Page 7 of Hellisay Maybe

Which was, of course, exactly what she was doing.

As the mist slowly lifted and the coastline of Hellisay grew clearer, Jenn inhaled the sea air deep into her lungs. The mountains rose higher, steadier. The wind whipped her hair forward, almost like it was pushing her towards Hellisay.

Pushing her towards her destiny.

She let it.

Chapter 4

Like most Hebridean islands, Hellisay was made up of scattered villages, linked by tortuously twisting single-track roads. Passing places were dotted along the way to let cars squeeze past each other, and everyone gave a friendly wave—it was practically law. The main road looped in a rough circle. You could start and finish at Saints Bay, the so-called ‘capital’ of Hellisay and the spot where the ferry docked. Jenn figured the name was probably an attempt to counteract all the pagan influences with a good dose of Christianity.

They turned into Hellisay Village in the northwest corner of the island—where her family hailed from. The red, orange, and pink glow of sunset still lingered in the sky, casting a golden tint across the traditional thatched cottages and the old red telephone box that still stood sentinel over the village. Their croft sat at the end of a short road adjacent to Auntie Peigi’s, forming a sort of cul-de-sac with two other cottages. The lights were already on, and smoke curled cheerfully from the chimney.

“Oh, here she comes!” Auntie Peigi cried as they walked in the door, pulling Jenn into a bear hug. “Our new Islander!”

Auntie Peigi’s sons, Angus and Calum, were standing awkwardly in the living room. “You didn’t have to come,” Jenn said, giving them each a hug.

“Ach, well… you’ll be needing a hand with the boxes, eh?” Calum shrugged.

“Come on, you two great big oafs,” Auntie Peigi said bossily. “Unpack the car.” They gave Granny Annag and Jenn’s mum a quick hug before disappearing outside.

“You ladies will be needing some tea,” Auntie Peigi added, already striding into the kitchen.

Jenn looked around. The walls had been freshened up recently, but the familiar homely feel remained. A sense of calm settled over her, despite the clatter from the kitchen.

“You won’t have seen the new décor yet,” Granny Annag said. “Let me give you the tour.”

The cottage had been lovingly updated to holiday-let standards—oak-effect flooring, cosy rugs, white-and-silver kitchen units—but it still felt like home. Vivi would definitely approve. The place looked like it had been pulled straight from a ‘cosy cottages’ mood board. In the living room, the coal-burning fireplace still took pride of place, surrounded by comfy furniture and a sideboard full of knick-knacks Auntie Peigi insisted on keeping “for character”. The open-plan kitchen and dining area were already humming. The kettle was boiling—tea was incoming whether she liked it or not. Granny Annag showed her the master bedroom, now bright and welcoming, with boxes already stacked neatly. Two more bedrooms and a new bathroom made it surprisingly roomy for a thatched cottage.

“It’s beautiful,” Jenn said, guilt creeping in. “But what about the holiday lets? Aren’t you losing money giving it to me for the year?”

“Pah!” Granny Annag waved her off. “What’s the point of a family cottage if family can’t use it? The lets are just a bit of income when no one’s here. And this way, I’ve got an excuse to come up more often.”

Jenn smiled. “Okay, I don’t feel quite so bad then.”

Back in the living room, Auntie Peigi and her mum bustled in with trays of tea and biscuits.

“Yeah, we couldn’t have you putting up with me 24/7 for a year, could we, m’ eudail?” Auntie Peigi laughed. “And I think Eachann would kill us both with our nattering.”

“Did I hear my name?” Eachann boomed as he walked in, arms outstretched.

Jenn jumped up for a warm hug. Eachann was a great bear of a man—tanned from a life at sea, with salt-and-pepper hair and a face full of laugh lines. Even in his seventies, he looked like he could still throw Jenn over his shoulder. He doted on Auntie Peigi but would do anything for anyone. A gentler man would be difficult to find.

“We were just saying you’d lose your mind if Jennifer lived with us,” Auntie Peigi explained.

“No comment.” He chuckled, dropping into an armchair. “So, you looking forward to working in the airport then?”

“Yes, it all feels a bit surreal though. Being back here, living here, and working here,” Jenn admitted, twisting her fingers together.

“You know, you’re not the only one newly back on the island,” Auntie Peigi interjected with a sly look on her face.

Jenn narrowed her eyes. “Really. Who is it this time?”

“Ruairidh MacLean. Eachann’s pal Seumas’ grandson. Flying the Hellisay route more regularly now.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever met him.”

“You haven’t. But you might see him now and then, up at the airport.” Auntie Peigi pretended—and failed—to be the picture of innocence.