Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
F iona
My knees ache, but I won’t quit until I get this stubborn rust ring out of the bathtub. My father kept up as best he could without me, but I’d kill for a proper bath, and I can’t enjoy it unless the tub is sparkling.
The house survived my absence.
The garden? That’s another story. Without my daily battles, the weevils had their way, nibbling up every inch of my plants. Not to mention how thirsty the plants were, with no one to water them.
I feel Dad hovering in the bathroom doorway, watching me clean.
“You can’t spend your days scrubbing the bathroom, Fiona. Go. Live your life.” We don’t talk about Callum or why I was gone. We talk around it. “Now that you’ve had a taste of being away from the island, go on. Get a job in the city. An apartment of your own.”
Now my own father is sending me away. Does no one want me?
Go. Leave.
I blink back tears, scrubbing harder. “No. I won’t leave you. It wasn’t even my decision to leave the island in the first place.”
“Why? I’ve been a terrible father.”
We’ve had the same talk. Round and round. Every day since I’ve been back.
“You don’t give up on family,” I say. Finally, a bit of the rust flakes away. “But now that you’re doing better, I am applying for jobs with full-time work.”
“Good—”
“Jobs that are here on the island, Dad.”
“Fiona…”
“Come on, Dad.” I stand, remove my pink cleaning gloves, and fold them over the tub's edge. “Let me make you a cup of tea.”
“Aye.” He nods. “I’ll make us something to eat.”
We squeeze down the small hall, side by side, off to our evening routine. It’s been lovely spending time with Dad sober. He’s caring and thoughtful.
And he pretends he doesn’t hear me crying into my pillow every night .
Hours spent thinking of him. Missing him and everything he provided for me. It’s not just the money. Yes, money takes the stress out of the day-to-day. You know you have a roof over your head and food on the table; all your needs are taken care of.
But it was the other needs he fulfilled that have the constant stream of tears flowing.
He offered me more protection and safety, and my favorite thing about our twisted dynamic was that he was in charge. He thrives on control and loves being the head of the family. And he’s good at it.
He’s a man who lives in his power. It looks good on him. A wee mite too good.
He’s strong, loyal, and a decision-maker. With him doing it for me, I didn’t have to take on the world. I could live my life fulfilling tasks geared to my strengths, like homemaking.
In addition to him, I had the sister I always wanted in Freya, making all my beauty and social decisions for me while building up my confidence and making sure I had a social life.
And fun.
I had so much support when I was a part of the Burnes family. But he told me to go. I’m back here with my father.
This is my fate.
Tiny bed. Tiny house. Tiny life. Back to wee Fi, the little girl who wasn’t brave enough to make a bigger space for herself in this world…
How did I manage on my own before, the only source of fulfillment codfish and fighting weevils?
No sweet kisses on my lips. No big, rough hands exploring my body.
In that house, in his arms, I felt like a queen.
The first morning I was back, flowers arrived. A stunning array of pink peonies shipped in from London, their delicate scent filling our tiny kitchen. A white envelope nestled between plump blooms, a red wax seal closing it. The stamp in the wax was the boat sailing on Strawberry Grass, which I made just for him. I smiled as I unsealed the paper.
I plucked the card from the envelope.
I’m hanging by a thread without you, Fiona.
Everything I gave you, everything you bought here, belongs to you.
I’m holding off on sending your belongings.
I’ll be waiting.
And hoping.
That you are coming home to me.
All my love,
Your monster
“Och, for freck sake!” I swiped a tear from my eye, not knowing if I felt anger or laughter.
Why send me such beautiful flowers, such an adorable card, when he told me to leave ?
“There is no apology anywhere on here, is there?” I flipped the card over, but the back was blank. “I didn’t think so.”
I went to toss the card in the trash but couldn’t.
It’s still sitting in the drawer, under the silverware tray, where I hid it.
It’s been a long, quiet week. I work on my knitting. Mostly, I’m trying my best not to think of Callum.
When I put the kettle on. When I dress. When I undress…
I try to revive my garden. My father comes beside me no matter what chore I’m completing, doing his best to help.
I make our tea.
He cooks our dinner.
I didn’t know he could. He’s a good cook. No Mam, no Nan, no Chef, but better than me. We eat filets of buttery haddock, chunks of Bayne beef made in a thick stew, and non-traditional dishes, including a yummy, spicy bowl of rice and beans.
Tonight, he’s attempting his first lasagna.
He’s had nary a drop of alcohol since the moment he came home to find me gone.
It’s just been the two of us all week. Well, the two of us and the daily vases of flowers arriving each morning. No more notes from that wee monster of mine.
And no apology.
The pasta turns out delicious. I’m so full afterward that I go to bed early, trying to read the book I’d left on my nightstand, but I have trouble focusing and fall asleep instead. I spend the next day with Dad, then go to my room in the afternoon to tackle the book again, only to fall asleep.
I wake to the sound of my phone ringing.
My eyes pop open, and my first thought is, could it be him?
It’s not. And my pitiful little heart falls. Pathetic.
It’s Carol Ann. She’s been so busy I rarely hear from her. She’s the distraction I so desperately need.
Her familiar voice calls through the phone. “Fiona! How goes it?” We exchange pleasantries then she says, “I’m in town just for the weekend. Do you have any plans for tonight?”
She has no idea what’s happened or where I’ve been. Does anyone on the island know? I doubt my father’s spoken to anyone. Bayne’s farm next door is run by tenants who keep to themselves. They’ll not have noticed Callum’s mafia dragging me away that day.
Funny. Do I tell her?
I don’t think I’m ready, and a night without thinking or talking about him is precisely what I need. I agree to her plans, and we confirm she’ll pick me up at eight.
I pop my head in the living room. “Dad. Mind if I go out tonight?”
He’s sitting in his chair, tapping his foot to the beat of his music, listening to his records, something he’s not done for years. “Please do! You deserve it, sweetheart.”
I give him the eye. “No booze? ”
“Promise.” He crosses his fingers over his heart. “Go out. Be young. You’ll have fun. I’ll even water your plants for you if you want to sleep in tomorrow.”
“Aw, thanks, Dad.” I hug him tightly, dashing off to find something to wear.
Looking through my meager wardrobe, I ache for the pretty things in my closet—the closet—at his house. I choose a pink cardigan over a white tee and a black leather skirt that Carol Ann had left ages ago when she’d slept over.
I’d not thought to return.
Copying Freya’s work, I do my makeup and curl my hair as best I can. The makeup turns out well, with soft, rosy cheeks and lips, but the curls are a bit wonky. I pull my hair back, securing it with a pink scrunchie.
When I’m done, I like what I see in the mirror.
A flicker of hope rises in my heart, thinking tonight could be fun. The thought of actually meeting someone else turns my stomach. I do need a night out with a good friend, though.
If nothing else, knowing Carol Ann, it’ll be a laugh.
She meets me at the end of my drive at 8:10, popping out of her little black sedan to pull me into a big hug. The tips of her dark hair are now a bright teal, matching her cropped leather jacket. She wears white Doc Marten boots, a short black dress, and ripped fishnet tights.
Appraising my outfit, she frowns.
“What?”
She scrunches her nose up. “You look like Sister Agatha from primary school. ”
“I do not!” Smoothing my hands over the leather, I say, “And this is your skirt anyway!”
Eyeing the skirt, her eyes light up. “Hey, I’ve been looking for that!”
I shrug. “You left it over a year ago. Fair game.”
“Looks better on you though, doesn’t it.” She studies my face. “I like your makeup.”
“Thank you.” I push the thought of Freya from my mind, knowing her loyalty to her brother is the reason I haven’t heard from her.
Carol Ann holds out her hand. “Here. Let me help. Give me that sweater.”
I shrug out of the cardigan and hand it to her. She stuffs it in her white leather oversized purse. Taking the hem of my short shirt sleeves in her fingers, she rolls them up, folding the material inward until it looks like I’m wearing a sleeveless shirt.
“Let me see.”
Stepping back, she eyes me again. She gives a firm nod. “Lose the scrunchie.”
I slip the scrunchie from my head, and my hair tumbles over my shoulders in waves. Carol Ann goes to work, fluffing and smoothing the curls into place.
“Much sexier.” She reaches into her bag’s pocket and digs up a black lipstick tube. “Here. Put this on.”
I take off the cap, revealing bright red. “You know I can’t wear the same colors as you. And the craziest I’ll go is a nice coral. ”
“Come on, Fiona. It’s war paint.”
Popping the cap on, I hand it back to her.
She takes it back. “Fine, fine. You look good enough, I suppose.”
“Thanks?” I laugh.
She stuffs the lipstick tube into her purse with a roll of her eyes. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.” She throws the car into Drive, and we’re off. “So, what have you been up to,” she asks.
“Nothing. Same ol’, same ol’.” I’m half tempted to tell her that Callum Burnes kidnapped me to be his wife.
But I don’t.
I can’t say his name without crying.
Instead, I fill her in on my island life. “Dad’s been sober, so I’m keeping a close eye on him.”
“Is he! How long now?” she asks.
“Weeks.” Pride rises in my voice.
“Good for him. Good for you, too! If only your sweet mam could have lived to see it.”
“God rest her soul,” we say in unison.
We chat for the hour’s drive it takes to get to the nearest town, which has a population large enough to know we’re not related to most of the dating pool. She parks her wee black sedan, giving me a wide grin. “Ready?”
“Aye,” I lie .
Following her in, I discreetly roll my T-shirt sleeves back into place but leave my hair down.
Nerves hinder any excitement I may have felt earlier as we make our way through the crowded bar. Why couldn’t we just have done a lovely girls’ night? Why speed dating? Tons of people my age and a bit older stand around the bar, casually dressed, sipping beer or wine as they make small talk.
“Here. Sit here.” Carol Ann pulls out a stool. “I’ll get us drinks.”
With the confidence of a supermodel on the catwalk, she strides up the bar, the seas parting for her white boots. Leaning on the bar, she flirts her way into two chardonnays.
Nervous, I finger the edge of my skirt, peeking around at the eligible men. There are a few nice-looking, respectable men here. One catches my eye, giving me a shy smile.
I smile back. He starts to make his way over. I shrink back in my chair, overwhelmed by the idea of speaking to anyone other than…him.
Do not come over ? —
Luckily, Carol Ann returns, standing before me, unknowingly blocking my view of the man as she hands me the chilled wine. “Here. Knock this one back so we can have another before we start talking to strangers.”
Two chardonnays later, Carol Ann has me rolling with laughter. She shares stories about the class she’s currently teaching as an assistant. The first-year college students are only a few years younger than her but have a lot of maturity to gain .
I’m almost wishing it was just us tonight, a girls’ night in, even.
But then I see his face.
Hear his words.
Fine. Go. You’re free.
I know I need this night. I need to move on as quickly as possible and forget Callum Burnes. The monster who won’t lower himself to the decency of offering an apology.
Someone rings a giant brass bell that hangs over the bar. “Ladies and gents! It’s time.”
Having been here before, Carol Ann knows what to do.
“Come on!” She grabs my hand, dragging me to the back of the bar where a long table has been set up, twelve slowly filling wooden chairs on each side. “Men on the right, women on the left. Lassies stay put. Lads shift over when the bell rings.”
Finding it the least daunting, I take the seat at the end, with Carol Ann slipping into the seat beside me.
She grabs my arm with excitement. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I say. “At least, I think I am. I mean, how do you know you’re ready for?—”
“Shut up. If you talk like that, they will run away from you. Try to relax. Here.” She hands me the rest of her glass of wine.
Eyeing the glass after the first two I’ve already had, I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Finish it,” she orders.
Tipping the glass back, I let the liquid slide down the back of my throat.
“Whoa! Looks like we’ve got a real go-getter over here, blokes,” a man with an English accent claims. He slips into the seat across from me, chanting, “Chug! Chug! Chug!”
Setting the empty glass on the table, I dab at my lips. “It’s not like that,” I say. “Really. I’m just out of practice a bit with this whole dating thing. Needed a wee bit of wine.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve not had much luck lately. My last bird ran off with my brother.”
“Ouch,” I wince. “That is bad luck!”
I go through two more men. Nice, but not my type at all. And what is my type, exactly?
Six feet, bearded, tattooed, with eyes of green glass and a jawline of steel. Incredibly rude. Emotionally unstable. Phenomenal in bed, making my toes curl, and my eyes roll back in my head?—
The bell rings. The next man takes a seat in the chair across from me. “Hiya.” He’s the man who caught my eye earlier in the evening.
“Oh, hi!”
He smiles as he introduces himself and tells me about his job at the bank and his rescue cat, Sophie. And the old truck he’s trying to fix up. He’s nice. Sweet. Kind. The kind of man I would have taken home to Mam if she was still with us.
But she’s no longer here.
And I’m no longer that Fiona .
I’m a good girl who has fallen head over heels for the very worst of the bad boys. A monster. One who lied to me then kicked me out.
Fine. Go.
Flowers don’t mean come home.
Flowers aren’t an apology.
Flowers don’t tell me that he knows how wrong what he did was.
His words burn in my memory, bringing tears to my eyes.
Leave.
No longer able to face this speed dating situation, I excuse myself from the lovely, handsome bachelor across from me, from my old life, my old self, my old everything.
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” I manage to choke out. “I’ve got to go.”
Leaning down to whisper in Carol Ann’s ear, I say, “I’m so tired. I’m calling a car.”
Excusing herself from the man across from her, she narrows her gaze. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, but stay, please. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The big brass bell rings, echoing through the bar, signaling the men to shift seats.
A deep, gravelly voice interrupts us. “Well, you’re a pretty lassie, ain’t ye?” A man with black hair and tattoo sleeves on his arms grabs the seat across from Carol Ann, taking her attention .
“Yes, please,” she murmurs, the tip of her tongue flicking over her lips.
I rush from the bar. Tears streaming. Knowing that after Callum Burnes, I’ll never be the same.
Nothing will.
And without him, I’ve no idea how to piece the broken pieces of new me together.
If you walk out that door, never come back again…