Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
K irsty zipped around Seaview Café like a bee on a sugar buzz, smartphone in hand, snapping away at the wall of regrets. ‘Who knew regrets could look so good?’ she muttered to herself, trying to find the right angle to show off the pastel notes and scribbles, presenting each message in a way that told a story.
She didn’t stand out like a black sheep here anymore. Maybe like a grey one. But you couldn’t win an annual pie contest, work in a café, and not get an involuntary notion of belonging, not connect to the community.
Overall, Cairnhaven was less stuffy and awful as she remembered.
But it wasn’t a kailyard paradise. Small towns like this had their fair share of nosy bastards. Too invested in other people’s personal matters. Perhaps she’d become too Londonised, too much of a cow to live anywhere else?
The past week had been a whirlwind of twisted sheets, sweat-slicked skin, and Connor’s lips trailing holy fire across every inch of her body. They’d christened each surface in his flat, the kitchen counter, the shower, the couch, the floor. Her thighs ached, her voice was raspy from crying out his name, and she couldn’t wipe the satisfied smirk off her face if she tried.
Like they were making up for lost time. Like they were on a deadline.
Both of which were true.
She shook her head and focused on the pictures for the café’s Instagram account. Her mum, post-op and stubborn, was supposed to be off her feet. But good luck telling her that. ‘Maw, for the love of lattes, sit down. I’ve got this,’ Kirsty half-joked, half-pleaded.
‘I’m fine, hen.’
‘Stay behind the counter and sit on the chair, will you?’
‘Awright, if it makes you feel better.’
Kirsty let out a small grunt. Her mother couldn’t admit the flimsiest hint of weakness. Always tough as nails. A family trait. Wiping down a vacated table, the reality of the situation sank in. Really in.
What are we gonna do? Hire help? Close the café? Where will Maw and Da live when they can’t get up the stairs anymore?
Questions without answers tumbled in her head like laundry on a spin cycle. Would the Seaview really have to shut? The café hadn’t been her world for years, but now the thought of losing it cut her to the bone. Even though it hadn’t bothered her much in over a decade.
Maybe because she hadn’t allowed herself to be bothered.
Gazing out the window at the small town she once couldn’t wait to escape, it hit her – the café wasn’t just a room in a building; it was the heart of her childhood, a piece of her history and identity she’d left behind and never dealt with.
Then there was Connor.
Ah, Connor. It was like living inside a tornado, debris whipping around her head, the ground yanked out from under her feet. Thrilling, yes, but fuck if she didn’t feel like she’d been tossed in a blender set to purée. A satisfied, well-shagged, worshipped purée, to be fair.
Maisie’s words circled through her head, painting him as a man torn between here and the sea. That was the life he’d chosen for himself for a reason. He’d always be half here, half out there on a rig. Never fully here, never fully hers .
Can you even half-love someone?
Kirsty didn’t have any right to let her thoughts go in that direction. He’d said it – she’d been the one who left first and then had never come back. Her choice.
Picking up a couple of mugs from a table, she looked around the café with its few patrons, at the life and memories encapsulated within its walls, and wondered if she had the strength to walk away again. Not just from the Seaview and her parents, but from him. Leaving everything behind for a second time loomed over her like a guillotine blade, sharp and final.
They hadn’t talked about the future, about what would happen. His leave was ending soon. So was hers. And what exactly was it she wanted from him – a fling? A good time? A – God forbid – relationship of some sort?
The crash of a mug hitting the floor yanked her out of her reverie, the shattered pieces a little too on the nose as a metaphor for her current state.
Her mother shook her head. ‘And I thought your father was the one with the trembling hands.’
‘Inappropriate much?’ Kirsty rolled her eyes at the deadpan family humour. ‘No worries, Maw. I’ll clean it up, you sit down.’
She snatched the broom from the corner, bits of ceramic crunching under her trainers as she swept. The dustpan rattled in her grip.
Probably best to let it run its natural course. But why did the thought of Connor out there on the oil rig and her back in London press on her chest like a giant boulder?
Staring at the ceramic fragments, Kirsty sensed that her feelings for him were as real as the dull throb between her thighs, the finger-shaped bruises on her hips. They weren’t simple or easy. He’d told her he loved her, in a way, and she’d been too stumped to reply. But she had more butterflies for adult Connor than for the sweet boy who’d been her first love.
Then again…his life, designed around his job, left little room for someone else. On purpose, she reckoned. And her life? Rooted in London. The reality of their situation stung sharply. True, they weren’t the same kids anymore. But by no means were they ready for something life-alteringly serious. So, what was it then? A trip down memory lane before reality kicked back in with a steel-toe boot? A blast from the past?
Be careful, Munro, or this blast from the past might not only pulverise your vagina but also blow your heart to smithereens.
As she swept up the broken pieces, the café door’s chime barely registered over the clatter of the thoughts crashing around her head.
That was until a woman’s voice sliced through the din like a knife through Scottish tablet.
A voice that sounded weirdly familiar yet totally out of place.
‘Thought I’d find you here, ass-face.’
Kirsty’s head whipped around.
It can’t be.
Her gaze landed on a petite figure framed in the doorway, flowing long hair the colour of a moonless night, and eyes as dark as a mean espresso. In slacks and a blouse instead of dungarees and a Spice Girls shirt. But other than that like she’d stepped out of a time machine.
‘Lucy?’ The name felt weird on Kirsty’s tongue, like a word from a second language she hadn’t spoken in years. But the rush of warmth in her chest was unmistakably home.
Lucy beamed. ‘Live and in colour.’
‘What on…? No way! Oh my God!’ Kirsty was across the room in three strides, enveloping Lucy in a hug that squeezed the breath from both of them. Clinging to each other like shipwreck survivors reaching shore. ‘What are you… When did you…?’ Kirsty sputtered, brimming with a million questions. ‘Shit, look at you! You’re a real grown-up, Luce.’
‘Only on the outside, I swear.’ Lucy’s laugh was as infectious as ever. She stared down at the broken mug. ‘And you, Kay. Still clumsy and causing trouble in the Seaview, I see.’
‘Trouble? Me?’ Kirsty took her childhood friend’s elbow, pulling her towards their old favourite table at the window. ‘Let’s say we all have our core strengths and smashing things is mine.’
‘Oh my! Look at that! Is that…really wee Lucy?’ Liz Munro asked and limped around the counter on her crutches. ‘Really? That’s so lovely! Come here, love! Look at you. Haven’t changed one bit since you moved to Canada, still that pretty girl.’ She gave Lucy a half-hug. ‘What brings you back home? And how are the parents?’
‘They’re grand. Living in Calgary, both retired now. And I’m taking the reins of an offshore wind farm here in Aberdeen next month. Couldn’t resist the offer. Wind’s better than oil and gas, let’s all be honest here.’
‘See, Kirsty?’ her mother interjected. ‘There are good jobs up here. Real jobs.’
‘I’m aware, Maw. Now sit down and rest your hip as you’re supposed to.’
‘Awright, awright. I’ll let yous catch up.’
Kirsty took her friend’s hand. ‘That’s massive, Luce! Congrats! But staying in Cairnhaven? I mean…it’s Cairnhaven , you know.’
‘Yeah, I’m in the bed and breakfast, the one next to the butcher’s, till I find my own house. Isa mentioned you were back, too. Couldn’t believe it. Fucking serendipity. Last thing I heard was you went to London after I left.’
‘Aye, I’m back. For now. Helping the parents out for a minute.’
Their banter bounced back and forth, easy and comforting. Filling in the gaps – jobs, relationships, travels. Stories of their youth when the world was a playground waiting to be explored. Cliff jumps at the quarry, late-night escapades, staying up dreaming of adventures beyond this sleepy Scottish seaside town.
Lucy leaned in, her grin wide. ‘You know, Kay, I always said you’d do great things. And here you are, managing…the old dive.’
‘Oi!’ Kirsty protested, but the laughter won out. ‘This is an honourable establishment.’
‘Not with you in it, it isn’t.’
Kirsty’s mind wandered. Lucy’s return, her success. Clearly, she’d made something of herself. No surprise there. Could Kirsty say the same about her own life? The obvious answer left her feeling off-kilter. ‘Ever think about what life’s going to throw at us next?’ she mused out loud.
Lucy’s smile was thoughtful. ‘All the time. But I guess it’s not about predicting the storms, right? More about learning to dance in the rain.’
‘Christ. You should print that on a t-shirt and sell it on Etsy.’
Lucy blew a raspberry, as grown-ups with high-profile jobs do.
Kirsty’s phone pinged.
BANNERMAN (11:47 AM) Would you like to come over tonight? I’ll cook. You’re the dessert. Your da said not to send you emojis, so just imagine a wink-smiley and an aubergine.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she couldn’t suppress the heat that spread across her face at the thought of him and their newfound connection. He was so…not shy about it all. He wanted her, and he made damn sure she knew. Unlike the blokes in London, Connor Bannerman wasn’t interested in playing games. It was refreshing, anchoring, and a bit intimidating.
Lucy noticed and arched an eyebrow. ‘Oh my God, Munro. You look flustered. Didn’t think such a thing was possible. Someone special?’
‘Naw. Well, possibly. It’s complicated.’
‘Isn’t that part of the appeal? Complicated is your middle name, Kay. If anyone can handle that, it’s you. You thrive in mayhem and havoc. And hey, if you ever need a partner in crime for cliff-jumping again – literal or metaphorical – I’m your girl.’
Kirsty laughed. Lucy’s presence was a lifeline thrown at the right moment. Unbelievable. ‘What about you, Luce? Anyone in your life?’
‘There was this girl… She was amazing. But didn’t work out in the long run.’ Her eyes clouded. ‘One of the reasons I came back to Scotland. Looking for a fresh start. I know, the irony. Going back to the past to build a new future.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Luce. Whatever she did, I bet she was a cow.’ Kirsty grasped her friend’s hand.
‘Yeah. Or I was the cow, who knows.’
‘Hey, I have to take my mum to physiotherapy. But would you like to go to the pub for a pint tonight?’
‘I’d love to. Now that we’re actually old enough to drink in public.’ Lucy sniggered. ‘And then you can tell me all about your life in London. And these…fascinating complications.’
Kirsty leaned back in her chair, a slow smile spreading across her face. Cairnhaven was growing on her, getting under her skin in a way she never expected. The squabbles over pies, the little glimpses into strangers’ hearts on the wall of regrets, the way the whole town cared. For better or worse. And Connor fucking Bannerman. Now with Lucy back in Scotland, a piece of the puzzle she hadn’t known was missing, everything felt a bit more right. A bit more like home.
Another ping of her phone.
BOSS BITCH (11:52 AM) Are you coming back next week? Talk soon? We have something exciting to discuss!