Lagavulin BAY

She had been broken, but her voyage of recovery started now

- Jane Berry

It’s cold here on the top deck, but I'd rather be outside. The clouds are lying low on the horizon and far below me, the sea is steel grey. As I stare forwards across the waves, my mind returns unwillingly to another ferry, another time. When everything had seemed bathed in sunshine... ‘Let’s stay in a storm pod on Lagavulin Bay,’ he had pronounced, throwing his arms wide.

I'd laughed up at him, loving this new version of ourselves, of being a couple once more, rather than a family unit.

Of course, I adored my children, had floundered when they all started moving on and needed me less. I'd had to change my whole idea of myself.

But the chinks of freedom appearing in our future were becoming more and more attractive to me as well.

We had booked our first holiday together that year, the first one without any of our family since our firstborn had arrived on the scene.

But we hadn't gone abroad for sun, sea, and sand. That was to come later. Instead, a long-talked-about trip to the island of Islay, to visit the remote beaches and, more importantly, the whisky distilleries. My husband loved a wee dram, and I wasn’t averse to the taste myself.

I had organised our stay at a bed and breakfast on the island, and we were having a fabulous week, walking on golden sands, spotting seals, seabirds and other wildlife - and, of course, drinking whisky. We drove between the distilleries scattered over the island, enjoying the tours and the sampling, taking it in turns to drink or to drive. (OK, it was mainly me driving. But it was worth it to see my husband relax and laugh, to reconnect once more with the person I had married.)

In the evenings, we snuggled up together on a sofa, watching the logs blaze in the grate, inhaling the heady smell of woodsmoke, sipping whisky from our glasses. Pondering over the past, discussing the present, and planning our future.