Page 14 of The Scottish Island Inn

Skye was in Sorrel’s bones, and she was glad to be home, even though the reasons she was there were difficult. Coming home was remembering, and many of the things she’d deliberately forgotten were beautiful, like this view, the trees, the waterfalls, the clean air and the ancient brochs. Many of them made her heart sing.

But there were also things that Sorrel wanted to forget. She wanted to forget what Simon had done to her. She wanted to forget the years of pretending to be someone that she wasn’t.

‘Why did you go?’ Bluebell asked. ‘And… why are you back? We know that something happened with Mum. She’s been like a cat on bricks since you got back. I mean, I know she hates living in the caravan, so it might be that. But… we all feel sort of weird, now you’re back, Sorrel. We love you. We’re so glad you’re home. But… we’ve never understood why you left in the first place. There was no warning. It… it hurt.’ Her voice wobbled. Sorrel’s heart went out to her. She had absolutely never wanted to hurt Bluebell, or any of them.

‘We’re here if you want to talk about it,’ Heather added. ‘We’re sisters. We’re made of the same stuff. Literally. We’re just slightly varied versions of the same DNA. We shouldn’t have secrets. It makes me sad to think that we do.’ Her voice hitched.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Sorrel just felt like she was repeating herself. ‘I… I will tell you. But I’m not ready. Not yet. Can you give me some time?’ she asked, looking away from both of them at the view across the loch. Bluebell was right: there were so many memories there.

Sorrel had loved those boat trips. When they were younger, with Angus at the oars, and when she was old enough, she had rowed her sisters across. She had been the one who had taken Bluebell there for the first time. She remembered her little sister’s expression of delighted surprise as they’d cut through the cold, clear water of the loch. It had been a summer’s day, and the sun had lit everything up so beautifully. It was one of those perfect moments that were forever ingrained in her memory. Bluebell looking out at the loch and then at her, asking, Are there monsters in the loch, Sorrel? And she’d offhandedly reassured her sister, No, of course not. Only fish, because she was concentrating on her rowing. But Bluebell’s little face had creased with disappointment, and Sorrel had realised that she had wanted her big sister to say, Yes, there are monsters. Watch out. Bluebell had wanted to believe that magic was real.

As soon as she’d realised that, Sorrel had leaned forward, the rough wooden oars in her hands, and whispered in Bluebell’s ear, But who knows what’s in the depth of the loch, Blue? There could be all kinds down there. Sea serpents. Ancient dinosaurs. Mermaids. Kelpies. And Bluebell’s eyes had lit up with the power of her own imagination.

Oh. Yes.

You should draw all the magical creatures of the loch in your book when we get home, Sorrel had said to Bluebell. And I’ll write the story. Or you can.

Okay. Sorrel remembered how well she could see her little sister’s resolve to draw and write the best magical story she could. And she had, when they’d got home.

Sorrel had always told the younger ones stories that she would make up. She had loved being their storyteller; the one who had created a vivid world of shared imagination for them to live inside. She had invented so many little stories featuring recurring places and characters: the Palace Under the Loch, ruled over by the kind-hearted Salmon King; the Gnomes of the Broch, with their plaited beards and seven rules for the good stewardship of the glen; the Kelpie Races, a race for the mythical Scottish water horses that took place every year starting at the waterfall at Kilt Rock. Eventually, her sisters had started referencing those events and characters and places as real.

But there was another reason for her stories, and that was to distract her sisters from her mother’s frequent absences. It wasn’t unusual for Catriona not to come along on a day out, or for her to retire to her bedroom because it was too noisy, the children were too much, she needed some time alone. And on the times when Sorrel had tiptoed up to her parents’ bedroom and peeked in, she’d seen Catriona as just a lump in her bed with the covers pulled over her head. She’d never told her sisters.

‘Yes. But you’re going to have to talk to us eventually, you know,’ Heather said. She put her hands on her hips and stared out to the loch. ‘You know what? I’m hungry. Let’s go to the castle café and get something.’

Bluebell lit up. ‘Oooh. Yeah. A sausage sandwich.’

‘Okay.’ Sorrel grinned at her sisters. ‘Thank you for being patient. I appreciate it.’

‘We appreciate you.’ Heather hugged her; Bluebell still stood apart a little. She was going to take longer to let Sorrel in again.

And that’s okay, Sorrel thought, resignedly. She and Bluebell had been close. It was all right that it was going to take her sister a while to forgive her.

Sorrel fervently wished that she could forget the way she had left Skye and only remember the good times. It hurt to think that she had hurt her sisters, but she didn’t know if she had it in her to tell them the truth without hurting them again. Her secret weighed all the more heavily on her now that she was with her sisters again; she wanted to tell them. But she had no idea how.

EIGHT

‘A man’s been staring at you since we arrived,’ Heather murmured in a low voice to Sorrel as the three sisters sat down at the last free table in the Balhennie Castle Café.

The café sat in the castle grounds and was an eatery run by staff who worked for Uncle James. It provided hearty Scottish breakfasts, lunches and snacks every day to the tourists who came to the castle.

‘What man?’ Sorrel looked around the café, frowning.

‘I don’t know him. Wait, I can’t see him now. The queue’s in the way, and I’ve got my back to him.’

It was busy in the café and a long queue of American tourists, all dressed in colourful rain jackets and walking boots, wound its way between the tables. Sorrel craned her neck to see beyond the snake of people, but it was too crowded. She shrugged.

‘Probably one of Mum and Dad’s friends that we haven’t seen in a long while,’ she said, dismissing it. After all, almost the moment she’d driven back over the bridge and onto the island, it felt as though a whisper campaign had reverberated around Skye that Sorrel Balhennie was home.

‘I don’t know. I felt something was off.’ Heather looked pensive. ‘Bad vibes.’

‘Bad vibes, like, how?’ Bluebell frowned.

‘I don’t know. He had a dark aura.’

Heather, as well as being the most emotional and sensitive of the Balhennie sisters, had always claimed to be psychic. Sorrel wasn’t sure what she thought of all that, but she had faith in Heather’s feelings about people; she was rarely wrong. And that gave Sorrel a disquieting feeling.

‘Oh.’ She didn’t want someone with a dark aura staring at her.