Page 26 of The Scottish Island Inn

‘Ooh! I’m so pleased!’ Heather hugged her sister fiercely. ‘I’m so happy! Now, the wedding will be perfect!’

‘Is it too late? To organise a dress and whatever else?’ Sorrel chuckled, extricating herself from the hug.

‘No. I can organise everything. I just need your measurements.’ Heather squealed in excitement. ‘Oh, Sorrel. I’m so happy. You don’t know.’

‘I think I do. But thank you, Heather. It’s really nice to be asked.’ Sorrel felt warm inside; it was good to be home, but it was also complicated. Yet Heather’s including her in her wedding made Sorrel feel as though there was hope – maybe things could go back to the way they had once been.

‘Of course! Why wouldn’t I ask you? You’re my big sister.’ Heather shook her head. ‘You left such a huge hole in our family when you left. You were our rock. You were the one who was always there when Mum and Dad weren’t. And there were a lot of times they weren’t, when we were kids. You and I know that.’ Heather looked thoughtful. ‘They don’t think we remember, but we do. When Mum had her off days and Dad was looking after her. They pretty much just left us to it.’

‘Yeah. I didn’t know if you remembered that. When we talked about it at the castle café, you were pretty vague.’ Sorrel cocked her head to one side and regarded Heather.

‘I remember. I just didn’t want to go into it with Blue there.’ Heather looked evasive. ‘I was trying to protect her, I suppose. She was angry with you that day. She still is, a little, but I can feel that it’s abated a bit. You talked?’

‘A bit. She felt guilty about me going away. She thought it was her fault, if you can believe that.’ Sorrel sighed. ‘I feel terrible. The poor thing.’

‘Blue has always taken the weight of the world on her little shoulders.’ Heather nodded. ‘You know, with Mum and Dad… Neither of them ever told us what was going on. I can look back now and realise that she had depressive periods. Maybe even postpartum depression, I don’t know. She definitely had times when she couldn’t stand for us to be around. And she very much put you in charge. I wondered if that was why you left. Or something to do with it.’ Heather drew a doodle in the margin of her notepad.

‘Kind of. Part of it.’

‘You need to tell us all what went on,’ Heather said. ‘I told you, in the café. You might as well get it off your chest once and for all, in one go.’

‘How am I meant to tell you all in one go?’ Sorrel felt wrong-footed.

Blossom ran a farm with her partner, Tom, about four hours’ drive away on the mainland, and Primrose was a teacher in Edinburgh. Violet, a beauty journalist, was away somewhere abroad. They were hardly going to all pop around to the caravan at a moment’s notice.

‘I can set up a group video chat, and we can do it that way,’ Heather said. ‘We’ve done it before. When I wanted to tell everyone about the wedding, and when Mum and Dad had to tell us about the Inn falling apart. We’ve got it down to a fine art now.’

Which you’d know, if you’d been a part of the family for the last ten years, was the implied message under her sister’s words, but Heather was too nice to say it.

‘Fine. Do it.’ Sorrel knew she couldn’t hold out any longer. It was unfair to everyone; she’d seen the anxiety her disappearance had caused Bluebell; goodness knows how the rest of them felt about it.

‘You’re sure?’ Heather asked, warily.

‘I’m sure. Circle the wagons.’

Now, she had to think about how she was going to tell everyone her secret. The secret that she’d held on to for so long that it felt as though it had meshed with her bones: a part of her, as vital as the blood in her veins.

‘When?’

‘As soon as everyone can make it.’

FOURTEEN

‘Darling, welcome to your homecoming upon the SS Margaret!’ Dom removed the scarf he’d tied over her eyes, and Sorrel blinked, dazzled by the scene in front of her.

When she’d turned up to Dom and Farid’s house – a lovely converted barn down a quiet lane – Dom had told her that they’d organised a surprise, and, before she’d even had a chance to take her coat off, he’d ushered into his SUV, tied a floral scarf over her eyes and driven her to a ‘secret location’, playing ABBA all the way there, which was, in his words, ‘to throw you off the scent, missus.’

‘Isn’t it a hoot!’ Dom exclaimed as Sorrel took it all in.

‘Um. Wow. Very Overboard with Goldie Hawn.’ She couldn’t help but smile, because Dom’s energy was infectious; he was as excited as a child on Christmas morning.

‘Exactly. I knew you’d see the vision.’ Dom chuckled. ‘But with slightly more appropriate dinner dress. Those swimming costumes were so high in the leg.’

They had walked into a large living area, sumptuously furnished with Eighties-style upholstered, built-in mahogany sofas along both walls. The fabric on the sofas was a worn but still serviceable maroon velveteen fabric that featured a large geometric design in blue and purple. The carpet was also purple, and the made-to-measure curtains that lined the yacht’s windows were a plain maroon.

All in all, Sorrel felt as though she had walked into an aubergine.

At the centre of the room, there was a round mahogany dinner table, at which sat Heather, Farid and Tam Blackwood. There were two empty chairs for her and Dom.