Chapter Eleven
Cullen
Christmas Eve dawns hot and humid, and when I walk down to Isla’s bach at eleven, the sea breeze is a welcome relief from the unrelenting heat.
I bring a bag with me, but manage to smuggle it into the bach without Max seeing, and tuck it behind the sofa.
Isla is busy packing up a bag for the beach with towels, sun lotion, hats, glasses, a book, a bucket and spade, and the hundred other things parents always seem to need.
When she’s done, the three of us go to the local supermarket and decide we’re going to treat ourselves to whatever we want to eat for the next few days.
After emerging with several big bags, we take them back to the bach, then make up a picnic from some of our purchases.
Isla makes a pile of chicken sandwiches, and I pack up a chilly bin with strawberries, apples, a bag of grapes, a cold bacon quiche cut into slices, a bar of chocolate each, a few packets of chips, and cold drinks, adding the sandwiches in when they’re done.
I carry the chilly bin while Isla carries a bag with everything else, and we walk to the end of the beach near the rocks. We set up the beach umbrella from the bach’s small shed, and Isla spreads out a blanket.
First, we eat lunch, as we’re all ravenous. Then we join forces to make a huge sandcastle, complete with towers and moat, and decorate it with shells. We follow that with a swim, Ghost included, to cool us all down.
When we’ve had enough, Isla and I stretch out on the blanket and chat while Max and Ghost continue to play.
I’m just enjoying our talk when her phone rings.
“Dammit,” she says. “It’s Rob. I’d better take it.”
I get up from the blanket and leave her to talk to him while I play with Max and Ghost in the sea.
I watch her out of the corner of my eye, wondering if she’s missing him, and whether she’ll get upset, but to my relief her expression remains stony, and eventually she ends the call and tosses the phone onto the blanket.
I go back and lower down beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head. “He’s an asshole.” I chuckle, and she blows out a breath and finally gives a wry smile. “He asked where I was.”
“You haven’t told him yet?”
She shakes her head. “I said I’d come up to the Northland, but I didn’t say where. He wanted to join us for Christmas Day. I refused to tell him.”
I’m surprised how relieved I feel. “Oh, okay.”
“I don’t want to see him,” she says fiercely. “I don’t want him corrupting the bay or my time here. Does that make sense? Or is that stupid?”
“No, it makes sense.”
“Really? I’m not being selfish?” She draws up her legs, leans her elbows on them, and covers her face with her hands. “I hate this so much. I feel so guilty. He is Max’s father.” Her fingers curl into fists.
“Does Max want to see him?” I ask gently.
She lowers her hands. I’m glad she’s not crying. “No. He hasn’t talked about him at all. It’s just that Rob knows how to push my buttons. He laid on the guilt with a trowel and said Max was his son and he deserves to see him at Christmas…”
“Isla, part of being a man is recognizing when you feel frustrated with a situation and learning to walk away. It’s never okay to use violence. He knows that—it’s why he’s resorting to blackmail to guilt you into giving him what he wants. But you don’t have to. He doesn’t deserve anything.”
She meets my eyes, and gradually the creases in her brow disappear, and she smiles. “You make me feel better,” she whispers.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“I’m so glad I met you.”
“I’m glad I met you, too.”
I can’t help it—I lean forward and kiss her, pressing my lips to hers once, twice, then a longer third time.
When I finally move back, she glances along the beach and I follow her gaze to see Max throwing a stick for Ghost.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I shouldn’t do that in front of him.”
“It’s okay. I want to kiss you all the time.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s just guilt again. I know I can’t parade a trail of men through his life.”
“You’re planning to kiss other men this week?”
That makes her giggle. “No, of course not.”
But I realize then what she’s thinking. She’s worried about this being a casual fling, because she doesn’t know if I’m staying. Maybe she’s concerned about Max forming an attachment to me if I’m going to leave.
As he comes up and sits next to me to show me an interesting piece of driftwood he’s found, I think it’s probably a little too late to worry about him getting attached.
We’ve already formed a firm friendship, and he loves Ghost. It reminds me of the impact that my actions have on other people.
If I leave, it will affect Max, and Isla, and Archer, and others at the Ark who I would now call friends.
None of us is an island. We’re all like the Ark—connected to everyone there in ways we can’t imagine until we think about it coming to an end.
Hmm. That’s given me food for thought.
I put it to the back of my mind, though, and concentrate on enjoying my time with Isla and her son. We spend the rest of the afternoon playing and swimming, and it’s only when it gets to four p.m. that Max finally starts flagging and declares he’s starving.
Today, he wants mac and cheese for dinner, and I’m more than happy with that, so I help Isla make a big pot of it. We sprinkle it with grated cheese and grill it in the combi oven, and have it with a green salad and some tear-apart bread.
Afterward, we have mince pies and ice cream, and then once Max has had his shower to get rid of all the sand in his hair, we settle down on the sofa—Max in between us—to watch The Muppets Christmas Carol while we nibble on popcorn and Maltesers until we’re all stuffed full.
At eight, Isla tells Max it’s time for bed. He protests, but he’s shattered, and when she reminds him that Santa won’t come until he’s asleep, he finally submits.
We have to organize leaving out a mince pie and a small glass of milk for Santa, and a carrot for Rudolph. I haven’t done that since I was a kid, and I feel a flutter of nostalgia as I see Max’s excitement when Isla points up in the sky to see if they can spot Santa’s sleigh.
“I won’t be able to sleep,” Max insists, although his eyelids are drooping.
“You can have Ghost on your bed, if your mum doesn’t mind,” I suggest.
She tuts, but smiles, and Max is thrilled when the German Shepherd goes into his tiny bedroom and leaps up onto the bed.
I leave Isla to read them both a story, and when I poke my head in afterward, the dog is lying next to him with his head on his pillow, and Max has his arm draped over Ghost’s body, and they’re both almost asleep.
I chuckle, and we go into the living room, Isla closing the door almost shut behind her.
“Phew!” She stretches and yawns. “What a busy day. I’m exhausted.”
I slide my hands into the pockets of my shorts. “I should probably head off and leave you in peace.”
“Aw…” She gives me an impish smile. “You can’t disturb Ghost now.”
“I can come back for him later.”
“Cullen, I want you to stay, if you’d like to. I was just saying that I’m a bit weary. But I’m not too tired for company.”
My stomach flutters with pleasure. “Okay. In that case, I’d love to stay.”
We had a glass of Marlborough sauvignon over dinner, and I also brought a bottle of whisky with me. I pour a splash of that over ice in two tumblers and take them out to where she’s sitting on the deck. I feel comfortably mellow and relaxed.
“I was worried that it wouldn’t feel very Christmassy for Max,” Isla admits as she comes out and sits next to me, “but it’s been an amazing day, and he’s had such a great time.”
“I’m glad.”
“I’ll put his presents into his sack a bit later. I’d already bought most of them, luckily, and my parents gave me a pile, too, so he’ll have plenty to open in the morning.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” I say hesitantly, “but I bought Max a few things.”
She gives a beautiful smile. “Of course not. Why would I mind?”
“I wasn’t sure whether you’d think it was a bit forward, a strange guy buying him stuff.”
“You’re his friend. It was very thoughtful.”
“It’s not much—a jigsaw puzzle with dinosaurs, a German Shepherd plushie, and a copy of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.”
“Oh… you know the way to his heart! He’ll love them all. Thank you, you’re very kind.”
The sun is setting over the hills to the west. It’s clouded over a bit, and the sky is the color of a deep bruise, maroon, green, blue, and yellow. The Met office has said it’s likely to rain tonight, although it should clear by tomorrow.
“Penny for them,” she says.
“I was wondering whether Jack’s up there somewhere, watching us.”
“Are you religious?”
I think about it. “My mum’s Anglican, but my dad’s an atheist. He didn’t want us to go to church and said we should make up our own minds as to what we believed as adults. But Mum used to tell us Bible stories in bed, and we used to say our prayers, and sing carols.”
“That’s not an answer,” she teases.
I chuckle. “I guess not. I think I have faith. Just not religion.”
“Even after what happened with Jack? I thought you were going to say absolutely not.”
“It left me puzzled, I suppose. Maybe I’m more agnostic now—I think we can’t possibly know.”
“Mmm. Me too.” She sips her whisky. “Are your parents still alive?”
“Yes, they’re in Hamilton. I see them a couple times a year, and call every few weeks.”
“You said your mum used to tell ‘us’ stories. You have siblings?”
“Two sisters. They still live in Hamilton.”
“You’re not close to them?”
I look into my glass as I swirl the whisky over the ice. “Not as close as I should be.”
“They know what happened?”
“Yeah.”
“And they’re worried about you?”
“Yeah.”
She leans her head on a hand. “You said you’d lived with someone for a couple of years, but it didn’t work out.”
“Yeah. It was a few years ago now.”
“Why didn’t it work out?”
“I was away too much. The job was very demanding. She found someone else. I don’t blame her.”
“Did you love her?”