you need an early night.’
‘I’m fine, honestly. I just need to sort out the—’ But her protest was silenced with a kiss.
‘Whatever it is, it’ll wait until tomorrow. Or I’ll give you a hand. But seriously, forget it. Let’s go to bed.’
‘But I’ve got to feed Sian and Adam and Jean’s made tea.’ The thought of disappearing upstairs, forgetting everything, was very tempting.
‘You need your beauty sleep, Kate.’ Morag, who had been on her way back to feed her Highland ponies and tuck them in for the night, gave her a warning look. ‘You’ll burn
yourself out if you’re not careful, my dear. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that things like weddings tend to sort themselves out in the
end.’
Roddy gave her his lopsided smile. He could charm her into anything, really. And being charmed into an early night by your gorgeous husband-to-be wasn’t the end of the world, was it?
Kate woke with a start, hearing wind howling and a door banging outside. She jumped up from bed, grabbing her dressing gown, wrapping it against the chill darkness of the
bedroom. It could be any time of the night. She pulled the window closed and crept back into bed, wrapping herself around a sleeping Roddy. He didn’t stir.
What felt like moments later, her alarm was shrieking in her ear. Reaching across to shut it off, Kate took a half-asleep moment before the noise outside registered. The wind was still howling
around the roof of Duntarvie House, and hailstones were battering the windows. Ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach, she clambered out of bed and tiptoed across the bedroom.
Having showered, she refused to check outside, hoping if she ignored the weather it would go away. Downstairs in the kitchen, she found her mum already pouring hot water onto tea bags and
looking out at the windswept courtyard. The source of last night’s loud bang could be seen – the door into one of the outhouses was twisted on its hinges, hanging by a thread after
being beaten in the storm. The garden was decorated with frost, the tops of the cars scattered with still-frozen hailstones.
‘I’ve checked the Cal Mac website, Kate. There’s no ferry this morning.’ Handing over a mug of tea, Elizabeth’s tone was cautious.
‘It’s fine.’ Kate could hear herself snapping. She knew it was irrational to want to shout at her mother about the weather, but she just didn’t seem to get it.
‘It’s often stormy first thing and then it settles. If we just head down to Kilmannan, we can get in the ferry queue and catch the first boat going.’
Where was today’s list of things to do? She grabbed the pile of papers from the dresser, leafing through the scratched-out lists and torn-out magazine pages. She flipped through the pages
again, pile after pile of smiling, perfect brides looking up at her, beaming in glorious sunshine, laughing out at her.
‘The forecast is for this storm to get worse, not better.’ Elizabeth spun the laptop around, so the BBC news website was facing Kate.
‘“Winter Storm: Christmas Travellers Facing Chaos. Ferry services disrupted, road to island ferry blocked by land slip . . . ”’ As she read the words aloud, the pile of
papers slipped from Kate’s hand, floating down to form a carpet around her feet. ‘Bloody
hell
!’ It was a moment before she realized the yelling she could hear was her own
voice, louder than she’d shouted in a long time.
‘Kate, you’re being ridiculous.’ Elizabeth tried to catch her daughter’s arm but Kate spun out of reach, her face twisted with disappointment and fury. Jean, who’d
watched the scene from the doorway, opened her mouth to speak, but it was too late.
Not even stopping to grab a coat, Kate stormed out of the big wooden door of Duntarvie House in fury. She marched, the wind whipping her hair across her face in strands, down towards the shore.
She’d worked so bloody hard to get everything perfect.
‘I’m fine, honestly. I just need to sort out the—’ But her protest was silenced with a kiss.
‘Whatever it is, it’ll wait until tomorrow. Or I’ll give you a hand. But seriously, forget it. Let’s go to bed.’
‘But I’ve got to feed Sian and Adam and Jean’s made tea.’ The thought of disappearing upstairs, forgetting everything, was very tempting.
‘You need your beauty sleep, Kate.’ Morag, who had been on her way back to feed her Highland ponies and tuck them in for the night, gave her a warning look. ‘You’ll burn
yourself out if you’re not careful, my dear. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that things like weddings tend to sort themselves out in the
end.’
Roddy gave her his lopsided smile. He could charm her into anything, really. And being charmed into an early night by your gorgeous husband-to-be wasn’t the end of the world, was it?
Kate woke with a start, hearing wind howling and a door banging outside. She jumped up from bed, grabbing her dressing gown, wrapping it against the chill darkness of the
bedroom. It could be any time of the night. She pulled the window closed and crept back into bed, wrapping herself around a sleeping Roddy. He didn’t stir.
What felt like moments later, her alarm was shrieking in her ear. Reaching across to shut it off, Kate took a half-asleep moment before the noise outside registered. The wind was still howling
around the roof of Duntarvie House, and hailstones were battering the windows. Ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach, she clambered out of bed and tiptoed across the bedroom.
Having showered, she refused to check outside, hoping if she ignored the weather it would go away. Downstairs in the kitchen, she found her mum already pouring hot water onto tea bags and
looking out at the windswept courtyard. The source of last night’s loud bang could be seen – the door into one of the outhouses was twisted on its hinges, hanging by a thread after
being beaten in the storm. The garden was decorated with frost, the tops of the cars scattered with still-frozen hailstones.
‘I’ve checked the Cal Mac website, Kate. There’s no ferry this morning.’ Handing over a mug of tea, Elizabeth’s tone was cautious.
‘It’s fine.’ Kate could hear herself snapping. She knew it was irrational to want to shout at her mother about the weather, but she just didn’t seem to get it.
‘It’s often stormy first thing and then it settles. If we just head down to Kilmannan, we can get in the ferry queue and catch the first boat going.’
Where was today’s list of things to do? She grabbed the pile of papers from the dresser, leafing through the scratched-out lists and torn-out magazine pages. She flipped through the pages
again, pile after pile of smiling, perfect brides looking up at her, beaming in glorious sunshine, laughing out at her.
‘The forecast is for this storm to get worse, not better.’ Elizabeth spun the laptop around, so the BBC news website was facing Kate.
‘“Winter Storm: Christmas Travellers Facing Chaos. Ferry services disrupted, road to island ferry blocked by land slip . . . ”’ As she read the words aloud, the pile of
papers slipped from Kate’s hand, floating down to form a carpet around her feet. ‘Bloody
hell
!’ It was a moment before she realized the yelling she could hear was her own
voice, louder than she’d shouted in a long time.
‘Kate, you’re being ridiculous.’ Elizabeth tried to catch her daughter’s arm but Kate spun out of reach, her face twisted with disappointment and fury. Jean, who’d
watched the scene from the doorway, opened her mouth to speak, but it was too late.
Not even stopping to grab a coat, Kate stormed out of the big wooden door of Duntarvie House in fury. She marched, the wind whipping her hair across her face in strands, down towards the shore.
She’d worked so bloody hard to get everything perfect.
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