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

Chapter 20

TWENTY

Gyle Head had changed a lot.

When Tara had been a teenager, this had been one of her favourite places to get away from her mum and dad, from dance practice or school, and enjoy some quiet time with a book. She vividly remembered reading one of her favourite novels, Wuthering Heights , sitting on one of the deep windowsills of the old folly, a mini mock-castle that one of the old Lairds of Loch Cameron had built once upon a time. It was strange that Agnes Smith, her great-aunt, had also been a fan of the Bront?s.

Tara had been carrying Agnes’ copy of Jane Eyre around with her and had started reading it; she’d read the novel before, while she was at high school, but it had been years since she’d looked at it. As well as loving the story and the writing – it was so romantic, so heartbreaking – Tara was really enjoying reading Agnes’ carefully written annotations in the margins. So far, Agnes’ thoughts were stream-of-consciousness. Sometimes, Tara didn’t know what they meant; on one page, next to a description of Rochester, Agnes had written:

Just like J. Hot-headed

On another, she had written :

I will never understand him.

Who was J? He was mentioned a few times in Agnes’ hand, but her notes were unclear as to what relationship J had had with Agnes. Still, it added an extra element of intrigue to Tara’s reading experience, and made her feel as though she was almost talking to Agnes. As if the book provided her with some kind of direct line to her great-aunt’s heart. She wondered if Agnes had ever thought that, one day, one of her descendants would be reading her words and puzzling over them.

No one had really come up to Gyle Head when Tara was younger. It was mostly overgrown, and there was a plaintive, melancholy feel to the place that Tara had never been able to fully understand. However, even though she’d felt that, it hadn’t stopped her going there. In fact, reading about doomed love and gothic romance while overlooking the loch, nestled in the stone windowsill of an aged folly, had always made her feel like a romantic heroine. In her secret spot, she could pretend that she was Catherine Earnshaw, stalking the moors, heartbroken at the loss of her love.

Tara had agreed to meet Ramsay at Gyle Head that morning: since her chat with Dotty, she and Ramsay had been texting back and forward almost nonstop. It was just like old times; after some polite getting-to-know-you messages – so looking forward to chatting! – and can’t believe it’s been ten years! – they had lapsed back into their shared memories and jokes as if no time had passed.

Tara was still wary of Ramsay a little: she knew there were still difficult conversations to be had. But the seductiveness of their messaging had pulled her in. She found herself looking at her phone at every chance she got in between tasks at the Inn, smiling at his funny little jokes and sending pictures of what she was doing – lunches, making beds, serving at the bar. The night before, she’d finally gotten to sleep in the early hours because they’d been messaging so relentlessly. It was like a dam being removed from a river. All the conversations they’d missed. All the moments of connection.

She had time before her dad needed her back at the Inn. She’d already prepared a huge shepherd’s pie, made sure there was enough salad ingredients in the large fridge in the Inn’s kitchen and taken delivery of a bread order, including dinner rolls. For the vegetarian option, she’d made a vegetable chilli according to Dotty’s personal recipe, which was handwritten in a food-stained notebook with RECIPES in flowery cursive text on the cover. As well as that, she’d already made up the Inn’s six bedrooms, helped a new couple check in and given them local restaurant recommendations, cleaned the bathrooms and hoovered the bar area.

It was good to get some fresh air.

However, Gyle Head was now something completely different to what she remembered. Tara knew that there had been construction happening up here – Dotty had been telling her about it for months, although she hadn’t been paying much attention. However, now, instead of an old folly that had been largely overgrown with holly bushes and the rest of it a wilderness, Gyle Head was the site of a smart new housing development with townhouses and flats, all of which featured sedge roofs and other ecological innovations.

Nicest of all, there was a large playground at the centre of the development, with a cosy-looking café, toilets, a shiny row of bike racks and a climbing wall next to it. Around the circumference of the flats and houses, a stream flowed, with a wooden walkway over the top of it that was signposted with information about the local wildlife.

She looked for him, but couldn’t see him anywhere. She realised she was nervous: there were butterflies in her stomach and a tightness in her throat, so she went to the café, bought a bacon roll and a coffee and sat down on one of the wooden benches outside. She texted Carla.

Are you home yet? I’m meeting Ramsay for a coffee. Wish me luck.

It was bright and sunny, and though there were some children playing, she didn’t mind the sound. As a primary school teacher, in fact, she was so used to the sound of children that she realised she’d been missing it since school had broken up for the holidays.

She didn’t mind helping out at the Inn – even though she was still disappointed about missing out on the trip to Berlin with Carla – but it was a very different kind of work to teaching, and she missed little voices calling out Miss! and asking unexpected questions; the chatter and the giggles and the silliness. Still, it was revealing, getting a glimpse into her parents’ world, now that she was an adult. It was a very different thing, seeing Dotty and Eric as colleagues at the Inn and not just her parents. She was able to see not just how patient her dad was – she’d always known that – but how sweet and thoughtful Dotty was. Her mother had given her a handwritten note every morning, full of what she called “extras” for the guests in all the different rooms on that day. The list comprised of things like putting freshly picked flowers in the rooms, taking up snacks according to the individual guest’s preferences, booking them appointments and making recommendations for activities and restaurants Dotty thought they’d like, after she’d chatted to them.

It was a huge amount of extra work, but when her mother had handed her the “extras” list on her first day and Tara had made a comment along the lines of wondering when she would be able to get it all done, Dotty had said, these’re the things that keep people comin’ back, hen. An’ if I can make someone happy, I will. It’s their holidays, don’t forget that. We’re here tae make it special.

It was things like that that clued Tara in to how hard her parents worked to make the Inn a success, and how thoughtful Dotty was.

Tara shaded her eyes from the sun, watching a father cheer his little girl as she came down a very tall slide. Cute.

‘I wouldnae say no.’ Two women with babies in prams passed by where Tara was sitting: Tara looked up to see one of them edge her elbow towards the man in the playground. ‘He’s fit.’

‘Ach. You’d better no’ let yer man hear ye say that,’ the other one tutted, smiling at her friend.

‘Aye, well, I willnae. No harm in appreciatin’ a hot dad,’ the first one giggled.

Tara looked away, not wanting to look as though she was eavesdropping on their conversation, but she had to agree. Whoever he was, he had that air of sexiness about him.

She frowned, returning her gaze to the man and the little girl, because she realised that there was something about the father that looked familiar. He had a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes, and the hood of his navy blue sweatshirt covered his neck from behind. But, Tara would have recognised Ramsay Fraser’s body anywhere, even now. They way he moved. The way he stood. The way he held his head.

She had felt unmoored, untethered, being away from her normal life in Glasgow. But, her life there hadn’t made her feel whole.

Back in Loch Cameron, she had constantly felt as though she was seeing apparitions of her past; of her child self, of the echoes of what had once been. And, all of those echoes and shadows were intimately connected with Ramsay Fraser. Now, seeing him again, she felt something in her click into place. Was he what she had needed to stop feeling lost?

Ramsay had been the man she loved for so long that, even though they had been apart for ten years, her body reacted instinctively to him being there. She wanted to run to him. Jump into his arms. Wrap her legs around his body. Bury her head in his neck and breathe him in. She had missed his smell, the feel of his skin, the taste of him when she kissed him.

Tara had specifically locked those thoughts away in her brain a long time ago, but, now, they all came rushing out, making her heart pound, her breath quicken, her cheeks flush.

Yet, the thing was, these sensations weren’t even thoughts . They were feelings: a deeply primal response to someone who had felt like home to her for as long as she could remember. The rightness of one person that couldn’t be explained in words – it was something cellular, organic, some wisdom of the body or maybe some kind of spiritual connection, she didn’t know. Something that made Tara feel like she could breathe a little easier, feel more centred in the world.

It was primal: it was her body’s remembrance, as well as her heart’s. All the feelings of being lost, unmoored, of living in a slightly unreal relationship with the past, dissipated like the morning haar over the loch when the sun came out.

And there was something else too. There was a tug at her heart because this was a glimpse in to the future she always wished they’d have together. That could have been my child , she thought. That could have been me, playing with our child on the playground . The thought made her throat close up in grief. Oh, she had wanted that. She had wanted it so badly.

And, as much as joy filled her on seeing Ramsay again – and it truly did, she felt like she was suddenly aloft in a hot air balloon – it also hurt to feel those things again. It was akin to all the feeling suddenly returning to a numb arm or leg. Life returning, so suddenly, was intense.

She took out her phone and started to compose a message to surprise him. Hey. I’m here. Look to your right.

Yet, something stopped her. In those first few moments seeing Ramsay again, it had been all she could do to process his proximity. The primal reaction of her body and her heart, knowing he was near, still in shock that he was even here at all.

But, now, she saw that he was with a little girl, perhaps nine years old. They were laughing, and Ramsay was handing her a juice box from his bag. She was slightly too old to be on the playground at all, but Tara knew kids that age still liked to play on swings and slides. It was an age when some children started to want to be grown up, but some hung onto childhood.

He had a daughter? It was either that, or he was looking after a little girl for some reason, but how likely was that, in the middle of the day?

Tara let the realisation hit her, and it felt like a punch.

Now, Tara started to process what she was actually seeing.

Ramsay Fraser helping his daughter on the slide.

Ramsay Fraser pushing his daughter on a swing.

Ramsay Fraser laughing and running after his daughter, playing chase.

Ramsay Fraser was a father.

Of course, it wasn’t like he was forbidden to have had a life and a child and whatever else had happened in the past ten years. Yet, Tara felt betrayed.

And, he’d arranged to meet her here, after their relentless messaging after the last couple of days, and never once mentioned it.

She looked at the little girl for a long moment. She reached for the heart necklace at her throat.

Tara blinked: another realisation breaking over her. Before, she’d felt buoyed up by joy at seeing Ramsay again, as if she’d been floating in a hot air balloon. Now, she felt a jolt in her whole being, as if the balloon had suddenly dropped in mid-air.

The last time she’d seen Ramsay was ten years ago, when he’d mysteriously disappeared. This little girl looked about that age; a little younger. She was a tall eight, or she was nine, nine and a half maybe .

Tara knew that the little girl was Ramsay’s daughter. She could see the resemblance in her face, the colour of her hair. Her eyes were Ramsay’s dark, soft eyes. Tara could see that even from where she sat. She looked dumbly at the message she’d been about to send on her phone. Hey. I’m here. Look to your right.

She deleted it, her hand shaking.

If that girl was Ramsay’s daughter – and it was clear that she was – then that meant that she had been born shortly after Ramsay had ended things with her. And, that meant that after breaking up with Tara, he had gone straight out and met someone else, and got her pregnant.

Why? Why would he ever have done such a thing? Tara couldn’t process all this new information. It was too much, all in one go.

As she watched, Ramsay looked over to another bench near the playground, where a woman about Tara’s age was sitting. Tara had noticed her when she’d sat down: she was about the same age as Tara, pretty, with a blonde bob, jeans, those flat sheepskin boots with the furry lining that everyone seemed to have. Tara’s fist closed around the two halves of the heart; one slipped behind the other in her hand. Like it had been lost.

Ramsay pointed to the woman and said something to the little girl: then, they both waved to her, and she waved back.

Now, Tara’s heart felt as though it had dropped out of her body.

Was that her? The woman that Ramsay had secretly left her for?

Oh, no. No. No.

Tara couldn’t be here. She couldn’t face whatever this was. Her heart was too tender, too raw. She got up, hurriedly, knocking over her cup of coffee and turning away, suddenly paranoid that Ramsay would see her and call her over, or come over and talk to her, and what would she say?

She would have to act normally about being introduced to his wife and his daughter. She’d have to say pleased to meet you and ask about them and their lives, and not do what she wanted to do, which was cry. She wanted to ask Ramsay, what was wrong with me? I know you wanted children. I would have given them to you. I was ready. Why not me? Why her? And why leave me, saying absolutely nothing?

Yes, she wanted to grab Ramsay and hold him, be close to his skin, be a part of him again. That thought was the thing that made her feel home, made her feel whole and grounded.

That was her primal reaction. But she was also furious. How dare he let her think that he might have died, that anything might have happened to him, with no word at all for all those years? And then, turn up here as if nothing had happened? To talk to her mum, get her number, message her for days just like old times, and never say anything about his wife and child? How dare he?

How dare you ruin my heart? she wanted to scream at him, but she bit her lip, hard, picking up her coffee cup and turning away to throw it in a rubbish bin before he could see her, and before she’d have to confront a situation that she wasn’t ready for. She put her hands in the pockets of her jacket, hunching unconsciously, not wanting to be seen.

Ramsay definitely hadn’t mentioned his wife or his daughter when they’d bumped into each other over the past few weeks. In fact, he’d been a little flirtatious with her. Had she imagined that? No, she didn’t think she had. He had flirted. He had flirted with her and he hadn’t thought to mention that while Tara had been breaking her heart over him for ten years, he’d been happily living a new life with his wife and his daughter and never thinking about her at all.

I can’t believe it.

She turned back to look at him, one last time .

I can’t believe you would do that to me. After everything we had. I was your family.

But now, Ramsay had another family, and it seemed as though he had never really wanted Tara at all. Maybe, he’d seen her in the street and thought that she’d be a good opportunity for some harmless, flirtatious texting.

Tara started to run, feeling tears building up in her throat. It felt as though they were coming direct from her heart: she fought back a sudden, tumultuous wail of disbelief and sadness that tasted of copper and bitter grief. As she turned away, she pulled hard at the necklace, and it came free in her hand, pulling painfully at the skin on her neck. She couldn’t have it on her for another minute.

She hadn’t thought it was possible, but Ramsay Fraser had broken her heart for a second time.