It has been a long time since anyone came to visit Blackwater. Over a year since she has seen anyone unexpected here at all, aside from the occasional hiker – lost despite all the gadgets and gizmos they seem to carry nowadays – and there are always plenty of deer and sheep in the valley. But no people. It’s too remote and too far off the beaten track for most tourists to visit, and even the locals know to stay away. Blackwater Loch and the chapel beside it have had a reputation for as long as she can remember, and it has never been good.
Luckily, Robin likes her own company and isn’t afraid of ghosts. The living have always been more of a concern for her, which is why she’s been watching the visitors and their dog ever since they arrived.
Robin had known a storm was coming, so it was a surprise when they drove past her little thatched cottage at the end of the track. She didn’t think anyone would be crazy enough to take the coastal road or risk the mountain lanes in this weather. Robin doesn’t own a TV, but there had been several warnings on the radio, and you didn’t need to be a meteorologist to look outside the window. It has been cloudy and bitterly cold for days, just like it always is before the snow comes. Robin has spent several years of her life living in the Highlands, so she knows not to trust the Scottish weather, it has a rhythm of its own and no rules. When a storm is on the way, all the locals make time to prepare and take the necessary precautions, because they know from past experience that it could mean being stranded or trapped indoors for days. Nobody in their right mind would come here at this time of year. Unless they wanted to get cut off from the rest of the world.
Robin had watched from the window in her cottage, hiding behind her makeshift curtains, transfixed by the sight of the visitors’ car as it got closer. It was an old-fashioned, mint green thing, and looked as though it belonged in a museum, not on the road. How they had managed to get all the way to Blackwater was nothing less than a miracle or a mystery. Robin couldn’t decide which.
She watched as they carried on down the lane towards the chapel, before parking dangerously close to the edge of the loch. It was pitch-black outside. The wind was picking up and the snow was falling hard, but the visitors seemed oblivious to the danger. The chapel was only a short walk away from her cottage, so she followed them to get a closer look, keeping her distance.
Robin watched them get out of their car, and was pleased to see the big black dog leap from the boot. She has always been fond of animals, but sheep aren’t the best when it comes to company. Even from a few metres away she thought the man appeared tired and unhappy, but then long journeys do tend to have that effect on people, and they both looked like they had been on one. Robin stood perfectly still as the couple and their dog walked up to the old chapel, only to find the doors locked and nobody there to greet them. They both seemed so cold and defeated. Someone had to let them in.
The woman had been the one driving the car, and Robin was fascinated by everything about her: the fashionable clothes she wore, the long blonde hair, and expertly applied make-up. Robin hasn’t had anything new to wear for years, she dresses for warmth and comfort. There is nothing in her wardrobe that isn’t made from cotton, wool, or tweed. Most days she wears a uniform of long-sleeved Tshirts beneath her ancient dungarees, along with two pairs of knitted socks to keep her feet warm. Robin’s hair is long and grey now, and she cuts it herself when the tangles get too troublesome. Her rosy cheeks are the result of cold winds, not blusher, and even she finds it hard to remember a time before she looked and lived this way.
Robin watched them go inside, then she walked around the chapel, looking in through the stained-glass windows. She wished she could hear what they were saying but the wind stole their words from her ears. The layers she was wearing had paid off, but she wasn’t immune to the cold. Or curiosity. Despite the dust that had settled since the last time someone inhabited the place, the visitors soon seemed to make themselves at home. They lit candles and the fire that had been prepared for them, warmed some food, drank some wine. The dog stretched out on the rug, and the couple almost held hands at one point. From the outside looking in, it was quite a romantic scene. But looks can be deceiving, everyone knows that.
They didn’t look scared at all.
She wondered if it was because they were together. The world can seem less frightening when you don’t have to face it alone. But then life is a game of choices, and some of Robin’s have been wrong. She can admit that now, even if only to herself because there is nobody left to tell. Watching the couple start to relax inside the chapel, she knew that they had made poor choices too. And coming here was probably top of the list.