2016

I jolt into consciousness with a start, wondering where the hell I am, before I remember I'm in my new dwellings in the Highlands, clutching my teenage diary. I'd drifted off finally while I was reading my entry about the barbecue. The photo is still next to me and I slip it inside the book without looking at it again, before I turn off the lamp. My watch is telling me it's only four in the morning so I can sleep for a few more hours yet.

When I wake again, the sun is rising and I bound excitedly to the window to see my surroundings in proper daylight. I think it's the quickest I've got out of bed in years.

The sky is awash with pinky-orange clouds which are reflecting in the loch, and although it's probably quite a subtle sunrise, not quite living up to its full potential, it still makes me gasp in delight. I feel the urge to go outside and investigate further so I tug on my boots, close my coat over my pyjamas and let myself out into the cool morning air.

Wandering down to the loch, I sit down on a large boulder on the small stretch of pebbly sand, and take a deep breath, surveying my surroundings. The loch is as still as glass; no wonder it is greedily reflecting everything it can. I'm surrounded by mountains, most of them snowcapped. And it's hauntingly quiet, apart from the chirping of birds.

I feel like I've walked inside a postcard.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and snap a photo of my view. Then I pop it into my WhatsApp group chat with Lily and Claire and hit send.

Claire: Seriously, did you just wake me up at this godforsaken hour on a SUNDAY to show me a photo of a sunrise?

Me: It's after 8am, C, it's not exactly the middle of the night.

Claire: IT'S SUNDAY! IT'S A DAY OF REST!

Lily: Can you quit with the caps? I feel like you're shouting at us. Iona, it looks gorgeous! When can we come visit?

Claire: I WAS shouting. And yes, WHEN???

I can't help but laugh. Even on a random Sunday, alone in the middle of the Highlands, it feels for a moment like my pals are in the room with me.

Me: Can you actually let me get settled in first before you start trying to invite yourselves up here? I've not even been here 24 hours.

Claire: You make a fair point, I suppose.

Lily: So are you happy with your decision so far? Ran into Ryan again yet?

Me: Saw him last night. I think he ALMOST smiled at me.

Claire: Oh WOW. Try not to get pregnant, will you?

Me: Aye, very funny Claire. I consider it progress anyway.

We sign off as Claire wants to go back to sleep and Lily has some sort of torture yoga class to get to (I don't think that's the official name of it but it's the way she describes it). I upload the same photo to my Instagram account and slip my phone back in my pocket, continuing to stare at the view as the sky changes colour in front of my eyes.

I did the right thing coming here, I decide.

I'm disturbed by the crunch of footsteps behind me. When I turn, Ryan is walking towards me. Well, technically, he's headed towards the loch. I just happen to be in his way.

I swallow hard. I don't want to stare but it's difficult considering he's wearing a black wetsuit and it feels like I can see . . . Everything. A pair of goggles dangle from his hand. "Hey," I manage imaginatively, rising to my feet. Because I haven't spoken today yet the greeting emerges as a husky rasp. I'm not even sure he understands what I said but I'm sure he'll get the gist.

Of course, once again he's found me at a disadvantage, with my bedhead hair piled on top of my head in a messy bun, no make-up . . . And don't forget the fuzzy pyjamas I'm still wearing under my coat and boots. The pjs have small cats printed on them, and each cat is holding a different cocktail. I'm mortified, and hope that the light is still too dim for him to see this in any great detail.

Ryan grinds to a halt in front of me. "Morning." He looks a bit caught-out, as if he wasn't expecting to see someone else here, and isn't particularly happy about it. Maybe he's not a morning person. Or perhaps he just isn't keen on me staring at the crotch of his tight wetsuit. There's a chance that might be it, I think as I avert my eyes. "I was just going for a swim."

I shiver at the very thought, glancing back to the loch. I don't even want to imagine how cold it must be. "You're hardcore. It looks fucking freezing."

"I don't really feel the cold," he shrugs.

"Scandinavian blood," I nod.

A glimmer of a grin seems to involuntarily curl his mouth as I say this, and I have no doubt he's thinking back to the barbecue too. How different the vibe between us is now. I want to jump into his arms, tell him I'm still there for him anytime he wants to talk. That, of all the things I miss from my past, the absence of his friendship is the one that stings the most.

But the smile vanishes as quickly as it appeared and he shrugs. Whatever that brief connection we had was, it's already flickered back out. "Right," he confirms.

"So do you do this every morning?" I ask. It feels like I've forgotten how to make conversation, when talking about anything and everything used to be so easy for us. I miss those days. I miss him.

He's not even looking at me now, just staring out at the loch. I'm wondering if he has even heard my question. "Some mornings, not all," he replies eventually. "Usually just when I need to clear my head."

That felt pointed. Or perhaps I'm just being a massive narcissist and making it about me when it's patently not. I start to back away. "Well, I'll let you get on with it." It feels a bit like I'm invading his space now.

"See you later," he says abruptly, walking towards the water's edge. I pick my way back up the beach and, when I turn for one last look, he's already halfway across the loch.

And I can feel my stomach churn as I realise, with absolute certainty, that I'm still not over this man.

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