The plot and characters of this story are obviously fictitious but the setting is real and I have tried to recreate it as best I could from memory – I hope I have done it justice. I have never encountered a Selkie but I know they are real!
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Jess parked the car next to the little church in the car park of the Aird of Sleat. This was as far as she could go by car and the next six miles would have to be done on foot. With this in mind she had packed only the essentials she would need into two large back-packs one of which she hoisted onto her shoulders in preparation for the hike to the cottage. The other she would collect tomorrow; if the weather held. She made her way through the big white gate, taking care to close it behind her, and then began to make her way up the hilly, shale path. The walk was exhilarating. The path meandered between outcrops of rocks and here and there little streams and waterfalls flowed into peaty bogs. At this time of the year the heather was still in bloom; its hardy purple flowers dancing in the breeze and contrasting with the deep late autumn gold of the broom. The smell of the sea drifted to her on the wind and spurred her on. It was still light and would not get dark for another three hours or so but the day was dull and gloomy with darks heavy clouds above and she wanted to look out to the sea on her first night here so she began to walk even more quickly.
Two hours later she climbed over a wooden stile and stood looking at the little harbour with its two charming cottages. The harbour was tiny and ancient, so old that it was difficult to tell whether it was natural or man made. It wasn't deep and the banks of the harbour were covered in grass and moss and formed the gardens of the cottages. The tide was out and the rocks and stones of the harbour were slick and green with seaweed. The cottage on the right hand bank was a derelict shell. A weather-worn rowing boat lay on its side outside the sturdy, newly painted cottage on the left bank. Hedgerows of hawthorn, bramble and broom wound its way around the back of the cottage. Her cottage, she thought, well hers for the next six months anyway. She smiled and made her way up the narrow stone path to the front door and put the big metal key that she had collected from the property agent in Ardvasar in the lock.
'It should open easily,' he had told her, 'I oiled that lock masel' only last week. If ye do have trouble with it though just go round the back that door is always open!'
Jess had taken the key and driven up the lonely single track road and as she drove she thought about those she had left behind. Only that morning her family and friends had reluctantly waved her goodbye, hoping that she found the peace and serenity that she so craved. Her family and friends had been shocked when she had told them her plans to leave the mess and hurt of her failed marriage and the pressures and deadlines of her rat race job in the city behind for six months of isolation on the Isle of Skye.
'For God's sake, Jess, what on earth are you doing? This is classic running away tactics! Bury your head in the sand and hope it all goes away?' This was Lindy, Jess' best friend.
Jess had sighed and taken hold of Lindy's hand, 'That may be the case Linds but it is also a case of self preservation. I need to do this...I want to do this and I am going to do this! And it's only for a little while! I'll be back in Edinburgh before most of you even miss me.' She pushed the memories of the last few weeks to the back of her mind. Once she had decided to pack up and leave she had had a strange compulsion to go to Skye – she would never have told anyone but it was if it was calling to her.
Now here she was and the front door of the cottage did open easily and she dumped her back-pack on the floor and immediately left again. She made her way carefully over the slippery rocks of the harbour bed, passed the other cottage on the other side and made her way over the boulders and grass and gorse covered dunes of the high cliffs near the Point of Sleat. The Point and its lighthouse were another four miles south of here but this was her favourite spot. She climbed down a bit to a rocky outcrop where she could sit and look out at the sea and the view. To the west the hulking outlines of the Isles of Rhum and Eigg could be seen, looking like two sleeping sea monsters in the gloomy half light. To the north the wondrous peaks of the Black and Red Cuillins raised their mighty peaks to the heavens. All around the sea ebbed and flowed and crashed. Jess felt the wind whip her hair around her head and at times the gusts took her breath away but her heart leapt and as planned she let her soul soar on the wind higher, higher, up and out until she felt at one with the elements around her.
That night after she had unpacked, made and eaten a simple supper of eggs and bread, she snuggled under the downy covers of the big creaky bed and marvelled at the darkness. She had never known such a thick blackness before – she could almost feel it surround her, close in on her, the minute she switched the bedside lamp off. The sound of the sea crashing on the nearby rocks made its way through the windows, the wind caused the window and door frames to creak gently but she paid no attention to these unfamiliar noises and let the all enclosing darkness engulf her further by falling fast asleep.
Over the next two weeks Jess settled herself into life on the Point and eased herself into a routine of sorts. Most mornings she got up and hiked the six miles to her car and drove into the village of Ardvasar. She then bought her groceries, posted and collected letters and occasionally had a coffee at one of the two hotels. The locals were polite and would nod or murmur a 'Hullo' to her but like many isolated island folk they were not too friendly towards newcomers and Jess knew that she would probably have to be there a good few years before their wariness would be likely to fade. In the afternoons, back at her cottage, she would sit in front of a canvas, outside or in the cosy little front room depending on the weather, and paint. It had been an unfulfilled ambition of hers to take some time out and do nothing but paint and she was loving it. Especially here, where every evening she would walk to the cliffs and let her heart, soul and spirit fly free and she could let that freedom and lightness of being penetrate her work. She was as happy as she had ever been in her life.
Although the place was fairly isolated it was also a very popular walk for tourists and Jess had to share her little idyll most days with an ever dwindling stream of walkers. It was late October and many of the tourists had flown south for the winter. She didn't mind sharing her harbour and her cliffs though – she wanted to share their beauty and felt an odd connection with these folks who took the considerable trouble to come and experience it. There was one regular visitor, however. She wasn't too sure when she had first noticed him, she had a vague recollection of a grey shape moving round the harbour bay maybe even the first day, but he came collecting the cockles and mussels in the harbour, when the tide was out, everyday. He was a very striking man, tall, broad, dark and swarthy, with black, tousled curly hair. His face was oval; his eyes dark pools where light seemed to enter but never leave. He always wore a long, dirty, grey, oil skin coat and on his back a brown pack that she had never seen him take off. They nodded politely to each other when they met and once when Jess had been standing on the cliffs in the evening gloaming she had thought she had seen him down on the shore and made to wave to him, however, in the blink of an eye the shore was empty save the foam and spray from the waves, and the wet grey rocks.
She had been hanging out a washing when he had first spoken to her.
'Aye, it's a grand drying day so it is, Miss,' his deep, soft lilting voice had startled her a little.
'It is indeed,' she had replied, smiling.
He stood by the stone path that wound its way around the cottage and looked up at the sky, 'Won't be many more like this I'll wager. The dampness will be settling soon.'
'Really? I wouldn't know. I'm not from round here.'
