Chapter 8 #2
Huh, I think, my eyes returning to the windows.
To the sunlight bouncing off the water, and the fishing boats bobbing on the swell.
I already feel so comfortable here, truthfully more at home than I do in my own flat.
It’s like a load has been lifted, getting away from London, escaping into this tiny place on the edge of nowhere.
I hear Brody moving around upstairs, not looking happy as he emerges into my room. ‘How come,’ he asks seriously, ‘a kid from Scotland has his walls covered in posters of the Dallas Cowboys?’
‘I have no clue,’ I reply earnestly. He looks genuinely flummoxed. ‘Would it be better if it was the Chicago, uh, Antelopes?’
‘Bears!’ he says scathingly, shaking his head. ‘And that would be even weirder… you know there’s only one bathroom?’
‘How many do you need?’
‘It’s just different than what I’m used to in the States is all,’ he explains. ‘This is small. I’ve already cracked my head on the beams a dozen times.’
‘Poor baby. It obviously wasn’t built for giants.’
He humphs, and I stare at a framed poster of a quote. The small print at the bottom tells me it’s Robbie Burns, from ‘Ae Fond Kiss’:
But to see her was to love her; Love but her, and love for ever.
I sigh a little. ‘It’s a nice thought, isn’t it?’ I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder. ‘I wonder if it can ever be true…’
He reads the quote, sadness flickering over his face. ‘Yeah,’ he replies quietly. ‘It can be true.’
He heads back downstairs without another word, and when I join him there I notice he hasn’t moved his suitcase at all, it’s still where he left it in the kitchen. I say nothing.
I’m in the middle of putting the kettle on, rummaging for tea bags, when there’s a knock on the door. Brody is immediately alert, and I wonder how much tension a job like his must leave in a person. Constantly seeing the dark side of life, his fight-or-flight responses off the charts.
He strides to the door, keeping me behind him, but by the time we peer outside there’s nobody there.
Just two boxes abandoned on the step. I lean down, and find that our mystery benefactor has left us milk, bread, cheese and bacon.
Plus a four-pack of Guinness and a bottle of red wine.
There’s also a stack of chopped firewood.
I point at the Guinness. ‘That’s for you,’ I announce. ‘The wine is mine, all mine!’ I let out a supervillain laugh, and he looks at me like I’m crazy.
Without a word, he takes everything inside.
He starts making a fire, and I get to work on cheese on toast. Within minutes, we’re warm, settled at the table, and indulging in our feast. ‘This is good,’ he says, after taking a few bites.
He is devouring it, and I guess he eats a lot more than me.
He probably eats a lot more than most people.
‘Well, even I can’t mess up cheese on toast!’ I reply. It’s nice watching him tuck in, giving me an unfamiliar warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. He pauses, looks across at me.
‘Even you? Why do you say that?’ he asks, frowning. ‘Why are you so down on yourself?’
I blink at him, suddenly self-conscious. I look away, too embarrassed to meet his eye. I want to argue, but don’t have the confidence – which I guess just proves his point. I stand up, ignore his question, and go to run myself a glass of water. I turn my back on him, and hope he leaves it alone.
He doesn’t.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you, Kate. I just… I don’t like the way you sometimes apologise just for being you. You should never have to apologise for being yourself.’
Ah, what a wonderful idea. Completely alien to me, of course, but still a fantastic concept.
At this point I should crack a joke, make light, deflect.
I should lie, or tell him to back off. He’s a stranger, a man who crossed my path at random.
He’s not a friend or confidante, or someone I owe an explanation to.
Except lying would feel wrong, somehow, here in this place – here in Moira’s home.
I followed my heart here because I needed something more from life, I needed a fresh start.
So what would be the point of making the same old mistakes?
Of hiding, of pretending, of letting myself become invisible again?
The words from Moira’s card suddenly pop into my head. It’s not your fault, you know. You did everything that you could, and we all deserve a second chance.
It won’t be much of a second chance if I don’t embrace this – if I don’t open up, address the past, even embrace a different future.
‘I had a bad marriage,’ I reply simply, sitting back down across from him.
‘Not always, obviously, but certainly for the last few years. He was unhappy, I think. Either with himself or with our life together, or maybe both. But he took it out on me. Not physically,’ I add quickly, seeing a glimmer of something feral cross his face.
‘But emotionally. Verbally. He criticised everything I did, made me feel like I was useless. Nothing I ever did was enough for him. Eventually, I suppose, I just started to believe him.’
He nods, thinks it through. ‘I get that. We soak up what’s around us. You’re divorced now?’
‘I am. And not just from him. From everything… from being happy, from being involved, from having the kind of life I want. It’s like when he left, after years of all of that subtle rejection, all those mind games, I was just too battered to see myself as anything but a failure. He moved on. I got stuck.’
‘Is that why you came here?’ he asks, his voice calm and gentle. ‘To help you move on?’
‘I suppose it is. Not that I planned it, or actively went looking for it. The book the card was in, it literally jumped off a shelf and clonked me on the head! It was like it was… meant to be, somehow.’
I feel embarrassed as I say the words. Brody isn’t the kind of man who buys into the mystical, I’m guessing. Except he is here, just like me, doing something eminently un-sensible. ‘What about you?’
He drinks some Guinness, and gives a crooked half smile. A smile from Brody, I already know, is rare, and a half is better than nothing.
‘Yeah, well. I’m here because I’m trying to prove to my twenty-two-year-old daughter that she doesn’t need to be my caregiver. That I have my own life. Which in all honesty, I don’t.’
He looks away quickly, as though he’s wishing he could snatch the words back. I reach out across the table, and lay my hand over his. ‘It’s okay. This is a safe place. I won’t tell anybody you’re not as tough as you look.’
He tenses beneath my touch, and snatches away his hand.
‘In my experience there’s no such thing as a safe place. But thanks. You gonna stay here a while then?’
‘I have two weeks booked off work, so yes, I think so. I really don’t have anything to rush back for. I think this might be good for me, and it certainly seemed to cheer Moira up. I’ll give it a go. I have nothing to lose, and it might be really positive.’
‘I admire that, Kate, I do. But something about this feels off. Me and you here, together like this. You don’t know me. Aren’t you worried about being trapped with a man you’ve only just met? I could be some kind of sicko!’
‘Are you?’ I ask, raising my eyebrows. It says a lot about my survival techniques that it hadn’t even occurred to me. Odd, yes, and possibly a little awkward – but not dangerous.
‘Nope, but that’s exactly what a sicko would say.’
‘You don’t give off that vibe. Plus, you’re a police officer!’
‘Jesus! How the hell have you lasted so long? Maybe I’m lying. Maybe I’m not who I say I am. And even if I am – not all cops are good men, you do know that don’t you?’
His tone now strikes me as slightly patronising, and he’s shaking his head at me like he’s dealing with a toddler.
I suspect he’s feeling vulnerable. He’s shared too much, and he doesn’t like it.
But I’ve been here before, taking grief from men because of their own problems, and I’m not about to start repeating the cycle.
‘I do,’ I reply coldly. ‘You only have to watch the news to understand that. But I’m also not a child, Brody.
I’m not so naive. Believe me, I know the world can sometimes be a cruel place.
I just choose not to work on the assumption that it always is, either.
So stay if you like, leave if you like – I’ll be just fine without you! ’
That all came out a little more assertively than I’d planned, and I stand up to clear the dishes, then go and warm my hands by the fire.
It’s not especially cold any more, but it’s comforting anyway, in the way that log fires always seem to be.
I love how they pop and crackle, the curl of the flames and the bright jump of the sparks.
He manages to wash the dishes in an angry way, and I fear for the plates. ‘I’m just saying, Kate – you should be more careful.’
Right. Well. Even if he’s right, I don’t want to hear it. I’ve spent too much of my life caring about what men think I should do.
‘I’m going out,’ I say, after a few moments of contemplation. ‘I think I’ll go and check out the music night. If you’re gone when I get back, I understand. It’s been nice meeting you, Brody.’
I hear one of the plates smash as I grab the wine and leave.