Page 8 of The Scottish Island Inn

‘Sorrel?’ His voice was timid, quiet, as if he was in a dream and didn’t want to dispel it by speaking too loudly. He took one tentative step into the caravan, and his voice was a gut punch for Sorrel Balhennie. ‘Sorrel, is that you?’

‘Tam?’ Sorrel whispered. ‘It’s me. I…’ She stopped, unable to speak.

Tam Blackwood. My one true love. The one who swore he would never break my heart.

‘I can’t believe it’s you,’ he said. His voice echoed in the sinews of her heart. ‘You’re here. Oh my god.’

FIVE

‘Sorrel?’ Tam Blackwood walked into the caravan, and Sorrel found that she had temporarily forgotten how to breathe.

Ten years ago, Sorrel had stood with her feet in the ice-cold water of the River Sligachan and looked up at the silvery blanket of stars above, her hands held firmly in Tam’s. They had repeated their love for each other, giggling and trying not to fall over on the slippery stones that made the uneven bed of the river although in places it seemed more like a stream.

It wasn’t the first time they’d said I love you; they’d been dating for years already. Grown up going to the same school. At first, Tam was just one of the kids her age on the island: he was shy, quiet, bookish. He wasn’t one of the kids who’d play down by the broch in the summers, like her and her sisters. When they were younger teenagers, he didn’t take the bus into town and lark around on the back seats until Mr McKinley, the driver, would threaten to stop the bus and heave them out halfway an’ let the Fair Folk have ye.

She hadn’t ever thought about Tam Blackwood until, aged sixteen, she’d been complaining to her mother that she wanted some more pocket money, and Catriona had drily suggested that she find a way to earn it.

Sorrel had walked down to Mac’s, which was what they called the general store at the end of the lane. Mac’s had a noticeboard where locals posted items for sale – used prams or vacuum cleaners, or people advertised their services: cleaning, ironing, PC support. There was a row of HELP WANTED notes, too.

She’d scanned them all under Mac the owner’s watchful eye, but there was only one she was qualified to do. MATHS TUTOR WANTED. GOOD RATES OF PAY. AGGIE BLACKWOOD, then a phone number.

Maths was Sorrel’s best subject; maybe that was something to do with why she’d ended up being so good at managing the accounts for hers and Simon’s business. Numbers just made sense to her.

Of course, as soon as she’d seen the name, she knew who she’d be tutoring. Aggie Blackwood was a friend of Catriona’s – not a close friend, but good enough to stop and say hello to in the street if they saw each other. Polite chitchat about the children, the families, while you waited patiently. Tam had a younger sister, but he was the one who’d be taking his Highers when he was eighteen.

One day, after she’d been tutoring him for two weeks – Aggie said that she’d been the only applicant for the job, and anyway, she knew how good with numbers Sorrel was because Catriona was so proud of her maths whiz, she never stopped talking about her – Tam had asked her, shyly, After this, shall we go for a walk? I think there’s going to be a meteor shower later.

Okay. As long as you can work out this algebra problem. She’d pointed to the most difficult one in the chapter they were working on.

He’d worked it out.

A deal’s a deal. He’d held out his hand for hers, looking absurdly pleased with himself. She couldn’t help but laugh at the expression.

As they’d walked down the long, empty road from Tam’s house towards the loch in the darkening evening, with Tam pointing out the sudden flashes of the glowing meteors above, she had felt a sense of magic about this tall, slightly diffident boy, with his longish black hair and soft hazel eyes. They had dated for nine years after that, and he hadn’t once hurt her. Had never once given her any reason not to adore his kindness, his sweet, generous heart, and the way that he always tried to make her laugh.

She’d been twenty-five when she’d left so suddenly. That last night, as they’d stood in the stream, laughing, they’d dared each other to lie down and immerse their heads in the icy water of Sligachan. There was an old fairy story that said the water would give you eternal beauty if you put your whole face or your whole head in it. Of course, they’d done it as children, like everyone on Skye had. I’m beautiful enough, Tam had said, shaking his hair like a shampoo advert. And if you get any more gorgeous, my beloved fairy queen, no one’ll even be able to look at you for fear you’ll scorch their retinas with your luminescence.

The next day, she’d left Skye, and she hadn’t come back. She’d left Tam, the man she’d loved with her whole heart. It had torn her soul apart to leave him; for years afterwards, she still felt the pain of separation from him. But she had to go: she’d had no choice, even though she didn’t know until she got home that night, after the river and the stars, and found her life ripped apart.

Even in her life with Simon, the pain of leaving Tam had always been there. The wound had never really healed.

‘Yes.’ Sorrel watched him in disbelief as he stepped into the caravan.

It was as if there was a strange collapse of time between the last occasion that Sorrel had seen Tam, and now. It had been ten years, but that time seemed to fold itself up and become insignificant.

‘Hello, Sorrel. It’s… wow, it’s good to see you.’

That was it: no preamble, no drama, no mood other than a gleam of pleasure in his eyes on seeing her. Just hello, Sorrel, as if no time had passed.

‘You remember Tam,’ Catriona said, needlessly, but Sorrel knew that she was just saying it to fill in the awkward moment.

‘Of course. Hi.’ Sorrel cleared her throat. She stood up as Tam walked over to the table area. Held out her hand, and felt a sense of disbelief as he shook it.

‘You look well,’ Tam said. Sorrel simply stared at him, not knowing what to say.

The sensation of his skin on hers was electric. She had always loved his gentle and yet reassuring touch. She had always loved the smoothness of his skin, the firm muscle of his body. She had loved how tall he was, how broad in the shoulders, how he was built like an athlete because he’d been on the rowing team all the way through school and then at university, but he never showed it off because he wasn’t that sort of boy. He had never flirted with other girls. He wasn’t a player. But with her, he was the most loving and passionate man.

‘Thank you. You too.’ Sorrel cleared her throat again, and wished that she was wearing something other than the ratty old hand-knitted jumper that Aunt Chrissie had made her before she left. It was loose and had a couple of holes in the sleeve, as well as being bright orange with purple stripes, but the wool was soft, and it was so warm and comforting that Sorrel just couldn’t throw it out.