Chapter 8
8
ONE DAY AFTER I LEFT HER
I never meant for this to happen.
I’m not that guy.
The guy who just goes. But then again, maybe we never really know what we’re capable of. I didn’t think my brother was capable of burning everything we had to the ground. But he did.
My fingers pull up the collar of my jacket, yank the edges of my cap down. Maybe once I’m settled, I’ll go full-on hermit, grow my own veg, grow a beard… Liv was never keen, but I figure that doesn’t matter now.
I take a quick look through the train window, the Scottish hills rolling their shoulders, straightening up – geriatric giants, watching my progress. You don’t belong here. I tear my attention away from the vastness of the country I don’t belong in.
Across the aisle are a group of kids, all wearing Easter bonnets. They clutch baskets, ready to be filled with chocolate eggs. Liv loves Easter eggs. She has to have them cold from the fridge. They need to snap, she says. I stop myself wandering through the past and tip my head towards the open paperback in my hands. Nothing to see here, kids, I’m just a guy in a hat, reading a thriller novel: a stranger.
All I have to do is stay off grid for a while. Get my shit together and then, I guess, I’ll somehow find a way out of this mess.
I keep my eyes on the pages of the novel. The train begins moving again. It’s been fifty minutes already. A felled tree on the line. Water on the tracks from the storm, which was supposed to clear. But fifty minutes feels like nothing when you’ve travelled halfway across the United Kingdom in twelve hours. This is the last leg before I hike to my new home. New home for now, at least. I return my attention to my novel as the train begins to move. The villain’s secret has just been discovered.
I hope it’s not an omen.
For a second, my eyes are drawn to the majesty of the mountains in the distance, the sheer epic-ness of the Scottish countryside. Countryside doesn’t quite fit here though. Countryside to me means gentle hills, fields, perhaps a trickling stream. But this is countryside on steroids. My eyes narrow as I look to the scale of my surroundings, my inner Sean Connery declaring: ‘There can be only one!’ Highlander . It’s one of Dad’s favourite films. He used to take us hiking. Right back when we were six and nine years old. Just us boys, he’d say; our backpacks filled with drink bottles and a packed lunch, a different destination most weekends, new mountains to climb. We’d pretend we were training beside rivers and streams, build campfires and toast marshmallows, enact sword fights. My brother always won. Even then.
The hikes trailed off when we got older. We always made sure we’d still have a few trips with Dad. He missed us when we left home, I think. Arthritis in his knees has made his own hiking trips less frequent and Mum, well… Mum can be a lot.
An image of my parents snags at the edge of my thoughts. I hope they’re coping. Now that they know the truth. Christ, I hope Liv’s all right. Hours into the journey and each time I think of her, it’s as though my insides are being scooped out, like a pumpkin on Halloween. I remind myself I had no choice; I did this for her.
I disembark after an hour. It’s like a scene from The Railway Children here, without the actual children. Obviously. And the retro clothing. But the timelessness of the place makes me think that they could film it here. Anyway, what I mean is that right now, all I need is a gas mask and an evacuation card and I’d fit right in. Hold on. Is that what happens in The Railway Children or am I mixing it up with that Mr Tom one that Liv made me watch?
No clue.
Anyway, my point is, it could be the eighteen hundreds, the nineteen thirties, 2045 and I would bet this place would still look the same: quaint, bottle-green paintwork around the eaves, no Costa or Starbucks.
No security cameras.
I tread along the platform, zipping up my jacket as far as it will go and dig my hands into my pockets. My feet echo through the silence as I cross the bridge. I pause, getting my bearings. To the right, a short distance away, is a cluster of houses. Other than that, there is no one around but the mountains, and the hills, and the rocks, and the violet sky.
At the bottom of the steps, I take a right, heading into the toilets. There is one cubicle. A strong smell of urine. No paper towels, and the dryer looks like it may have needed a rotating handle to charge it up. Nevertheless, I go about my business then open my rucksack, because fuck me, it’s freezing.
I shrug off my jacket, unzip my hoody and add a long-sleeved thermal vest, a jumper and a fleece. In one of the pockets is a folded-up piece of paper. I open it. Liv’s handwriting stares up at me: milk – full fat, cling film, Jammy Dodgers (not for dunking, you weirdo) . Each word feels like a gut punch. Each swoop and dent of her writing prods against my skin. I fold the memory of returning home away. Unpacking the shopping as Liv sang loudly to ‘Relight My Fire’. Her hands were busy chopping salad. I can practically feel her warm cheek against mine as I leant over her shoulder to steal a piece of cucumber. My hands are holding the paper tightly. It almost tears in two. I’m biting the inside of my cheek so hard I taste a tang of blood. I tuck the list into my pocket, then replace the cap with a thermal hat. Pull on my gloves. Tighten the straps on my rucksack.
Outside, there is a narrow road ahead of me. A small shop with a Post Office sign in the window and a road leading towards a few houses, not quite enough to make up a village. I unfold the map, double-check my route and tuck it back into my pocket. The wind is raw. The power from the storm that has followed me across the country has ebbed away, but it still has a bite. The mountains in the distance are snow-capped; the air smells of ice and snow and earth and wind.
It feels weird to be on my own. To not have her next to me. Weird is a bit of a crap word to describe how I feel. It’s kind of like that moment when your front door slams and you realise you’ve left your key and mobile inside. That’s how it feels every time I remember what I’ve done. For a second, I imagine the moment she found out. She would have covered her mouth with her hand, rubbed the back of her dark hair. Her eyes would have been wide with shock, with worry, with confusion, with unadulterated anger, because there is no way to lighten this. She will be furious with me. I can feel the guilt of what I’ve done to her banging at the edge of my consciousness, not a light gentle tap, more like a fist on a metal shutter.
I cross the road. Follow it away from the station. Leaving the small shop with Easter-yellow bunting, chocolate bunnies and Easter bonnets, piled high in the window behind. I adjust my strap again. I have to do this. I have no other choice. Not if she’s going to be able to live the life she deserves.
She will try to find me. I know she will. My brother will try to find me, too. No matter what has passed between us. But before they do… before I can return to my life, to Liv, I need to find out why he did it.
And there is only one man who has the answers.