Page 8 of Hellisay Maybe

“Right,” Jenn said drily. “Shall I bake him a cake or just throw myself at his feet?” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Eachann and Granny Annag trying to suppress their chuckles.

“Whatever works, m’ eudail,” Auntie Peigi said with a teasing grin. “He’s a lovely lad. Very polite.”

“I think that’s everything unloaded now, Jenn,” Angus said, stepping back inside with Calum. Thank God for family members saving her from the Romantic Inquisition today!

The brothers were the spitting image of their dad—tall, solid, slightly terrifying-looking if you didn’t know them. Like Eachann, they were fishermen, although these days they mostly ran the family seafood business, supplying high-end restaurants and Vivi’s hotels on the mainland. Eachann had long since handed over the reins, preferring to spend his days pottering about in his wee boat, Maighdeann-mhara, exploring the nearby islands.

Jenn had spent entire summers on that boat. Tiny islands. Secret beaches. Campfires under starry skies. Sometimes they’d even stay overnight, toasting marshmallows over driftwood fires while the grown-ups sipped beer and let the kids run wild. Simpler times.

“Thanks, guys,” Jenn said. “I hope I’m not keeping you from work?”

“That’s what the young team are for.” Angus grinned. “We keep out the road in the office these days. The lads’ll drop in to see you over the week—not all together, mind you.”

The lads were Jenn’s five cousins—Doll, Young Angus, Andy, Martin, and Seumas. Alongside Jenn’s brother Michael they’d all grown up thick as thieves. Jenn was the only girl—the supposed favourite—in a gang of wild boys. Maybe that was why she was almost always single. She never struggled to find dates—thank you, apps—but nothing ever lasted. They always ended on friendly terms. Nothing romantic. There was never that ‘spark’. Vivi blamed ‘the whole travelling thing’. According to her, Jenn never gave relationships a real chance—always chasing her next adventure. And guys, in turn, never took her seriously. She was ‘a free spirit’, apparently.

But Jenn wasn’t on Hellisay for romance. She was here to sort her life out. And see if the island could offer something different.

Whatever the hell that was.

Chapter 5

Three days later and the cottage was starting to look like ‘Jenn’s place’. She’d unpacked her boxes, scattered various throws and cushions around, and candles were dotted in all the right corners—Vivi had given official approval via video call. There was even the faint, cosy smell of baking in the air. She wasn’t due to start at the airport for another two weeks, but she wanted to get back into the rhythm of baking—and to get to grips with a new kitchen and oven.

“Thank God we’re only here for another week and a half,” her mum said to Granny Annag and Auntie Peigi, as they bit into generous slices of Victoria Sponge.

“They’ll need to roll me off the ferry at this rate.”

“Is it good, though?” Jenn asked, fussing with the tea towel in her hands.

“Good, Jennifer? Oh, it’s heavenly,” her mum said around a mouthful of cake. “It’s safe to say you have your Grampa’s touch.”

“Thanks, mum. But I need you guys to be honest with me. I haven’t been baking regularly for a while. And this stuff’s going to paying customers now, remember.”

“The only thing you need to remember, m’ eudail,” Granny Annag cut in, dabbing cream from the corner of her mouth, “is that Ealasaid doesn’t want anything too adventurous. Keep it simple and good—like this cake, for example. None of that weird and wonderful nonsense you like doing.”

Jenn smiled, internally rolling her eyes as she remembered the time she’d made chilli and chocolate cupcakes. She was convinced Granny Annag was about to be hospitalised for being overdramatic. She hadn’t dared make her anything remotely risky since.

“Anyway, whilst you ladies are all munching away,” Jenn said, getting up from the chair, “I was thinking of driving over to the café to speak to Ealasaid. Just to get a feel for the place.”

“Yes, good idea, m’ eudail,” Auntie Peigi said, glancing up at the clock. “It’s just past three, so the rush will be over. She’ll be winding down and cleaning up. Although it’s still quiet just now. At least until the Easter tourists start showing up.”

“Gives me a good excuse to give Red a proper run, too—make sure she’s still in working order.” Red was the clunky and battered old family Mini that had been kicking around the garage since forever.

“Just make sure you’re careful out on that thing,” her mum said, the familiar worry in her voice. “What with all these big campervans and lorries bustling around the island these days…”

“Mary, if me and Annag can scoot around in Red, I think Jennifer’ll be fine,” Auntie Peigi retorted, with a grin. They really were something else, those two.

Jenn pulled open Red’s protesting driver’s door and climbed in. It was a lovely spring day, and Red coughed reluctantly to life on the second turn of the ignition. On days like this, Jenn liked to pretend she was a glamorous Italian zipping around the Tuscan countryside. As she drove towards the main road, Tràigh Siar stretched out before her in all its glory. There was nowhere else she’d rather be.

The beaches of Hellisay added to the cauldron of mysticism surrounding the island. She loved that most had mythical names or some folklore attached to them. The western beaches faced the mighty Atlantic Ocean—waves crashing and roaring in a relentless, soul-thrumming symphony. The east side, in contrast, was excruciatingly peaceful. Bays so calm they felt like little slices of paradise. Tràigh Siar wasn’t the most popular, or the most picturesque beach. It wasn’t the surfer’s haven of Tràigh Beira, or the serene eastern bays with their mirror-flat waters. But it was Jenn’s favourite. Pure shell-white sand stretched for miles, relatively untouched. It wouldn’t look out of place in the Caribbean—if you ignored the weather. Wild and untamed, though. No doubt about it. Tràigh Siar didn’t give a shit about your social media followers or your number of likes. One minute, you’d be gazing out at sparkling, rolling waves. Next, a huge black cloud would be creeping over the horizon. Fierce horizontal winds from the Atlantic would slap your face and throw your hair into chaos. It was home to the Ban-sìthe Cave—or Banshee Cave, as most people tended to call it these days. There, the wind made haunting, almost human sounds as it rushed through the gaps between creepily placed stalagmites and stalactites. Although after walking on Tràigh Siar, you tended to look more like a banshee yourself.

Jenn turned onto the main road and headed north towards the airport. This was her first proper spin around the island since arriving—and she was soaking up every sight and sound. To her left, the ocean flickered beyond rolling dunes and blooming machair. Wildflowers were in bloom—daisies for sure, some keen bluebells and buttercups dotted the grass, with patches of clover beginning to emerge. Better than any fancy bouquet, in Jenn’s opinion. To her right, bare rocks burst from the land like something prehistoric. Houses dotted the view—some huddled in clusters, others scattered like lost Monopoly pieces. As the road curved east, she saw the graceful slopes of Beinn Seilie rising ahead. Due south, the peaks of Beinn Nicneven and Beinn Beira stood crisply outlined. It was a fine day for hillwalkers. A fine day for a fresh start.

Jenn turned left into Seiliegarry—a peaceful village with enviable views and a suspiciously large cow population. A few twists and turns later, the wide expanse of Tràigh Mhòr came into view. The jewel in Hellisay’s crown. A runway. And a beach. Yes, really. A small Twin Otter plane landed directly on the sand, and the flight schedule was entirely governed by the tides. You could go cockle-picking on the same bit of beach—you just had to watch out for the plane! It sounded ludicrous, but Jenn could confirm: it was completely true. There was no plane at the moment; it had left earlier, and the tide was now creeping back across the sand. Jenn was glad she’d come this way. She rarely had much reason to visit Seiliegarry. Although, if she was working here full-time, she might get sick of the view.

Jenn pulled into a parking space at the airport. Three firemen were laughing and cleaning vehicles out front. She recognised their faces from visits over the years but didn’t know their names. One of them glanced her way. New face? She couldn’t tell. Either way, not a bad view.

Inside, the airport and café were much like she remembered it—barely modernised, though word was there were plans to extend and update it. But for now, it still felt like a community hall with a landing strip. A sandy one at that.