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

Chapter 24

TWENTY-FOUR

‘And, I believe we have here with us tonight two national champions in Highland dance: Tara Ballantyne an’ Ramsay Fraser, where are ye?’ Hal squinted into the crowd, scanning it for them. Tara shrank back at the back of the room, not wanting to be seen.

No. No. No. Please, not this.

It was the night of the fundraiser, and everything had been going very well so far. Tara had prepared all the food and set it out on two large tables that she and her dad had arranged in the back room of the bar. Eric was manning the bar, and Tara was on general clean and tidy duties – collecting dirty plates and glasses and returning them to the kitchen and the bar. As well as that, June had organised a piper and a ceilidh band to provide music, and Hal Cameron, the laird of Loch Cameron, was acting as caller.

The crochet coven had already led a couple of dances, and Tara had joined in, enjoying dancing again. It was good to feel that adrenalin pumping through her, and move her body. She’d been continuing to dance, using the practice room at the community centre a couple of times a week, and her fitness was returning. It was fun . And, she realised, she had missed fun. As the ceilidh spun out around her, she had the sudden sense of being in the flow of the dance. That same feeling of being carefree bubbled up in her, and she found herself laughing out loud, just for the fun of it.

The coven had taken their classes seriously, but really, there was no judgement if you got the steps wrong in a ceilidh. All the fun was in the whirling around, giggling, the energy and the speed of the dance and the sense of everything happening in unison. Usually, by the ceilidh stage of the evening, everyone had had a few drinks and inhibitions were lower: Tara had always thought that there was something inimitable about being twirled and flung across the room by a bulky, inebriated Scotsman.

She’d seen Ramsay come in, and had avoided him. It wasn’t hard to do in a room full of people, and she’d been busy. More than enough excuse to always be somewhere other than where he was. But, now, Hal was beckoning them both to the front of the room and there was nowhere to go to avoid him.

It was bad enough being in the same room as Ramsay, but there was no way that she wanted to dance with him. In front of everyone.

‘Ramsay, there ye are. An’ where’s Tara? Come up an’ show us how it’s done,’ Hal continued, cheerily, as the crowd clapped and whooped.

‘Go on, hen. Get up there.’ Tara had been standing next to her mum, who was enthroned in an easy chair at the side of the bar with her ankle resting on a pouffe like a queen. She’d been regally receiving visitors all evening.

Dotty nudged Tara in the back, impatiently.

‘No, Mum,’ Tara hissed. Ramsay had texted her a few times after their failed meet-up at Gyle Head, but she hadn’t known how to reply, so she had said nothing. She knew that she should have, but what could she say? I saw you with your wife and daughter and it broke my heart? I’m not over you disappearing out of my life with no explanation? I’m not over you? Why wasn’t I good enough?

‘If she doesnae want tae, Dot, don’t make her.’ Eric had walked over from behind the bar, since there was a lull and everyone was watching Hal. He tapped Dotty lightly on the arm. ‘Remember what happened between them.’

‘Eric. I remember perfectly well. But she can still get up there an’ give everyone a show,’ Dotty snapped at her husband. ‘She willnae break, darlin’. Stop babyin’ her, she’s no’ a little lassie anymore.’

‘Aye. So she can make her own decisions,’ Eric said, firmly. Tara’s dad never raised his voice. But he had a firm tone that he sometimes used – not often, but sometimes, when he thought the situation merited it – and when the firm tone was used, Dotty and Tara knew that was Eric putting his foot down.

‘Hmph,’ Dotty replied. She caught Tara’s eye, and her face softened. ‘Sorry, hen. I havenae forgotten our chat. It’s just because I know ye love tae dance. But if ye dinnae feel comfortable dancin’ wi’ Ramsay, of course, I understand.’

‘If ye want tae step oot for a minute, I’ll say ye had a headache, hen,’ Eric murmured in her ear, so she could hear him above the hubbub. ‘But, if ye want tae leave, I’d say, go now.’

‘Thanks.’ Tara was grateful for her parents’ kindness. She was about to duck out of the bar when she looked across the crowd and saw Ramsay, who had been shunted forward to the stage in front of the crowd. He stood there with Hal, looking self-conscious, and, despite everything that had happened between them in the past, her heart went out to him.

In that moment, Ramsay looked just like he had, all those years ago. He wasn’t as skinny now – his collarbone didn’t stick out in the way it once had, and his face wasn’t as thin. Time had added meat to his bones and, she guessed, he didn’t do as much exercise as he’d done, once. But the same vulnerability was painted on his face; it was the same look she remembered when he’d turn up at her house with bruises on his arm and refuse to say how he’d got them. It was the look he got when he’d look at her, before a competition. She knew what he was thinking. I’m not good enough. And she knew what she had to do.

‘No. It’s okay. I’ll go,’ she said.

Carla was standing by the stage; she’d been helping with cleanup. She shot Tara a concerned glance and mouthed you okay?

‘Are ye sure?’ Eric looked concernedly at her. ‘Dinnae do anythin’ that’s goin’ tae make ye feel bad.’

‘Ye dinnae have tae do it for us,’ Dotty interjected.

‘I know,’ she said, putting down her glass and holding up her hand. ‘It’s okay,’ she repeated, and made her way through the crowd.

‘I’m here,’ Tara said to Hal, as she reached the stage; she touched Carla’s arm in a gesture that said it’s okay, I’m okay . Ramsay gave her a relieved smile.

‘Hi,’ he said, shyly.

‘Hi. It’s okay. We’ve got this,’ she murmured to Ramsay, as she stood beside him. He looked surprised for a moment, and then smiled.

‘Okay,’ he said, softly, so that only she could hear.

Tara had always been the strong one. She got nervous before a competition too, but she was the one who could reach deep into her gut and pull out the competitive urge to win. Tara knew how to find that warlike push for glory; that pure, unfettered energy of victory.

We’re going to win , she would say, taking Ramsay’s chin in hers and staring defiantly into his eyes. We’re taking that trophy home because we’re better than all these idiots. We worked harder. We’re already the champions. Okay?

Okay , he’d say, breaking into a smile. And, as long as Ramsay was smiling, she knew they would win.

Tara had the gumption for competing, but Ramsay had the most beautiful smile in the world. She knew that more than one competition judge had fallen for Ramsay’s smile, in their years of competing. It wasn’t even just his smile: it was his beauty in general. Tara was a pretty girl, but she never thought of herself as anything special. Ramsay Fraser, by comparison, was beautiful in the way of film stars of bygone eras; there was something fey about his high cheekbones and soft-lashed eyes. An indescribable glamour to him that made people love him.

‘Well, we’re delighted to have you both here.’ Hal beamed at them both. ‘I know that everyone would love tae see a Highland Fling, if ye had a mind?’

‘It’s been a bit of a long time,’ Tara protested. ‘We might not be that good. I mean, I haven’t even warmed up.’

‘Ah, go on!’ Tara recognised her mother’s voice in the crowd. ‘Just a little! They were such a bonny couple to watch, Hal!’ she added. The crowd laughed.

‘Yer mother has spoken, Tara,’ Hal chuckled. ‘I’ve found, over the years, it didnae do tae disappoint Dotty Ballantyne.’

‘I’m well aware.’ Tara frowned at her mother, who gave her a double thumbs up in return. Dotty had clearly got behind the dance, now that Tara had decided she was going to do it.

‘We love ye, Tara!’ Dotty cried out, and Tara couldn’t help but smile.

‘Okay. Let me stretch out my calves at least for a minute.’ She did some quick yoga stretches, falling straight back into her warmup prep as if it had been last week that she and Ramsay had competed in anything, and not over ten years ago. Ramsay took his phone and his wallet out of his pockets and put them carefully at the back of the stage, and unbuttoned his blue tartan shirt, taking it off to reveal a fitted black T shirt underneath.

He had filled out since their younger days. Tara caught herself staring at Ramsay’s muscular arms and chest. Goodness , she thought, before looking away hastily. Ramsay was a man, now: no longer a boy. And she was disturbed to feel a rush of attraction towards him.

That’s not okay , she reprimanded herself. He’s not yours anymore. Remember what he did. Remember that he didn’t choose you.

Tara hardened her heart, though it was difficult to be so near to Ramsay and not want to fall effortlessly back into their old ways.

You just have to dance for ten minutes, then this is over , she thought. Focus.

‘Ready?’ Ramsay asked, and she nodded.

‘Do you remember the steps?’ she asked.

‘Yeah.’ He placed his hands on his waist, his feet turned out like a ballet dancer’s. Tara copied his stance, which was how the dance began, with a bow to the audience and then up on tiptoes for the first jump.

The Fling was danced solo, but it was common for dance troupes and couples to perform it together, aiming for as total synchronisation and accuracy as possible. In the practice studio, their teacher had taped a star comprised of eight bisecting lines to the floor, so that there was a central point for them to stay within as they jumped. Tara had been able to stay on a central point for the entirety of the dance, as had Ramsay. It looked easy when you performed it, but the strength and precision it took to make a dance look easy was hard won with hours of sweat, aching muscles and frustration.

Tara remembered the steps so well: they’d been imprinted on her brain forever. Point upwards with the hand, the other hand low. Jump on the right leg, left leg forward, back, forward. That was a step called shedding, which began the dance. You repeated it on both sides, and then jumped whilst turning in a circle. Then it was back-stepping, then toe and heel, then rocking. Then, you repeated the back-step, followed by a cross over, then a shake and turn. Last, shedding again.

Some bagpipe music began, and they both bowed to the audience.

As soon as Tara took the first jump, she felt her body remember the dance. That was how it was: something like muscle memory, but there was something else too, when you were a dancer. The dance was a language that you learned, and, if you worked very hard, it became a spell that you could cast over the audience. Your body was the magic, and it could conjure something alive and exciting.

As they danced, Tara felt them synchronise to each other in the way that they were so used to. Her body knew how to follow the music and make sure that their feet hit the ground at exactly the same time. How to be in the same time, how to follow the same angles and movements so that their bodies were in perfect unison.

The crowd cheered and clapped to the rhythm of the music. Tara was taken back, in her memory, to the years past, competing at castles and on stages in the countryside, in community halls and everywhere in-between. Wherever they were, once the music started, that was all there was. The dance was the place that she loved to be. And, she loved the shared space that existed between her and Ramsay. It was a meditative, almost psychic space of just being, but, at the same time, working hard to make sure that they were as perfect as they could be. There was a flow state to it, when it was good: it felt effortless, even though they were working hard.

When the music stopped, Tara didn’t know how long they’d been dancing. She bowed, following Ramsay, and the crowd clapped .

‘Encore!’ someone shouted. Tara laughed, the exuberance of the dance still with her. She took a few seconds to get her breath.

‘Good job,’ Ramsay murmured to her, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. ‘You forget how hard that is, though. We must have been fit as dogs.’

‘Haha. I guess we were. You did all right, though,’ she replied.

‘Thanks. I spend most of my exercise time in the gym these days. It’s not dancing, but it’s something.’ He grabbed the hem of his T shirt and used it to wipe his face. Tara was unexpectedly faced with Ramsay’s washboard stomach: wider than she remembered, and more covered in his dark hair. She cleared her throat and looked away.

‘Ah, that was lovely,’ Hal said, clapping them. ‘Thank ye both. Now. I know yer both experts, so I willnae ask ye tae teach us anythin’ too hard. But perhaps ye’ll lead us all in the Gay Gordons? Most of us’ll know that one.’ he turned to the crowd. ‘I think we all fancy a bit o’ a dance, now that you’ve inspired us, eh?’ Hal asked the crowd, who cheered.

‘Oh. Right, okay.’ Tara had thought they were done with the dancing, but apparently they weren’t. She couldn’t very well refuse this, so she took Ramsay’s outstretched hand.

‘The Gay Gordons?’ Ramsay asked Hal, who grinned.

‘Aye, why not?’ he said, walking offstage and bowing to one of the ladies in the audience, who blushed and giggled at the Laird, in his kilt and T-shirt, asking her for a dance. ‘Right. Partner up, everyone! An’ follow Ramsay an’ Tara,’ Hal called out, and the music began again.

‘Umm… sorry about this,’ Ramsay said, as they started to promenade forward, his left hand holding hers and their right hands joined above their heads.

‘Not your fault,’ Tara said, keeping a smile on her face as they reversed their hands and repeated the same four steps, walking backwards. ‘When the laird says dance, we dance.’

‘Yeah. You were good, back there,’ he said, as they went forward again. ‘It was weird doing it again though, after all this time.’

‘It was weird,’ she agreed as they went backwards again, and then allowed Ramsay to twirl her under his uplifted arm.

‘So, how have you been?’ he asked, as his hand found her waist, and they began the last stage of the dance sequence, which was a standard ballroom-style skipping step. ‘I was sad not to see you at Gyle Head.’

‘Fine, thanks,’ Tara replied by instinct, although she was seriously distracted by the sensation of Ramsay’s hand on her waist. It was warm and it felt good: as if it belonged there. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry about that. Something came up at the last minute,’ she said, finding something to say that wasn’t technically a lie.

‘Well, we should still talk,’ he said.

The music came to a climax, and then the couples started the whole sequence again from the beginning. Tara released Ramsay’s hand for a moment as she helped a nearby couple with the transition of the turn: they were getting muddled somehow and halting the progression of everyone else in the dance, and giggling maniacally.

It was good to have a distraction; she didn’t know how she felt, being in such close proximity to him. And, she also didn’t feel ready to talk. Not about his wife and daughter. About her feelings, which were uncomfortably close to the surface.

They danced a few more rounds, and the music drew to a close.

‘Ah, that was fun, eh?’ Hal clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. ‘Now then – the refreshments are ready, I believe, so let’s all have a break, and thank ye tae Ramsay and Tara!’ he boomed. Tara curtseyed and Ramsay made a deep bow .

‘So,’ Ramsay said, as the dance ended, and everyone clapped. ‘It would be nice to go for a coffee, or dinner, or something.’ Ramsay held onto the tips of her fingers for a moment before releasing her hand. ‘Since we didn’t get to do it the other day.’

‘Oh. Umm…’ she mumbled, smiling to the other villagers who were nodding to them. Some were watching them curiously: mostly older residents of Loch Cameron, who would have remembered the pair as children and teenagers. Tara wondered what people were thinking. They all knew that Ramsay Fraser had disappeared without a trace. And, they all presumably knew that he was now married with a child. Were they going to gossip behind her back now? That she was a homewrecker, a whore, trying to go after someone else’s man?

‘I’d love to spend some more time with you,’ he continued, but Tara couldn’t meet his eyes. She knew that if she opened herself to the full force of that smile, she would be lost. And she didn’t want to be lost. She had been so deeply in love with Ramsay. So far gone that she had committed all of her heart to him: all her hopes and dreams were woven with his. And when you lost someone you were that deeply meshed with, it hurt so much that you thought you might die.

I can’t do that again , she thought, knowing deep in her bones that it was true. I can’t survive Ramsay Fraser a second time. And I’m not a homewrecker. How dare he flirt with me like this. Use me, when he knows how I must feel.

‘Sure. Maybe. I have to go,’ she said, knowing it was abrupt, but not being able to help herself. Tara’s self-preservation instincts were suddenly on high alert, and she needed to get out.

‘What? You’re not staying for the evening?’ Ramsay frowned. ‘Aren’t you… living here now?’ He gestured at the walls of the Inn, which had been hung with bunting and banners saying things like SAVE OUR SCHOOL and DONATE NOW. Dotty had a flair for the dr amatic; Tara had wanted to ask her if she’d made any banners that said WON’T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE CHILDREN but she knew Dotty would give her a withering look if she did.

‘Err… yes. But I need to pop out.’ Tara excused herself, knowing that it was the thinnest of thin excuses, knowing that she seemed cagey, but she just couldn’t be here anymore with Ramsay and with the locals looking on. She imagined she could feel their disapproval. ‘I forgot I need to run an errand for Mum.’

‘Right… Okay, well, I’ll give you a message or a call. Find a time to get together for a proper chat,’ he said, looking rather unsure of her.

‘Sure… okay,’ she said, and practically ran out of the Inn and onto the street outside, which was mercifully quiet.

I can’t. I just can’t her brain was yelling at her. No.

Tara ran to the edge of the loch and down the stone steps from the high street, flinging off her shoes and rolling up her jeans. Thankfully, she walked into the loch – just far enough for the water to go up to her ankles – but she knew it was what she needed. The calming waters of Loch Cameron had helped her on many occasions in the past when her feet were exhausted from dancing. Time was, she would come and stand in the freezing water after a long practice session and let the cold water act in the same way as ballet dancers used an ice bath.

But, sometimes, she also needed to walk out into the water and let its freezing stillness calm her heart and her mind, as well as her body. When she was younger and still lived at home, Tara would walk out into the loch if she was in a bad mood or worried about something, and let the cold waters wash away her problems until she felt her heart lighten and her mind clear.

Tonight, she needed the calm of the loch. She needed to feel the composure she had felt before she had seen Ramsay Fraser again. Before that moment in the market, life had been simple. But, now, her heart was on fire, and Tara didn’t know what to think.

Please , she asked the waters of the loch, as she bent forwards to trail her fingers in its silky, cold surface. Please bring me calm and clarity. Please don’t let my heart burn again.

Perhaps the loch heard her, or perhaps it was just the cold of the water, but, after a few moments, Tara started to feel a little better. She took in a deep breath and let it go, slowly.

Calm and clarity. Calm and clarity.

It’s okay. Nothing has to happen , she rationalised.

Her phone pinged, and she reached into her pocket to answer it.

Hope you’re okay. Would be great to catch up soon. Ramsay xx

Tara’s heart pounded again, returning to its state of panic.

Leave me alone she replied, quickly. I know you’re married, or at least with someone. You had your chance with me, Ramsay. It’s over.

She put her phone back in the pocket, trying to regain some composure, but it seemed to have left her. Rather than calm, her feet just felt numb in the cold.

She waded back to the sand, and sat down on the stone steps, staring into the loch.

What was she going to do about Ramsay Fraser? She couldn’t trust herself around him – her body reacted to him so strongly that if she’d have stayed next to him for any longer, she probably would have done something she’d have regretted.

Perhaps the only rational thing was to ignore him and avoid him as much as humanly possible until she left Loch Cameron at the end of the summer holidays. I have to protect myself , she thought. And, he’s married now. Or, at least, he’s with someone. So , what was he doing, flirting with me? Where was she, when all that was happening? Where was his daughter?

Tara imagined Ramsay’s wife and daughter, at home, perhaps in one of the cosy little cottages in Loch Cameron. Snuggled up on the sofa, watching a movie while Daddy was out, flirting with his ex-girlfriend. She felt sick.

She deleted his message, and felt like throwing her phone into the loch while she was at it. Whoever he had used to be, Ramsay Fraser was no longer a good man, and she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him, ever again.