Keepsakes from the Cottage by the Loch (Loch Cameron #6)

Chapter 3

THREE

Tara drove into the little village of Loch Cameron, taking in the beauty of the loch that spread out in front of her. It was a sunny day and the warm, golden light glinted on the surface of the water, setting off a thousand sparkles that made the loch appear enchanted. A few boats bobbed on the side of the loch, tied to a few moorings that belonged to a handful of local families.

Tara had gone to school with a girl whose father had owned one of the boats; she racked her brain to remember the name of it. Voyager? Vision? She thought it was something beginning with a V, but she couldn’t be sure. The girl had been called Emma, and she and Tara had been good friends all through school. But, even though Tara came home at Christmas and at other times when Dotty absolutely demanded it – usually only for a couple of days, refusing her parents’ requests to stay longer – she didn’t tend to socialise in the village anymore, because of what had happened. Because of what she’d done. The guilt nagged at her.

Still, Tara found herself wondering if Emma still lived in Loch Cameron. It was likely, because many people never left. People were born, raised, lived and died here: it was that kind of place. Objectively, Loch Cameron was a great place to live. Tara knew that. It was quiet, calm, the views were stunning and the high street was full of good, independently-run local businesses. People were, on the whole, kind, if a little gossipy. Also – as Dotty and Eric had told her repeatedly – there were new affordable, sustainable houses being built up on Gyle Head, which sat above the village and along the headland from the old, whitewashed cottages on Queen’s Point, which overlooked the loch. Tara knew that was a not-so-subtle hint: her parents would be overjoyed if she came back to live in Loch Cameron. But, despite all its lovely qualities, Tara couldn’t live here again. The past was too painful.

Driving along the narrow road that ran alongside Loch Cameron’s quaint little high street, Tara noted the familiar shops and small businesses: a bookshop, a hairdresser’s, the whisky shop which had been there for as long as she could remember, a bakery, a butcher. There had once been a funny little café with multicoloured glass windows which had closed after the owner, Myrtle, died: Dotty had been good friends with Myrtle, and Len, the man who had run the place before. When Myrtle had run the café, it had been stuffed full of knickknacks and oddities, and had been a nice spot to drop into for a coffee and a cake. Tara knew that her mum really missed her time spent gossiping with Myrtle in the café, overlooking the loch.

Yet, years before, when Len had run it, the place hadn’t been a café: Tara thought that it had been a barber shop, but she also remembered her mum getting a new kettle from Len once, and then a sofa at another time. So, she wondered whether she was remembering it right.

As she took the turn into the car park for her parents’ Inn, Tara thought about the walks around Loch Cameron and Gyle Head she’d used to take as a teen, often taking a book with her, to a selection of secret, beautiful outside spaces to read until nightfall. Then, when it got too dark to read, she would sit and watch the stars come out in the vast black sky that stretched across the horizon like a velvet blanket.

Loch Cameron by night was magical. Because it was quite remote – you had to drive, as the nearest train station was twenty miles away, and the local buses were few and far between – it was still relatively unpopulated. Ten years ago, it had been possible to walk out at night under the stars and see no one for hours.

And, you were safe in Loch Cameron – or, so she had believed, then. Everyone knew you, and there was little risk of anything bad happening to you if you did slip out at night to watch the moon rise over the loch. The biggest hazards were natural: falling down a cliff in the dark, twisting your ankle on a hillock or unexpected dip in the grass.

Queen’s Point, a promontory that overlooked the loch, had been one of Tara’s favourite places. There were a number of quaint cottages up there, but there were also quiet nooks where she could sit unobtrusively amongst a circle of oak trees, her back against a comfortingly solid trunk, and gaze up at the sunset through a canopy of leaves, or listen to the wind in their branches.

Tara had loved being a competitive dancer, but reading and being in nature were her ways to unwind and be alone. Sometimes, though, she had taken those walks with Ramsay, and on those walks, she hadn’t read, but they’d talked into the night. About their future, about dancing, about what they both wanted.

She didn’t want to think about Ramsay Fraser now.

Tara parked her car in the Inn car park and waved at her dad who had appeared at the Inn’s back door. She got out of the car and opened the boot, hauling out her suitcases, wellies and rain mac. One of the suitcases was a third full of books. She’d thought, when she was packing, that she would at least use the time in Loch Cameron to attack her towering “to be read” pile: she never felt like she got any time to read novels when she was teaching. She would help out at the Inn, spend time with her parents and read. Perhaps she’d revisit some of the little hidden spots around Loch Cameron that she hadn’t been to for years.

One of her favourite places was a narrow stretch of sandy beach that lay alongside the side of the loch, which you could get to if you followed a muddy footpath around the loch for about an hour from the Inn. Technically, the beachy strip was on Loch Cameron Castle land, but the Laird, Hal Cameron, didn’t mind people using it as long as they were respectful – didn’t leave litter or camp there. Tara thought about walking over there one evening to watch the sunset over the loch: it had been a long time since she’d done that. The thought filled her with a sudden excitement.

She was still sad about missing out on Berlin with Carla, but maybe a summer in Loch Cameron wouldn’t be so bad.

‘Hi, Dad,’ she called out, as he approached.

‘Ah, ye made it okay then?’ Eric enveloped his daughter in a bear hug. ‘Drive all right?’

‘It was fine.’ Tara nestled her head gratefully into her father’s shoulder, taking in the familiarity of his handknitted jumper, the scratch of his grey beard on her ear, and the gentle timbre of his accent. He wasn’t a tall man, but he had always made Tara feel safe and protected. ‘How’s Mum?’

‘Up tae high doh.’ Eric tutted as he released Tara from the hug and took one of her suitcases. Tara smiled at the phrase: Loch Cameron was one of those places where people would sometimes drop old Scottish sayings into conversation. She knew that up tae high doh meant her mum was stressed out. Other favourites that Eric and Dotty sometimes used was what’s fer ye will non’ go past ye and, one she used to hear a lot as a child, a lie’s halfway round Scotland afore the truth’s got it’s boots on.

‘Poor Mum,’ Tara sighed .

‘Ach, ye know what she’s like. She hates no’ bein’ able to get on wi’ things.’ Eric gave his daughter a world-weary look. ‘Anyway, come in, come in. I’ve made up yer auld room. I’ll make us some tea and we can all have a blether.’

Eric led Tara into the Inn, which, though she knew her parents were very good at keeping everything clean and tidy and updating the décor when it needed it, seemed never to change in her eyes.

The door from the car park led into a short, dark, wood-panelled hallway that opened onto the Inn’s reception area, where Dotty usually received guests, standing at a dark wood desk where she kept her laptop for bookings, a pot of pens and a stack of leaflets for local attractions: tours of Loch Cameron Castle and the Loch Cameron Whisky Distillery, walking tours of the local countryside and around the loch, and for some things further afield, like a lovely farm a little drive away that had a small petting zoo, flower gardens, and further again, Loch Awe and Loch Lomond and Trossachs National Park.

In the entryway, her parents had also placed a tall container that held spare umbrellas for customers, and there was a tall coat stand for customers on the frequent rainy days that befell Loch Cameron. This area led into the main bar of the Inn which featured a cosy fireplace, which Eric had usually got going with a crackling wood fire, except on the very warmest days of the year, various leather sofas and upholstered chairs with low tables where customers could relax and chat, and a long, dark wooden bar where Dotty and Eric usually served drinks, lunches and hearty dinners, either for anyone who popped in, or for customers who were staying at the Inn. Tara knew that her mum also provided breakfast for residents, either in the bar, or would take it up to their rooms on request. She started to realise how busy she might be for the next few weeks, taking up her mother’s daily schedule, which was considerable.

Not as much of a holiday as you thought, maybe , Tara thought.

Dotty was enthroned in one of the comfy upholstered chairs, and held out her arms as her daughter walked in.

‘Tara, darlin’,’ she called out, and Tara walked over and gave her mum a careful hug, avoiding her leg, which was in plaster. Dotty was wearing one of her pleated tartan skirts in grey and purple, and a grey cardigan which was buttoned to the chin. She still wore her customary string of pearls and had done her hair, but Tara could see that she wasn’t her usual self, and that she was tired and in pain.

‘Mum, I’m so sorry about your leg.’ Tara kissed Dotty’s cheek. ‘How’s it feeling?’

‘Ah, not so bad,’ Dotty said, in her customarily breezy manner. ‘How are you, dear? Drive okay?’

‘It was fine,’ Tara said. ‘The usual.’

Carla had been initially devastated that Tara had bowed out of the trip. But who am I going to share a room with? she’d asked, wide eyed, when Tara had told her about her mum. Oh, god. Craig’s going to be disappointed. He was planning to romance you, I’m sure of it.

Tara had apologised, but Carla had rallied quickly. That’s all right, love. Of course you’ve got to help out your mum and dad. Give them my best, and wish me luck in Berlin with the Drama department. I’ll keep you posted.

‘Good, good.’ Dotty shifted in the chair, an expression of discomfort crossing her face. ‘We so appreciate you coming tae help us oot, hen.’ She leaned her head back in the chair. ‘Eric! Tea, when you’re ready,’ she called out, imperiously. Tara stifled a smile. Her mother might have broken her leg, but she was still the reigning queen of the household, it seemed.

‘It’s okay.’ Tara sat down. Her dad set a tray with a teapot, cups and saucers and a jug of milk on the table. He poured a cup of amber liquid and stirred in some milk and one sugar and handed it to Tara, then did the same but with no sugar for Dotty.

‘Because yer sweet enough, aye,’ he said to his wife as he handed her a cup and saucer.

‘Ach, get away with ye.’ Dotty took the cup from her husband with a frown, but then shot Eric a loving look.

‘Well, we appreciate it.’ Dotty sighed, sipping her tea. ‘We’re fully booked an’ your dad just cannae do it on his own. Now. Before we get into all that, tell us what you’ve been up tae since we saw ye. It’s been too long,’ her mother chided. ‘Ye hardly come home. I know, I know.’ She waved away Tara’s remonstrations. ‘I know you’re teachin’. But ye could still pop home on a weekend, now and again.’

‘Mum. It’s not as easy as that,’ Tara protested.

‘Aye, well. We miss ye.’ Dotty pursed her lips, though not unkindly. ‘So, how’s school?’

‘Good, thanks.’ Tara briefly told her parents the story of little Andrew Fairlie in her class, and how he’d asked for a hug for the first time ever.

‘Aww. Poor little mite.’ Dotty looked thoughtful. ‘That reminds me of Ramsay Fraser, ye know.’ She sighed. ‘We thought of him as our own. We always said, ye’ve a home here . He didnae have tae leave.’ She shook her head. Dotty reached for Tara’s hand and patted it.

‘I don’t think about him much,’ Tara said, shortly. Because if I do think about him, my heart feels as though it’s breaking , she thought, but didn’t say. Still. And I wonder if it will ever stop.

‘Hmm. Ah well,’ Dotty sighed.

‘Tell me what needs doing, then.’ Tara changed the subject. She didn’t want to talk about Ramsay Fraser. ‘How many guests are staying at the moment?’

‘Ten guests, so that’s four doubles and a twin, which is two friends. Lovely ladies. Here for the walkin’.’ Dotty ticked them off her fingers.

‘Two o’ the couples leave on Friday and there’s a quick turnaround fer two new bookin’s on Friday night,’ Eric interjected. ‘I can help you make up the rooms and check people in and out, so you remember how it’s done.’

‘All right. What about the food, and the bar?’ Tara asked.

‘I’ve asked one of the lads from the village tae help me on the bar,’ her dad said. ‘If ye can do the breakfasts, that’d be grand. I’ll say we’re only doin’ sandwich lunches at the bar, an’ I can deal wi’ those. Dinners, we’ll have tae see. I might see if I can rope in one of your friends from the crochet group, darlin’,’ Eric said to Dotty.

‘Hmm. I expect Sheila would help ye out. Mina would love tae get her hands on the kitchen I’m sure, just so she could tell everyone she saved the day.’ Dotty rolled her eyes. ‘I’d ask June but I think it’d be a bit much for her. If Kathy’s free, ask her first. She’s waitressed up at the Fat Duck, so she knows how it works. I think she’s a decent cook. Ye just need tae do a casserole or a lasagne, and a vegetarian option every day. Nothin’ fancy. Enough for thirty people, I’d say.’

Just two dinner dishes, enough to feed thirty people a day, plus breakfasts and making up rooms , Tara thought with some panic. So, not much.

Dotty caught the look on her daughter’s face.

‘Aww, hen. It’ll be okay, I promise. You’ll get the hang o’ things.’

‘I know. It can’t be harder than doing phonics,’ Tara said with a wry smile. But, she was wondering how on earth she was going to get everything done – and, more to the point, how her mother managed to do it all.