Page 60 of The Scottish Island Inn

‘No.’ Heather sighed. ‘But I suppose it’s to be expected. From Violet, especially. But I know her well enough to know that she’s really sad about all this. You know that she lashes out when she’s hurt.’

‘Well… yes, I do.’ Sorrel let out a long breath. Violet had a sharp tongue if she felt cornered or attacked, but she was also one of the most caring people Sorrel had ever known. Violet was the one who would bring you soup when you were ill, but not tell anyone that she did it. Violet was the one who never forgot a confidence, never forgot a favour and always repaid them. Bluebell’s message had hurt the most to read, though. Sorrel had always had a close bond with her youngest sister. Bluebell was the one who was hurting the most, it seemed.

Sorrel scrolled down to the most recent messages.

Heather: @Sorrel and I came out to meet her biological father. She’s talking to him now.

Blossom: WHAT??!

Primrose: WHATTTT?!

Bluebell: Maybe we aren’t enough for her any more

Blossom: @Bluebell That’s not what’s happening here, sweetheart

Violet: Well, that’s a new development…

Blossom: Is @Sorrel on this chat?

Heather: Yes, I added her

Blossom: @Sorrel I wish you’d communicate better with us, i.e. at all, would be nice. This is really important stuff. We want to be here to support you

Violet: Right @Blossom but I’m worried about her bringing some stranger into our lives. Do we know anything about this man?

Heather: @Violet He works at the archery centre outside Portree. I’m in the car park now.

Primrose: @Violet What do you think he’s going to do? We’re all adults, he can hardly kidnap us

Violet: @Primrose. You must have seen those true crime shows. He could be a psycho. Probs why Mum didn’t want anything to do with him

Primrose: @Violet I don’t even know where to start with that.

Sorrel put the phone down, making a face.

‘It would help if Mum would speak to us. But she’s hiding out. Literally and metaphorically.’ Heather gave way to a large farm truck. ‘I’ve asked her to talk to all of us, but she won’t. You know how she is.’

‘She’s not going to be happy that I met with Malcolm, I guess.’ Sorrel stared down at Catriona’s text. ‘But I have to tell her.’

‘You and Mum need to have a proper chat.’ Heather nodded. ‘Get everything out in the open.’

‘I know. I’m just not looking forward to it.’ Sorrel sighed.

When they got back to the caravan, Sorrel found Bluebell sitting on a dilapidated wooden bench at the end of the Inn’s lovely garden, sketching a robin.

‘Hello.’ Sorrel approached her youngest sister cautiously.

‘Hello.’ Bluebell looked up briefly, and then went back to her drawing. It was mid-afternoon and the sun had passed to the west, on its slow way back to the horizon. For now, it glinted on the waters of the loch, which were just visible through the trees in the distance.

‘Am I interrupting?’ Sorrel asked.

‘Kind of.’ Bluebell continued shading in the bird’s feathers.

‘That’s really good. I used to love all the drawings you did for our stories. Do you remember those?’ Sorrel perched on the bench next to her sister.

‘Of course I remember,’ Bluebell replied, shortly.

‘Do you still have them? I’d love to see.’