“Get away with you.”
I smile at her and walk towards the car, slipping a little on the thin coating of snow that’s covering the pavement. I wave in acknowledgement, and when I turn back, she’s gone, leaving me alone in the small car park looking out over the loch. The water is a grim grey colour, and it laps against the stones on the shore. A wind gusts, ruffling the water and blowing my hair back.
I shudder and hasten to the car. After slinging my bag into the back, I climb in and start the engine. As I wait for the windscreen heaters to work, I blow on my hands and observe the loch. There’s a majesty to the scene—the vast expanse of water reflecting the sky and framed by the green and dun colours of the mountains.
Lachlan would like it here. Plenty of fishing and walks.
“Fuck.” I have to stop thinking of him as if we’re still together. I don’t know why I do. I’ve had much longer relationships, but somehow none of those men ever made the impact that Lachlan did.
My phone lights up with a call, and I see Lachlan’s contact picture on the screen. “Not today, Satan,” I say and click to ignore the call. Another one comes fast on its heels but before I can click away, I realise it’s my solicitor.
“Colin, hello,” I say.
“Joe. Hope you had a good Christmas.” He pauses as if realising the anomaly of wishing festive greetings to someone who’s getting divorced, but after a moment he carries on heartily. “Just touching base before the weekend. Doing anything nice?”
“I’m in Scotland finishing up at a wedding and then I’m off to Thailand for the week. I’ll check my emails while I’m away if you want to send me anything.”
“God, that sounds lovely. I wish that was me. I have my eldest’s birthday party at Laser Quest to look forward to.”
It sounds hideous. “I’m sure you’ll have fun with that,” I say politely.
“Yes, well. I sent the fifth set of papers to Lachlan last week and we just received his reply.
“Oh dear,” I say, wincing. “What’s he done this time?”
“He signed them.”
“What?”
My loud retort seems to echo all the way to London.
When he speaks next his voice is cautious. “He signed them. I just received them from his solicitor.” There’s a protracted silence as I stare blindly at the loch and try to think what to say. “Joe. You there?”
“He actually signed them? He agreed to the divorce?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
I shake my head to jumpstart my shocked brain.
“Joe?”
I run my hand briskly over my eyes and clear my throat. “Sorry. The line is bad here,” I say hoarsely. “Well, that’s fantastic news.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“Because if you wanted to pause the divorce proceedings and seek counselling, my impression is Lachlan would jump on that like a dog on a nice bit of steak.”
“What a scrumptious analogy.” He chuckles. “No, it’s fine. It’s absolutely fine. In fact, it’s great. I’m going to be divorced. Yippee.”
His silence is telling, but he’s a very polite man, so he goes along with my false cheer, and we exchange a few more words before he rings off.
I stare ahead unseeingly. I initiated the divorce. I got angry—repeatedly—when he wouldn’t sign the papers.
So why am I not doing so well now that Lachlan has agreed to it? Subconsciously, I must’ve thought he’d keep fighting it and…
And then what did I think would happen?
I groan. Was I imagining him making yet another attempt to get me back and that, at last, it would be successful? I shake my head. Surely not. How stupid would I be?
I make myself remember Elliott and that kiss, and then put the car in gear and set off to do my job.
The drive is beautiful, and my bruised heart finds solace in the stark grandeur of the scenery. The road runs alongside the loch and I sneak a glance at an eagle hovering in place, lonely against the gloomy sky and riding on the cold wind.
I see the turn for the hotel and click my indicator. Despite slowing down, I only just make the corner. Swearing, I grip the steering wheel tighter as the wheels slip on the icy surface. For a brief second, I have visions of ending up in the loch and Frances’s wrath when I appear as a soggy, ghostly presence at the wedding. But the car straightens, and I blow out a shaky breath, releasing my death grip on the steering wheel.
The warning I’d received earlier comes back to me as I drive slowly up the narrow and steep lane. After a few minutes, the drops at the side of the road make me so nervous, it’s all I can do to focus on the road ahead. It seems to take forever, but eventually I emerge in front of the hotel.
This is a beautiful grey-stoned Victorian building that was originally built for a wealthy industrialist who was rather eccentric. As such, there are lots of little turrets and odd angles. It sits amongst the countryside with an unparalleled view of the loch below. Inside is a very funky décor. The designer was apparently a fan of tartan and bright colours, and the combination of the two makes the hotel feel like the inside of a very bright Scottish jewellery box.
I’ve done a couple of weddings here, and the staff are very professional and geared up for everything. As I stop the car, the hotel’s door opens and the manager appears. Dougal has bright red hair and blue eyes, and he’s a wonderful person to work with.
I smile as I switch off the engine and climb out and then immediately shudder. “Fucking hell, it’s freezing.”
Dougal laughs. “Is it? That coat of yours might be the culprit rather than the weather.”
I look down at my grey-checked Burberry coat. “What’s wrong with it? It cost a fortune and that was in the sale.”
“Aye. Costs a fortune but fulfils none of the functions of a coat. Aren’t they supposed to keep us warm and dry?”
“It’s very fashionable. I think it just has to look good and it’s worth the price.”
He chuckles and then launches into an alarming coughing fit.
“You okay?” I ask, hovering next to him, unsure whether to pat him on the back or find the defibrillator.
Eventually, he stops. “Sorry,” he says in a croaky voice.
“You don’t look well.” On closer inspection his usually clear eyes are bleary, and he’s very pale.
“I’ll be fine,” he says with his usual stoicism. “Just feel like I’m getting a cold.”
I pat him on the arm. “Well, keep it to yourself. I don’t wish to take that to Thailand with me.”
He chuckles. “Is that where you’re going after this?” I nod. “Nice,” he says.
I laugh. “You lie.”
He shrugs. “Not my thing. I presume you’re not stopping, then?”
“No.”
“Good thing, because the hotel’s fully booked. Once the wedding party is done, we’ve got a leaving party booked.”
“I’ll be on a beach by then. Are the wedding party here?”
“Most of them. The bride and groom have gone out for a walk. Her mother and father are in the bar, and her brother and his family are due any minute. The other guests have all checked in and are in the bar too. We’ll escort them to the chapel fifteen minutes before the ceremony.”