Red Skye at Night (33 page)

The pair hold each other in a long, tearful embrace. I suspect they could have been firm friends for most of their lives, had things worked out differently. At last they separate.

“As I mentioned, there are a couple of us missing still. Iain is in New York and should be here tomorrow. And my mother, Ann-Marie the second I guess you’d say, has an exhibition in Vancouver so she’ll be here in two days.” Harry concludes the round-up of the McLeod clan, and starts trying to usher everyone indoors.

His great-grandmother is staring at Ritchie, unmoving. “Ann-Marie? Ye named her for me? Yer eldest lass?”

Ritchie grins at her. “Our only lass, as it turned out. But yes, she was named fer ye, Mam.” He turns to face Angus, and his expression hardens. “After all, we couldna carry on callin’ her a belly full o’ arms an’ legs.”

Silence. Deathly, awful silence.

The two men stare at each other, their gazes locked across a quarrel that has lasted over fifty years. I glance at Ann-Marie.

Her mouth is working, framing soundless words. “Please don’t. Please, please don’t.”

But they do, and they have. The words are out there, wriggling between us, horrid, distasteful, bitter, and threatening to ruin this family all over again.

Angus’ chin lifts. He meets Ritchie’s unwavering gaze. Long moments pass in which I, for one, forget to breathe.

At last Angus nods, the movement slight but decisive. “Aye, lad, ye have a point. A lot was said back then, things which canna be unsaid. But I want tae make it right now. I need tae talk wi’ ye, an’ wi’ Sarah. I’d prefer to do that in private, but if ye want to settle it here, we can.”

Ritchie’s glare does not falter, and I’m not convinced Angus’ olive branch will be accepted. But I’ve not taken into account the indomitable force that is Sarah McLeod. The small woman inserts herself between the two men. “Ye’re right, Angus. We have much to discuss. An’ now’s as good a time as any.” She links her arms through each of the protagonists and starts to march them along the road. “I’d like tae see the auld place again. Shall we take a stroll over tae Kilmuir together then?”

“But it’s nearly dark.” Ritchie’s protest is at best half-hearted. I suspect after a lifetime with Sarah, he knows he’s lost this round already.

She tuts, her attitude brisk, no nonsense. “We could all of us find Kilmuir blindfold, let alone in the twilight. It’s not quite dark in any case. Look, the sky’s still lit up over there.”

On the far horizon, the final glow of evening is settling, casting a glorious red over the landscape. We all stand, watching, as Sarah hustles the two men away and out of earshot. She’s right, their conversation needs to be just between the three of them.

I sense rather than hear Harry come to stand behind me. I lean back against his solid shape as he wraps his arms around my waist.

“Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight.” He murmurs the words, for my ears only. “Remind me to work on that later.”

* * * *

I have to wait a while for Harry to come good on his promise. The trio who trooped off up to Kilmuir have been gone over two hours. The rest of us have spent that time crammed into Ann-Marie’s living room, sampling Angus’ supply of fine whisky and getting to know each other. Despite her anxious hand-wringing, and attempts not to jump at every sound from outside, Ann-Marie’s happiness at meeting her grandsons is palpable. She’s smiling, her eyes swimming with tears, but drinking in every detail of them—their faces, their voices, their stories of a life in Canada.

Harry and I sit quietly, listening. There aren’t enough chairs to go around so he’s pulled me onto his lap, further reinforcing my ambiguous situation here. I’m not his girlfriend. We have no future together. I’m just—here. Now. And that’s enough. It will have to be.

Five heads swivel toward the door at the sound of it opening. Low voices in the hallway. I take that to be a good sign. No one’s shouting, at least. Angus, Sarah and Ritchie enter, their faces solemn. Ritchie’s gaze falls on the half empty bottle of whisky on the table in front of his sons.

“I hope you’ve not had too much o’ that, lad. Ye’ll be driving again tonight.” He glowers at Duncan.

My heart sinks. I’d hoped they could… Ritchie continues, his grin widening. “Harry, d’ye think ye can get us a couple o’ rooms at that hotel you’re staying at? Seems as though we’ll be around for a while.”

Amid the laughing and cheering, Harry and I stand to offer our chair to Sarah. I slip away into the kitchen to make tea. What else? I suspect I’ll be the one doing any driving later, so the whisky won’t be a problem. I never could stand the stuff.

A few minutes later, everyone supplied with their preferred refreshment, I’m back in the living room, trying to be inconspicuous by the door. Daisy is curled up by my feet, quite unfazed by the crowds and din. She wags her tail as I bend to stroke her ears.

“Quite a party we’ve gate-crashed here. Should we go for a little walk, do you think?” I don’t usually start conversations with Daisy. I leave that to Harry. But after the stresses of this day, I find her quiet company engaging. She gets to her feet, prancing about, eager to be off.

Angus is passing us, a new, unopened bottle of fine single malt in his hand. He stoops to pat Daisy, seeking Harry out across the room.

“So, lad, what’s the story on this little lady?”

Harry looks up from his conversation with Sarah. “Oh, right. She’s a stray I sort of collected on my travels up here. She’s sweet. I’m thinking I should keep her.”

Angus looks from me to Daisy, then back to Harry. He nods, his expression thoughtful. “Aye, lad, good thinkin’. I reckon she’ll suit ye verra well. I’m glad we got that settled. So, what about the wee dog then?”

* * * *

I’m depressed. Very, very depressed. It’s been a week now since that momentous evening when the tribe of McLeods started their descent on Skye, a hectic round of meeting new people, shaking hands, drinking. Tea in my case, though most of the McLeods seem to favor the local whisky. I’ve been introduced to Harry’s mother, a fabric designer whom I often catch looking at me, her face a mask of speculation. She’s friendly enough, though, and so far we’ve got on fine. Harry’s remaining uncle, Iain, arrived from New York. Even Janet from Orkney has joined us, looking somewhat nonplussed at the turn events have taken. I really can’t blame her. It all seems quite incredible now.

As the numbers have swelled, the little bungalow in Uig has not been able to accommodate us so we’ve pretty much taken over the lounge at the Portree Hotel, as well as most of their rooms. The couple who own and run the place can’t do enough for us, not least as half the Isle of Skye seems to have dropped in over the last few days to pay their respects to the homecoming McLeods. Word has gone round, and each new welcoming committee that parades through our lounge does so with much backslapping and buying of drinks all round. The hotel is doing well.

Today we are all gathered for our usual late afternoon ritual. We take tea together, maybe throw in a few home-made scones, and we chat. This afternoon, though, the conversation has taken an unwelcome but inevitable turn. The McLeods need to make arrangements for their flights home.

Ritchie and Sarah are thinking of staying longer in Skye. They are retired, no pressing business requiring them to get back to Canada. Not so their offspring. The family business is ticking over, but it needs their attention. Harry’s been in the UK for over two weeks already, a trip only originally intended to last for a couple of days. All three of his uncles are needed at home too. Arrangements have to be made.

My heart is breaking. I can feel it, cracking and crumbling in my chest. Harry is leaving. Going. When he leaves I’ll have no reason to stay here in the Highlands. I’ll drive back to Leeds, alone, and try to pick up where I left off. I tell myself I’ll be fine. I was before. I will be again.

Despite my own sadness, I feel for Ann-Marie. She sits next to Angus on the plush sofa in the hotel lounge, listening as her family, the only people in the world who matter to her, make their plans to leave. Again. She says nothing. She won’t interfere. Their lives are not here, never will be. I know she’s proud of what Ritchie achieved, of the family he raised and the business he built. Her face glows with it every time she looks at him, or at her grandchildren. The separation fifty years ago almost destroyed her. I’m not sure she’ll survive it a second time.

As I sit, silent, watching and listening, it occurs to me that there’s no reason why she should. An idea is forming, one so obvious I’m sure everyone else must be thinking the same thing. No one’s saying it, though. No one is stating the obvious solution. I look at the elderly pair, wizened, gray, but still in good health. It’s clear they don’t have many years left, but I can see no good reason why their remaining time on this earth should not be spent in Canada, surrounded by the people they love.

“You could go too,” I say it. Someone had to.

Several heads turn in my direction.

“Go where, pet?” Angus looks curious, surprised even. He may well be. I’m a listener, not a talker. I hardly ever speak up in this crowd. But sometimes, well, things just need saying.

“Canada. You could go too. Go to Canada.” There, that should leave little enough room for doubt.

“Canada? Us? We can’t be swanning off tae the other side of the world. Not at our time o’ life.” Angus shakes his head, reaches for the remaining remnants of his buttered scone. “Apart from anything else, who’d see tae things up at Kilmuir?”

With a conscious effort I hold his gaze, resisting the impulse to lower my eyes. I’m determined to make my point, and the more this idea forms in my head, the more certain I am that this is the right thing to do. “What things? You said yourself, you won’t live there again. And now Ritchie’s here, he could see to selling the place if no one in the family wants it anymore. What’s the point in staying here, just the two of you, when everything, everyone that matters to you is in Canada? What’s to hold you here, now? Let go of it, and move on.” My words may be harsh, but to the best of my knowledge, I’m telling it like it is. If there’s anyone here who disagrees, who thinks Kilmuir should remain in the McLeod family, they can always speak up. I pause and look round the assembled clan. No one seems inclined to take issue with me so far. Except Angus.

“Ye’re a fine lass, pet, but ye’re talkin’ daft. We canna be movin’ agin. It nigh on killed us tae shift down to the village, we’re too auld tae be doin’ it all again. Apart from in a box.” He sits back to chew, the matter seemingly settled to his satisfaction.

“Ye might be, Angus, but I’m not.”

“What?” Angus nearly chokes on a stray crumb as he turns to stare at his wife, his jaw dropping.

Ann-Marie meets his gaze, her expression calm, but with a determined set to her features. “I think ye heard me fine, Angus McLeod.”

“Ye want tae go? Wi’ them? Tae Canada?”

She gives an emphatic nod. “I do.”

“But… How? I mean, where…?”

“I was thinking I could fly there. I’ve never been in a plane, so I reckon it’s time I did. An’ I’ll stay wi’ Ritchie and Sarah.” She turns to her son and daughter-in-law. “If that’s all right wi’ ye, o’ course?”

Sarah is the first to rally. “Yes, yes of course. Ye’d be welcome. How long would ye like tae stay for?”

Ann-Marie turns her attention to Angus, her expression softening now. “Well, that all depends on my husband.” She reaches for him, lays her palm against his cheek.

He turns to kiss it, the action looking instinctive.

Ann-Marie gives a half smile. “I’ve loved ye, an’ I’ve obeyed ye for over seventy years. Only once have ye given me cause to regret it, an’ I know ye did what ye’ could to set that right. But it cost me my son, my family. I stayed wi’ ye an’ let them walk away once before. Not again. Not this time. If they leave, when they leave, I go too. I want ye tae come wi’ us, but if ye insist on stayin’ here, ye’ll do it alone.”

The room is silent as Ann-Marie finishes her little speech. I wonder how often she’s stood up to Angus and meant it. I reckon she could count the times on one hand, but I daresay she chooses her battles wisely. She waits for a few moments, perhaps to let her quiet determination sink in before she continues.

“I canna leave ye for good. I love ye, Angus, I always have an’ I’d not be whole wi’out ye. So if ye stay here, I’ll have tae come back eventually. But I dinna want to. I want tae leave this place wi’ my family intact, an’ never come back. So, I’m asking this o’ ye, Angus. For me. Please, come wi’ us.”

Angus’ mouth is trembling, his eyes filling up. He brushes a tear away, his gesture angry, embarrassed. Has he ever allowed himself to cry, I wonder? His gaze is locked on his wife’s, and I swear neither of them is aware of anything but each other, an intense connection that has lasted a lifetime but is meeting its most severe test now. Angus narrows his eyes.

“I could instruct ye tae stay, woman. Tae drop this foolishness.”

“Aye, ye could, But I’d not obey ye, not this time, Sir.”

He glares at her, his nostrils flaring. I can easily see how that look has brought her to her knees countless times over the years, but not this time. Not today. If anyone else, apart from Harry probably, recognizes the power dynamic going on here, they make no comment on it.

At last, Angus replies, “I see. Well, we’d best be gettin’ ourselves some passports then. That’s if Ritchie and Sarah ha’ room fer the two of us.”

Before either Ritchie or Sarah can respond, Harry gets to his feet, his hand extended to me. “You can have my old room. I reckon I’ll be needing a place of my own.” He turns to his grandfather. “I’d prefer if you don’t sell the old place off, though, unless it’s to me.” He nods to the rest of the family gathered around the room. “If you’ll all excuse us, I need a word with Hope. In private.” He extends his hand to me. “Come with me, please.”

I know better than to argue with that tone, and in any case, my work here is done. The room erupts in whoops and congratulations as Harry and I make for the door. I assume Angus and Ann-Marie are the intended recipients, though it’s not entirely clear. I follow him along the ground floor corridor leading to our room, for once Daisy not trotting along at our heels.