‘What luxury,’ I say. ‘This is a very fine restaurant indeed.’
‘Glad to hear it measures up to your fancy London eateries,’ Davy says with a smile that makes his grey-blue eyes shine. I notice how white his teeth are against the weathered tan of his skin. Then his expression grows more serious. ‘You must miss it all, that life you had down there.’
I consider his words – more of a statement than a question – as he puts teabags into mugs and pours water from the kettle.
‘Not really,’ I say, nodding as he holds up a jam jar filled with milk and raises his eyebrows enquiringly. ‘Just a dash, please. Thank you.’ I take the tin mug he hands to me and blow on the surface to cool it. ‘I thought I would miss it terribly when I left London, but I really don’t. In fact, having Ardtuath to come home to has turned out to be the best thing. For Daisy and for me. The one thing I do miss is being able to sing. But that ability seems to belong to someone else now – the person I was in another lifetime.’
‘It must have been really hard, losing your voice like that.’
I nod, taking a sip of my tea and settling Daisy a little more comfortably as her eyelids begin to droop. ‘It was. At the time it was the end of my world. It was all I had. My voice had become my whole identity. I went from rising star to forgotten nobody in the space of a few weeks.’
Davy sits in silence for a moment, watching a bird of prey that’s circling high above the hills. ‘Are you always so hard on yourself?’ he asks at last, the tone of his words light so that I can’t take offence.
‘I suppose I am,’ I reply. ‘But then, so I should be. I’ve messed everything up so badly.’
He laughs. ‘There you go again, proving my point. From where I’m sitting, you’ve done pretty well so far. You’ve achieved things that most people only dream of, and now here you are with a daughter of your own to raise, which seems to be another pretty good thing.’
I look down and stroke a fingertip against Daisy’s cheek where the sunshine and the sea air have blushed it rosy pink. She’s fallen asleep, lulled by a full belly and the peaceful drift of the boat.
He watches me, then asks gently, ‘Is Daisy’s dad on the scene at all?’
Without raising my eyes, I shake my head, unable to speak. At the time, Piers’s words were horrible. But his silence and his complete rejection of me and Daisy ever since have been even worse.
I don’t tell Davy about all of that, though. I just shrug at last and say, ‘No, Daisy’s dad isn’t part of our lives.’ The understatement of the year.
‘I see. His loss, then,’ Davy says quietly. From the look he gives me, I can see he understands. And maybe Bridie’s told him what Mum had already surmised: that Piers wasn’t fit for fatherhood.
‘Does it hurt when you sing now?’ he asks, after a pause.
I shake my head. ‘No. But my voice has deepened and my range has diminished. It’s a bit rougher, too, sometimes. Certainly no good for the stage any more.’
‘You’ve a great tone, though,’ he says. ‘It holds a lot of feeling. If you like the old songs, you could come along to the bar on a Saturday night sometime. There’s a group of us who play. Anyone with a musical bone in their bodies is welcome to join in.’
‘What do you play?’
‘Guitar. And mandolin.’
I nod. ‘I’d like that.’ Although I’d need someone to mind Daisy and I panic a little at the thought. I’ve never been out without her.
I finish my tea and Davy holds out a hand to take the mug. He packs everything away in the basket and then, as Daisy begins to stir, checks his watch. ‘Time to be getting back, I reckon. We’ll go just a wee bit further so you can see the rock arch and then we’ll head round the north point of the island and back to Aultbea.’
Back at the jetty he makes the boat fast and then helps me ashore as Daisy stirs in my arms. He scoops a few handfuls of squatties into a carrier bag. ‘These’ll do for your supper. I’ll drive you home, then come back and