Sealed With a Kiss (3 page)

She had planned to sneak off to the island alone, but her mother and Emma had other ideas. Emma drove them to Scotland, all five females together, in a hopefully
never-to-be-repeated six-hour journey in their people carrier. Jennifer had been sick after three miles. She had spent the journey pale green and silent on the front seat next to her mother,
holding a plastic bag in her hands. Katharine had played a computer game that appeared to have no volume control. Kate’s mother, as usual, tried to second-guess every situation that Kate
might encounter on the island and plan how she should deal with it.

‘If you get there and you don’t like the cottage, call me and I’ll fly up and get you. Or if the job isn’t right . . . you know, I’ve never heard of anyone taking a
job with such a vague title. Do you even know what you’ll be doing? You don’t, do you? It could be anything. I hope you don’t mind, darling, but I took the number and gave Mrs
Lennox a call myself, just to see how the land lies. She’s meeting you off the ferry.’

Kate caught Emma’s eye in the rear-view mirror. Emma’s pop-eyed expression of horror made Kate snort with laughter. ‘I know. She told me on the phone. And then she presumably
told you the same thing. She’s probably expecting me to arrive wearing a luggage tag, like Paddington Bear.’

‘I only wanted to make sure you were going to be all right, darling. Mrs Lennox completely understood. She said she has a daughter herself. You know, you take these notions and disappear
to the other end of the country and, even if you’re twenty-six, you’re still my child.’

‘I know, Mum, it’ll be fine.’

Poor Emma, thought Kate. At least I get a reprieve when I get to the ferry. Emma’s got an overnight stay with friends in Edinburgh, then another six hours in the car with Mum again
tomorrow.

Kate smiled, remembering the look on her mother’s face. She felt a knot of fear in her stomach as she climbed the narrow stairs that took her up onto the deck of the
ferry. What kind of lunatic gets on a boat, to live in a house on an island they’ve never visited, four hundred miles from home? she thought, with sudden panic.

The urge to get off the boat and go back to everything safe and familiar was sudden and overwhelming. She grabbed her suitcase and her holdall and ran forward onto the slippery metal deck. This
whole idea was insane. Faced with another boring temp position and another pile of rejections for decent jobs, she’d grabbed this chance on a whim. But she didn’t do things like this.
She’d always taken the safe option, avoided risk. This was madness! She’d tell them she was coming back – tell them it was a mistake. She would start afresh back home. Moving in
with her mother wouldn’t be that bad, would it?

But then she thought of Ian, and of moving in with him because it made her feel safe. And of being twenty-six and living with her mum and getting excited about an
EastEnders
special,
and having Aunty Linda round for tea. Life in Saffron Walden with her mother breathing down her neck wasn’t an option – it couldn’t be. The thought of her dad’s photograph
in the hall popped into her head suddenly. She could hear his voice in the hall the last day she’d seen him, big shoulders shrugging into his raincoat, picking up his battered briefcase.
‘When your time’s up, my darling, your time’s up.’

He’d been talking about their favourite writer, who had died that morning from cancer. The words had stuck in Kate’s head, spinning round and round on a perpetual loop for what felt
like months. He’d never come home, hit by a motorbike and killed as he dodged the Cambridge traffic on his way to the office.

‘You only get one chance.’ Kate echoed her dad’s words aloud, reassuring herself.

The ferry shuddered and she grabbed the railing in front of her.
‘Welcome aboard the 3 p.m. Caledonian MacBrayne sailing to Kilmannan. Please listen carefully to the following safety
announcement . . . ’

One chance. She looked down at the shoreline. Her mum was wiping her eyes and passing Emma a tissue, which was received with a rather damp smile. Katharine and Jennifer ran into sight, squawking
like the seagulls above, arms out and hair flying in the sea breeze, brave and bold and beautiful. And her mother, her best friend and her two best girls looked up at her and smiled their biggest,
bravest smiles.

‘Love you, darling. Be careful and have fun!’

‘Call me when you get there. No – before!’

‘Send us a postcard, Aunty Kate; send us lots and lots!’

The engines were growling into life, and the boat was turning around with unexpected speed and grace, leaving the mainland behind. The crisp salt air was so clean it almost hurt to breathe. It
was fear catching at the back of her throat – fear of the unknown, of stepping outside the narrow circle of her comfort zone. There was a knot in her stomach, but Kate told herself it was to
be expected. She closed her eyes against the tears and swallowed hard.

‘You’ll be Kate Jarvis, then.’

It was a statement, not a question. She hadn’t heard the woman approaching. Kate had stood in the wind and the sea spray for long minutes, watching as the people she loved grew smaller and
smaller, becoming tiny dots on the shore and then disappearing. She’d been so lost in thought that she hadn’t even noticed the beautiful scenery, but on looking up, she realized that
while the mainland was nearly out of sight, there was a cloudless blue sky, and in the distance were the purple shapes of distant island hills.

‘Come away inside and we’ll get you a cup of tea. That’s a long way you’ve been travelling.’

The woman was tall and straight-backed. Her dark-grey hair was firmly sprayed into a short, bouffant helmet. Kate suppressed a nervous giggle. That hair had probably been the height of fashion
in 1982. The island was even more behind the times than she’d realized.

‘Sit yourself down there. I’ll bring a tray over.’

Kate looked around, taking in her surroundings for the first time. The ferry lounge was surprisingly modern. The boat hummed soothingly, and she found herself closing her eyes for half a second,
only to be woken by the clatter of teacups and spoons.

‘You’ll be needing your bed tonight.’

‘I will. The rest of my things should be arriving tomorrow. I spoke to Mrs Lennox, who works on the Duntarvie estate. She said she’d made up my bed, which was kind of her.’

‘She has done indeed. And she’s baked you some shortbread and set the fire, and made you a pot of soup as well.’

Kate looked at the woman, puzzled. Everyone had told her about the hospitable nature of the islanders, and that everyone knew everyone else’s business, but this amount of detail was
unnerving. Maybe everyone on the island knew she was coming?

The woman’s grave face allowed a small smile. ‘Jean Lennox,’ she said, holding out her hand and starting to laugh. ‘Very good to meet you at last. I don’t mind
admitting we were all a wee bit worried you’d be a mad axe-murderer.’

Kate realized she’d been staring, open-mouthed. ‘Sorry, I think I left my brain back in Cambridge. You must think I’m a bit vague.’

Jean shook her hand and then poured out strong, dark tea, adding milk and handing the cup and saucer across the table. ‘Not vague, no, but you’ve got to be a wee bit unusual.
There’s not many people these days would travel four hundred miles to the Western Isles to take a job and a cottage, on the strength of a couple of letters and a phone call. That’s not
to say we’re not glad that you have. Roderick doesn’t like to see the houses sitting empty, and there’s hardly any young people staying on the island these days. They all head off
down south as soon as they’re eighteen.’

‘And here I am, coming in the opposite direction. But don’t worry – I don’t have my axe today. It’s arriving with the rest of my stuff.’

They both laughed, Kate thinking that Jean seemed as relieved as she was to discover that she was reasonably normal. Jean took a sip of tea and looked Kate up and down. ‘Those boots will
no last long, with the mud on our estate,’ she said, inclining her head towards Kate’s pale suede fur-lined footwear. ‘Up here there’s mud from September until May. In fact,
we’ve a saying on the island: if you don’t like the weather, wait an hour.’

‘I heard the same when I visited the island of Arran when I was at university. It was a bit unpredictable then, too,’ Kate smiled. ‘My mum brought me this waterproof coat. I
think she’s worried I won’t be able to look after myself, so far away from home. She forgets I’m twenty-six, not six.’

‘Aye, she called and spoke to me yesterday.’

Oh God! Kate had temporarily forgotten about that phone call. What exactly had her mother said?

‘We had a nice long chat. She was telling me how she thinks a little break will do you the world of good.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Indeed. I told her a wee bit of fresh island air and some hard work would do you good. You’ll forget all about that Ian, before you know it. Oh, and she warned me I was to stop you
from falling into the arms of the first man you meet.’

‘That makes a change, for her. She’s probably worried I’ll end up living here permanently, and she’ll not be able to keep tabs on me.’ Cringing with embarrassment,
Kate looked at Jean. ‘Did she give you my whole life story?’

‘I think she’s a wee bitty worried about you.’

‘Mmm.’ Kate hid her irritation with a smile. Thank the Lord there were no flights onto the island, so at least if her mother was planning to swoop down and start smothering her with
well-meaning advice, she might have a few hours’ notice. Kate leaned her head against the window, eyes drooping for a second. She nodded, lulled by the restful hum of the boat’s engine.
Mustn’t fall asleep, she thought.

‘You must be worn out. We’re nearly there now, dear – time to go down to the car.’

Kate jolted awake with a sickening lurch. She hadn’t slept on the long journey up, having found herself sandwiched between her mother, who was listing all the things she should watch out
for (killer eagles, ravening wolves, gamekeepers with evil intentions), and Katharine, who was intent on teaching her how to play a video game that had made no sense.

She followed Jean down the stairs into the car deck, where a dark-blue Land Rover was waiting. A craggy-faced man in a green van nodded and smiled at her, then wound down the window.

‘You’ll be the lassie come to join us at Duntarvie? Mind Jean doesn’t work you too hard. She’s a right taskmaster, that one.’ He winked at Jean over Kate’s
shoulder.

‘Enough from you, Billy. It’ll be a fright you’re giving her and she’ll be back off on the next boat, and us with nobody to polish His Lordship’s boots.’

Boot-polishing? Oh God, thought Kate. She’d been thinking more along the lines of floating around the estate, perhaps supervising the odd lambing or – well, actually, she suddenly
realized she still had absolutely no idea what a Girl Friday was supposed to do. Maybe boot-polishing was the thin end of the wedge, and three days a week she’d be wiping down cows’
udders, or something equally hideous.

The Land Rover footwell was filthy and covered in dog hair. Jean removed a mud-smeared woollen blanket from the passenger seat and motioned for Kate to get in.

‘Sorry, this is Roderick’s car. He never goes anywhere without his two dogs, and he will not put them in the back.’

‘It’s fine. I love dogs – in fact, I’m hoping to get one, now I’m here.’ Kate smiled to herself at the thought, and was already lost in a daydream when she
realized they were moving forward. The ramp was down and a handful of cars, vans and a horsebox rolled off the ferry and onto the island of Auchenmor.

‘Och well, we should be able to do something about that. No shortage of animals on this island. We’re outnumbered.’

Jean drove the Land Rover down the ramp and off the ferry. She pulled the car over to the side of the road, stopping to send a text. Kate watched the ferry workers quickly load up the boat and
send it back on its last journey of the day.

She felt a tingle of excitement as she looked down the main street of Kilmannan, the principal town and heart of the small island of Auchenmor. It was no longer a picture in a guidebook or a
fuzzy outline on a computer screen. It was real, and she was here. She suddenly felt very far removed from reality. Sea and the distant islands were all she could see: the last ferry had gone. She
was trapped now.

‘We’ll take a wee run round the island first, if you like,’ offered Jean. ‘It’s not big, so it’ll not take long, and I can give you the low-down on everyone
who lives here.’

Jean winked at Kate and cackled with surprising laughter. ‘Don’t look so shocked. You’ll learn soon enough there are no secrets in this place. Sneeze over your breakfast and by
lunchtime the whole island will know you’ve got a cold.’

Oh, help! Kate had envisioned a remote island paradise, albeit with pine trees instead of palms, where she could go to ground, wander around without bumping into anyone she knew, and work out
what to do with the rest of her life. Instead it looked as if she was going to be the talk of the town, just by virtue of having arrived here.

‘I’ll drive up the High Street first; that way you can have a wee look at the shops.’ Jean switched on the engine and started to drive at a pace slightly faster than a jog.
Kate looked around anxiously for an irate driver with road rage. ‘My niece Ellen says the shops here are terrible. She gets on the ferry on a Saturday morning at 6.30 a.m. to go down to
Glasgow. I couldn’t be bothered myself. There’s our supermarket – it’s lovely and new.’ Jean pointed at the squat, modern supermarket, which stood apart from the
splendid Victorian buildings of the High Street. Kate thought it was hideous, a bright scar amongst the tattered and faded shops with their peeling paint and sea-rusted signs.

There was a fishmonger, a butcher and an old-fashioned greengrocer. The clothes shop had a window display that didn’t look as if it had altered since 1972. The windows were covered on the
inside with a thick, yellow-tinted transparent plastic, which curled at the edges. Behind it Kate could see faded boxes, and mannequins with thickly plastic wigs, wearing aprons and polyester
slacks. Terrifying, thought Kate, who had always thought she was pretty much impervious to fashion. Perhaps I’m going to be the height of sophistication here.