One summer, it had rained every day for the entire two weeks, and yet it had still felt magical. Tucked up by the fireplace in Eilidh’s cosy sitting room, with mugs of hot cocoa and endless card games...there had been no other place Laurel had wanted to be.

It had all ended when Laurel’s mum had died when she’d been just eight. Cervical cancer, just six weeks from diagnosis to death. Her father had never been to Orkney, even though Isla grew up there, and he hadn’t wanted to go then, or ever.

Eilidh had come to Scarborough to visit them a few times, but those visits had tapered off in Laurel’s teen years, and somehow Laurel had never made it all the way up to Orkney again, even though she’d always said she would, and had told herself to plan a trip one day soon. Somehow it had never happened.

But she wanted to go now.

“What do you need, Laurel?” Eilidh asked gently.

“I want to invite myself for Christmas,” Laurel said in an embarrassed rush. “Zac and me...I don’t even know if you’ve met Zac...”

“Abby’s son,” Eilidh said quietly. “Only once, when he was a baby.”

“I’m taking care of him for a bit, which I can explain later, but...we need a break from, well, from real life, I suppose. And I thought of your cottage in Orkney...I have such wonderful memories from there.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “You do still have it, don’t you? I don’t even know...” She was ashamed to admit the depth of her ignorance. Maybe Eilidh had sold it years ago, and never told her.

“Yes, I still have it,” Eilidh said with a smile in her voice. “But I’m afraid I’m not there right now. I’m spending the winter in Spain...my joints, you know. I’m not as young as I once was.”

“Oh...” Disappointment swamped her, tasting thick and sour in her mouth. “It was a long shot,” Laurel said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling. She was feeling rather ridiculously bereft, considering how sudden and mad her idea had been. Going to Orkney wouldn’t have been some sort of cure-all, anyway. “I shouldn’t have even...”

“There’s no reason why you and Zac can’t go on your own,” Eilidh interjected. “If you want to. I know it might not be quite the same, but the place is empty, and the key is under the flower pot. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like. I won’t be back until February.”

“Oh...” Eilidh made it sound so simple. Just get in the car and go. Yet Orkney had to be over seven hundred miles from London, plus the ferry...it would take well over twelve hours to get there. It really had been a mad idea.

“Just let me know,” Eilidh continued. “And I’ll make sure my neighbour Archie MacDougall looks out for you. He minds the place while I’m gone. I can send him an email tonight.”