The Ferryboat Read online

  The Ferryboat

  Kate Blackadder

  Copyright © 2016 Kate Blackadder

  The right of Kate Blackadder to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the prior permission in writing

  from Kate Blackadder.

  This story is a work of fiction.

  Cover design by Mark Blackadder.

  Illustration © Andre Leonard http://www.andreleonard.com

  The Ferryboat was first published in serial form

  in The People’s Friend, 2011.

  It is also available in large-print from libraries.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter 1

  After her restless night Judy Jeffrey felt half asleep, and the air coming through the kitchen window was doing nothing to help, being mostly wafts of petrol fumes from the morning rush hour.

  Living on a busy road was great for passing trade for their bed-and-breakfast business but not so good for an incipient headache. And as the planes roared overhead she was acutely reminded of the fact that she lived below the flight path that connected Luton with distant places.

  ‘OK, table three, two bacon and eggs. One tea, one coffee.’ Tom broke into her thoughts.

  She turned round.

  ‘You all right, love?’ her husband asked. ‘Table one’s down. I’ll get his order.’

  ‘Bit of a head, that’s all.’ Judy moved automatically to the cooker and opened a new packet of bacon rashers. She closed her eyes for a moment. She could probably make breakfast that way but perhaps it was advisable not to try.

  ‘Mum, what are you doing?’ Louise, a whirlwind of long hair, heavy book bag, and green school cardigan half off one shoulder, rushed in and popped a slice of bread in the toaster.

  ‘Bacon. Do you want some?’

  ‘As if. I meant, what are you doing with your eyes shut?’

  Judy looked at her younger daughter, rummaging now for the jar of chocolate spread.

  ‘You should eat more at breakfast time. I’m just tired.’ Awake half the night worrying about you, she might have said, but didn’t. ‘Sometimes it gets to me, all the traffic noise. It’s as if we lived on the runway, not six miles away from it.’ She laid the rashers in the hot pan and made an effort to sound more cheerful. ‘I was thinking about this village we stopped in when we were with Holly and Corin last month. It was beside a loch and if you closed your eyes you heard water and birds, that’s all. It was so peaceful.’

  ‘Sounds horrendous.’ Louise took a huge bite of toast. Round her mouth appeared a circle of chocolate spread as if she were a little girl again and not a seventeen-year-old taller than her mother.

  Judy handed her a piece of kitchen roll. ‘And the water was so smooth and glassy. We got a little boat across it. The ferryman was a real character. Your dad and him had a good chat, put the world to rights.’

  ‘Judy, the bacon and eggs ready?’

  ‘Almost.’ Judy put the rashers on a warm plate in the oven and cracked eggs into the pan. ‘Sorry, Tom, I was daydreaming about Lorn, remember, that place where we got the ferry?’

  ‘Where they were building the bridge? I remember. Come on, love, get a grip. I need table three now but table one doesn’t want cooked.’

  ‘Good. And that’s everyone ordered?’ Judy dished up the bacon and eggs and refilled the kettle. ‘I’ll see if a cup of tea helps blow away my cobwebs.’

  Louise wiped her mouth. ‘Brush my teeth and then I’m off.’ She stopped by the kitchen door. ‘Um, I’m seeing Eddie after school.’

  Eddie. The reason Judy was awake half the night.

  ‘Again?’ She couldn’t help her voice rising. ‘But you were going to have tea with your gran.’

  ‘We’re doing this art project together. It has to be in by Friday. We’ll both have tea with Granmar. Eddie thinks she’s cool. Byee!’ The hair and schoolbag and green cardigan disappeared.

  ‘It wasn’t a art project that kept you out last night,’ Judy said to the kitchen wall. ‘That new music venue seems harmless enough but midnight is far too late to be out mid week.’

  ‘Talking to yourself?’ Tom came in, his hands full of dirty dishes.

  ‘Well, at least I listen, unlike our darling daughter. Could you try and have a word? Tell her she can only stay out late at weekends? Honestly, Holly was a doddle of a teenager compared with Louise.’

  ‘We had our moments with her too. What’s the problem? Eddie?’

  ‘Eddie’s a nice boy. But she should be spending more time at home studying, not out almost every night of the week. And a bit of help around here would be appreciated.’

  ‘She’s dead set on being an architect and she knows that won’t happen without passing exams. What about asking Marilyn to speak to her? If Louise takes notice of anyone it’s your mother.’

  Judy snorted as she switched the dishwasher on. ‘My mother! She’s a fat lot of help. You’re only young once, that’s her favourite saying.

  ‘She’s young at heart, Marilyn is,’ Tom laughed. ‘Seventy going on seventeen. But if she was worried about Louise I’m sure she would tell you.’

  ‘I suppose so. Right, I’m going to sit for five minutes with a cuppa. Clear up here. They should all be ready to check out by then so I’ll do that and get the beds done. Have you got the cash-and-carry list?’

  Tom patted his pocket. ‘Don’t do too much. I’ll give you a hand with the rooms when I get back. See you in a couple of hours.’

  Judy put her hands around her mug of tea.

  Ever since they got back from that week in Scotland with their elder daughter and her husband Judy had felt – well, she wasn’t sure how she felt. Out of sorts. Wishing for a parallel life lived somewhere else. But nothing was going to change except that next year Louise would leave home for university and in their empty nest would be herself and Tom doing the same old, same old …

  She closed her eyes again, better to bring to mind the village she’d told Louise about. They’d driven from Glasgow, where Holly and Corin lived in a tall building called a tenement, out into the country. They stopped in Oban for coffee then continued up the west coast, the Indian summer day showing Scotland in her golden glory.

  They parked near the ferry in Lorn where Corin produced a lovely picnic lunch, complete with waterproof travelling rug to sit on. Then Judy and Tom walked down to the loch and Tom played ducks and drakes on its mirror-like surface. Above them the skeleton shape of the new bridge arched over the water. Holly and Corin wandered off along the shore, hand in hand.

  Well, at least she had one daughter she needn’t worry about, Judy thought. Holly liked her job as receptionist in a big Glasgow hotel and was blissfully happy with Corin, the Scottish chef she’d met on a holiday flight and married six months ago.

  That September week with them had been time out from everyday life. It was only last month but already it seemed like a distant dream.

  ‘Thank you. Hope we’ll see you again.’ Holly Grainger smiled at the departing customer and turned to answer the phone. ‘Good morning, Glasgow Grand, how may I help you?’ As she spoke she looked up to see who was pushing the revolving door from the street.

  Corin. She’d left him a couple of hours before, about to head off for his jog, and wasn’t expecting to see him until after his shift finished late tonight. He was wearing jeans and a white tee shirt and his dark hair was still damp from his shower.

  She finished her call, hoping the phone wouldn’t ring again immediately. ‘How lovely to see you.’ She leaned across the reception desk for his kiss. ‘Were you missing me?’

  ‘Every minute. This working different shifts is a pain. But I have an idea that would mean we could work together.’

  ‘How … ?’

  ‘Listen, sweetheart. You’ll be busy again in a minute.’ Corin unfolded a piece of paper. ‘I went online, found this.’

  He passed the paper to her.It wasn’t a job advert. The heading was Hotel for Sale.

  ‘But …’

  ‘It’s in Lorn, where we stopped for lunch with your mum and dad. Remember, Tom suggested having lunch in the hotel, in The Ferryboat, before he knew we’d brought a picnic?’

  ‘I remember but … ’

  ‘The hotel’s for sale. My brain may still be pumping with adrenalin after my run but I was wondering if we might buy it. Us, and your mum and dad – combine forces. And my parents might chip in on the money side.’

  ‘Corin, that’s amazing … you’d have your own kitchen.’ Holly was aware of customers walking towards her. ‘Look, leave the advert with me. I’ll phone Mum and Dad tonight, shall I?’

  Corin mouthed another kiss. ‘Great. And I’ll sound out my parents.’ He backed away from the desk. ‘See you later.’


  Holly smiled at the customers, a calm smile she hoped, belying what was going on in her head.

  In theory it was a perfect idea. A small Highland hotel in an idyllic setting. Mum and Dad’s twenty years of running a busy bed-and-breakfast. Her own qualifications in leisure and tourism, and reception-desk experience. And Corin – well, his amazing cooking would certainly bring in the crowds.

  She sneaked a look at the advert printout to see the asking price. It seemed a huge amount. They could sell their flat, the flat Corin had owned himself for five years so it was bound to have gone up in value. What was the B&B worth? Would Mum and Dad want to uproot themselves and come hundreds of miles north? And what about Louise, and Granmar?

  Corin’s parents, Verity and Philip, were well-off and, as their only child, Corin was probably right in saying that they would help. But how would that work out?

  Even after almost a year’s acquaintance with her parents-in-law Holly was never very at ease with them. They were very sweet to her but she always had the feeling that they thought Corin could have done better, preferably from among the pool of daughters Philip’s solicitor friends seemed to have. And of course they were disappointed that Corin chose not to follow his father into his law firm but, in their words, made dinners for a living.

  Six hours later she let herself into the empty flat at the top of the tall sandstone building. She went to close the curtains and stood for a moment watching as lights were switched on, like a circuit board coming to life. She liked living in Glasgow but, looking ahead, if she and Corin ever had children she wouldn’t want to bring them up in the middle of a city or carry them up three hundred steps after every outing.

  Not that babies were on the agenda any time soon. Especially if they were going to have their very own business. She picked up the phone.

  ‘Mum?’ As always Holly felt a pang that Mum and Dad were so far away.

  ‘Darling! I’ve been thinking about you and Corin and that lovely holiday.’

  ‘Great minds – actually, that’s why I’m phoning.’

  ‘You sound, I don’t know, breathless. Is everything all right?’

  Holly steadied her voice. ‘Mum, do you remember when we got the boat across Loch Lorn? The hotel by the ferry is for sale and Corin thinks we should buy it, go into business together – him and me, and you and Dad. It would be wonderful, wouldn’t it? What do you think?’

  ‘Why am I the last to know?’

  Iris Anderson brandished the Lochaber Herald in front of her employer.

  ‘I knew it was coming, but why didn’t you tell me? Roberta showed me the paper when I dropped Angus off. She says it’s on the paper’s website too. I couldn’t believe— ’

  Charlie Mack held up both his hands.

  ‘I’m sorry, Iris. I kept putting it off. I was going to tell you this morning, I really was. Trust Roberta to get in first.’

  ‘Don’t blame Roberta. I was here yesterday. You could have said something then. Or weeks ago, whenever you decided to sell.’

  Charlie sat down at the kitchen table and indicated for Iris to do the same.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I couldn’t have carried on as long as I have without you, Iris. I’ll tell whoever buys the place what a good worker you are, turn your hand to anything. But the bank has said enough is enough. Or words to that effect. So after sixty years I’m afraid The Ferryboat will go out of the Mack family.’

  He seemed to age in front of Iris’s eyes. Her heart softened.

  She got up and put the kettle on. Charlie was like an engine out of fuel unless he had a large mug of strong coffee first thing.

  ‘I didn’t know things were that bad,’ she said gently, sitting down again. ‘Have you … ’ she hesitated, ‘have you spoken to Sandy?’

  Charlie looked startled. ‘Sandy?’

  ‘I just wondered,’ Iris said, ‘or is he too much the big shot these days to remember his roots?’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘Sandy’s not like that. But no, I haven’t told him. Not that we’re in regular touch anyway. He phoned a couple of months ago and we had a good yarn but I kept my troubles to myself.’

  Iris was torn between exasperation, and understanding that Charlie’s pride would not let him ask for help of any kind. Sandy Mack. Charlie’s nephew and only close relative. The last Iris heard of him he was doing whatever he did, his computer wizardry, at some IT company in Zurich. Surely he would want to help to keep The Ferryboat in the family after all these years?

  ‘Is he still in Switzerland?’ she asked.

  Charlie must have followed her train of thought. ‘He was when I spoke to him, but don’t you be telling tales. It’s not only money that’s needed to keep the old Ferryboat afloat, it’s energy, youth, imagination – all of which Sandy’s got but he’s never been interested in the hotel business, you know that. But of course,’ Charlie added slyly, ‘if you want to get in touch with him for yourself, warm up cold soup … ’

  Iris wrinkled her nose at him. ‘Very cold soup that would be,’ she said, ‘water under the new Lorn bridge, Charlie.’

  The summer after she’d left school she and Sandy had a brief – well, embryo romance might be the best way of putting it. As usual she’d come up to Lorn in the holidays to stay with Great-Aunt Janet, and had got a job helping in The Ferryboat kitchen. Sandy was there, odd job man for his Uncle Charlie. They had a lot of laughs that summer, and a few kisses when Sandy walked her back to the cottage. But then Fin appeared in her life and swept her away … It seemed a lifetime ago but it was only six years. Now Fin had gone and she was left a widow with her precious little Angus. And Sandy had flown onwards and upwards and turned into a rich whiz kid. They would have nothing to say to each other even if he did come back.

  ‘Pity,’ Charlie said, getting up to switch the kettle off. ‘You could do with getting a bit of a life for yourself, Iris, whether it’s rekindling old flames or something else.’

  ‘I was going to make the coffee,’ Iris protested, but she stayed in her seat as Charlie heaped dessertspoons of his favourite blend into a cafetière. ‘Don’t change the subject, Charlie. The hotel’s for sale. What are you planning to do with yourself?’

  ‘Haven’t thought beyond my armchair and the sports channel.’ Charlie put two mugs on the table. ‘Let’s draw up a plan of action. No guests booked in this week so we’ll have time for a bit of a spruce up before we get prospective buyers. If we do,’ he added gloomily.

  A bit of a spruce up was optimistic, Iris thought. A complete makeover was required. But the next owners would have their own ideas on decoration, their own plans – she could only hope that those plans would include herself, Charlie’s only full-time member of staff in the low season.

  Slumped in his chair, her employer looked less a man of action and more like a teddy bear that was losing its stuffing.

  ‘Right,’ she said briskly. The future of The Ferryboat might not involve Iris Anderson but she was here to work now. ‘Could you tidy the office? It’s a tip. I’ll start on the kitchen cupboards and the store-room. And I’ve had a thought. How about if I ask Roberta to do lend some of her tubs, cheer up round the front door?’ She stood up and reached for her overall. ‘Come on, Mr Mack, let’s get sprucing.’

  ‘Tubs? Could do. Although why, I don’t know. Lazy old buzzard’s let the place go. Told him that. Now he comes crawling.’

  Iris grinned, not fooled by Roberta’s diatribe. Her friend’s brusque ways hid the proverbial heart of gold.

  ‘It was my idea, not Charlie’s,’ she said. ‘I thought it would create a good initial impression.’

  ‘Good initial impression, yes. Not prepare them for the rack and ruin inside though.’

  Angus climbed onto Iris’ knee. ‘What’s rackandruin, Mummy?’

  Iris cuddled him. ‘One of Robbie’s favourite expressions. Where the whole world is headed, apparently.’ She blew a raspberry into Angus’ ear. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, my pet. OK, let’s go, your Auntie Lizzie will be home soon.’ She looked at Roberta. ‘Thanks. Don’t know what I’d do without you. Angus loves coming here.’

  When Iris’ last child-minder moved away, Roberta, retired early from teaching, stepped in. Now that Angus was at school she saw him on and off the bus when necessary and kept him until Iris could pick him up.