Chapter 7
SEVEN
brODY
Our walk to go and see the mysterious Moira coincides with a spell of sunshine, and makes me feel a million times better.
The simple act of moving my body eases the pain I’ve been struggling with all day.
As ever, once it’s retreated, I wonder why I was such a giant baby about it.
I have to admit I’m glad to get away from Xander too and the eyes he was no doubt making at Kate…
even though it’s none of my business who makes eyes at Kate, or how much she might enjoy it.
We left the bags at the pub, and now we’re maybe halfway up the ‘hill’ that the fisherman mentioned.
It’s less of a hill, and more of a mountain, and my thighs are feeling the strain.
It’s a good ache, though, one I’ve earned.
Kate talks a lot more than I do, and barely seems to be noticing the climb – there’s no sign of oxygen depletion, and she’s nimble as a goat.
She’s thin, I couldn’t help noticing in the inn.
Not in a supermodel way, just in a maybe-skipping-meals way. Again, none of my business.
She suggests a break when we see a small wooden bench, and we both settle for a moment. I stare out at the panorama before us, and let out a slow whistle. It really is a knockout view. Endless sea, curving cliffs, green and yellow and blue stretching into infinity.
‘Beautiful isn’t it?’ she says, a small smile on her lips. ‘I love the little yellow flowers on the cliffs. Gorse, I think it’s called. Probably there’s heather too. It looks like the whole hillside is a rainbow.’
‘Yeah. It’s terrific.’
‘Is it what you imagined? You know, when you found the card, and let yourself picture it?’
‘The place, yes. The circumstances? Not so much.’
She laughs lightly, a delicate tinkle, a sound I could get used to.
‘Good job you have excellent company to make up for it then,’ she replies.
I look at her face, and she immediately blushes.
I should say something cute right now, I know.
I should agree with her, or at least make a joke.
I don’t, because I’m an asshole like that, and I’m finding I like it when she blushes.
I stand up, and she joins me, trotting along at my side as we follow the winding path higher and higher.
We find the place at the very top, a modern building on one level, set up with ramps and rails.
Me and my brothers added the same things at my mom and dad’s last year, after my pop had a small stroke.
The garden outside the house is neat and tidy, and comes complete with a pretty damn terrifying collection of garden gnomes.
Evil little bastards, with their fishing rods and their smirking faces.
Kate thinks differently, pointing at them and clapping her hands.
Of all the weird things she’s done since we met, this is the worst. She actually seems to like them. What the hell is wrong with people?
I ignore the gnomes, and bang on the door. Nothing. I knock again. After a few seconds, there’s a female voice, shouting: ‘Hold your horses, I’m not Usain bloody Bolt!’
The door opens, and a tiny woman with short grey hair answers. She peers up at me, a tough look on her face. She’s wearing an apron, and it’s covered in flour. She reminds me of one of the gnomes, and I take a step back.
‘Hi!’ says Kate, taking over. ‘We’re here to see Moira? Is she at home?’
‘Where else would she be?’ the old lady snaps, staring at us both like she’s about to stab us.
‘Are you selling something? Are you from the government?’ She spits the last word out like she’s swearing.
Stick this old dame in a trailer in Arkansas and you’d be expecting her to whip out a sawn-off shotgun and chase us away.
‘No, no, nothing like that,’ Kate assures her, glancing at me as she speaks. ‘I know he looks scary, but he’s actually very nice…’
‘Scary?’ the gnome woman repeats, sneering as she inspects me. ‘I’ve seen worse at the fish market. Right. Well. You’d better be coming in then. I suppose you’ll be wanting tea…’
She turns her back, and Kate and I share a look. What the hell? Kate smooths down her hair, and walks right in. Shit. I suppose I don’t have any choice in the matter.
We go through into a room that is warm, and filled to the ceiling with little pottery figurines.
Cats, dogs, Victorian children, and a collection of hideous little mugs in the shape of faces.
They’re on every surface, every shelf, in glass cabinets, all staring at me with malice.
Jesus. It’s a house of horrors. My tastes run more to the minimalist – couch, recliner, big-screen TV.
Over by the window, another woman sits in a wheelchair.
She’s younger than the first one, but clearly shares the same genetics.
Silver hair, sharp green eyes, a hand-crocheted shawl laid out over her knees.
The window looks out over the bay, and I have to admit, it’s even better than a big screen TV.
‘Visitors, Moira!’ the other lady yells from elsewhere, her voice carrying all the warmth of an Alaskan winter.
Moira watches us curiously, offering a small smile as she makes her assessment. Her legs are completely still, one slipper hanging loosely from an immobile foot. She waves us closer.
‘Visitors! How splendid! You’ll have to pull a chair over, I cannae get up to greet you. I’m sorry about my sister Joanne. I’d make an excuse for her, but the truth of the matter is she’s just a nasty old biddy!’
I drag over two chairs, as Kate splutters: ‘I’m sure that’s not true!’
‘Oh, aye, it is, darling,’ Moria replies firmly. She leans closer, like she’s about to share a secret, and whispers: ‘Have you ever seen that film, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?’
I have. It was horrific – a tale about one sister holding her disabled sibling hostage. Is this for real? Does this woman need help? Should I call the local cops, or just get her out of here right now?
She lets out a cackle, slapping her thighs with glee. Right. She was joking. Brits have a weird sense of humour.
‘Come on, sit down – don’t make me get a crick in my neck looking up at you! My, you’re a big one aren’t you?’
I sit, barely fitting on the damn stool. ‘I guess so. Just the way I was born.’
‘Oh, your poor mother!’ she replies, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She doesn’t seem all that broken to me, but I know appearances can be deceptive. ‘Now, what can I do for you both? I’m intrigued – it’s not every day I get such exotic guests!’
Joanne bustles into the room in a flurry of flour and disapproval.
She lays out a tea tray on a small table, glares at me, then leaves.
She pauses on the way out of the room, adjusting one of the mugs with faces – now it’s looking at me with dead ceramic eyes, and I wonder if there’s a spy cam hidden in there.
I shiver a little, and hope nobody noticed.
‘They’re called Toby jugs,’ Moira tells us, obviously noticing. ‘Horrible aren’t they? Joanne and her late husband used to collect them for some reason. Anyway. You two look like you have a story to share, and I have nothing else to do, so why don’t you pour us some tea and we’ll get started?’
She’s looking directly at me as she says this, and I feel the power of her command.
She might be old, and she might use a wheelchair, but she still packs a punch.
Kate tries to hide a snigger as I stand up and deal with tiny porcelain cups that look like a doll’s tea set in my hands.
I’m more of a coffee guy, but saying that here would be like announcing I worship Satan.
As I sit back down on the stupid chair, cup balanced on my knees, Kate rummages around in her purse, and produces her card.
‘Moira, both of us found these cards hidden inside books. And both of us… well, both of us came. We went to the bookshop, but…’
‘It was closed,’ Moira finishes for her, a world of sadness in her voice.
‘Oh dear. I suppose I’d given up hope. We sent those cards out four years ago now, and to start with I expected someone to arrive every day.
Every time the bell tinkled and the door opened, I’d think it was somebody like you, taking us up on our offer.
I was trying to pay it forward, you see. ’
The phrase sounds odd on her lips, in her accent. It’s the kind of thing you’d hear on a self-help show in the States.
‘It was Angus’s idea,’ she continues, sipping her tea, hands trembling slightly.
‘My husband. Before he died, we came up with this silly plan. Invite people to Bonnie Bay. Offer to host them, put them up in our wee cottage, with no expectations of anything in return, just for them to enjoy this beautiful place. And after, I wrote the cards, and my grandson Robbie and I sent them out into the world. Robbie… well, he doesn’t live here any more.
There’s not a lot here for the young folk, and he got a job in Australia a few years ago.
I wish he was here to meet you. And I wish you’d had a different welcome – I’m so very sorry! ’
She’s on the edge of tears, and it breaks my heart. So much for the interrogation. Kate jumps up and runs over to her, wrapping her up in a hug.
‘It’s okay!’ Kate says, keeping hold of her papery-skinned hands as she backs off. ‘We’ve had a great time so far! We met Ginny, and I drank Guinness, and Brody got humped by a spaniel, and there was this guy called Xander…’
‘Oh, aye, he’s a treat for the eyes isn’t he?
’ Moira replies, gathering herself. ‘And Betty only does that to people she really likes, I can assure you. But still, I’m sorry.
It’s a cruel trick that fate has played on us, eh?
I spend years waiting for a lost soul to turn up with one of those cards, and then I get two at once – just when I can’t do anything to help you! ’
‘We’re not lost souls,’ I say, hating the whole concept.