Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
I t took Bryan two more days to talk himself into tea with his family. He avoided it for a while by diving deep into solar manuals and wiring. Once the system was online and storing all the glorious summer sunshine, he disappeared down the beach to his favorite secluded hideaway, far from resentful neighbors, but also a safe distance from brown eyes and the witty retorts of American librarians who recognized dyslexia but didn’t judge.
Judgment, he was used to. It was her empathy he didn’t know how to handle.
Finally, though, Sunday afternoon arrived, and he couldn’t hermit any longer. Like a prisoner bound for the gallows, he plodded with heavy, sand-covered boots back to the house. He showered and trimmed his beard, even ironed his best shirt: a paisley number that looked smart with charcoal corduroys. He selected an unopened bottle of Ardbeg Rionnagach and walked the long way through town to reach his parents’ house, trying to relax his shoulders from their preemptive hunch.
It was only a family meal. He’d sat at the same table biting his tongue thousands of times.
Auntie Eilidh would throw barbs at random to keep them on their toes, and everyone else would be polite for the sake of the grandchildren. Maybe Eòghann would be there making wry faces at him across the table like old times. He could do this.
As he dragged himself up the ramp he and his grandad had built for Teàrlach all those years ago, Bryan reached reflexively in his pocket for the worry stone, but of course, the pocket was empty. He hadn’t even picked up the airport fidget spinner, more’s the pity. He could do this, but he’d be doing it alone.
He rang the bell, and two children he knew from photographs raced to the door with a sheep dog he didn’t recognize at all.
“You’re late,” the girl, Sara , complained.
“Your ma said four o’clock sharp,” Bryan told her. She just shrugged.
“You’re ’posed to say, ‘ Fifteen years late,’?” her little brother, Sam , told her.
Christ . They’d indoctrinated the children to hate him.
“Good one,” he replied. “ Your grandad teach you that?”
Sam, grinned and nodded.
“Gran said he wasn’t allowed to say it himself,” Sara volunteered.
“Your delivery was flawless,” Bryan told Sam .
“Have you brought us a present?” Sara asked.
“No,” he admitted, after double-checking his pockets to make sure he didn’t have any sweeties hidden away. “ Should I have?”
They both nodded angelically, with big green eyes that matched Cait’s .
“I’ll try to do better next time,” he promised, and they stood aside to let him in.
“The prodigal son returns,” his younger sister said from the hallway, where she leaned against the wall watching him meet his niece and nephew for the first time.
“El,” he whispered, relieved to see a friendly face, and she opened her arms for him to sink into.
Elspeth was six years younger and had visited him a few times in Glasgow and a few more on Islay over the years, despite his abandoning her the moment he reached his majority. It was El who texted him pictures of the kids, because Ma never quite got the hang of smart phones and Cait said if he wanted to see them, he could join Facebook or come home. It was El who had let him know when Grandad was in a bad way.
She took his free hand and led him into the living room, where his father stood by the fireplace, the same tall, imposing figure Bryan remembered, and yet somehow smaller too.
“Is that my nephew?” Aunt Eilidh called from her corner rocking chair, one of the matched set Bryan’s grandad had made just for her.
“It’s me, Auntie ,” he said, turning to face her. He was stunned to find his blonde house guest kneeling at her side watching Eilidh mend Eòghann’s jumper.
Wes waved at him awkwardly. So then was Grace here somewhere too?
“I hardly recognize you,” Eilidh said.
“The whiskers?” he asked, running a hand over his face, which suddenly felt like teenage scruff instead of the distinguished look he’d been cultivating.
“No, the wrinkles, ha!” his aunt exclaimed, turning to wink at Wesley who looked completely bemused and unsure how to react.
“Those are all new, on account of my house guests,” he teased for Wesley’s benefit.
“How very dare!” Wes said, sitting up in mock outrage.
“He’s always been the cheekiest of the lot,” Aunt Eilidh confided to Wes . “ About time you turned up. The girls in my sewing circle have been threatening to go down to Ladbrokes and bet their pensions on whether you’d come to see me before I’m in the ground.”
His stomach twisted. Had they said the same about Grandad Mac ? He should’ve come back sooner. He hadn’t known how.
“I didn’t realize you were ill, Auntie ,” he tried to tease.
“I’m strong as an ox, but we’re all dying from the moment we’re born, so they say.”
“Well, I’m here now. Who won the odds?”
“I did,” she said, smiling up at him, and when he bent to kiss her cheek, she patted his and murmured, “ The whiskers suit you.”
Bryan’s heart flooded with warmth for the old lady. Maybe he could do this after all. “ What do you think of the Warriors this season?”
“Absolute rubbish, the lot of them. But they’ll win the league, you mark my word.”
“They might, at that.”
Bolstered, he straightened and offered a hand to his father who remained stoic by the fireplace. The great Cameron MacNeil .
His father accepted his hand, and just as Bryan let his guard relax a little, Cameron pointed to his beard and said, “ Still pretending to be your grandfather, I see.”
Bryan bit the inside of his cheek.
“He loved his little mini-me. He was probably with you on the day, instead of us, wherever you were.”
“I was?—”
“It’s fine.”
Biting down harder, Bryan refused to be sucked into an argument. He deserved the rebuke, and anyway, his tongue was tied in knots. He’d worn a beard for as long as he could grow one, not to cosplay as his grandad but as a mask to hide behind. If it made him look like his grandad, well, that was genetics, wasn’t it?
Elspeth pressed a bottle of Belhaven’s Best into Bryan’s free hand, reminding him of the whisky. Robotically he offered the Rionnagach to his father, who accepted it with a quick nod and set it aside.
“Is that my wean?” his mother called, stepping out of the kitchen and wiping her hands on her apron, and Christ , but she looked tinier and older than he remembered, despite El’s pictures.
“You came,” Cait said from over her mother’s shoulder, as Ma pulled him into a hug.
“Told you I would,” he mumbled, as Grace peeked out from behind Cait mouthing sorry , but he was folded in his mother’s arms and anyway, he’d pretty well gotten over the shock of having dinner with Grace and Wesley the minute his dad started in on him .
“I hope you’re hungry,” his mother said. “ I’ve finally perfected the beef Wellington .”
Bryan’s jaw clenched, and he caught Elspeth’s nervous glance. They’d forgotten he was vegetarian, had been since the age of eight, and they all just… forgot. Or didn’t care.
The children were called to wash up, and Aunt Eilidh was heaved from her chair, and everyone gathered around the too-small dining table which had been overflowing with family for as long as he’d been alive. Muscle memory took Bryan to the spot between his mother and Cait , where Sam was pulling out the chair.
“I sit here,” his nephew informed him, so Bryan squeezed in on the other side, between his aunt and little sister, across from Grace , in an uncomfortable folding chair because he was neither family nor company.
He picked up his napkin as one by one the others bowed their heads.
Oh hell.
Bryan closed his eyes, and his father began a safe enough prayer of thanks for the food and for Sara getting over her recent cold and for their guests all the way from Tennessee . But he couldn’t just leave well enough alone. No , not Cameron MacNeil .
“Thank you also for loved ones near and far, especially the return of our beloved son, brother, nephew, and uncle. Guide Ryan’s ”— Bryan flinched—“endeavors, wherever they may take him. Grant him the wisdom, humility, and strength to finish what he’s begun.”
Bryan’s face burned. He couldn’t say whether it was his father’s confidence he would fail or the smell of the beef turning his stomach. His fingers found his pocket, before they remembered he’d lost the worry stone, so they worried the side of his corduroys instead, as he breathed through his mouth.
“What’s this I hear about you tearing down Robbie’s house?” Great Aunt Eilidh asked, passing Bryan the potatoes as soon as his father shut up.
“Not tearing it down, Auntie ,” he mumbled, glancing at Grace and then quickly away. Bad enough he had to be here at all, but with her and Wes to bear witness… he might take back the bottle of Rionnagach and down the whole thing in one sitting.
“That’s what I heard from Nellie Combe down at the shops.”
“You know Nellie Combe’s a mean old telltale,” Elspeth interceded.
“What is your plan, then?” Cameron asked, fixing Bryan with his steady gaze. “ Assuming you have one.”
“Renovation,” was all he could manage. He focused on scooping up potatoes and root veg.
“Pass the gravy to your uncle,” his mother whispered to Sara , who handed him the dish which he immediately passed off to his aunt.
“Renovation, my eye,” Caitriona grumbled. “ The cottage is in perfect condition. Tell me, is there a thing lacking?” she added, turning to Wesley and Grace , trying to pull them into the squabble.
“Cait,” his mother begged.
“Is there?”
“Solar power?” Wes suggested timidly.
“A tub?” Grace asked, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.
Cait’s jaw dropped. “ Has he put you to work again? Can you all believe he put the guests to work? I found this one on the roof just a few days ago. I hope your insurance covers falls, Ry .”
“Pass your uncle a Wellington ,” his mother begged Sam .
“I’m fine, really,” Bryan said, and she looked at his half-empty plate in surprise.
Elspeth glanced between them, then quickly away, and his mother’s face turned stricken. “ Never say you’re still vegetarian?” she whispered.
“It’s all right, Ma . The veg is grand.”
“You said it was a phase,” she said accusingly to Cameron . “ Is that why you look so tired?”
“No.”
“You know, your hero the Crocodile Hunter ate meat. I looked it up once,” his father crowed.
“Okay,” Bryan replied.
“You could’ve said something, Ry . Do you want me to make you some omelet?” Cait offered with a sheepish look for having forgotten.
“No, really, the tatties are fine,” he said. The last thing he wanted was to drag this meal out any longer.
“Pass him a Wellington , Sam ,” his father said. “ He can eat the mushroom.”
Sam’s face instantly fell into a look of disgust, the same as Bryan felt at the thought of scraping out the layer of beef-soaked veg.
“He’ll eat the mushroom,” his mother whispered in shock.
“Omelet’s no trouble,” Cait said, pushing her chair back with such force that it obviously was trouble.
“Cait!” he snapped, freezing her in place. “ I don’t want omelet.”
“Can I have omelet?” Sam asked brightly.
“No,” Cait replied sharply, dropping back to her chair. “ Granny spent all day cooking this feast and you’ll eat every bite.”
“Don’t like mushroom,” the boy grumbled.
“This crust is so flaky,” Grace jumped in before Cait could start really yelling at her son. “ How do you get it so crisp?” she asked.
“That’ll be the egg brushed on the outside of the pastry,” his mother answered, relieved by the change of topic.
“Oh, of course,” Grace said. “ I always forget the egg.”
“It has egg on it?” Sara whined.
“It’s so delicious,” Wes raved. “ Is it a local cow?”
“So, are you back for good then?” Cameron demanded, ending further discussion of animal products.
“That’s the idea,” Bryan said, though right now he’d prefer the floor to open up and swallow him forever.
Cameron nodded. “ Dàibhidh down at the hardware store’s hiring. I imagine you’ll need a job.”
Bryan didn’t answer. He couldn’t think of a single response that wouldn’t sound like a stammering ten-year-old.
“I don’t think the hardware store’s right for him,” Aunt Eilidh volunteered.
“Well, he’s got to do something. Selling Da’s house won’t bring in much, and with no degree and no trade to fall back on he’ll have to take what he can get.”
“I’ve a trade,” Bryan muttered.
“You’re selling the house?” Elspeth asked.
“No.”
“I’ll buy it from you,” Cait said. “ Right now, before you wreck it any further. How much do you want?”
“It’s not for s-sale.”
“If Grandad wanted you to have it, he’d have given it to you,” Elspeth told Cait . “ But I do hate the idea of selling it.”
“I’m not,” Bryan insisted. How could he explain what the old house had meant to him over the years? It was the place he ran to after every argument from the age of six to sixteen. Then Teàrlach had returned from Glasgow with his wheelchair, and Bryan made himself stop running away—up until he ran away for good.
“Do you know football, Uncle Ry ?” Sam asked. “ We need a new athletics teacher.”
“I’d prefer one who taught us tumbling,” Sara griped.
“Football sounds more up Uncle Eòghann’s alley,” Bryan said, although he’d picked up quite a bit from Diego .
“Eòghann’s got a job,” his father said.
“Really, Cameron ,” Ma begged.
“It’s not a judgment, it’s a fact.”
“For Christ’s sake, I’m going to open a distillery,” Bryan exclaimed, and everyone fell silent.
Then Grace jumped up, and suddenly everyone was staring at her instead of Bryan .
“I just remembered. I left a candle burning! I’m so sorry, thank you so much for a… lovely dinner. But I could never forgive myself if my stupid candle burned down your ancestral cottage.”
She gave Wes a look, and the blonde eyed her barely touched Wellington , then picked the whole thing up in her hand. “ I better go with her. She’s the clumsiest person when she’s in a hurry. Be a shame to knock the candle over trying to blow it out,” she finished pathetically.
“Maybe we’ll see you at the Shakespeare later,” Grace told Elspeth .
“I want to go to the Shakespeare !” Sara exclaimed.
“You wouldn’t like it,” Cait told her daughter through gritted teeth as the American Invasion scurried out of Bryan’s childhood home. That was one way of putting him out of his misery, he supposed.
Everyone sat in stunned silence for a moment, and then Sam picked up his Wellington in his hands and prepared to take a big bite like it was a sandwich.
“Absolutely not,” Cait told him.
“She did it!”
“She’s American ,” his sister snarled.
Sam wasn’t the least bit mollified, but he slapped his food down and picked up the fork.
“So, a distillery,” Elspeth said brightly.
“We have a distillery,” Cameron replied, setting down his silverware.
“Islay has nine,” Bryan said.
“Islay’s ten times the size of Barra , so by your logic, we’re all set.”
“Are you going to put the distillery in Grandad’s house?” Elspeth asked.
“The council would never approve it,” Cameron scoffed.
“Wasn’t gonna.”
“Where, then?” Cait demanded.
“S-somewhere else.”
“So this whole idea is more aspirational than anything.” Cameron nodded like he’d suspected it all along.
This was a mistake. Bryan had known from the moment he accepted the invitation. Whoever said you can’t go home again wasn’t kidding. He clenched his jaw tight and pushed the potatoes around on his plate.
“It’s good to have dreams,” his mother said softly.
“Not at thirty-five,” his father argued.
“I dreamed all my teeth fell out,” Sara volunteered.
“I assume family will get to drink for free?” Auntie Eilidh asked.
“He’s lying,” Cait said.
“Why d’you assume he’s lying? He’s been working at Ardbeg for years,” Elspeth jumped to his defense.
“Not about the whisky. About the house. Why would he buy other land for his whisky experiment when Grandad’s place is right there, his for the taking?” she demanded, glaring daggers across the table at him. “ Who would do that? He doesn’t have that kind of capital even after selling the house. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I- I - I —” Bryan stammered.
“Capital!” his father scoffed. “ That’s a good point. How are you going to pay for this so-called distillery?”
“I—”
“Do you have any idea how much it will cost?”
“Let him speak, Cam ,” his mother insisted.
“I have a p-p-p— I know what I’m doing!” Bryan thundered.
Sara immediately burst into tears.
“Jesus, Ry , there’s no need to yell,” Caitriona scolded.
Bryan tried to relax his jaw and turned away from his sister. He took a deep breath, and then another, picturing his grand-father’s worry stone between his fingers.
“Ma, thank you for tea. Auntie Eilidh , I’ll give you all the free whisky you can drink.”
With that, he stood up to leave.
“I made chocolate cake,” his ma said helplessly.
“Give mine to S - S - Sara .”
His niece looked up at him, tears instantly gone. He winked at her and stormed out of the house.
What an almighty unmitigated disaster.