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‘Oh. Nothing. Just thinking it must be nice, at that little primary school. Must be small? I can’t imagine there are many children in the village, compared to a good-sized town, or a city school.’ Carrie brushed the leaves from her hair.
‘Ah, yes. It’s very small. Different type of experience, but a nice one.’ June smiled at the children, and waved. ‘My grandchildren go there. In a place like Loch Cameron, everyone tends to know everyone.’
‘I get that, yes.’ Carrie smiled, shading her eyes from the glare of the sun off the loch.
Ahead of them, a food market had set up on the high street, and Carrie’s spirit was lifted by the market’s colourful awnings. ‘Oh, look! I didn’t know Loch Cameron had a street market!’
‘Oh, yes. Once or twice a month at the moment, more in the summer. Mostly food: bakery, fruit and veg, jams and chutneys, that kind of thing. Sometimes other things. Crafts, candles, you know. We even had a man selling New Age crystals a while back.’
‘Wow. What does an ex-nurse think about that?’ Carrie asked playfully, as they walked past a delicious-smelling bakery stall. Fat loaves lined the back of a wide table, and baskets of large Belgian buns with thick icing and luscious cherries vied for attention with a stack of gooey brownies and a huge, white coconut cake. Individually wrapped fruit loaves were stacked to one side, next to a sign that said PLEASE ASK, WE HAVE BUTTER TO GO WITH THESE.
‘Oh, I don’t mind a crystal. Very pretty. Can’t do any harm unless you insert it into an orifice.’ June rolled her eyes. ‘I saw my fair share of things that shouldn’t be inserted into the body when I was nursing. Let’s just say that crystal eggs weren’t the most inappropriate.’
‘Oh, my!’ Carrie stopped in front of the bakery stall and asked for a fruit loaf, some delicious-looking crusty white rolls and a block of butter, which the friendly, middle-aged woman running the stall handed to her from a small fridge.
‘That’s local butter, from a dairy not far from here.’ June nodded approvingly. ‘It’s very good. Be lovely on the fruit loaf.’
‘Looks delicious.’ Carrie took a paper bag filled with goodies from the woman gratefully. ‘Thanks so much.’
‘Come again! We’re here every time,’ the woman replied, cheerily.
She walked on with June, who gave her an unreadable look.
‘What?’ Carrie asked.
‘No, it’s just that you look happy,’ June said, stopping in front of a fruit and vegetable stall. ‘Your cup is filling up. It’s not full yet. But it’s getting there.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s a phrase, isn’t it? Your cup is full if you’re happy and fulfilled.’ June shrugged. ‘I say it how I see it,’ she repeated.
‘Do you think so?’ It felt like so long since Carrie had been happy that she barely recognised the emotion anymore. But, today, putting her all into that song had been really cathartic. And, in the simple pleasure of browsing the food market with June, she realised she hadn’t thought about anything in particular other than how much she was looking forward to devouring that fruit loaf. She hadn’t thought about Claire, or the accident. And that was a relief.
‘Yes,’ June answered, simply. ‘Carry on filling your cup, Carrie Anderson. Life can be awful, but it’s also full of gifts, if you’re brave enough to grab them.’
FOURTEEN
‘I’m looking for a new rain mac,’ Carrie told the young woman in Fiona’s Fashions, the only clothes shop in the village. ‘Preferably something that doesn’t make me look like a pensioner. And a few other things.’
Though Carrie wasn’t exactly paying attention to her looks during her stay in Loch Cameron, she had caught her reflection in the long mirror that hung in the hallway of Gretchen Ross’s cottage that morning and had been appalled at her scraggly hair and pale pallor. Usually, she liked to keep her hair in a sleek bob, and tried to wear makeup most days – if she was going to work, anyway.
She had resolved, looking at herself that morning, to try and pull herself out of the slump she’d been in since Claire had died and do something about the way she looked.Fake it until you make it.Wasn’t that what people said?
She was faking not being a mess, in that case.
‘Aye, of course. Plenty o’ macs.’ Fiona walked over to a rack of garments and started pulling out various sleeves. ‘No’ just all black or khaki, either. Pink, red, turquoise too – I’ve got this one in fuchsia, an’ I’ve had compliments on it.’ She pulled out a hooded mac in a blue and green star pattern and held it out to Carrie to see. ‘An’ what else were you wantin’? I’m Fiona, by the way. This is ma shop.’
‘Oh, hi! I’m Carrie. Just staying for a little while. Gretchen Ross’s cottage.’ Carrie waited for the familiarOhh, ayethat usually followed this disclosure.
‘Ah.’ Fiona nodded agreeably. ‘Nice wee place, isn’t it? Especially since Zelda did it up.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘Here I am assuming ye know who I’m talkin’ aboot! Zelda’s an American girl who stayed there a while back. She was quite into interior décor and the Laird let her do it up when Gretchen moved into the nursing home.’
‘Ah. I met her, actually. At choir rehearsal in the village hall.’ It was an unusual name, and meeting an American wasn’t an everyday occurrence in Loch Cameron.
‘Ah, okay. She must be visitin’ the Laird. Lovely couple, they are.’ Fiona looked mistily out of the window.
‘She seemed really nice,’ Carrie agreed.
‘And how is Gretchen? Have ye met her yet?’
