Mist in the MOUNTAINS

Ghosts of Clare's past were reawakened when she visited her childhood home

- Gabrielle Mullarkey

It was 12 years since Clare had been in Glenmarach. Stepping off the bus that served the Highlands village twice a day, she shivered, and not just from the seasonal cold.

Glenmarach was home – or had been. Her parents had left a decade ago, moving to Oban. Clare herself was based in London, as far from ‘home’ as she could get.

Although memories were harder to shake off.

Walking down the narrow main street, she wondered if she would encounter anyone she knew. Most young people moved away to get work. She and Aisling, who’d met on their first day at the local primary school, had planned to travel and see the world.

Aisling… Clare’s stomach cramped and she felt breathless. Telling herself it was just the knife-sharp air this close to the mountains, she hurried to the B&B she’d booked for the next few days.

A pretty blue building with a view of the mountain foothills, it hadn’t been here in her day. The front door opened after she rang the bell and Clare recognised her first local. ‘Moira? Moira McMallow? I’d no idea this was your place.’

Moira glared at her. A handsome woman with sweptback hair, she’d been a friend of Clare’s parents. Though not a close friend. Moira was reserved and not known for her charm.

As if to illustrate this, she replied curtly, ‘I don’t own this place. You’re early for check-in. I’ll take your details and show you to your room.’

‘Moira, it’s me – Angus and Joan’s daughter – Clare. Clare Buckley?’

‘I heeded you well enough when I saw you,’ shrugged Moira. ‘Mid-30s now, would you be?’

‘I’m 35,’ Clare nodded. ‘This is my first visit home in… a while.’

Moira held the door wider for Clare to enter. ‘Here for the literary festival, I presume.’

‘Er, yes,’ conceded Clare. ‘It’s really put the place on the map.’

Moira snorted, ‘I didn’t know we needed a famous book writer to put us on the map. Thought we were here all along.’

‘Yes, of course, I didn’t mean…’