her mother had left behind. And although Lily knew she’d never be fully ready, she also knew she couldn’t put it off any longer.
Lily woke with a start. The warmth of the carriage and the hypnotic motion of the train must have lulled her to sleep. Edinburgh had been grey and drizzly when she’d left and now as if by magic, she’d been transported to another world. She blinked a few times as her eyes focused on the wild beauty of the Scottish Highlands outside the window.
Earlier she had taken a final look around her flat, reassuring herself she’d be back soon. Mrs Robertson on the ground floor had kindly agreed to take a set of keys and keep an eye on it. After that, there was really nothing left to do and so with a heavy heart, Lily had wheeled her case along the capital’s cobbled streets towards Waverly station.
She rubbed a hand over her face now and stretched out her cramped muscles just as a crackly voice announced Inverness was the next stop. She remembered all the times she’d made the train journey with her mum, how it had always felt interminably long to Lily who wished for once they could go somewhere that wasn’t a damp caravan in the north of Scotland.
Life with Patty Ballantine was never predictable but one thing that never changed was their annual holiday to Carroch. Lily would listen to girls at school returning from their Mediterranean holidays with tans and tales of boys on the beach. The only thing that Lily came home with was pale skin covered in midge bites. Lily’s over-riding memory was of there not much being much to do and she could never really understand why her mother was always drawn back to the same place year after year. But Patty claimed it to be her spiritual home and had continued to visit long after Lily stopped coming, so perhaps there’d been an inevitability about her mother eventually going to live there.
It would be good to see Iris again, Lily told herself, rolling up her unread magazine and stuffing it back into her bag. And it would probably only take a matter of days to sort through everything and get it ready for selling. But despite her attempts at self-bolstering, Lily knew her memories of her mother were so entwined with Carroch, there was going to be nothing easy about facing it without her.
Lily stood up when the train slowed down and came to a halt, pulling her bag from the overhead space as other people in the carriage also started to move, hauling rucksacks and collecting bags. The doors of the train slid open and Lily stepped onto the platform watching as the train rumbled away. She took a deep breath of the fresh tangy air, suddenly engulfed by a sense of isolation.
She stood still for a moment before giving herself a shake and picking up her bag. She fell into step behind the other passengers making their way to the taxi rank. The thirty odd miles from the station to Carroch made the choice of a taxi an extravagant one but for once she ignored her instinctive frugality and took her place in the small line of people waiting. Besides, she highly doubted there’d be any buses this late in the day.
The taxi driver was cheery enough but thankfully not chatty, only interrupting the silence to comment on the few days of warm weather they were currently enjoying. Lily gazed out at the passing scenery until glimpses of the loch appeared through the trees and she knew they were almost there. She’d forgotten just how beautiful the loch could look, especially now at twilight when the dark shimmering water converged with a soft violet sky on the horizon. But even in the face of such beauty, Lily felt dread clutching at her stomach at what she was about to face.
They continued on the road which swept around the west side of the loch until finally they reached Carroch’s small main street. A small, picturesque village, it sat in a sheltered bay and was surrounded by towering mountains and hills. Lily’s heart quickened as she saw the familiar row of shops and neatly painted cottages which decorated the curve of the bay facing the water.
‘Here we are then,’ the driver announced, pulling up outside the shop. Lily nervously bit her lip as she quickly scanned the property that now belonged to her. It was the last in the little row of shops, a two-storey building painted white, with three small windows on the first floor and two latticed windows on either side of shop door on the ground floor. Lily vaguely remembered the shop being the post office when she’d last been here. It had sold a hodgepodge of sundries and she recalled being allowed to choose an ice-lolly from a chilled cabinet at the back of the shop which was crammed with frozen chips and fish fingers. Now the paintwork was flaking in places and the lettering above the door faded to the point of be indiscernible.
After paying the driver Lily climbed out of the car and walked round to the side entrance. She rummaged in her bag for the keys, her fingers suddenly clammy and clumsy as she fumbled to unlock the door. Inside the hall was dark but she managed to find the switch for the hall light, relieved when it came on even though she knew Mr Bell had arranged to keep paying the utility bills.
Facing her was a door which presumably led to the shop and to her right was a staircase. Deciding to head straight upstairs to the flat, she lugged her case up the narrow rickety stairs where four doors led off from a square, wooden floored hall.
The kitchen was positioned at the back of the house beside a small bathroom while the living room faced the front with views to the loch. She opened each door in turn, quickly scanning the rooms as if she’d find her mother in one of them. But of course, her absence was shatteringly real. Finally, she opened the last door to her mother’s bedroom which Lily quickly closed again; that was simply too daunting to face tonight.
Instead she returned to the kitchen. Dominated by a large wooden table surrounded by mismatched chairs, the pale blue units appeared rustically charming more from their age than design. A recess of shelving was crammed with colourful crockery and an ancient stoneware cooking pot sat on top of the oven. Lily’s mother wasn’t always inclined to cook but when the mood took her, she never bothered with a recipe. Instead she’d simply throw in whatever was to hand, concocting slightly unusual tasting soups or casseroles.
A wicker shopping basket sat on the floor, a bamboo wind chime hung silently at the window. There were touches of her mother everywhere and Lily could picture her here so clearly, almost as if she’d walk through the door any moment. If only she would. Lily sighed silently, closing her eyes briefly.
The living room was quite large but as a result of their frequent moving and Patty’s reluctance to acquire possessions, it didn’t contain much furniture. Lily’s eyes roamed the room, recognising the two brown sofas and the small walnut coffee table. There was a pretty fireplace and a shelved alcove lined with books. Patty always left half-read books lying around as if she’d lost the patience to finish them. Moving over to the mantelpiece, Lily picked up a framed photo of the two of them taken at the loch years ago, their heads close together smiling in the sunshine.
Lily had no memories of her mother in this house and if she’d hoped that might make it easier, then she was mistaken. She swallowed down the lump in her throat with the realisation this was going to be more difficult than she ever could have imagined.
As Lily silently roamed the house, it was clear Iris had been keeping the place polished and clean. Not only that, but Lily was acutely aware that Iris had taken care of the house in the immediate aftermath of Patty’s death, sparing Lily the devastation of seeing her mother’s last movements unfolded and she felt a wave of gratitude and guilt wash over her.
Suddenly she couldn’t stand the silence. She needed to do something, anything to fill the emptiness. She’d make a cup of tea – that’s what people did to make things feel better. But she didn’t want tea. What she really wanted, she realised, was alcohol.
She unzipped her suitcase where, protected deep within the folds of clothes, were a few staples she’d brought for her first night; a jar of coffee, teabags, a packet of biscuits and a bottle of wine. Bringing a glass through from the kitchen, she poured from the bottle, imagining the deep plumy taste of the silky red wine soothing its way into her bloodstream. She raised the glass to her mouth and froze.
Someone was unlocking the front door. With shaky fingers she laid the glass down, her ears straining to