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She made her way out the kitchen and through the bright hallway. Opening the back door, she stepped outside and met her husband as he jumped out the car. ‘Hey, what’s wrong? I wasn’t expecting you back yet. Where are the guests?’ she asked, confused.
He walked towards her and kissed her on the lips. Then caught her hand and pulled her towards the bench under the sycamore tree at the side of the house. ‘Come on, let’s have a wee seat together while we can.’
A light breeze ruffled through the branches, causing some green blossom to flutter down and land on Steve’s head. Kirsty tenderly brushed it away. ‘Are you going to tell me why you’re home? And more importantly what you’ve done with the guests? I thought you were supposed to be walking for most of the day?’
Steve stretched his long legs out in front of him. They were brown and the hairs on them had turned golden due to his rule that he would wear shorts for as much of the year as possible; he started in March and would keep it going until the end of October. One year he even lasted into mid-November. It was a far cry from their London days when they were permanently stressed and so busy with work that they barely knew what day of the week it was. He put his hands behind his head and chuckled.
‘Well, we made it about a quarter of the way down the path,’ he said. ‘Then Trudy and Chuck decided they didn’t fancy it.’
‘How come?’
‘They said it was much further away than they thought.’
Kirsty shook her head. ‘But I thought that was why they were here? On Arran? To walk and explore the island properly? I thought they chose our B&B because of your guided walks?’
‘Meh,’ said Steve, shrugging. ‘I think they maybe quite liked the idea of it, but the reality was a bit different.’
‘What a shame. They seemed so excited about it when we talked about it this morning. I can’t believe they didn’t go for it especially with your fabulous spider chat!’
‘I know,’ said Steve, grinning. ‘The spider story normally does the trick.’
The circular trail was one of the island’s most famous and was said to be where Robert the Bruce sheltered after a defeat in his attempt to claim the Scottish throne. While in a cave, the story went, he encountered a spider which he watched trying but repeatedly failing to make a web. The spider’s perseverance, ultimately securing a web to the cave wall, was said to inspire Bruce to try again to take the throne and eventually his efforts led to his own success. Whether the story about Robert the Bruce was true or not didn’t seem to matter. Tourists tended to be fascinated by the cave, and its ancient carvings of animals, tucked into the sandstone cliffs.
The walk took you through beautiful forestry and down a steep descent onto a shingle beach shoreline with views across to the Kilbrannan Sound on the Mull of Kintyre. It was a good walk, taking about two hours from the car park and round in a loop and back again. But most people managed it no problem and Trudy and Chuck had all the right gear for walking including boots and a stick which wasn’t really required for today’s terrain. But they insisted on taking it with them which seemed rather ironic now that they had bailed out.
‘Did you tell them about Paul?’ asked Kirsty. The tourists loved hearing about Paul and Linda McCartney’s bolt hole across the water in the Mull of Kintyre. It was where he went to escape The Beatles’ fame and where he started writing again. Over the years, and even as a child, Kirsty had seen people with telescopes standing on the shoreline, hoping to catch a glimpse of his farmhouse even though it was in deepest, rural countryside.
‘Indeed. But that didn’t sway them. They said they would look at the views online.’
Kirsty shook her head in disbelief. ‘Unbelievable. Why bother coming here at all then if they can look at everything online?’
Steve burst out laughing. ‘Each to their own.’
‘Where are they now, Steve? What have you done with them?’
‘They wanted me to drop them back in Brodick so they could go for lunch and chill.’
‘Wow, oh well then.’ Over the years, Kirsty had taken to most of their guests, but there were the odd ones, like Trudy and Chuck, who irked her with their rude demands and expectations. Only this morning, Trudy had brought her wet towel into the kitchen and asked, in a rather demanding tone, for a fresh one.
Kirsty had wanted to tell her this wasn’t the Hilton and could she say please. But thought it best to smile sweetly, especially as she knew the mystery inspector was doing the rounds of the hotels and guesthouses and could arrive at any moment. There was a cash prize of £25,000 up for grabs — and they had expansion plans.
‘How I would love to tell them what to do with their walking stick poles,’ she said with a sigh.
‘How about I go and make you a cuppa and we can have five minutes’ peace before getting on with the day?’
‘The shortbread,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’ve left the shortbread out and I need to go and box it up. I’ll make the tea and bring it out.’
‘Okay, if you insist,’ he said, pulling out his phone and starting to scroll through his messages.
Kirsty filled the kettle and while waiting for it to boil, sprinkled caster sugar over the top of the trays. Then she carefully lifted the shortbread out with the greaseproof paper, laid it on a chopping board and reached for her sharpest knife and deftly began slicing it into squares. When they’d taken over the B&B, she’d decided that a little box of shortbread in each guest’s room would be a nice touch and she’d been right. The reviews all mentioned the extra thought that Meadowbank’s owners had gone to. She scowled as she thought of Trudy asking, without as much as a please, if she could have another box. Thinking of the reviews that they were so dependent on, Kirsty had smiled sweetly, again, and said yes of course.
‘Here you go,’ Kirsty said, handing over the mug to Steve.
‘Thanks, love.’
She sighed. ‘Isn’t this nice? Peace at last.’
‘I might take the paddle board out later on if that’s okay?’
