The Posy Ring Episode 89

A vision in printed cottons, chunky jewellery, a bizarre knitted cardigan and bright sandals comes rushing in

Cal adds: “I get a lot more done when the weather’s like this. There’s a leak in the corner of the workshop, but if it’s going to be sold I’m buggered if I’m going to fix it. Hell mend him. I’ve put a bucket under it.”

Before he rings off, he sighs, his mouth close to the phone. “I should never have phoned you,” he says. “I should just have texted.”

“Why?”

“Because when I hear your voice, I want you.” He whispers it, as though half ashamed to be saying it. “And go to sleep with you and wake up with you and do it all again. What have you done to me?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, firmly. “Get back to work. I’ve got a lot more to do as well.”

“OK, OK, I’m going. Tomorrow, about one? In the hotel. I’ll book us a table.”

That night, feeling conflicted, Daisy goes back to sleeping in her mother’s old room rather than Viola’s. It would be too strange, and although they have slept together in this house for only two nights (and not just slept, she can hear him saying), she doesn’t want to be in there without Cal.

But she sleeps well enough and in the morning the sun is shining on an island washed clean by yesterday’s downpour. She checks her online store and notes that there are lots of watchers and even a couple of bids, which bodes well for being able to run a business from the island.

Overgrown

She takes Hector down to the beach, but this time they climb back up to the house along another path at the south end of the garden, closer to Scoull. It is beginning to be very overgrown already here and her trainers are soaked by the time they get back.

It means traversing a wilderness of willow scrub, bracken, rampant brambles, small self-seeded elders and wild roses. By the time high summer comes along, it will be a jungle. She can’t see any way of taming it, although she can imagine Cal with a scythe might be able to make some inroads into the grassier parts.

She’s momentarily distracted by the idea of Cal with a scythe, but practically speaking, perhaps she should turn her attention to the areas closer to the house first: the walled garden, for instance. Who knows what treasures might be hidden inside? Specimen plants, perhaps, brought here by the Neilsons.

Possibly even older plants, surviving from the McNeill years. She wonders who first decided to establish a flower garden here, and when.

She dries Hector with an old towel – rushing through damp undergrowth has soaked him – and remembers Cal’s instructions to check him for ticks, but is relieved to find none. They find his wiry coat hard to negotiate, but still every year Cal has to deal with a few. He has even left her with the appropriate tweezers.

“Watch yourself in the undergrowth as well,” he said. “They can carry very nasty illnesses.”

It strikes her that for all its urban stresses and strains, you don’t have to worry about ticks and adders in Glasgow. Although there are a few bloodsuckers and snakes of the human kind. Especially at car boot sales.

Bear hug

She leaves Hector in the house with biscuits and water and drives to the Scoull Hotel where Cal is waiting for her. He envelopes her in a bear hug, kisses her, pulls her closer, lets her go with some reluctance.

“Lunch,” he says.

They are sitting facing each other, finishing pudding and drinking coffee, when a vision in layers of printed cottons, chunky jewellery, a bizarre knitted cardigan and bright blue sandals comes rushing into the restaurant.

“Cal!” she says. “Oh and Daisy. How nice to meet you again!”

Cal has leaped to his feet in surprise. He embraces his mother, pulls out a chair for her. “What on earth are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

Fiona sits down. “I got the first ferry of the afternoon. I brought the hatchback. I can take the dresser back if it’s finished, Cal. But I had to drive like a maniac to get here in time. I put my foot down on that last long stretch and kept thinking I’d meet a f ***ing police car round the next corner!”

Daisy can’t resist looking round to see if anyone is upset by the profanity, but the restaurant has emptied, and there’s only a

Latvian waiter, sorting out cutlery and napkins in the corner. Seeing the newcomer, he politely approaches their table. “Have you eaten?” asks Cal.

“Yes, I had something on the way. Stopped off in Inveraray. And then started looking in shops. Which is why I almost missed the ferry.

“It was so liberating. Such a novelty. I can’t remember when I last came away on my own. I thought I’d hate it, but I didn’t. I’ll have a coffee, though. And a pudding maybe? Could I have a pudding? Your dad doesn’t do puddings.”

She says this so ingenuously that Daisy warms to her even more.

“Mum, you can have anything you want. But what’s going on? Why are you here?”

Cal orders a helping of sticky toffee pudding with ice cream for his mother. It is brought to the table by Elspeth Cameron – a large portion, Daisy notices –and the two women embrace enthusiastically.

Unauthorised

“I haven’t seen you on the island for years!” says Mrs Cameron. “I’ve missed you. We all have.”

“I’ve missed you too. I’m on ... what did they used to call it in the olden days? Furlough. Or maybe not even that. French leave? An unauthorised absence?” “How long are you here for?”

“Just one night. Probably.” She looks momentarily sad. “Can I stay at Carraig, Cal? Is that all right? I know I could get a room here, but I’d really like to sleep in the cottage.”

“Of course it’s all right,” fondly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Fiona hesitates, looks from her son to Daisy and back again.

“Mum, you’ve met Daisy, haven”t you?” “Yes. We met in the shop. Daisy Graham. You’re Viola’s granddaughter. From Auchenblae.”

“That’s right. My completely unexpected inheritance.”

Cal laughs

The Posy Ring, first in the series The Annals of Flowerfield, is written by Catherine Czerkawska and published by Saraband. It is priced at £8.99.