One of the things you notice when you first come to the Highlands of Scotland is the wind and sky. The wind hardly ever stops to draw breath; it blows constantly. Sometimes softly, and sometimes with such force that it can blow waterfalls up mountains. As a result, the sky is ever-changing. And it's a huge sky, presenting itself as about three-quarters of your field of vision. The sky dominates the landscape, and because it never stops changing it is like a kaleidoscope that offers morphing vistas to hold the attention and challenge the imagination.
Sunsets and sunrises are often breathtakingly spectacular, displaying light that reflects off the North Sea to the east or the Atlantic to the west. At all points between you are offered constant change. I vividly recalled when I had first arrived here, driving to Rita's Aunt's house to see rain falling distantly in the east, sunlight slanting through the mountains in the south, a bank of black cloud gathering storm forces for attack out over the ocean and providing a perfect backdrop for a double rainbow just out of reach.
"Morning, sunshine." I plopped myself down in a seat opposite Rita as she groaned and covered her ears.
"Headache. Don't talk to me." she grumbled.
"Down the pub again last night?" I smirked, and she just gave me the finger. A bell rang out as the door to the bakers shop opened and a grin spread across my face as Marguerite Warrington bounded in. She was 6"3 with short, brown hair and a boxy fringe. We had met her when we first moved here two years ago. Rita worked in the Florists, and Marguerite worked with me in the local Primary School. Marguerite, we all agreed, was an unfortunate name, so we all called her Mary, as she had requested. She had been born in Scotland, but her wealthy parents sent her to Boarding School in England, so she had an extremely posh English accent.
"Shh. Rita's been drinking with the local 90 year old's again." I giggled.
"Ooh, sounds like fun." Mary grinned. Rita just placed her sunglasses on her face and took a bite of the croissant, ignoring us. She wore red tartan trousers with dark green wellies, a red woolly jumper and a massive black trench coat, her curly midnight hair piled on top of her head, a side fringe tickling her forehead.
"Right ladies, must dash, work calls." Rita stood up, grinning as she swiped one last croissant from the box and disappeared. I watched fondly as she mounted her dark green bicycle and placed her overly large handbag in the front basket, cycling off. The box of pastries lay open on the table, and I watched Mary eye them.
"I feel like I deserve these more than you, so I'm just going to..." she slowly drew the box closer to her, "I mean, you're not really eating these anyway, are you?"
"No, go on." I laughed fondly as she grinned and picked up another donut.
"Hey gorgeous!" I felt the odd sensation of wiry hair scratching my lips as Marcus appeared, kissing me lightly. He still had his apron on, and smelt slightly of dough. A mop of curly brown sat on top of his head, a bush moustache sitting on his upper lip but no beard to accompany it. He towered above me, the same height as Mary, but he was incredibly skinny which lent to his overall rather lanky appearance.
"Hello." I smiled gently at him.
"Here!" my fiancée proudly produced a doughnut wrapped in tissue. "Have a good day at work. I love you."
"And you." I responded awkwardly, smiling at him as he disappeared back into the kitchen of the bakery.
Mary glanced down at the donut, which he had decorated with a small heart. "Look, El..." she sighed, "I know you feel bad for him, but-" she took a bite of my donut, which I luckily hadn't really wanted, "you really need to break up with him. I know it's difficult, I understand that -" she held up a hand to stop me interrupting, "but I personally think you're being selfish, leading him on." she chewed quickly and swallowed, continuing, "I mean, let's face it, you're not going to marry him, which means one day you will have to break up with him." she shook half the donut at me, "You're just prolonging the inevitable." her speech was finished, and she now rejoiced in her free mouth by picking up the final pastry from the box.
We sat in silence for a few minutes as I contemplated what Mary had said and she chewed slowly. "I'll think about it." were my only words on the subject before it was closed and we left, driving together to school.
--
"Right, so mind telling us why you called this emergency meeting?" I questioned. We were all sat in the bakery; Rita, Mary, Mary's husband Angus; a tall, beefy Scottish gardener, and Marcus, my fiancée. The bakery was now shut, and a small, rather pathetic lightbulb hung above us, the only source of light in the late evening darkness.
"Well, basically," Rita began casually, "I'm getting married."
"What!?" I spluttered, as Mary choked on her sausage roll.
"Ay, good on ya, lass." Angus nodded firmly.
"To who?" Marcus looked shocked.
"Timmy. From down the road." Rita gestured vaguely. Braemore was so far in the middle of the nowhere, though, that 'down the road' could mean they lived miles away.
"What!? Timmy, the guy from the post office?" I frowned, picturing the tall, dark haired man.
"Yes, yes, him." Rita shrugged, brown curls swaying as she moved. "Anyways, yes, that's it, really."
"Right. Well. That's news." I laughed and leant back in my chair, but Marcus frowned slightly. He didn't like it when I was unladylike. I sat back up.
"And I want you to be my Maid of Honour, of course." Rita smiled brightly at me and I soon found tears in my eyes.
"Thank you." I smiled. She then said she wanted Mary and two of her friends from the florists to be the bridesmaids, and apparently her estranged sister was coming to live here for a while, so her niece would be the flower girl.
The whole way home, I was smiling brightly, Marcus' hand resting on my thigh as he drove the car back. He parked in front of our modest cottage and immediately the sound of barking filled our ears.
"Hello, gorgeous boy!" I grinned as I was assaulted by my dog, Jon. I had rescued him as a puppy when I moved here, and had fallen in love with him straight away. He was a massive, white, Great Dane with black spots who was blind in one eye and limped when he ran. He was also convinced he was a lot smaller than he was, and always sat on my lap, even when his weight was sometimes crushing.
--
"Morning, Elizabeth, morning Marguerite." said the chirpy Scottish receptionist. I smiled back, but Mary grimaced. She was not a morning person. Our classrooms were opposite each other, and mine was always warmer than hers for whatever reason, so for the twenty minutes before class started, she would often come and sit with me and chat. This time, however, we were interrupted as the receptionist appeared in the doorway.
"Hello, Ms Brown, Ms Warrington. We have a new student with us today!" her voice was overly cheerful as she stepped to the side and a young girl walked into the room, no more than 8 years old. She looked absolutely terrified, but she was adorable. Already dressed in the uniform of the school, a red tartan dress with black tights and a white shirt underneath, she had long, white-blonde hair and the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen. "Ms Brown, this is wee Isla Hart. She has just moved here from London so she's very nervous." the receptionist smiled and disappeared, and Mary followed her out of the door so that the child was not too overwhelmed.
"So, what kind of things do you like to do, Ms Hart?" I asked, hoisting myself up onto the table, dangling my legs off the edge. The girl looked impressed, and tried to copy my actions, but was too small to get on the table. "Here." I got down, giggled, and lifted her up, and she smiled brightly as I returned back to my original position.
"Um, you can call me Isla." she said shyly. "And - and - I like paintings. And basketball!"
"Hey! I like paintings and basketball too!" I grinned. "What about music?"
"I was going to learn to play the piano, but then we moved here and Mummy couldn't find anyone to teach me." her previously happy face now faded into a sad one.
"I do piano lessons!" I said, watching as her face lit up.
"Really?" she gasped dramatically.
"Yes. Would you be interested?"
"Yesyesyesyesyes!" she cried, clapping her hands together enthusiastically. We only had five minutes before the lesson started so, with a smile, I began to show her around the classroom.
--
"Hello, Isla." I smiled warmly at the young girl that stood beside my desk, "How may I help you?"
"Um. Hello," she said nervously, "My Mummy says we can do the piano lessons but they have to be at our house so she can keep an eye on me."
"That's fine." I laughed gently, already fond of the young girl with her soft, lilting Scottish accent. I wondered what her parents were like. She had been here for three weeks now and I hadn't seen nor heard of a trace of them. In the rare occasion that we got new students late in the year, often their parents would come in, or at least phone to introduce themselves. I severely hoped she wasn't neglected, as she was so sweet. No one deserved that.
Finally, her mother did call, however I was in lesson at the time, so the receptionist just gave me her message. It was an address and a date, scribbled down by the receptionist with 'Do not be late.' underneath it.
--
"Mummy! It's her! It's her!" came my daughters uncharacteristically excited voice. I smiled gently and gave her a few seconds to calm down as I checked myself in the mirror, flattening my hair. It was cold, freezing actually, a bitter wind blowing as I opened the front door to let my daughters new piano teacher in. She stood facing away from me, a black coat on and her coat hood up, shrouding her face.
"Hello, I'm Sophia Hart, it's lovely to meet you, you must be Rita's friend..." the words died on my lips, carried away by the wind as a gaunt, haunted face turned to look at me. Soft, gentle hands brought the hood down. I must have looked utterly terrified, as twenty years of suppressed memories battled to rise to the surface.
It can't have been that long. Surely not.
"May I come in?" she questioned, and she enunciated her words much better now, her voice clear and well spoken. Long, soft, light brown hair shone in the dim afternoon light and she regarded me with a preoccupied expression, her eyes not once leaving mine as I glanced at her. She had the same strong jawline she always had, but it was much more defined now, with impossibly sharp, high cheekbones and heavy lidded eyes to match.
"Yes." I responded, my own voice coming out as a whisper. She passed me in the doorway, nowhere near close to touching me but still I shivered, long after the door was sealed shut and the wind was gone.
"Ms Brown! Ms Brown!" Isla shouted excitedly. She was married? She must be. Why else would her surname be different? The matter was taken out of my hands as the brunette was dragged into the music room by my daughter. We had just bought the house off of an elderly man who had moved to a nursing home. Every single one of his possessions was cleared out save for one thing; his plants.
The only way to describe the house was to call it a miniature castle. It was shaped like a castle and it looked like a castle, but it was much smaller than a castle, around the size of a large, three-storey mansion.
And every single room was filled with plants. The man owned a few acres of land, and had a gardener for them, but also had a gardener for the interior of his house, which I came to realise after I re-hired both gardeners, took a lot of upkeep.
I thought perhaps at first the plants would make me feel dirty and unclean, but in fact, they were incredibly refreshing. It was not like I was hosting dinner parties every night like I used to. No one came to the house save for my sister, my cleaner, my gardeners and my chef. And, of course, Isla and I. There was no one to impress, and so this house became entirely my ours, with paintings on every wall and fairy lights strung wherever I could put them because Isla loved fairy lights. Huge windows flooded the floorboards with light, and there was a porch with a swing and ivy growing up the outer stone walls. The house was odd in that some rooms, the elderly man had done them up beautifully, modernised them, such as the bathrooms and kitchen. They had gorgeous white tiling's that complimented the plants, or clean white walls and state of the art ovens, and beautifully carved tables.
But it also had tiny bedrooms with books shoved in every corner, and floorboards that creaked, and plush red carpets and quilted duvet covers and yellow lamplights and fake animal fur rugs. Isla's room had light green walls covered with paintings of flowers and plants and her doors were dark green, and it was on the top floor so the roof slanted at odd angles. It was green, and it should have been incredibly ugly, but it wasn't. It was home.
Soon enough, soft piano music filled the ground floor. I had not moved from where I stood, frozen in the hallway. I could see across the hall into the music room, where Emma was sat at our old grand piano, playing Isla a piece I didn't recognise. Then they switched, and the sound of horrible, strained notes filled my ears. Emma turned for a second, and her green eyes looked at mine. Her eyes were not gentle, however they held a certain cognisance, as if they saw what they were really looking at. I immediately shivered under the intensity of her gaze, which crackled and burned like a log fire. Caught, I found myself unable to look away.
My footfalls receded as I escaped and disappeared upstairs, clutching my heart, struggling to breathe.
Emma Slater was gone. A completely different woman was now standing in my living room, an adult, the age difference no more apparent. A certain coldness emanated from her, a coldness that could not be achieved without having experienced various tragedies in one's life. Many bad things have happened to her since we last saw each other, of that I was sure, and I feared that I may have played a part in one of them.
"Angus." I smiled at my sisters friend, the outdoor gardener. An hour had passed and I knew that Emma would be about to leave. "Could you show my guest out? Here's the money," I handed him the twenty pound note, knowing I could trust him, "Tell her I said thank you and will be expecting her this time next week."