You probably haven't heard of the Isle of Sula. Not unless you're one of the eco-tourists who come trekking oot here, or one of the estimated 27,000 members worldwide of Clan MacCuilish. That's about 15 times the current population of the island, probably no more than 40 of whom were born with the MacCuilish name. Basically, we're a tiny wee island towards the south of that thin rocky spine off the coast of Scotland known as the Western isles, or Eilean Siar in Gaelic.
I'm Jessie Ferguson by the way -- Jessica's my Sunday name, as we say in these parts. I'm 25 now, and I work as a legal executive in Sula's only law practice. It's run by one of the MacCuilish's, Gordon, a distant relative of the MacCuilish of MacCuilish, the Canadian clan chief. You're nae going to make your fortune in the law working on an island of 1800 souls, but we get by with our staff of three -- the third one's our secretary Rhona, an old school chum of mine. As well as representing all the Sulans we've not upset (it's inevitable you'll piss some off, with the odd dispute between locals), we get work from expatriates who've moved to the UK mainland, a handful of clients in Oban, the nearest mainland port, and folk on neighbouring islands who have, presumably, fallen out with their own local solicitors. We also act as the registrars of births, marriages and deaths for the island, the real estate agency, the archivists of Clan MacCuilish, and any other semi-official public role we can get our hands on.
It was through the estate agency that I first met Sula's new veterinary surgeon, Diana Peters. We hadnae had a regular vet since old Archie MacConnachie retired three years earlier, and that's a big issue for an isolated community where livestock farming's a major contributor to the local economy. When the job was advertised -- for the third time -- we were all surprised to learn that it had gone to a 36-year old Englishwoman from London who'd never visited the island in her life. (The job interviews were held in Glasgow.) We have quite a few incomers on Sula, from Scotland, England, even a smattering of Poles; even so, Diana promised to be quite a contrast to old Archie, with his gruff manner and his smelly old pipe, and to the succession of callow young stand-ins who'd each been persuaded to give us a few months of their time at the start of their careers.
There was quite a bit of interest down at the pier the night Diana rolled off the Oban ferry in her battered old Land Rover. She checked in at the Longbay Hotel, and the next day, after checking in with her practice nurse, her first stop was at our office to ask about more permanent accommodation. As it happened we had three suitable cottages on the market, and I arranged to take her to view them that afternoon. We went in her car; it's difficult to get lost on Sula because there's basically only one real road, mostly circling the coast, due to the interior being too wild for much more than drovers' tracks. As she drove we traded stories -- I about some of the characters she'd meet on the island, she about some of her bizarre experiences as a vet. We immediately seemed to hit it off. Diana was very laid-back with an easy laugh. She had a slight Manchester accent, very different from the soft, lilting tones common in the isles -- hers reminded me of that singer, Elkie Brooks. It occurred to me that the local farmers would find her a treat for the eye as well. She's about five-feet nine, with a pale complexion, a pretty face with big green eyes, a mane of red hair, and a trim figure, featuring a swelling bust that I envied. Like a lot of the islanders I'm short -- five-four - and dark, and my boobs aren't much bigger than bee stings.
The cottage Diana settled on was a lovely wee place, only about a quarter-mile from the croft I shared with my big brother Ruaridh (that's pronounced Rurie). Apart from an auntie and her family across the island, Ruaridh's all the kin I have now, and we dote on each other. Anyway, I negotiated with the owner of the cottage for Diana to rent it for six months, with an option to buy if she decided to settle. While we were sorting the paperwork she asked me about nice places to see on Sula. On the spur of the moment I offered to give her a tour of the island at the weekend, and she happily accepted -- after all, she was going to be my nearest neighbour now.
That evening, in the hotel bar, the only pub in Longbay, I was full of tales of Diana to my boyfriend Callum Mackie. Not that he was really interested -- he ran a trawler with his father and brothers, and didnae really have any use for vets. I have to admit ours was a bit of a strange relationship, mine and Callum's. We'd known each other all our lives, and became boyfriend and girlfriend in our late teens, more or less by default as all the others in our social circle paired off. I really only saw him when he wasnae boozing and playing darts with his pals, or keeping goal in the Sula five-a-side soccer league. His mother, who really liked me, had dropped hints about marriage, but Callum showed nae interest. Ruaridh was pleased about that. He's a car mechanic, and had done a degree by distance learning, and he regarded Callum as a bit of a moron. But on a small island like ours a girl isnae exactly spoilt for choice. Callum and I didn't have full sex that often with us both living with our families. When we did it was normally in the cramped back seat of his car, just a quick shag with my trousers and pants round one leg and his round his ankles. Otherwise, he was usually quite happy with a quick blow job in some dark corner of town.
Diana and I had arranged our trip out for Sunday. Sula's quite a religious community, but neither of us is a regular churchgoer and, after the service started in Longbay, the road was guaranteed to be pretty empty. I took her to all the nicest beauty spots, including a secluded, flower-filled cove where we watched otters at play, a stretch of golden beach that's almost always deserted, and a hilltop where, for the past five years, fish eagles have nested, graduates of the captive breeding programme on the Isle of Rhum. After we'd watched them soar for a while, we had lunch at a tiny pub in the north of the island, where a friend of mine is the cook. Then I walked Diana for ten minutes across the machar -- rough, boggy moorland -- to the very tip of Sula. There's a formation of sea rocks there which produces a whirlpool, a roaring seething mass of wild water known as the De'il's Cauldron. She sat mesmerised by the sight, snapping photo after photo. When she dropped me off at my home later in the afternoon she held my hand in both of hers and said, "Thank you so much Jessie, I've had a really lovely time. I'd love to do it again sometime."
A couple of evenings later Diana invited me over to her cottage for dinner, by way of thanks for my performance as tour guide. She's a marvellous cook, and we had roast lamb that melted in my mouth. Afterwards, as we sat sipping a delicious crisp white wine, an idea occurred to me. I suggested she come back to my croft -- it was only five minutes downhill on foot -- and I'd show her a trick. Once there, I grabbed my old violin and led her outside again, and down to a sea cove not far from the house. Wordlessly I sat on a big flat rock and began to play a slow, soulful lament. After maybe a minute, a head popped up from the water, followed closely by two or three more. Diana, sitting beside me, watched in open-mouthed amazement. It's a well-known trick in the isles. Seals are inquisitive creatures by nature, and seem to be charmed by music. Even whistling can do it, but the local ones love the sound of my fiddle. I often go down there when I need cheering up, or just want to commune with nature. Midsummer's a great time to see the wildlife on Sula. We're so far north that we hardly get any darkness at night, and at that time the animals are at their most relaxed. As we strolled back to my home for a dram of whisky a tawny owl flashed across our path, chasing down her supper. Ruaridh was in the cottage when we returned, and joined us for the drink. Within ten minutes he and Diana were chatting away like old friends. As she left, Diana gave me a big hug and said, "Thank you so much for a quite magical evening."
After that Diana and I saw each other regularly. Due to the unpredictable nature of veterinary work her schedule was varied, but we worked round it. We cooked each other dinner at least once a week, Ruaridh often joining us; we sometimes met up at the bar for a drink after work, when Diana would give me a welcome lift in her car up the hill to my home; and we toured the island, enjoying its glorious scenery and abundant wildlife. I was pleased that my brother got on so well with my new friend but, unaccountably, the feeling was tinged with a slight hint of jealousy. The times I most enjoyed were those when I had Diana to myself, on our trips around Sula. One day a friend took us over in his boat the two miles to the Minches, a group of small islets where the seal colony is based and puffins nest. We ate a sumptuous picnic atop The Laird's Cairn, the highest point of Great Minch. Diana gave a sigh of deep contentment as she gazed back across the Sound of Sula to our home island. Smiling at me, she said, "You know Jess, there's a little hill on Chios where you get the most glorious view of the Aegean. I'd love to show it to you one day." I had no idea that Chios was a Greek island (I wasnae even sure what the Aegean was!), but the way she described it made it sound wonderful.
As my friendship with Diana developed, Callum started grumping about how I was neglecting him for "that bloody stuck-up vet woman". I retorted sharply that he had a cheek, the way he buggered off with his mates whenever it suited him. We were going at it one evening when we entered the bar, and the first thing I saw was Diana and Ruaridh sitting laughing together at a table! I steered Callum away from them, both to avoid any possible friction, and to give them a bit of privacy. They left, together, about ten minutes after we entered. I told myself I was pleased; it would be nice to see Ruaridh get a girlfriend, and Diana and I got on so well, even if she was a few years older than him. It was a warm evening, and Callum and I had slightly grudging sex on his jacket on the town beach before he drove me home. He roared off before I'd even got through the gate of our cottage. I was slightly surprised to find Ruaridh there, alone. Smiling brightly, I asked him how the date had gone.
My brother grinned sheepishly, and replied, "It wasnae a date, she's just a pal. Anyway, turns oot I'm no' really her type." Ruaridh's a lovely lad, nice looking, intelligent, and charming with a good sense of humour. Intrigued, I pressed him on what was Diana's type. After avoiding the question for a few minutes, he said, "Well, look, she asked me to keep it to myself, but, given you're so close to her, I think you've got a right to know. Let's just say that, well, you're more her type than I am." It took me a second to realise his meaning, and he chuckled at the stunned look on my face. There were three lesbian couples I knew of on Sula, including two sweet old ladies in their seventies who pretended to the world that they were sisters, but it never occurred to me that my new friend, rapidly becoming my best friend, might be, well, that way.
The next time I saw her was a couple of days later, Saturday, when we'd arranged to have lunch at the old inn and go to the De'il's Cauldron again. It was a cool, overcast day, with a har -- sea mist -- just off the coast. Summer days can sometimes be like that out in the isles. I tried to behave as if nothing had changed, but Diana must have picked up on something in my manner, or my voice. Staring morosely into the turbulent waters far below, and trying for a casual tone, she said, "Ruaridh's told you, hasn't he. About me." It was a statement, not a question.
