Chapter Twenty-Four #2
‘Come off it,’ she replied. ‘Look at him, look at this place! You’d think this whole town had been specially designed to trick unsuspecting city dwellers to fall in love with the strapping, stoic locals.
Thank God you’re not a high-powered lawyer who just broke up with her financier fiancé or you’d have no chance of getting out with your pelvic bone intact.
You’re only supposed to be pretending to fall in love with him, Laura, pretending. ’
‘Which is exactly what I’m doing,’ I said with not-so-fake frustration. ‘What is so difficult—’
‘I’m not done.’ Desi grabbed my wrist and pulled me off to the side to allow a group of beaming, bearded, clearly tipsy men in kilts to pass by. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I like him, but I could start not liking him if he’s using you.’
I snatched my hand away and gave her a scathing look. ‘How is he using me? We have an agreement.’
‘Does your agreement involve him pawing at you all evening? Does it explain why you’re walking around like a heart eyes emoji? I’ve never seen you like this before and I don’t think you’re that good of an actress.’
‘I’ll have you know I played the caterpillar in my school production of Alice in Wonderland,’ I replied with a sniff.
‘Why is he suddenly all handsy?’ she went on, not nearly as impressed as she could’ve been with my student acting career. ‘Because his parents are here. Because his ex is here. There was no hair stroking all day long when it was just us, was there? He’s acting. He’s pretending. You’re not.’
In that moment, under the harsh fluorescent lights of the lobby, I hated her.
‘You’ve made your point,’ I said quietly. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m not trying to upset you,’ Desi said, her voice tinged with regret and apology. ‘I’m trying to protect you.’
‘OK.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ I looked away, unable to meet her eyes. ‘I’m really OK. I know you’re trying to help but you’re reading too much into it.’
Even though I could tell she didn’t believe a word I was saying, Desi knew when to stop. She would never try to hurt me on purpose, which was why it cut so very deep.
‘Good because I really do need a wee,’ she said, marching on the spot. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
Slouching against the wall, I watched the residents of Braewick cross the lobby, out into the night.
Parents holding hands, half the little kids in mittens and scarves, racing ahead, the others clutching their grandparents, equally exhausted and excited, Christmas so close, they could taste it.
Pulling out my shiny new phone, I opened up a photo album that rarely saw the light of day.
I’d forgotten it was there until the delightful Ian in the phone shop transferred all my data from the cloud while he lectured me on the perils of not turning on two-factor authentication.
The pictures had a grainy quality compared to the rest of the snaps on my phone because most of them hadn’t been taken with a digital camera.
Dad always used film when I was little and my mum loved a disposable camera.
There were always a couple in the cupboard at the bottom of the stairs, ready for a surprise day out or weekend away.
We did a lot, I recalled as I swiped through the images with blurry eyes, spontaneous adventures.
Sometimes, they’d pick me up from school and we’d drive all the way to the seaside to get fish and chips for tea.
Once, she let me miss school and we spent an entire day waiting in line to meet one of the chefs from my favourite cooking show.
I was, admittedly, a bit of a weird kid.
I still had the signed cookbook somewhere, buried in a box.
She and I made a different recipe from it every day for a week, or rather we attempted to.
Neither of us were talented cooks. A month later, she was dead.
The thumbnail I was looking for waited for me, right at the end of the roll.
Not a photograph but a video, someone’s grainy camcorder trained on an empty stage just like the one in the Braewick town hall.
I pressed play. Even without sound, the memories flooded me instantly and a huge lump rose in my throat.
A row of tiny children streamed onto the stage, one by one.
Second from the end of the front row, in a red tartan dress, white socks pulled all the way up to my knees and hair inexplicably crimped, was me.
My eyes scanned the audience and then I waved, almost directly at the camera.
The close-up pulled back to show the whole children’s choir as our music teacher played the first notes of ‘Silent Night’ on the piano and the back of a copper-red curly head came into view, right in front of the camera.
I watched, nursing the phone in my hands, counting down the seconds until she twisted in her seat to say something to the woman sitting next to her, pointing at the stage.
She must’ve seen the video camera out of the corner of her eye because she turned and waved, giving the camera man a big grin and a thumbs up.
Two fat tears fell on the phone screen, magnifying my mum’s face for one moment, until she looked back to the stage, watching me belt out Christmas carols with everything in my little lungs.
I couldn’t remember who took the video. I’d found it by accident, on a Facebook group I’d forgotten I’d joined, supposedly to collect memories of our village but, every time I was bored enough to check it, the members seemed to be using it mostly to bicker about who had owned the post office first and complain about kids today.
Someone uploaded this a couple of years back and I’d screen-recorded it right away, too overwhelmed to message the owner to ask for the original file.
After watching myself climb the stage, pausing on Mum’s happy face, over and over again, enough times to commit the entire thing to memory, I filed it away.
Seeing her like that, stumbling across her as though we’d bumped into each other in the supermarket, hurt in a way I could not have anticipated.
Like someone had torn my heart open and pulled out what was inside.
I was ecstatic and I was heartbroken. Thrilled to possess this precious moment and devastated by her loss, all over again.
I hadn’t looked at it again. Not until now, when I wanted it to hurt.
Phone back in my pocket, I sloped back into the hall, not waiting for Desi and bowed with the weight of her accusations, every word slicing at me like a papercut.
As per our agreement, Callum was pretending and I was pretending too.
Only now, I was lying to myself instead of his family.
Joel and Rory were by the mulled wine, Joel standing altogether too close to Callum’s baby brother for a married man, and I saw Shiv, Callum and his parents, talking to a group of what I assumed were family friends, all of them engaged in different levels of crossing conversation.
The two exes stood side by side with smiles on their faces, both laughing at something said by a woman in a velvet Santa hat, and when their eyes met, I saw – no, felt – something pass between them.
A lifetime of shorthand, of stolen glances and secret code.
‘Don’t feel too bad,’ a voice said over my shoulder. ‘Everyone knows they were meant for each other.’
Elsie appeared at my side, contemplating the scene in front of us. She didn’t even sound that pleased with herself, more wistful than anything.
‘It was a shit move on his part to bring you up here. But that’s Cal. Won’t have even occurred to him how you might feel about watching him flirting with his ex right in front of your face.’
‘They’re just talking.’ I forced the words out my mouth. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Between us, I’m no happier about this than you are. Shiv deserves better.’ She moved in between me and the happy couple, blocking my view entirely. ‘When she came back from London, she was devastated. We’ve been friends our whole lives but she refused to even talk to me about it.’
‘Funny that. What with you being such a sensitive soul.’
She scoffed, sticking her hands in the pockets of her wax jacket.
‘This is me trying to be nice. Whatever is going on with them, the fact remains, you’re a rebound, hun. Sorry I have to be the one to tell you.’
‘You don’t sound very sorry,’ I said, hands curling into tight little fists as my sides.
‘Well, that’s because I’m not,’ she replied breezily. ‘I don’t really care about you either way, but I’m in no rush to have my arsehole brother home either.’
My fingernails pressed against the spot where I’d cut my palm on the skipping stone and I winced at the sting.
‘Between you and me, why do you hate him so much?’ I asked. ‘Did he pull your pigtails too many times when you were kids?’
‘This is how I know you don’t understand my brother at all.’ She pointed a finger in his direction, punctuating every word with a little jab. ‘He might come off as charming but he’s selfish and thoughtless, always has been. Left me here to run the family farm alone, no concern for what I want.’
‘No one’s making you do it,’ I said, the line between Laura and Caroline blurring until I couldn’t tell the difference. ‘Callum left, you could leave. Stop being such a martyr.’
‘If I don’t, who will?’ Her voice grew louder, drawing the attention of a small gaggle of nanas in their Christmas best at the side of us. ‘Callum wants no part of it, Rory’s spoiled rotten, indulged for twenty-four years straight and hardly knows his arse from his elbow. I’m the only one left.’
‘Then that’s you making your choice same as they’ve made theirs,’ I said. ‘You can’t live your life for other people, even if they’re your parents. If you hate the farm so much, why don’t you leave?’
Her blue eyes burned. ‘Did I say I hate it?’
I took in the fury on her face, the contradiction in her tone.
‘You said you’re only running it because Callum left.’
‘Because no one ever asked me if I wanted to run the farm,’ she said, seething. ‘I’m better at it than he ever would’ve been but what does that matter? I’m still the runner-up, the last resort. No one cares what I want, they only care about Callum.’
It was too much. Callum tying himself up in knots because he didn’t want the responsibility of the farm, Elsie twisting herself into something so bitter because no one had offered it to her.
‘Can you even hear yourself?’ I said. ‘How is any of this Callum’s fault? If anyone is to blame it’s your dad. Be angry at him.’
‘You don’t understand,’ she spat. ‘You don’t get it.’
Maybe not, but I did know what denial looked like and Elsie was a classic case.
‘Look, you’re right, I don’t understand.’ I lowered my voice, maintained eye contact, softened my expression. ‘But carrying around all this anger and resentment can’t be fun for you. If you wanted to talk to someone, I could recommend some people, some resources.’
Apparently this was not the right thing to say.
‘How dare you?’ She said with a sneer. ‘You arrogant cow. You don’t walk into my house and try to tell me how to feel about my family. What gives you the right? I take it back, I’m not sorry he’s using you. You’re as bad as him, you deserve all you get.’
My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. So many people were watching now, Callum included.
‘I was only trying to help,’ I said, unexpectedly emotionally bruised. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You think you know better, just like him,’ she snapped. ‘Well, you don’t. Maybe you think it’s fine to be a smug, self-obsessed vegan—’
‘What is so wrong with being a vegan?’ I interrupted. ‘I know you’re a dairy farmer but—’
But Elsie raised her voice to talk over me. ‘Some of us choose to put other people’s needs ahead of our own. I put my family before myself. Callum is incapable and, judging by what I’ve seen of you, you’re the same. Either you were raised by selfish arseholes or your parents must really hate you.’
That was enough. That was more than enough.
‘You’re the one who doesn’t know what she’s talking about,’ I yelled, the ability to moderate my volume completely out the window.
‘You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me, or my family, and if you did, you’d feel fucking dreadful about what you just said.
Or maybe you wouldn’t, I don’t know, the basic laws of common decency seemed to have passed you by entirely.
Maybe Callum is selfish, maybe he did put his own wants and needs first, and you might not like that, your parents might not like that, but he’s the one who has to live his life, not you and not them. ’
Panting for breath, I prepared for the final blow, Elsie practically swaying back and forth in front of me. Finish her, whispered a videogame voice in my head.
‘Stop complaining that Callum only thinks about himself when you’re just as bad.
You don’t really care about Shiv or your dad, you’re pissed off because you think they don’t care about you.
You’re angry because you believe they’ll choose your brother over you.
That’s not his fault, hun. Take it up with them. ’
Silence.
The entire town hall was utterly silent.
Joel and Rory stood still, cups of mulled wine held halfway up to their mouths.
On the other side of the room, Derek, Lizzie and Shiv stared at us in various states of shock.
What was happening? Why did I feel so out of control?
Closing my eyes, I tracked the sensations in my body.
An influx of adrenaline and cortisol left me light-headed as my amygdala shot off panic signals to the hypothalamus.
I needed to breathe, I needed to calm down.
I needed to apologise. I opened my eyes, not sure where to begin, but Elsie was no longer in front of me.
A tall, barrel-chested body with auburn hair that fell in front of dark blue eyes stood between us, looking down at me.
‘Callum,’ I began, filtering through the millions of different apologies I needed to give.
But he didn’t give me time to even try. Grabbing my face with both hands, Callum pressed his lips to mine with hard and bruising pressure. He was kissing me. He was kissing me like he meant it.
‘Callum,’ I said his name again when we broke apart, barely breathing sound into the words, trapped in his gaze, my hands gripping his wrists as my legs weakened beneath me.
‘Caroline,’ he replied, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, he leaned down again, tilting my head backwards before our lips met again.
Caroline.
He was kissing Caroline, not Laura.
But my heart still swelled around the knife he plunged into it and as my mouth opened to his, the rest of the world vanished without a trace.