The Little Gift Shop on the Loch: A delightfully uplifting read for 2019!. Maggie Conway

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      Instead she returned to the kitchen. Dominated by a large wooden table surrounded by mismatched chairs, the pale blue units appeared rustically charming more from their age than design. A recess of shelving was crammed with colourful crockery and an ancient stoneware cooking pot sat on top of the oven. Lily’s mother wasn’t always inclined to cook but when the mood took her, she never bothered with a recipe. Instead she’d simply throw in whatever was to hand, concocting slightly unusual tasting soups or casseroles.

      A wicker shopping basket sat on the floor, a bamboo wind chime hung silently at the window. There were touches of her mother everywhere and Lily could picture her here so clearly, almost as if she’d walk through the door any moment. If only she would. Lily sighed silently, closing her eyes briefly.

      The living room was quite large but as a result of their frequent moving and Patty’s reluctance to acquire possessions, it didn’t contain much furniture. Lily’s eyes roamed the room, recognising the two brown sofas and the small walnut coffee table. There was a pretty fireplace and a shelved alcove lined with books. Patty always left half-read books lying around as if she’d lost the patience to finish them. Moving over to the mantelpiece, Lily picked up a framed photo of the two of them taken at the loch years ago, their heads close together smiling in the sunshine.

      Lily had no memories of her mother in this house and if she’d hoped that might make it easier, then she was mistaken. She swallowed down the lump in her throat with the realisation this was going to be more difficult than she ever could have imagined.

      As Lily silently roamed the house, it was clear Iris had been keeping the place polished and clean. Not only that, but Lily was acutely aware that Iris had taken care of the house in the immediate aftermath of Patty’s death, sparing Lily the devastation of seeing her mother’s last movements unfolded and she felt a wave of gratitude and guilt wash over her.

      Suddenly she couldn’t stand the silence. She needed to do something, anything to fill the emptiness. She’d make a cup of tea – that’s what people did to make things feel better. But she didn’t want tea. What she really wanted, she realised, was alcohol.

      She unzipped her suitcase where, protected deep within the folds of clothes, were a few staples she’d brought for her first night; a jar of coffee, teabags, a packet of biscuits and a bottle of wine. Bringing a glass through from the kitchen, she poured from the bottle, imagining the deep plumy taste of the silky red wine soothing its way into her bloodstream. She raised the glass to her mouth and froze.

      Someone was unlocking the front door. With shaky fingers she laid the glass down, her ears straining to hear. Then she remembered – of course, it would be Iris. She hadn’t told her she was coming but perhaps she’d seen her arriving?

      Except the footsteps coming up the stairs didn’t sound like that of a lithe 60-something woman. Some logical part of her brain was telling her burglars didn’t have keys but that didn’t stop her heart hammering uncomfortably in her chest. She’d almost stopped breathing when the door opened and the silhouette of a large man filled the doorway.

      Definitely not Iris.

      There was a moment of stunned silence as they stared at each other until Lily managed to find her voice. ‘Wh-who are you?’ she stuttered.

      The man hitched his hands into the front pocket of his jeans, seemingly in no hurry to explain himself. When he did, his voice was deep and drawling. ‘I could ask you the same thing.’

      Lily opened her mouth and then closed it again, not seeing why she should explain herself to this intruder. Or maybe he was a squatter – he did look a bit scruffy. But a squatter with keys – was that even possible? One thing was for sure, she should never have left the place as long as she had. Taking a step closer, she drew herself up which admittedly didn’t make much impact on their height difference.

      ‘Why don’t you go first – who are you?’ she demanded, amazed her voice sounded normal.

      ‘I’m Jack Armstrong.’ He leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. ‘And you must be Patty’s daughter?’

      ‘That’s right.’ Seriously, who was this man?

      ‘Iris said you’d be here sometime.’

      Slightly placated on hearing Iris’s name, Lily still found his presence extremely unnerving. Maybe because in the semi-darkness his features were shadowed so that only the contours of his cheekbones and strong jawline were visible. Other than that, the only thing she could see was how obviously broad and tall he was. And she still had no idea what he was doing here.

      ‘So um, why are you here?’

      ‘I’m here to feed Misty.’ His tone implied this was something she should know.

      Lily blinked. ‘Misty?’

      At which point, a black and white cat miraculously appeared and began purring and rubbing itself against the man’s legs. Lily frowned. This was all starting to feel quite strange. The man lowered onto his hunches, and Lily watched his hand run along the length of the cat’s black fur. ‘Hello girl,’ he murmured gently.

      Lily suddenly felt exhausted, feeling incapable of understanding anything right now. ‘Sorry but why is there a cat here?’ she asked.

      He straightened up. ‘You didn’t know there was a cat here?’

      ‘Evidently not.’ Her voice was sharper than she’d intended but the unexpectedness of finding this stranger looking after a cat she knew nothing about had thrown her.

      He let out a small sigh. ‘Misty was a stray in the village. I used to feed her now and again but Patty let her come and live here with her. With the place lying empty, we weren’t really sure what to do with her. Thought she might leave of her own accord but she seemed intent on staying and since I live nearby Iris gave me a set of keys. I’ve been keeping an eye on her.’

      There was an awkward pause, Lily unsure of what to say next. Although she couldn’t see them in the dark, she felt his eyes on her, assessing her in some way. ‘So,’ he said eventually. ‘Now you’re here, you can take care of Misty?’

      Lily wasn’t sure she liked the insinuation that she’d simply breezed in on a whim. She also didn’t really like cats. ‘Um, yes … of course.’

      ‘You’re sure?’ he checked, not sounding too convinced.

      ‘Absolutely.’ What on earth was she going to do with it?

      ‘Okay.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Well, in that case her food is under the sink and the litter tray is probably needing emptied.’

      ‘Litter tray?’

      ‘You know, for her—’

      ‘Yes. Of course,’ she snapped.

      ‘I’ll leave you to it then, I’m sure you have things to do.’ He looked like he might be about to add something, but Lily didn’t give him a chance.

      ‘I do actually,’ she agreed, making a move towards the door. ‘And er, thank you.’

      ‘Not a problem.’ He paused for a moment, his voice softening. ‘Patty was a lovely lady. I’m sorry for your loss.’

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