorrel asked, alarmed at her aunt’s sudden change of tack. Both aunts had become more frail since she’d seen them last, but Aunt Chrissie seemed less focused than Joan.

‘Your beau. Tam Blackwood.’ Her aunt shot her a wise look, and Sorrel thought that she might reconsider her diagnosis. Maybe Aunt Chrissie wasn’t losing it.

‘How do you… Why do you mention him?’ Sorrel asked. Her phone pinged. She looked at the screen.

Sorrel. Call me. This is unacceptable behaviour.

It was from Simon. Surreptitiously, she turned the phone over so that the screen was facing down.

You’re a fine one to talk to me about unacceptable behaviour, she thought, angrily. He could wait, and stew in his own guilt.

‘Your mother told me that he walked in when you’d just got home yesterday. Must have been quite the shock?’ Aunt Chrissie looked at her great-niece inquisitively.

‘Yes. It was. What did you say? About Tam having a wife?’ Sorrel pressed her aunt. This, she wanted to hear. She didn’t want to hear from Simon.

‘Oh, yes. Nice girl, though we didn’t really know her. He moved to the other side of the island about a year after you left. Then we heard he’d got married. Don’t know the family. Funny name. Not sure that they were from the island.’ Chrissie was starting to meander.

‘She died?’ Sorrel prompted her aunt. Bluebell broke into the conversation.

‘I didn’t know whether to tell you or not. We all knew, of course. But I didn’t know that I should say anything in my emails, so I didn’t,’ she began. ‘I did meet her, though. Once. Violet and I were hiking up the Old Man of Storr. They were on the path coming down; we were on our way up. I recognised him straightaway. They stopped and said hello. Her name was Beth. It wasn’t a funny surname. Beth Rogers. She seemed nice. They seemed happy.’

‘Not Scottish.’ Aunt Chrissie sniffed. Bluebell rolled her eyes.

‘Oh.’ It was a lot to take in. Somehow, Sorrel had never considered the fact that Tam might have found someone else. But of course he had. Of course he would find someone. He was a catch. ‘How did she…?’

‘Illness of some kind. I don’t know the details. I think it was one of those hereditary things that just come out of the blue. Mum might know.’

‘Oh, no. That’s terrible.’ Sorrel winced. ‘She must have been young?’

‘Thirty, maybe? Yeah. Pretty young.’ Bluebell shook her head. ‘He’s been back local for a few years now. I guess he didn’t want to leave the island, but maybe he didn’t want to stay where they’d lived, either.’

‘I heard that he built her a lovely memorial.’ Chrissie wiped her eye with her hanky. ‘A cairn, up on the coast. He was always a thoughtful boy. It breaks my heart to think he’s known such sadness in his young life.’ She fixed Sorrel with a penetrating gaze. ‘All the more reason for him to find happiness now, before it’s too late.’

‘Aunt Chrissie. He’s not going to die.’ Bluebell rolled her eyes. ‘It is a sad story, though.’

‘You never know, lassie,’ Aunt Chrissie said, darkly. ‘He will have thought that about this Beth. And then one day, she’s gone. Death is ever present,’ she added. ‘When I go, at least I can say I had a full life. That poor girl didn’t. I wouldn’t want any of you girls to go to the grave without knowing love. Without having your own children. Your own home.’

‘Not everyone wants children, Auntie,’ Sorrel said, patiently. ‘Or love. There are other things.’