He was not entirely surprised when the letter came, a fortnight ago, from the solicitor in Lerwick. Maggie had never said explicitly that the house and croft would be left to him, but he understood why she’d done it. In the end it came almost as a relief – an echo and a partial answer to his own worries. She had entrusted the land to David in death, as she had done in life. But not, he understood, for his own benefit. She had nominated him as a kind of executor, to do what was right, to make a decision about the future.
What was right was for someone to live in the house and to work the croft, as she would have wanted it worked; and three months ago, before Emma left, his decision would have been easy. David would have asked his daughter and Sandy if they would like to move from the Red House to Gardie, and he would have done so joyfully, certain of Maggie’s approval. That was, undoubtedly, what she’d had in mind. But with Emma gone, too, everything was more complicated. The sense of continuation he longed for was much harder to see. His connection to both past and future had been weakened at once.
For two weeks, on and off, he and Mary had discussed the options, had woken in the night to talk them through again, and they had dismissed or discounted all but one.
As he turned the key in the ignition, David realised he missed his wife. It had been only a few hours since they’d had breakfast together, but he missed her all the same, and he wanted, then, to be with her. In an hour or so he would be home for lunch, and there was nothing to keep him from being home all afternoon. But he had one more task to complete before then. He had a question that needed to be asked.
Stamping his boots at the doorstep and kicking hard against the wall, David cleared the snow from his feet before he opened the door and went inside. ‘Hello! Sandy! Is du aboot?’
There was a shuffling from the kitchen, and Sandy emerged in a thick blue woollen jumper, tattered at the cuffs. ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘I’m just made coffee. Du must be psychic.’
David grinned. ‘Well, I wouldna say no,’ he said. ‘A coffee micht git some life back inta me.’
Sandy nodded and turned back to the kitchen. ‘Come and sit doon,’ he said.
The two men sat across the table from one another, but both were looking out of the window, over the valley, at the whitened hill and the sea. Their hands clasped around the hot mugs in front of them.
‘Looks good fae in here,’ Sandy said.
‘Aye. Looks pretty good fae oot dere, too,’ David replied. ‘Juist a peerie bit caalder.’ He said nothing for a moment and then turned to Sandy. ‘I hae some news fir dee,’ he said, then paused a second longer, trying to find the right words. ‘It seems Maggie may juist hae decided dy future.’
‘What does du mean?’ Sandy spoke slowly.
‘Well, shu left da hoose an da croft ta me in her will. An since Ah’m quite happy eenoo in me ain bed, someen else’ll hae ta live doon dere.’
Sandy waited for more.
‘Shu was thinkin at dee an Emma micht want ta move in, I suppose, if du wanted to wirk da croft, an if du wanted ta hae a family. But, seein as du’s chased me dochter awa, I reckon I hae ta offer it ta dee, if du wants it.’
Sandy looked away.
‘Ah’d help dee wi da sheep an da idder wark,’ said David. ‘We can help each idder. Ah’d be happy wi dat.’
‘Has du offered it to Emma?’ Sandy asked.
‘Aye, I telt her da situation, but shu’s no thinkin ta come back eenoo.’
‘And Kate?’
David shook his head. ‘Dey’re no wantin to move oota da toon. An I dunna lik ta think o it juist sittin empty. So, if du wants it . . .’
Sandy breathed in deeply, but said nothing.
‘Dere’s only wan catch, though,’ added David.
‘Aye?’ Sandy raised his eyebrows.
‘Well, Maggie was a bit o a hoarder, du sees. And since she didna plan ta be dyin quite sae soon, shu’s left aa o it fir wis ta clear up. I could dae wi a haand.’ He smiled, then tightened his lips. ‘Actually, I could dae wi a lot o haands. It’ll tak wis a while.’
‘Is her family no wantin some of it?’
‘I spak ta Ina, her sister, an shu’s asked fir een or twa things. But whit use wid maist o yon shite be ta her in New Zealand? I think shu was juist relieved at Maggie didna leave da hoose fir her ta sort oot.’
‘Okay, well I’ll hae a think aboot it,’ said Sandy. ‘It’s a bit o a surprise. I wasna thinkin to take on a croft. Certainly no by myself.’ He paused. ‘But I can help dee clear the hoose anyway. When was du plannin to start?’
‘Mebbie da moarn, or da day eftir.’ David took the last swig of his coffee. ‘If du sees da pickup doon dere, juist come alang if du’s able, an we’ll see whit’s needin don. Hit’s gonna be a hell o a job, I think. Ah’m ordered a skip, and we’ll need ta hae a bonfire or twa as well, I doot.’
Sandy nodded his head but was looking away again, distracted.
‘Well, Ah’ll laeve dee wi dat thocht,’ David said, standing up and setting his mug in the sink. He said goodbye and walked out of the house, leaving Sandy behind at the kitchen table.
SUNDAY,
24TH JANUARY
As she passed the hall mirror, on her way to the kitchen, Mary caught sight of herself and paused. She looked tired, and a shadow lay over the side of her face like a birthmark. She ran a hand through her short grey hair, neatened it, then rubbed her eyes. She turned away from the mirror.
Today was a difficult day. Weekends, always, were the worst. Emma’s leaving had been hard for her – harder, it seemed, than the last time her daughter had moved away, as a teenager, to university. Then, the loneliness had been offset by busyness, by pride and by hope. Now, it was offset only by routine. When there was nothing else that needed her focus, Emma’s absence would gnaw at her, nagging for attention like a puppy. She had got used to her daughter as a neighbour, got used to her dropping in without warning, and to her presence in the valley, her proximity. She would get used to this distance, too, but not quickly.
This morning she had called Emma, eager to hear her voice, but knowing, also, that it would not be an easy conversation. David had texted her after breakfast to say he’d offered the croft to Sandy. ‘Juist ta let her ken,’ that’s what he’d said, as though it were a minor piece of news. Mary waited until he went out to the shed, then she picked up the phone. Her job was to listen to the things she already knew that Emma would say. She already knew because she understood why her daughter would feel the way she was feeling, why she would flinch at the thought of Sandy moving to Gardie, of him becoming, without her, permanent.
David didn’t understand these feelings. Or at least he would not admit to understanding them. What he had done was the practical solution in the current circumstances. It was right for him, for the croft, for the valley, and hopefully for Sandy too. And that rightness would last longer than any hurt Emma might feel just now. After all, they had asked her first if she wanted it, and she had not. Mary knew that’s what her husband was thinking, and she knew that in essence he was correct. She didn’t disagree. She was just less able to weigh that rightness over their daughter’s immediate anxieties.
A photograph framed on the hall table showed Emma and Kate aged eight and ten, both wrapped in winter coats, scarves flailing in the wind. The picture used to hang on the living-room wall, until the colours faded in the sunlight, the girls’ red jackets paling into ochre. Mary had brought