Island Idyll E-Book

John Darley

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 174

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

In Island Idyll by John Darley, Sally's life unravels after her partner, Tom, leaves, and her beloved grandmother passes away. Seeking solace, she travels to the remote island of Annisaire for the funeral. The journey is transformative, marked by the accidental loss of her mobile phone and the warmth of the island community, including a charming local named Ben. Sally reconnects with her roots and her late grandmother's cherished croft. Faced with a life-changing decision about staying on the island, Sally finds herself drawn to the simplicity and beauty of Annisaire, contemplating a new beginning away from her old life.

Leseprobe

ISLAND IDYLL

by John Darley

Alone

The dishwasher packing up was the final straw. Sally came into the kitchen to find water leaking out on to the floor.

She’d managed to switch off the appliance – that was the easy bit. Then began the long, tedious phone calls to the appliance-repair company with whom she had a contract.

This was Saturday so things were taking even longer than usual.

“Don’t put me on hold again!” she yelled at the recorded voice.

The brain-numbing muzak started up.

Eventually she was connected to a repair company where she was able to hear a calm recorded voice say that they were now closed till Monday.

She had come out to the kitchen expecting the dishwasher to have finished its cycle. This mattered because she needed coffee – and every mug and cup that she possessed was in the machine.

Gingerly she reached into the machine and took out a mug, noting that it was one of Tom’s. She took some small measure of satisfaction to see that the ink of its Spurs logo was starting to come off in places.

“One day you’ll be gone, too,” she whispered.

Since Tom had left, more than four weeks ago, Sally had found herself often speaking in whispers. It was like a subconscious decision to be quiet after the noisy unpleasantness that had built up to his departure.

What was so cruel was that for some time he had made her feel as if she was to blame for the breakdown.

Ironic that, as her own relationship had ended, other things had packed up, the dishwasher being the latest calamity.

Sally decided she didn’t want to put her lips to the mug that Tom had used. Instead she dropped it into the bin, a small gesture that didn’t bring any real pleasure.

She made her coffee after rinsing one of her own mugs and then sat with it in her hands, taking stock of her life.

“Here I am,” she whispered, “the wrong side of twenty-five, living alone.

“I do a job I don’t like much, am reliant on technology, live in the flight path of Heathrow airport and feel utterly dissatisfied!”

It gave her some sort of cathartic satisfaction to list these things.

She took her mug to the sink and rinsed it under the mixer taps, standing it to drain on the granite worktop.

An image entered her head of Granny Paterson’s croft in Annisaire, with its bleached-wood draining-board pressed up against the big stoneware sink. Its one tap was centred and fixed to the wall.

She was still in this nostalgic reverie when the telephone rang. It was the landline, its shrill sound almost making Sally jump out of her skin.

Only one person used this outmoded form of communication to reach her – Meryl Lunsford, Sally’s mum.

Bad News

“Hello, Mum, what’s new?” Sally walked up and down the open-plan kitchen with the cordless phone.

She tried to sound cheerful, putting up an invisible barrier against what she saw as – and certainly anticipated – her mother’s veiled criticisms of her life.

“Hello, dear, I’m afraid I have some really bad news.”

Meryl spoke in her usual matter-of-fact tone.

Her voice held only a hint of the Scottish accent she had tried hard to suppress for most of her adult life, as if ashamed of her roots.

Sally stopped pacing the kitchen, frightened to hear what the news was going to be.

She had no siblings and Meryl had lived alone since divorcing Sally’s father some years ago.

“Are you there, dear?”

“Yes. What is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s your gran. Granny Paterson. I’m afraid she’s passed away.”

Sally put a hand to her mouth, fighting back a choking sensation.

She felt shock and despair and was trying desperately not to reveal this to her mother. Long ago she had decided not to let her know when she had felt hurt.

In this case, though, Sally could not blame Meryl for what had happened.

“I am so sorry, Mum, that’s very sad. When did this happen?”

Mother and daughter talked for a few more minutes. Meryl assured her she would be in touch when she knew the date of the funeral.

“That will be a journey in itself,” Meryl complained. “Still, I know how fond of her you were, dear. I expect you’ll want to go.”

“Of course I will! I loved Granny Paterson.”

“Well, I’ll call you. Bye, dear.”

Sally, still stunned, was standing in the same spot as when her mother told her the awful news.

Now her eyes focused slowly on the figure facing her in the long mirror on the wall opposite.

She struggled to look at her reflection. In the last few months of their relationship Tom had made her feel worthless somehow, diminishing her self-esteem.

As she looked she saw grief written on her face yet, surprisingly, there was still natural beauty shining through.

Her auburn hair and the softness of her features surprised Sally in many ways. She could see something of her granny as a young girl in her.

This comforted her.

Turning from the image she made her way over to the sofa and fell back into it. She looked objectively around her.

This was the place she and Tom – mostly Tom – had chosen to live.

It was a sort of hi-tech, hi-spec accommodation designed for the digital age. Even the armchairs had USB sockets, for goodness’ sake!

It was not exactly a place in which to feel at home.

Sally remained where she was on the sofa for some time.

Her low mood was accentuated by the oncoming dusk as the April evening descended, cocooning her in a growing cloak of darkness.

She craved light – light and hope – yet she stayed there, hiding in the dark.

Her fervent wish was that the sad news would go away.

Phone Overboard!

The journey to Annisaire was a long one. In fact it was a number of long journeys beginning with a flight from London to Edinburgh, followed by a train ride and then a ferry out to the island itself.

Sally felt a deep shame that she had not been here for over two years now. Her excuse at the time had been because she had begun the relationship with Tom. The whole world seemed to revolve around him.

It took a while to realise that that was exactly how Tom intended it to be. He saw Sally as an accessory, something that looked good on his arm whenever he was meeting up with some of his IT colleagues.

Sally, by contrast, was in love – or so she told herself. She had accepted Tom without question. It was only as time went on, and their lives grew duller and without purpose, that Sally felt relief she hadn’t chosen to have a child with him.

She did want children – but this world in which they lived didn’t seem suited to that.

It was blustery and not a little rough on the ferry trip across to Annisaire. Nevertheless, despite her sadness at the purpose of her journey, Sally felt a sort of reckless exuberance. It was brought on by the wild weather, the heavy, moving clouds and the sensual smell of the sea itself.

She leaned as far over the rail as she dared, willing the booming spray to splash her face. Her phone was in her hand when a gust of wind nearly took her off her feet.

In that moment, as she grabbed for the rail, her phone slipped from her grasp and dropped like a stone into the churning water.

Panic threatened to overwhelm her. She almost cried out for help, as if it was a person and not an appliance that had gone overboard.

The moment passed as she experienced a sort of epiphany. It was a sense that what had happened had been a sign, an indication of where life and her future lay.

What form exactly that future would take she couldn’t say right now – nor was she considering the impracticalities of not having a phone.

Still, overwhelming her was a sense of freedom, of becoming an independent spirit.

It hadn’t been an expensive phone anyway. Sally had never been one to care about the status of some brands.

In that she differed from Tom who believed that it really did matter enormously that you owned the best and latest model. It was all to do with image as far as he was concerned.

The first sighting of Annisaire was as the clouds were speared suddenly by a shaft of sunlight. It awoke a childish feeling of excited anticipation in Sally, even though she was coming here for the funeral of her grandmother.

It was just something about this place. Annisaire had always given her so much pleasure, such a feeling of individuality and independence whenever she’d stayed at Granny Paterson’s croft.

This tradition had begun when Sally was a child and her mother couldn’t endure the prospect of having her around during the long school summer holidays.

The set-up had worked well for everyone. Sally felt much more at home with her granny than she ever did living with her parents.

Now, as she stared out ahead of her, the island stood like a jewel – an oasis set in a turquoise sea. It was beyond price.

On Annisaire

Having disembarked from the ferry along with a handful of other people, plus a couple of cars and a van, Sally made her way up the slope towards the “main” road that connected everyone on the island.

Granny Paterson’s croft was some way off the beaten track. Sally would need transport to get her there.

She hoisted her rucksack on to one shoulder and headed for where there had always been an allocated space for the one taxi on Annisaire.

The space today was empty but for a young, rather good-looking man who was had parked alongside it on a motorbike.

He seemed to be looking out for someone and when he noticed Sally he waved.

She turned to look behind her but there was no-one there. He must be waving at her.

With this knowledge came a sudden lightness of spirit.

The young man started to walk down the slope towards Sally, a smile spreading on his ruggedly handsome face.

She had no idea who he was, had never seen him before, but his warm expression filled her with a feeling of hope even in this sad situation.

“Hi! I take it you’re Sally? I’m Ben McBride. Your mother asked me to come and get you. Hope that’s OK.

“She said she’d been trying to get hold of you but with no luck. I know the signal’s pretty rubbish here.”

Sally had been listening to Ben’s deep yet gentle, sonorous tones in a sort of trance.

She might have stayed that way even longer had he not brought her back down to earth with mention of her mother and her lost mobile phone.

The dark clouds had made an unwelcome return, blocking out the sun and bringing with it a chilly wind that was making Sally’s teeth chatter.

“I lost my phone,” she explained rapidly. “On the way over. That’s why . . .”

Ben waited a few seconds, not sure whether she had finished or not.

Before the awkward silence could last any longer he suggested she accompany him on his motorbike back to Granny Paterson’s croft. He had even brought a helmet for her.

They mounted the machine. It was an old but beautifully maintained and gleaming Royal Enfield. Later she learned it had belonged to Ben’s uncle, John Sinclair.

“You might want to hold on to me,” he warned. “I won’t be going particularly fast but you might feel more secure that way.”

Might? Not a chance.

Sally felt completely at ease riding along behind him, her arms partially encircling Ben’s leather-clad figure.

The wind whispered through her hair and all the scents of the nearby ocean – plus Ben’s aftershave – created a heavenly pot pourri.

Eventually they left the main road and travelled along a more uneven track towards the croft. Ben negotiated the various ruts and potholes they encountered skilfully.

On either side were peaty bogs with serpentine rivulets, their water levels still high after the February thaw.

Ahead, as she glanced over Ben’s shoulder, Sally could see her grandmother’s whitewashed, single-storey cottage with its chimney stack. Wisps of smoke were being blown vertically as soon as they rose out of the terracotta chimney-pot.

Sally felt both sad and pleased at the sight. It was as if she was coming home.

Granny’s Cottage

Ben slowed down, coasting to the gate of Granny Paterson’s plot.

“Wait,” he told her. “Let me help you off.”

Common sense was starting to kick in for Sally. She was already feeling annoyed with herself for being so won over by Ben’s good looks.

As their journey had progressed she had found herself leaning closer into his back, eventually pressing her cheek gently into his back.

Now, having arrived at her grandmother’s cottage, the sad reason for being here began to sink in.

Here was the place that Sally had often wished could have been her home – familiar, friendly and filled with the love that only her grandmother showed for her.

Sally got off the motorbike, extricating herself somewhat awkwardly in her determination to not have to accept Ben’s help.

That brief, happy interlude was over. Now came the harsh reality.

“If there’s anything you need just give us a shout,” Ben offered. “I’m only up the road there at my Uncle John’s croft.”

He started up the engine and headed past the cottage, riding down the track that was owned by Granny Paterson, in fact.

She had allowed her neighbour, John Sinclair, to have the use of it as his own track ran down along the coast before weaving and winding back up to the main road, this arrangement made it much easier and quicker for all concerned.

Sally watched Ben until he was no longer in view then walked down the short, flagstoned path to the familiar pale blue, solid front door.

It was closed, which in itself was new. In the past it had been open as Granny Paterson stood in the threshold, a warm, affectionate smile on her face, ready to welcome Sally to her home.

Sally let herself in with the spare key her mother had given her, Meryl stating she had no use for it.

She stepped into the square-shaped lobby that had two internal doors. The one on the right led into the kitchen and the one on the left to the living-room.

Sally chose the kitchen door.

This was where most of life went on indoors when her gran wasn’t outside, in all weathers, working on her croft.

She took a sharp intake of breath as she entered the room. There was still an aroma of oatmeal, cocoa, herbs and other things, all of which were so familiar to her.

It made it seem impossible that her granny wouldn’t be here. Easy to imagine that she would step into the kitchen, struggling to get her boots off before heading towards the range to put the kettle on.

“Set doon, dear,” Sally could hear her say. “Ah’m wishing the noo there was summat stronger in the hoose. The chill never gets familiar to you.”

Sally sat “doon” in one of the weathered Windsor chairs that stood beside the scrubtop table.

She smiled at the memory.

Then she leaned forward, bringing her nose almost to touching point against the table’s smooth surface.

Sally inhaled the faint aromas, still there, of meals prepared, bread baked and jams and preserves tipped into jars on this very table.

A tear splashed on to its surface. It spread and was absorbed by the old wood. Sally sat up and wiped her eyes.

After The Funeral

The funeral was attended by almost everyone on Annisaire, with Sally and her mother the chief mourners.

Meryl left coming to the island to the last minute, perhaps hoping to avoid it altogether.

Despite having been born and brought up on Annisaire, once she attended the secondary school over on the mainland she had made the decision never to return once she was legally able to leave.

Life within the confines of Annisaire offered no prospects for the precociously academic girl. Her ambitions stretched way beyond simple croft life.

It had not proved to be a successful move, though she had got a good job in the civil service in Edinburgh. She then married and divorced, with Sally an unintended distraction in between.

After the funeral George Finlay, known affectionately as The Doc despite him being the island’s only blacksmith, invited Sally and Meryl to a ceilidh in the evening at the community centre. It was a modern, stark building set close to the church.

“We like to celebrate life here, lass. Even more so when it’s over.”

Meryl declined, saying it had all been too much and she would grieve in private.

“I’ll come!” Sally said enthusiastically.

What was there not to celebrate about her granny, after all?

The ceilidh was enjoyable and it gave everyone the opportunity to come over and speak to Sally. So many introductions, so many names and faces!

Some she knew, like Tidy Mann who owned a croft on the far side of the island.

She remembered, when she was still a child, how her granny had sent her over to give Mr Mann some eggs.

Tidy was in the allotment area of the croft digging up potatoes. They exchanged greetings and Tidy plunged his fork into the dark, rich soil.

A robin fluttered down and perched on the handle of Tidy’s fork with an expectant look on its face.

Tidy removed his cap and took from within it bits of bread that he stored there for this very purpose. The robin took the food straight from his hand.

“Give the wee fella some,” Tidy offered, taking a morsel from the cap.

Sally held out her hand and was thrilled at how the bird not only took the food from her but also sat on her hand to do so.

It was one of a million memories Sally kept and was grateful for at this time.

She walked part of the way back to the cottage with a few neighbours until, finally, she was on her own. The sky was clear with myriad stars.

As she turned at the door to take one final look the Northern Lights appeared, dancing across the heavens.

It was as if they had been orchestrated, if not by her granny then by God, to reassure Sally all was well.

“Mum!” Sally called. “Come and look; it’s amazing!”

Meryl declined, complaining that it was starting to set off one of her migraines as she retreated to the darkened bedroom that had been her mother’s.

Sally and Meryl travelled home together. It was not until they were on the last leg of their journey, the flight from Edinburgh, that Meryl shared the news she had been keeping to herself.

“You know that the croft now comes to me,” she began. “Obviously it’s no use to me – and I’m no use to it!”

Sally couldn’t imagine it belonging to anyone other than a Paterson.

“What will happen to it?”

“It’ll remain in my name but you could stay as a sort of free tenant if you like.”

Sally had no idea how to respond. It was all very well staying there for a holiday but crofting was a way of life that required dedication, determination and lots of physical strength.

At this moment she could see only the obstacles in her path.

“I would like to think about it, Mum. You’ve rather sprung it on me.”

“Don’t take too long thinking about it. I shall need a decision soon.”

* * * *

Ironically the catalyst in her decision was Tom, who came home while Sally was at work and removed anything he regarded as his personal possession.

He then e-mailed her to say he was putting their flat on the market and would appreciate it if she could move out as quickly as possible, as he already had two people showing an interest in the property.

Sally phoned her mother that same evening.

“I’ll do it, Mum. I’ll take on the croft.”

There was a short pause on the other end of the line before Meryl responded.

“Are you sure, dear? Have you discussed it with Tom?”

Sally realised she’d not told her mother that she and Tom had split up, such was the distant nature of their relationship.

“There’s nothing to discuss, Mum. We’re no longer together.”

Again a short pause.

“I see. Well, dear, if you’re sure . . .”