‘I can imagine,’ Mrs Henderson said, nodding in sympathy. ‘Iona will be missed.’

Elle forced her smile to remain in place as she scanned and bagged the items. She had taken three days off work after the funeral, glad not to be fending off well-meant sympathy from locals when everything was still so fresh, but she’d been back at work for more than a week now and it wasn’t getting any easier. She was sure everyone who’d known Gran must have come in to buy their groceries by now, but each day brought a few more customers who would wait and come through her checkout just so they could offer their condolences. It was touching that so many people had loved her gran and wanted the chance to say how sorry they were at her passing, but it was also draining.

Gran had been her rock, always. The two had been inseparable. They shared a love of reading and history, and Elle had sat for countless hours listening to her grandmother tell stories about her childhood in Scotland. Gran had always had a deep love for her ancestral homeland, which Elle found infectious. Her Scottish brogue—which she’d managed to hold onto despite having emigrated to Australia with her father when she was fifteen—added a colourful tone to the stories she passed down, and Elspeth, who was named after Iona’s mother, loved everything about the world Gran brought so vividly to life.

Elle’s favourites were the tales of Stormeil, the once-magnificent castle of Iona’s forebears. As a child, Elle had imagined living within its magical walls, as would any kid who ever dreamed of becoming a princess, only to discover when she was much older that the castle no longer existed—it was left to fall into disrepair sometime in the sixteenth century. Her dreams of becoming a princess had been destroyed like the ruins of her ancestors’ castle. This, however, never dulled Gran’s enthusiasm. To her, the castle was still an important part of her heritage.

It had always made Gran sad that her only son, Elle’s father, had never felt the same connection to Scotland. ‘He’s too much like his father,’ Gran had once said. She had loved her husband dearly, but he was a fourth-generation Australian and a man whose heart and life were firmly rooted in New South Wales.

For years Elle and her gran discussed taking a trip to Scotland, returning to Iona’s homeland and visiting the places they had always talked about. But time had run out.

Pa hadn’t liked to fly, and even though Elle’s parents had offered to take Gran, she had refused to go without him. Years later, after her husband’s death, Iona had a series of small strokes that had her doctors cautioning her against flying, and as a result, Gran stopped talking about it. She still had family there, but Elle knew they weren’t close. Gran had lost two brothers over the years and had only a sister remaining, but the two had never done more than exchange the odd letter and a Christmas card each year. It was strange for Elle to think that Gran had lived here longer than in her home country—seventy-three years. And yet Australia had never really seemed to be her home. Towards the end, Elle had heard a sad note in her gran’s voice when she spoke of Scotland. Her family may have been here, but her heart was across the ocean.