She lifts her phone and finds Ethan’s last message, asking her permission to come and join her in Lòn Haven.
Can you leave tonight?
Clover is like a different child now that she sees the signs for Lòn Haven everywhere. She chats nonstop about things that Luna doesn’t quite hear. When the ferry docks, Luna has to will her hand to turn the key in her car’s ignition. And in a moment, she has crossed the threshold—her first venture onto the island in twenty-two years.
Lòn Haven is not how she remembers it. Luna recalls the white stem of the Longing sitting against the backdrop of the ocean on its rocky island, linked to Lòn Haven by a snaking causeway. She remembers the small village of Strallaig with its colorful row of shops, and the patchwork quilt of fields, green as algae and dotted with ancient standing stones, somber as monks.
After driving up and down the road that runs along Lòn Haven’s coast, she stops at the old signpost for Strallaig and looks out at the tide washing up against the cliffs. There’s a dirt track that looks familiar, and a flat bank of rock. There should be a lighthouse here, she thinks, and a bothy with a garden at the front.
She parks up and tells Clover to stay in the car. She gets out and walks gingerly along the track toward the cliff edge. Below, there’s an odd shape in the gray water, a rock that juts up out of the waves. But as a cloud passes from the sun, she sees it’s not a rock. It’s a jagged hollow.
The remains of the Longing.
She has to look three times before she’ll believe it. There are scattered remnants of the Longing’s lantern room at the bottom of the cliffs that confirms it has fallen. The staircase gone, her mother’s mural obliterated. Only the base of it left. No sign of the bothy.
The destruction of the Longing disorients her so much that she drives through the village twice, looping around the east side and coming to a stop at the Neolithic site. There are new roads, new signs, a few expensive glass-fronted houses dotting the hillside. The Neolithic museum is still there, though much bigger than last time. Historic Scotland have evidently built a shiny new visitors’ center, with a driftwood sculpture of a deer at the front of the complex, a tarmacked car park with a play area for children, and a sandwich board announcing a new Italian restaurant. A long banner promises an exhibition of traditional island tapestries.
She parks. A bright PVC board by the deer sculpture offers a map of the island and information.
In 2018, Lòn Haven began experiencing extreme flooding and coastal erosion. Historic Scotland and CCF are working hard to delay and prevent further damage to the island’s historic artifacts, therefore some of the sites may be under construction and/or temporarily closed. Scan the QR code here for updates!
She feels woozy. Everything is staggeringly, painfully different.
They return to the site with the dirt track and the rocky bank. She pulls over to the bank and looks out at the remains.
“I think we’re on the wrong island,” Clover observes, squinting out to sea.
“We’re definitely on Lòn Haven,” Luna says.
“No, we’re not. The Longing and the bothy should be there. And you see that hill?”
She points to the right at the bell-shaped rise that Luna remembers sledding down on a tea tray.
“There should be a cairn on the top,” Clover says. “Do you know what a cairn is?”
“It’s a pile of stones.”
“Exactly. And that one was called Camhanaich. Or it would be, if we were on Lòn Haven.”
“It’s there,” Luna says. “Look. It’s Camhanaich.”
She points to where the light reveals the outline of the cairn. Luna hears the confidence slide out of Clover’s voice, feels the shock slide into her as she realizes that yes, this is Lòn Haven.