Page 46 of The Breakup Bookshop

‘It’ll be worth it. You’ve got to weather the storm to reap the rewards,’ he says, pulling a flask from his bag. ‘Plus, I brought coffee to keep me warm.’

‘I see your cup of smugness,’ I say, pulling out my own flask from my backpack. ‘And I raise you hot chocolate.’

‘Touché… Nice work. I see your hot chocolate,’ he says, rummaging in his bag, ‘and I raise you a wool blanket. MacGregor tartan, for good measure.’

I shiver as a gust of wind whips around my face. ‘Does the blanket being tartan make it extra warm, by any chance?’

Over the tannoy, the tour guide points out two eagles soaring towards the mountains in the distance. Rory lends me his binoculars, and I gasp at the sight of the majestic birds. The tour guide walks around with a claw that is the same size as an eagle’s, to demonstrate their strength.

As I sip on my hot chocolate and gaze out to the mountains, I sigh contentedly. I’ve been full steam ahead with moving, renovations and the bookshop opening. Everything has been a million miles an hour for months now. Years, in fact. During my London life, I’d barely taken the time to breathe. Looking back on it now, I’m not sure how I kept up the pace. Early starts to prepare for meetings, writing last-minute pitches, team meetings, launch nights, late finishes, and then back up to do it all again the next day. I barely had time for anything but work.

Macy had been the first to complain that she never saw me any more. Seb never said anything, but I guess they decided to take matters into their own hands. Not that it gave them an excuse. I wasn’t letting them off the hook that easily. But, thinking back now, I had probably become too work-focused over the last few years as I’d climbed the corporate ladder. Verging on obsessed. And for what? The company went into liquidation, and I was more alone than when I started. I can’t remember doing anything fun for myself during those four years. I couldn’t even read when I got home. Instead, I collapsed into bed in an exhausted heap at the end of the day.

As it starts to drizzle, I make my way inside and Rory follows me.

‘Your cheeks are rosy,’ Rory says, as we sit down on a row of cushioned seats inside the boat. He coughs, a little awkward. ‘It suits you.’

‘A compliment? Who are you and what have you done with the Rory I know?’ I ask, as I feel my fingers start to thaw. ‘Are you nicer out at sea?’

‘Yup, the minute we’re back on shore, you’re dead to me.’

He pulls out his sketchbook from his backpack, looking into the distance, and starts moving his pencil expertly around the page. Within minutes, he has reproduced the outline of the mountains.

‘Wow,’ I say. ‘Your American fan club up the stairs will be very impressed with your artwork. I heard them say you look like a young Marlon Brando.’ I wrap my jacket tightly around my body as someone opens the door to the deck area, bringing a blast of cold wind. ‘I told them you’ve got a personality like Shrek.’

‘Always around to bring me down to earth.’

‘You’re welcome. Although, in all seriousness, your work is very impressive. How long have you been an artist?’

He laughs. ‘I’m hardly an artist. I just dabble.’

‘I think you’ll find that I commissioned you to paint a mural in my shop. That makes you an artist. Professional, even.’

‘Well, it’s not like I’m inundated with requests.’ He shrugs and goes back to concentrating on his craft.

‘You could be,’ I say. ‘If you wanted.’

He sighs. ‘You’ve worked in The Toolbox. You can see how busy it gets. Margaret’s toilet seat won’t fix itself, you know. It’s a family business. I can’t just abandon it.’

‘Family business,’ I say, raising my eyebrows. ‘But where’s your family? Sorry, I hope you don’t mind me asking. It just seems like you’re doing it all by yourself.’

‘I’m the youngest of eight and all my brothers and sisters have moved away. Hopefully not forever, but who knows? My mum and dad went to stay near my sister, who’s just had a baby. They should be coming back in the next few weeks. Until then, I’m the last man standing in Ullapool. I have the family home and business to take care of. I can’t really mess about with painting and drawing. I need to keep the business afloat.’

Here I am thinking how lucky Rory is to have a business handed to him on a plate. Watching him sketching away in his book, I realize he isn’t exactly lucky. He’s trapped.

‘That’s a lot,’ I say. ‘All on you.’

He shrugs. ‘I like it here. The quiet. I can’t imagine living in London or New York or anywhere like that. I think I’ll always come back here. This is home. But I have always wanted to see a bit more of the world and maybe have some more time to draw and paint – to pretend to be an artist.’

‘It’s not pretending.’ I nudge his knee. ‘Youarean artist. Rumour has it you planned to buy my shop?’

I say it as gently as possible. I’m so pleased with the bookshop. I know it would have stung if someone had nabbed it from me in an auction. And I had to work right next door.

‘Ah, so you heard about that? Probably worked out for the best, anyway. I wouldn’t have had the time to do much with it. The rest of my family are pursuing their dreams just now. I’d like to have my turn, too, at some point. My siblings are all over the world. France, Australia, even, God forbid,Edinburgh. Two of them are writers. My sister Ailsa, the one who’s just had the baby, is an interior designer,’ he says proudly.

Although he speaks of them fondly, it doesn’t seem fair that Rory is the one left to keep everything ticking over while his siblings chase their ambitions.

‘What was it like to grow up with so many brothers and sisters?’