Chapter 36
Skye drove off down the road, simultaneously trying to recapture that heavenly scent of Bear’s jacket and put him out of her mind. As she turned the corner on to the main road, she felt filled with strength from knowing that however badly it went, Bear would be there at the end of it. By the time she turned into her parents’ street, however, this confidence had shrunk until it felt no larger than a pea.
She pulled into a space not far along from her parents’ terraced house, which was unusual. A lucky omen, perhaps? She parked, then paused keys in hand, turned on the radio, and let herself disappear into the presenters’ cheerful chatter for ten minutes. Finally preparing to get out, she checked her phone. A single message.
Bear. Her heart leapt.
Good luck, Skye. Not that you need it.
Skye tapped a reply.
I didn’t go in yet. You at the bank?
The response came straight away.
Not yet. It’s in an hour. Still at home. I made myself some soup, and now preparing.
Followed swiftly by another:
Have you been sat outside in your car the whole time?
Skye laughed.
You got me. I’ll call you in a bit. Promise x
You’ll be great x
Then, summoning up courage, she got out of the car.
She hadn’t even thought about whether or not her parents would be home. They might have both retired, but they were out of the house most days. Her father spent a lot of time at the church, and her mum volunteered with community projects. Or they could be out enjoying lunch, or on a walk.
Pausing on the front step, Skye hesitated as she held the knocker up. Then, steeling herself, she let it drop, holding her breath as she awaited an answer.
Footsteps moved along the hallway — her mum’s — and the door swung open.
‘Skye! What on earth are you doing here? Aren’t you meant to be on holiday?’ Despite her surprise, her mum smiled, the creases around her eyes wrinkling up.
Skye made a face. ‘I was, but now I’m not. Are you busy? Have I caught you at a bad time?’
‘No, darling. I’m making a cake, and your dad’s out weeding the garden. Come on in.’
Skye took her shoes off, and followed her mum down the corridor, into the kitchen. It had the same yellow cupboards that had been there since childhood. She was aware that most people would find such nostalgia comforting, but all she could remember was staring at those cupboard as she sat at the kitchen table waiting to be told off.
Her mum put the kettle on, and Skye stuck her head out of the side door, raised her hand in a half wave.
‘Hi, Dad,’ she said, in the hesitant way she always did.
Perhaps it was because it had been his job, but whenever she saw him, she felt like a child being pulled into the headmaster’s office. Which had been understandable, in his real office at school, years ago, but she shouldn’t still be approaching every space he occupied with tentative steps and small gestures.
Her father looked up from where he was battling dandelions. ‘Hello,’ he said, gruffly. ‘We weren’t expecting you.’
‘It’s OK that I’m here though, right? You’re not too busy, are you?’
‘I was gardening. But it can wait, if you need to see us.’
The cool response was typical of her father, but Skye had come to expect it.
‘I do, actually,’ said Skye, as firmly as she could.
‘Tea’s ready,’ said her mum, beside her. ‘Shall we take it in here, or the sitting room, or the garden?’
‘I’m planning to keep going out here,’ said her father. ‘Bring it out.’
‘I thought we could sit,’ said Skye. ‘In the sitting room. All of us?’
The sitting room was closest to the front door. One of the first rules of staying safe was knowing your exits in case of a fire. Thank you Tilling and Browne corporate safety briefing for that one. This conversation had the potential to be incendiary.
Her father let out an audible huff, but threw down his gloves all the same. Skye and her mum made their way to the sitting room, and Skye sat on the armchair. She felt it gave her an air of gravitas that she wouldn’t be able to manage if she being sucked in by the chintzy quicksand of the sofa cushions next to her mum. Her father appeared a minute later, wearing his indoor slippers and drying his hands.
‘Now what’s all this about, love?’ her mum asked, gently.
‘Do I need a reason to come over?’ said Skye.
She had immediately gone on the defensive, a knee-jerk reaction. Her father didn’t reply. As per usual, it was her mum.
‘Of course not. But I know that look. It’s a look I recognize.’
‘From me?’
‘From anyone,’ her mum said, calmly.
Her mum had a soothing voice, which she applied like a balm.
‘I’ve not been at work for the last month.’ Skye dived in. ‘Not just because I had booked annual leave, either. It was mainly because I ruined my chances with my exam.’
She told them about Will, about how she had thought she loved him and how he had let her down. About the light bulb moment that had made her realize that she was in the wrong place. About the sensation like a boa constrictor wrapping itself around her body and refusing to let go. How she had got up without completing the paper and walked out of the exam room.
‘I thought I had got to where I needed to be, but it turns out I still can’t get life right,’ she said. ‘I had a full-blown panic attack outside the exam centre. However hard I try, I’m still that fuck-up. I always will be.’
Her father’s reaction was conspicuous in its absence. Not a flinch or a frown, not even at the swear word.
Her mum lifted eyebrows but quickly regained her usual composure and took a deep breath.
‘Why do you think you’re a . . . I can’t use the f-word, sorry,’ said her mum. ‘You feel free to, though, we’re all grown-ups.’
‘I don’t feel like one though. I’m back here on the sofa, at home, telling my parents I’ve ballsed it all up again.’
‘What do you mean, again ?’ said her mum.
Skye pushed herself into the back of the armchair for support.
‘I always make a mess of everything.’
‘Well, that’s simply not true,’ said her father, his deep low voice cutting the air between them.
Skye felt her eyes widen, and she turned to him. He had his hands on his knees, presumably to prevent them balling into fists.
‘I know you don’t think that for a start,’ she said.
Their eyes met. Skye knew she couldn’t realistically conduct this conversation with her mum alone but still, it made her nerves twitch when her father weighed in. Yes, he had said something positive, but there was no telling when he’d switch to gruffness and suppressed anger.
‘It’s not, though. Yes, you went through a very difficult phase as a teenager, and yes, I struggled to accept it, but you emerged the other side,’ he said.
‘You’ve never felt that, though. I’ve always been a disappointment. I permanently blotted my copybook with you, and I get why you’d never forgive me. But I’ve spent the rest of my life trying to be a better person. Only I’ve ended up in the wrong place.’
Skye unpicked the decisions she had made after she had left university, which had resulted in her ending up at Tilling and Browne. ‘I wanted so badly to show you that I was no longer the disaster I was as a teenager. Wanted to show myself, too. I know I caused a lot of damage, and I wanted you to be proud of me. I didn’t think words would be enough, not after so many broken promises that I’d never step out of line again. I knew had to earn your trust, because I never thought you’d completely have faith in me again, especially after . . .’
She stopped, not wanting to talk about the brick. They never talked about the brick. Much like politics and finance, there were some topics best avoided.
‘It all lined up perfectly: I could go into law, use my degree, do a job that mattered, become financially independent — comfortable, even — making all of us happy. When I was offered the job at Tilling and Browne, I thought I should take it.’ Skye paused to catch her breath. ‘If I could show you I was a good person, everything would be OK between us.’
‘I have often wondered if your career choices were about that,’ said her mum. ‘Trying to appease your father and me.’
Them, and her conscience.
‘But Skye, we knew it wasn’t you,’ her father interrupted.
Skye felt knots form in her stomach, her heart, her throat. Would you be able to tell if your kidneys were tying themselves together?
‘You knew what wasn’t me?’ she whispered, after swallowing a gulp.
There was a pause, before her father spoke.
‘The job,’ he said. ‘I’m not saying you’re not capable of it. You could put your mind to anything you want and succeed. You proved as much when you got all those top marks in your Highers having barely spent any time in a classroom.’
Skye goggled. ‘Why didn’t you ever tell me this? I thought you thought I was a total screw-up.’
Her father shifted, looking surprised. ‘It seemed better to let bygones be bygones. I thought you were keen to forget it, but maybe I was wrong. Then, before I knew it, you’d flown the nest. And when you came back to Edinburgh, you were ready to take on the world.’
‘But work? You thought Tilling and Browne wasn’t the best place for me?’
‘We were surprised you chose to go there, but it’s not for us to tell you what to do. Not anymore. And not that you ever listened when we tried.’ He chuckled. ‘Your mother and I had our suspicions, but any decisions about your career ought to come from you. Anyway, you were always terrible for reverse psychology. If we told you not to go out, you’d shin down the drainpipe. If we’d told you we didn’t think a big, corporate job was for you, you would have certainly taken it.’
‘Why exactly don’t you want to work there?’ Her mum asked the question Skye had spent the last four weeks trying to answer.
Skye looked at them. ‘I spent all my youth trying to stick it to The Man, and now I am The Man. And . . . I was in a relationship with a man who was The Man. I’m doing myself an injustice.
‘I work for this huge company, fighting cases I hate. A lot of the time I think I’m on the wrong side. I hate working for greenwashers, and businesses who don’t treat their employees fairly, or who are involved in things that, well, that I’m bound by a confidentiality clause not to discuss.
‘I’ve become the person I never wanted to be.’
There was a silence. Skye’s tea had cooled, a milky film formed on the top. She drank it anyway, gulping it indelicately. She looked from her father to her mum. Her mum looked as zen as ever, her expression entirely neutral. Unexpectedly, her father also appeared calm.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Skye. ‘That I pushed the boundaries too far when I was younger. Way too far.’
‘And I’m sorry that I didn’t know what to do with you. All the growing-up stuff was beyond me,’ her father replied.
‘Can we take a second to reflect on the fact you were a head teacher? Growing-up stuff was high up the job description.’
‘Aye, but it’s different with your own flesh and blood, somehow. And sometimes I didn’t know what to do with you either, Skye,’ said her mum. ‘And I thought after all my experience as a school nurse I’d seen it all. But it doesn’t matter now, does it?’
Her mum looked to her father and raised her eyebrows.
He shook his head. ‘Not at all.’
Skye felt tears prickling her eyes.
‘Want fresh one?’ Mum got up and took the cup, slipping out of the room before Skye had a chance to answer.
Skye looked at her father, taking him in. His face seemed to have changed over the course of the conversation, his skin more lined, his hair receding, he seemed slightly jowlier despite his otherwise slim build, cuddlier. The stern look had softened.
‘I really am sorry, you know, for being the source of so much grief. I always thought I knew best, but I didn’t then, like I don’t now.’
Her father swatted her confession away. ‘Teenagers are hardwired to rebel, and it takes all manner of forms. One might slam a door, another might take up smoking, others might play truant and graffiti the nearest underpass. Or all of the above.’
Skye felt herself blanch. ‘Did you know about everything ?’
Her father’s eyebrows pulled together. ‘I highly doubt it, and I probably don’t want to either. No need to give me a coronary.’ They relaxed again. ‘Even I tried to show my parents I knew better, many years ago. I remember telling my mother I refused to sing in the church choir. She was most upset, but I hated the itchy ruffs we had to wear. And the thought I might not hit a high note. Then my voice broke, and it was the last straw.’
‘Not quite the same level, Dad,’ said Skye, and they shared a smile.
A creak on the floorboards outside the room made her look up. There was nobody in the doorway, but the receding footsteps of her mum disappeared back up the corridor.
‘All I’m trying to say is that you were not the first teenager to rebel, or last,’ he said.
‘You didn’t hate me?’
The words flew from her mouth. All this talk of the past, and fears that normally skulked at the far back of her mind had surged to the front, vying to get out.
‘No, of course I didn’t hate you. Like our saviour, I preach and practise forgiveness, however challenging it might be. As I was saying, you’re also not the first or last fully grown adult to wind up in the wrong job. And you won’t be the first or last to change direction. Have you had any thoughts on what you’ll do about it?’
The few ideas Skye had were still swirling around in her brain, like a galaxy in its infancy. She heaved a sigh. ‘I’ve a few thoughts, but I don’t want to risk getting it wrong again.’
‘Now . . .’ Her father paused. ‘You might not want to take advice from a man with whom you haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I’m going to give it anyway. You can take it or leave it. But we all make mistakes and what shows our mettle is how we deal with them. You might get it wrong again, but if you do, it’s not the end of the world. And for what it’s worth, I think you’ll be fine, whatever happens. Though I won’t insult you by suggesting I say a prayer for you at church, because I know how you feel about religion.’
‘Well,’ said Skye, scarcely able to believe this turn of events, ‘it can’t do any harm, can it?’
One side of her father’s mouth twitched. ‘Certainly not. Should I call in your mother? She is the bringer of sage advice.’
‘If you like. But I think I’ve had the sensible advice from you.’ Skye finally smiled.
‘We all make mistakes. We just have to make them right. Proverbs twenty-eight, thirteen.’
‘Remind me of that one?’
‘ He who covers his sins will not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes them will have mercy .’
Once, Skye would have rolled her eyes at her father’s recital of chapter and verse. She kept her mouth shut though. Her father was entitled to his opinion.
‘Our father forgives,’ she said, unable to help herself.
‘Thankfully, yes. Don’t tell your mother, but I’ve just uprooted one of her favourite peonies.’ Her father chuckled. ‘Hopefully she forgives too.’
They were still laughing as her mum shuffled back into the room with a tray.
‘I’ve got some more tea. It took me a really long time to make it,’ said her mum. ‘I got distracted by something in the kitchen and then realized time had passed. Are you wanting to stay for a late lunch, darling? I was going to do sausages for dinner but we can have them now.’
‘Thanks, but I think I might head back to Eastercraig.’
‘Back to Eastercraig? You’ve been there all this time?’ Her mum’s eyes widened for a second, as she passed Skye a fresh brew. ‘But Hugh’s on a cruise! Where on earth have you been staying?’
‘Glenalmond mostly.’ Skye took a sip of the tea.
A dreamy look crossed her mum’s face. ‘That beautiful castle? Oh, you always did like it there. And that nice boy, Hamish. How’s he getting on? I’m guessing he’s a man now.’
‘He is, but aside from that he hasn’t changed a bit,’ Skye replied. She told them all about the estate and what they’d been up to.
‘I’ll tell you all about the rest when I get back,’ she said, ten minutes later. ‘There’s something else I need to do.’
She still needed to fix things between Hamish and Paolo. Skye bid her parents goodbye. This time, her father gripped her in a tight embrace. She couldn’t remember the last time he had held her like that.
Sitting outside in the car, Skye pulled out her phone, and read her messages.
There was one from Hamish:
When are you back? I’m assuming you’re here this weekend and you didn’t just ghost me x
Nothing from Bear, but he would be either on his way to the bank, or in his meeting. Though he might be already done there.
She picked up the phone, her heart in her mouth, and dialled him, hoping he was free.
‘Skye,’ came a relieved tone. ‘I was beginning to worry about you.’
Play it smooth, Edmonds. ‘You were beginning to worry about me?’
The question flew out with such delight she cringed.
Bear’s voice reassured. ‘Yes. It was a big thing, going and talking to your parents like that. Did it go OK?’
‘Yes, and allayed some fears, and got everything out in the open. It really helped.’
That was the trouble with emotional baggage. You had to work out where you could unpack it all, and stow it safely when you had sorted through it. Today she had properly made some headway.
‘Sounds great,’ said Bear.
Skye smiled. ‘It was. I’m heading back to Eastercraig now. Do you want me to pick you up?’
Bear took a sharp breath, and there was a pause. It shouldn’t have taken any time at all, given all it required was a simple yes or no answer.
‘I’d say yes, but actually, something’s come up,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I’ll be down here longer than I thought.’
‘I can wait.’
‘No. No, it’s fine.’ His voice sounded cooler, detached. ‘You go ahead. I’ll be in touch.’
They said goodbye, and Skye dropped the phone on to the passenger seat. She repeated his words, considered his tone. Why had he been hesitant, sounded uncertain? Was the thought of being in a car with Skye for another three hours so unappealing?
Or . . . Skye thought about everything she had confessed on the drive down. She groaned.
He hadn’t changed his mind about a ride home. He had changed his mind about her. He’d have had a chance to think about all she’d told him. What man in his right mind would want anything to do with her?
Ice ran through her veins as she recalled telling him about the giant tattoo, the car theft, the brick. Sure, those things took place years ago, but she was still the human embodiment of a red flag.