Excerpt from The Lighthouse by the Sea by Margaret Amatt

Chapter One

Lottie

July

Lottie Ashford whipped around a bend on the single-track road. Gripping the wheel, she almost spun the car off the road as a white transit van hurtled towards her.

‘Oh my god,’ she squealed, mounting the verge, praying for dear life it was solid and not boggy. Her electric blue Peugeot may be top of the range, but it was built for towns and main roads, not rough terrain. The van had straddled the opposite verge and leaned rather precariously to one side. Glancing across, Lottie saw the man driving it toss her a hacked-off grimace.

She returned the look, throwing out her hands. It wasn’t like this was her fault.

 With some manoeuvring, the van edged back onto the road, but not before Lottie registered dark hair, brooding eyes and rugged stubble. Handsome maybe, but a terrible driver. Though maybe she had taken the bend a little fast. She wasn’t used to roads like this.

In her rear-view mirror, she watched the van rattle off round the corner.

For a moment, she sat quite still, making no attempt to shift the car off the verge. Breathe. Just breathe. Less than ten minutes ago, she’d come off the ferry. Her head was woozy, like she was still out on the choppy seas. When she’d seen the crossing from Oban to Castlebay took almost five hours, she’d imagined a gentle sail, especially as the weather had been bright and calm when they left. As soon as they’d hit open water, however, it was more like spending the late afternoon on a seesaw than a ship. Passengers all around her had turned green, many of them running for the toilets. Lottie didn’t suffer seasickness, but her brain was frazzled from all the travelling, and the stress of what she was running from. Hopefully the guest house wouldn’t be too tricky to find, and she could treat herself to a hot bath and a long sleep. A sleep that would hopefully give her a much-needed reset.

First to get out of this verge. Hopefully she wasn’t stuck. She revved a little and pulled off. These roads were terrifying. Even the open straight sections were dangerous because she couldn’t stop looking at the scenery. Hills rose on one side, while enormous waves rolled in and cracked on the shore on the other. Her mother had described Barra as the edge of the world. Now Lottie realised why. Nothing sat beyond the western shores until you hit Canada. Those waves she kept catching sight of brought the force of the Atlantic Ocean crashing against the shore. Beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.

Once she arrived at the guest house, she’d message her mum and let her know she’d got here safe and in one piece, though she was trying to avoid looking at her phone if she could. Since the incident last month, it had hardly stopped pinging notifications about one thing or another. What next? She didn’t really want to think about it. After the summer, she wasn’t returning to teaching at Kinroy Academy for girls. Instead, she was out here on a remote island in the Hebrides for the next month in search of a lighthouse she’d so far not been able to find out much about – or nothing that linked it to her family anyway.

She’d spent part of the ferry ride looking for info that had so far eluded her and found nothing new. But her mum was adamant the lighthouse was theirs. She had the paperwork somewhere. And she had a key, which seemed to imply ownership. Lottie just needed to get there, put in the key, and that would be that. Wouldn’t it?

Was anything in life really that simple? If this year was anything to go by, then the answer was a definite no. Still, it was an adventure, and Lottie enjoyed fun and spontaneity – even if her last impulsive decision had ended in a career-destroying event. She opened the window, enjoying the wind on her face as she carried on around the bends, driving a little inland, but still within view of the sea.

She turned off the main road, following the directions on the satnav, onto a road that doubled back a little. Her car jolted as it hit the rutted track, its wheels bumping over the uneven surface. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any damage to the paintwork. Lottie’s dad had bought her a new car for her birthday, but without a job, she was running on parental allowances to finance everything, and car damage was something she hadn’t factored into her budget.

The private road, clearly in need of some upkeep, was lined with wild grass and clusters of wildflowers. Tall thistles danced in the breeze, their purple heads bobbing as if agreeing this road was not for the faint-hearted. The rugged landscape was wide and bleak, stretching towards tall dunes, with the constant roar of the sea a reminder of how close she was to the edge of the world.

Up ahead was An Grianan, the farmhouse she’d booked for the month, perched at the top of a slight rise. Weather-beaten and windswept, it stood in defiance of the elements, its stone walls stained grey by salt and time. It looked sturdy, but it had a bleakness about it, much like the whole island, a bare honesty that made no promises of comfort, but told stories of hardiness and strength. Her ancestors had been part of that. A great-grandfather she’d never met, but her mother had told her many stories of his life on Barra. He’d been a fisherman by all accounts, so how he’d ended up owning the lighthouse was a mystery – and one she was ready to solve. She had nothing else to do after all. Her insides knotted at the thought. This trip was also being funded by her parents, like everything else in her life at present. They were separated, but both were independently wealthy – her father having done well in business, and her mother as a semi-famous model in her youth. They loved spending money on their only child, and Lottie didn’t complain, though she had a sinking sensation that this time they were paying to have her far away. People might call her spoiled, but it wasn’t like she’d asked for her life to implode.

She pulled up in the yard and turned off the engine, listening as the wind whipped around the car. When she opened the door, she caught the unmistakable tang of the sea. With a deep breath, she climbed out, popped the boot to get her case and took in the natural beauty of the place. The air was cool now, the wind sharp, biting at her exposed skin. She pulled the neck of her loose jacket closer. This was so far from the familiar warmth of home. But that was the point of this trip, after all. She needed to put some distance between herself and her old life while the scandal storm raged in the background.

Her suitcase wheels dragged on the uneven ground as she approached the front door, her eyes scanning the patches of flaked blue paint on it. She raised a hand and knocked. For a moment, there was nothing but the wind and the distant crash of waves. Lottie held her hand to her head, trying to stop her golden curls from tangling together. It had been bad enough on the ferry. The bouncy ringlets she’d left with were now a matted frizz and would take a long soak in conditioner to return them to anything neat.

The door opened, and a young woman – possibly about Lottie’s own age – appeared, her face framed by loose strands of wavy hair escaping from a ponytail. She had on jeans and a fleece that looked well-worn, not the kind Lottie’s mum liked to wear for country events. These clothes had seen a lot of use.

‘Hey,’ the woman said with a smile. ‘Are you Lottie Ashford?’

‘Hi, yes, I am.’

‘I’m Catriona. Welcome to Barra.’

‘Thank you.’ Lottie managed a smile of her own, though it felt a little shaky. She cleared her throat. ‘It’s been quite a day.’

‘Have you come far?’

‘I drove from Perth this morning. And the ferry ride was pretty choppy.’

‘It can be like that. The sea gets wild around here.’

‘I’m learning that.’

Catriona stepped back, holding the door open wider. ‘Well, you’re here now. Come on in, get yourself out of that wind.’

Lottie dragged her suitcase over the threshold and into the narrow hallway. The warmth of the house was a welcome relief; it carried the faint scent of cooking and something she couldn’t quite place, but it was homely whatever it was.

‘You’ll be upstairs.’ Catriona closed the door behind them. ‘It’s got a view of the dunes and the ocean. Can be a bit noisy when the wind picks up, but you’ll get used to it. Some people like it; others find it disturbing. I’ve grown so used to it; I tend to notice more when it’s quiet.’

Lottie nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure she liked the idea of wind battering around. The constant sound of the sea already felt like it was echoing in her bones. Perhaps it was just all the travelling. ‘Sounds… so different from what I’m used to.’

‘Yeah, there’s wind, then there’s Barra. There’s nowhere quite like it once it gets under your skin.’

‘I’m sure.’ Lottie glanced down the hall, where the faintest hint of light spilled from the back of the house. Somewhere out there beyond the walls, the sea continued its relentless assault on the shore.

Catriona led Lottie up a staircase that creaked underfoot. At the top, she turned left, pushing open a door to a small but pleasantly decorated room. The walls were painted a soft cream, with a few framed prints of local seascapes and a shelf covered in shells and pink sea urchins. A wooden dresser and a small chair sat in one corner, and in the centre of the room, a cosy-looking bed with a patchwork quilt beckoned.

‘Here we are.’ Catriona gestured around. ‘Not too fancy, but hopefully it’s got everything you’ll need. Breakfast is served from seven to nine downstairs in the kitchen. You’ve got a kettle, and there’s tea, coffee and hot chocolate there if you want a drink. I’ve left a few snacks too, but if you want anything else, just give me a shout.’

‘Thank you. That’s so kind, and the room is lovely.’ Lottie walked over to the window and stared out at the dunes, the long grass swaying in the wind, with the sea stretching endlessly beyond. ‘And what a view.’

‘I’m glad you like it.’ Catriona gave her another smile. ‘If you need anything, I’m usually about somewhere.’

‘Thanks so much. I’m sure I’ll be fine.’ Was that true?

Catriona nodded and slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Lottie sat on the edge of the bed, her jeans nipping uncomfortably at the waist. She should have worn looser fitting clothes for travelling, but she was too paranoid to wear anything that might not stay exactly where it was meant to. The journey had been exhausting, and she felt as if the room was moving like she was still on the ferry. Catching sight of herself in the mirror above the dresser, she winced. Her hair was a wild mess, a frizzy halo. She patted it down, not having the energy to do much more.

With a sigh, she reached for her phone and sent a quick message to her mum: Arrived safely. B&B is nice. Barra is wild. Will call tomorrow. xx

As soon as she hit send, another notification popped up. A message from her best friend, Jaimie, then another from someone she hadn’t seen for ages.

Hey, have you seen this? Is this you?

Beneath it was a link to a video on social media.

Lottie’s stomach tightened. She didn’t need to click on it. It was obvious what it was. She’d seen it already. So had half of Perthshire and possibly beyond. Lottie’s own version of the ‘Coldplay Kiss Cam’ incident. Ok, so maybe it didn’t have quite the global impact, but the parallels were so similar it was unreal.

What had been meant to be a date with a visiting drama teacher had turned into a nightmare. The club he’d taken her to was exclusive, and she’d liked the sound of it. But when she arrived, it had been a little dark. If she’d just followed her instincts and not gone in. But, never one to turn down an adventure, she’d followed him inside. They’d drunk quite a lot, and both were persuaded to play a duet on the grand piano. When her date had realised people were filming, he started getting bolshy, told Lottie to stop and said they were leaving. As they got up, he stepped on her strapless dress, and she stumbled. In the awkward fumble to regain her balance, the dress slipped down, exposing her completely. She closed her eyes in horror as the moment replayed over and over in her mind.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and a wave of nausea rose in her stomach. The film had been leaked – not only had she become the ‘teacher with the boobs’ but she’d learned her date was married and had to endure his wife calling her a home wrecker.

The comments were cruel: jokes about her weight, about the way she looked. Her boobs should be the stuff of legend, but only on a five-foot-ten svelte model, not someone as short and curvy as her. Lottie’s hands trembled as she dropped the phone onto the bed. She couldn’t let the whole nightmare unfold all over again.

Perhaps worse was her quiet conversation with the principal two days later. We’ve decided not to renew your contract, Miss Ashford.

Officially she hadn’t been sacked. She’d had no prior reason to think they wouldn’t renew her fixed-term contract, but now, thanks to social media, she was jobless.

She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to block it all out. Maybe she’d find peace here, far from the noise. She wasn’t here to meet anyone or make friends. Just to breathe again. But was there really anywhere she could hide?

Could it all please just stop?