Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-four
And so next day, while Dad is eating his egg and toast, Oliver arrives and off we go. As the ferry leaves the mainland, he tells me how he spent his fiftieth birthday last week, taking up the floor of Suki’s bathroom. ‘That doesn’t sound like the right way to mark your half-decade,’ I suggest.
‘Well, I didn’t want any fuss.’ He chuckles.
I look at him and smile. We’re standing on the deck, the wind whipping across our faces, the sky a wash of sheer blue. ‘You sounded exactly like my dad there!’
‘It’s true though. But actually, I did have a nice day. I FaceTimed the boys. The three of us are having a week together in October, so …’
‘And d’you know where you’re going to settle?’ I ask. ‘You seem to be moving around a lot …’
‘It’s the nature of the job,’ he replies. ‘And if there’s no accommodation on site, then it’s usually a budget hotel. But yeah, I do need to find a permanent place. I’m thinking somewhere up north, but not too far. Somewhere close to Suki’s cabin, maybe. A little cottage.’
I nod, taking this in. ‘You wouldn’t mind being so remote?’ On your own, is what I mean.
‘I know people in the area,’ he says, ‘involved with the squirrel watch and the red kite feeding programme. There’s a lot going on out in the wilds, you know,’ he adds with a wry smile, and I smile back.
‘Sounds like it.’ An easy silence settles as the ferry approaches the island. Although the day is clear and bright, a wispy low cloud has now shrouded the jagged peaks. We’ve brought my car rather than Oliver’s Land Rover. It seems important to be the guide today, rather than a passenger. From our numerous family day trips I know the island well. So we start by driving to the village of Lochranza, with its ruined castle and sparkling bay, where we watch seals, speckled grey and almost indistinguishable from the rocks they’re basking on. Then we head inland, following winding lanes bordered by lush green fields.
We stop off at Brodick Castle, and as we stroll around the manicured grounds, I tell Oliver that my fiftieth birthday is approaching too. ‘So, are you planning anything?’ he asks.
I shake my head. ‘I’d thought about a little party at the house. But I don’t know. With Frank gone …’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘This must be really hard for you.’
I blow out air and look at him. ‘There are more important things coming up than my birthday,’ I say, although I know that’s not what he meant. ‘What d’you fancy doing next?’ I’m keen to veer away from the subject.
‘I’m up for anything. Any ideas?’
‘We could do a hike?’ I suggest. ‘If you’re feeling energetic?’
‘You don’t mean climbing Goat Fell, do you?’ He smiles and his eyes widen; clear and blue, catching the sun.
‘No, nothing as ambitious as that. But there’s a walk I know, and the perfect little pub halfway round.’
‘Sounds great,’ he says. And so we park close to the start of the footpath, and as we walk I feel it again: how easy he is to be with. And how, separated now from the mainland by water, I can almost pretend that my life is normal, and that nothing sad or worrying has happened at all. I’m just exploring Arran with a friend. Because Oliver is a friend now; something separate from my family, from the rest of my life.
We stop to admire the glorious sweep down to the shore. ‘You know this island really well, don’t you?’ he remarks.
‘Pretty well, yes. We brought the kids here all the time.’
His gaze skims the incredible view: sparkling blue water, dotted with a few sailing boats, and the ferry making its way to the mainland. With Kilmory Cottage so full of people and noise, the sense of calm openness here is blissful.
‘You mentioned your childhood was unconventional,’ I say. ‘That time at Suki’s cabin, remember?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Oliver nods.
‘I hope I’m not prying,’ I add. ‘I’m just curious—’
‘It’s more that Suki and I were pretty much free range,’ he says.
‘You mean your parents didn’t take care of you?’
‘Oh, they loved us,’ Oliver says. ‘But they were busy doing their own stuff. Away a lot on their travels, having adventures. We had horses and land and everything we wanted really, apart from anyone caring about what we got up to.’
‘That sounds …’ I hesitate. ‘Kind of sad.’
Oliver shrugs. ‘It was all we knew really. But yes, we did compare ourselves to our friends and it was obvious that in our family, things were different.’ That might explain why Suki wants everything picture-perfect, I reflect. The cabin covered in fairy lights. Lyla’s pregnancy being a wonderful thing, right from the start.
‘D’you think it affected you?’ I ask.
Oliver looks at me, seeming to turn this over in his mind. ‘I’d say me and Suki did everything we could to have incredibly settled and conventional family lives. I mean, we both wanted to keep our marriages together. But our partners had other ideas.’
‘I’m probing way too much. I’m sorry …’
‘It’s okay, honestly.’ He looks at me then, and something seems to turn inside me. We are sitting in perfect silence. There’s not a sound; not a bird’s call or the whisper of wind through the trees. I take a breath, about to speak, when I realise how closely we’re sitting, shoulders touching.
And I start to tell him that I haven’t known how to be, with Frank, or Eddie. I haven’t been able to ask my son about the baby, or how he feels about impending fatherhood or anything that really matters. ‘My grandchild’s growing every second and I haven’t been able to talk about it.’ It comes out in a rush. ‘Oh, I have my friends of course. But I don’t want to go on about it, you know? And what is there to say really?’ And the person I really want to talk to has gone, I reflect.
‘It’s natural to want to help and be involved,’ Oliver says. ‘Y’know, Suki feels pushed away by Lyla sometimes. But she keeps clinging on. My sister’s not one to let go, as you might’ve gathered …’ He smiles knowingly and I laugh, feeling better already.
‘I’m not expecting to decorate the nursery or buy mobiles or be involved in discussions about names,’ I add.
‘Well, I think it’d be a very nice thing, to buy a mobile.’
I look around at his handsome face, lightly weathered and tanned, his blue eyes bright. ‘I will then,’ I announce. ‘I’m going to buy a mobile, before the baby’s even born!’ I stop then. ‘Is that bad luck? To buy a present before the baby’s arrived?’
‘Honestly, I have no idea …’ Oliver smiles. ‘I don’t think so—’ And then he stops, and I don’t know what happens – how things change or how it starts. Only that it does.
We look at each other and then we kiss, Oliver and I. My head spins and everything else fades from my mind: Frank, my family, my life at home. Dad and his quiz show. Worrying about my son or his future or any of that. We are just here, perched on a rock on the hillside, the mountains’ jagged peaks behind us and the iridescent blue of the sea below. I feel giddy and reckless as the kiss goes on and on. Then we stop and Oliver looks a little taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected that either.
‘Oh,’ is all I can say.
‘Oh,’ he repeats, smiling now. His is gaze is on mine and he pulls me in for a hug. I don’t feel guilty about the kiss, or even guilty about my lack of guilt. We just sit together in comfortable silence, gazing down to where the lush green of the island meets the glittering sea. And then, still without saying anything – because there’s no need – we get up and stroll, hand in hand, back along the winding path, down the hillside. The plan to stop off at the pub has been forgotten. Hours have spun by without us noticing.
As we climb into my car, I’m still a little stunned. What have I just done? I’ve kissed Oliver! We drive onto the ferry in silence and stand on deck as it carries us back to the mainland, and my home. And we talk about ordinary things as if nothing has happened. Oliver’s environmental projects and plan to settle in Perthshire, and my life as a librarian in a sleepy seaside town. It’s as if we are simply heading home after a day out.
As I pull up outside Kilmory Cottage, I ask Oliver if he’d like a coffee, or something to eat, before he heads to his hotel. I realise how much I want him to say yes.
‘That’d be nice,’ he says. ‘If you’re sure that’s okay?’
‘Of course it is,’ I say.
We step into the house. ‘Eddie? Lyla?’ I call out. They’re not downstairs, and Dad isn’t either. ‘Dad? Are you home?’ I check the back garden, then come back inside. I look at Oliver and frown. There’s a noise at the top of the stairs, and I go through to the hallway and see Eddie standing there.
‘Eddie, hi!’ His eyes are wide, his face gaunt. Can he possibly know what’s happened today? Do I look different somehow?
‘Mum—’ he starts.
‘Have you seen Granddad, love?’ I ask.
‘Gone out. Something about powders?’ he says distractedly. ‘At the chemist? Said he’s gone to have it out with them …’
‘Oh, God,’ I groan and turn to Oliver. ‘They keep including this laxative stuff with his prescription. It enrages him. He acts like it’s a personal affront—’
‘Mum!’ Eddie says, more forcefully this time.
‘What is it, love?’ I ask as Lyla appears beside him, looking shaken. And now I realise that something is wrong. Something is happening.
‘Carly?’ Lyla looks down at me, chalk pale. ‘I’ve had this thing. I’m sorry. It’s all on the bed, it’s a mess …’
‘What?’ I cry out.
‘This sort of … flood. I think my waters—’
‘We think Lyla’s waters have broken,’ Eddie announces.
Oliver and our kiss; it all disappears from my mind in a blink as I hurry upstairs towards them. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Just now.’ Eddie’s eyes are round with fear. ‘ Literally just now, before you came in …’
‘Okay,’ I say, telling myself to stay calm. ‘Lyla, we need to get you to—’
‘We know that, Mum. We know,’ Eddie says firmly. Then my boy who flung Quality Street around the living room takes his girlfriend’s hand and says, ‘C’mon, Lyles. Come downstairs, darling. Don’t be scared. Everything’s going to be okay – but we need to get you to hospital right now.’