Chapter 9
NINE
brODY
I need to get out of here. This isn’t right. It’s been well over an hour since Kate left, and I’ve spent a lot of that time telling myself to get off my ass, and go.
As soon as she walked out, I got on my phone to see if I could book an Uber. After a battle with the internet signal, I learned that I couldn’t – but I could try and contact a local taxi firm. Nobody answered at that, which doesn’t surprise me.
I see a couple of messages from Shannon though, and end up calling her. We chat over the crackling line, and she fills me in on her adventures, the new people she’s met, the lectures she’s attended. She sounds excited, bubbling over with it, and I try and sound the same.
I tell her about the cottage, and Moira, and the bookshop.
I find myself talking about it the way Kate did, describing her cosy vision of the place, the way she brought it to life with her words.
I also exclude some key information, like the fact I’m considering leaving on the same day I arrived.
I give her the edited version instead, and when I mention Kate, the woman I met on the train, she immediately perks up.
‘What’s she like?’ she asks quickly. ‘Is she hot?’
‘No. She’s in her eighties with a face like your uncle Mickey’s pit bull.’
‘That’s not true is it?’
No, I think. It’s really not. She’s… beautiful, I admit to myself. Tall, masses of dark hair, pretty eyes. Those lips. That smile. But she’s also too much. She makes me feel protective, and I don’t trust my ability to protect anybody right now. I’m too wrapped up in myself.
‘She’s okay,’ I reply. ‘She’s out at some kind of local event.’
‘Really? And why aren’t you there with her? I thought you had friends up there? Or did you go all the way to Scotland to sit on your own and drink Guinness?’
I narrow my eyes, looking from my drink to the phone, wondering if I’m on camera without knowing it.
Nah. I guess she just knows me a bit too well.
I reassure her that I’m fine, that I’ll be meeting up with my pals tomorrow, that I’m having a great time.
That’s what this is all about, right – reassuring Shannon?
By the time we hang up, I feel like a bit of an asshole. This is starting to be a habit of mine. I’m lying to my daughter, and I think it’s just possible that I acted like a jerk to Kate as well.
I replay the day’s conversations in my mind, and see what happened more clearly than when it was happening.
I talked too much, which is not something that I usually get accused of.
I spoke about Sandy to total strangers. I almost cried in front of them.
And then I let myself get sucked into a heart-to-heart with Kate about my motives for coming here.
I feel like one giant exposed nerve right now, all my hurts hanging out in public. Emotionally naked.
Her sadness was too real as well, as she talked so matter-of-factly about what was basically an abusive marriage. A man doesn’t have to hit a woman to damage her, and she is definitely damaged.
It was all too much, and I needed to shut down.
To be alone. But instead of acting like a grown-up and just saying that, or even going off for a walk or whatever, I lashed out.
Spoke to Kate like she was a kid. Probably made her feel like a fool, and made myself look like an overbearing control freak.
This is all too complicated, and I don’t want to deal with it.
I decide I’m leaving, Uber or not. I can walk along to the pub, and find someone I can pay to give me a ride back to town.
Like she said, Kate will be fine without me, and she’s not my responsibility.
I’ll come up with something to tell Shannon – a spontaneous trip to Edinburgh, my fictional friends being called away to a fictional emergency, something will work.
I’ll find a way to let her carry on feeling so light, one way or another – but I can’t stay here.
There are too many sharp-eyed women seeing through my mask.
I finish my Guinness, and check the fire.
There’s an old-fashioned iron guard to put around it, and once I’m sure I’m not going to burn the place down I leave.
I take a final look around, soaking in the cute room, the signs all around of a life well lived.
Yeah. I’ve been here five minutes and already smashed a plate. This is not the place for me.
I leave, and the sound of the sea hits me straight away. Another man, one who wasn’t me, might be hearing a call in that sound – an urge to stay. A plea to give it a chance. Nah, I think, ignoring it. I need out.
I walk up past the community centre by the boatsheds, which is lit up and welcoming. Sea shanties, being sung in a group. The kind of thing you’d call quaint if not for the odd bum note that makes it all feel more real.
Past to the Kestrel, which is empty apart from a few tables of couples and several dogs. I prepare myself for attack if that spaniel is in here, but there’s no sign. Xander is probably down at the centre, singing about the ocean while he looks dreamy.
I look around, seeing that some of the people are clearly tourists.
There are rucksacks, and guide books on tables, and one couple has a set of binoculars.
Probably birders, I think, with a pang of regret.
Two much older guys sitting at the bar are having an intense conversation in a language I don’t really recognise – the odd word comes out in English, but the rest is strange. Maybe it’s just a heavy accent.
‘Hey,’ I say, giving the woman tending bar a nod. She smiles and automatically goes to pour me a Guinness. It seems rude to stop her. One more for the road.
‘How are ye getting on?’ she asks, placing it in front of me as I perch on a stool. ‘I hear you’re at Moira’s. Grand wee place, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah. A grand wee place. Look, is there any way I can get out of here tonight?’
She looks momentarily offended, and folds her arms across her chest. ‘No, you cannae. Peter the Taxi is off duty for the night, and everyone else will be down at the centre, having a few drinks. Suppose you’re stuck with us.’
She huffs at me slightly, and goes off to clean some glasses.
Brody Quinn, international spreader of joy.
I sip my drink, trying to figure out the logistics here.
I don’t want to spend even a single night in that cottage.
It feels too wholesome, too pure… too tempting, I realise, an image of Kate’s smile drifting into my mind like an intruder.
Crazy, but it feels like if I spend even one night here, I might never escape.
It’ll be one of those grim kids’ fairy tales, and I’ll be trapped forever. Jesus. I really am losing my mind.
I finish up, and the barmaid nods tersely at me as I leave.
I stand outside for a few moments, listening to the waves, a cool breeze sneaking inside my jacket.
I get out my phone, google some more cab firms. I find one in Finnsburgh that claims to offer a twenty-four-hour service.
It’ll cost a load, but by this stage I don’t care.
At least I’ll be alone, back in a city, listening to proper night sounds: arguing couples, fist fights in back alleys, car horns. The real stuff.
Back along I go, stuck in some kind of Groundhog Day.
The painted houses. The boatsheds. The community centre.
I pause outside, and notice there’s been an abrupt change of style.
The sea shanties are gone, and someone is banging out that old Bonnie Tyler song, ‘Holding Out for a Hero’, and not doing a bad job of it.
I look through the window, and my eyes pop when I see Kate, mike in hand, hair flying as she sings. She’s kicked off her shoes, and her dress is whirling around her as she moves. She looks like she’s having a whole lot of fun – too much fun.
I quickly scan the appreciative crowd gathered around her, who are cheering and fist bumping as she hits the chorus.
She’s obviously drunk, and I’m looking for predators.
All I see are amused faces, but sometimes the monsters hide in plain sight.
She’s a woman alone in a strange town, and she’s had way too much booze.
She finishes up, and the crowd jump to their feet, clapping and roaring. She gives a little bow and almost falls over. That Xander guy leaps up, and helps her to steady, his hands on her shoulders.
That’s it. That’s too much. Who the hell does he think he is?
Maybe it’s not only his dog who has issues.
I throw open the doors, and stride towards them.
The place is big inside, the walls decorated with old fishing nets and wooden oars, a table laid out with stacks of booze.
A guy is standing to one side, drinking from an actual Viking-style horn, and a small group of women are dancing a jig, arms twined together. This place is crazy.
Kate spots me making my way over, and her eyes go wide. She staggers in my direction, cheeks flushed, smile on full.
‘Brody!’ she announces. ‘My hero! I seem to have run out of wine, I don’t know what happened…’
‘You necked it all,’ Xander says, an indulgent grin on his smug and yeah, undeniably handsome face. ‘Just before you begged us to get the karaoke machine on.’
‘Oh yes, now I remember!’ she says, giggling, her hand over her mouth. ‘I sang so loud, Brody! I sang like nobody was watching!’
Except they were, I think. They were all watching, because why the hell wouldn’t they? And watching is one step away from stalking.
‘You were great,’ I say, taking hold of her. ‘Really great. But I bet you’re tired now. Let’s go back.’ I hate to be the fun police, but sometimes that’s what’s needed to keep somebody safe.
She frowns, and stamps her foot like a teenager. ‘That’s no fun! I want to stay here! I want to sing again – Meatloaf! I want to sing Meatloaf! And I want another drink!’
Xander kicks himself up a notch in my eyes as he shakes his head, giving me a glance as we share a moment of understanding that Kate should probably call it a night. ‘There’ll be other nights, Kate, and anyway, we’ll be finishing up soon.’
That, I can tell from the amount of alcohol flowing, is a downright lie, but it’s one I’m grateful for. I acknowledge it with a nod.
‘Best go and get some sleep,’ he adds, smoothing her hair down from her face. Okay. Now I want to punch him in the gut again. ‘We’re here every week, and I’ll make sure we’ve got some Meatloaf ready for you next time, okay?’
‘Oh. Okay. I suppose I am tired,’ she replies, yawning. ‘It’s been a long day. And anyway, there’s Guinness back home…’
‘Home’. She’s already referring to the cottage as home. Somebody passes her her shoes, and she takes maybe ten minutes getting them on. Man, she is a mess, and she’s going to feel like crap in the morning. I’ll make sure she has some water, and maybe hunt out some Advil for her head.
I slip her slightly shabby coat over her shoulders and hold out my hand.
She takes it, waving goodbye to her new friends as we leave.
The night air is cool, and she shivers slightly.
‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ she asks, looking down at the bay.
The stars have come out, and they’re shining on the water, reflecting on the ripple of the waves.
I nod. No way to argue with that statement.
I lead her down the cobbles towards the cottage, and she talks nonsense at me, tripping and stumbling and laughing at everything. She’s especially amused by a plant pot in the shape of a frog.
We eventually reach the steep path up to the cottage, and it takes us a few attempts to get to the door. This place must be like a ski slope in winter.
Before we go in, she leans against me, then wraps her arms around my neck. She gazes up at me, focusing on my eyes, her body pressed against mine in a way that sets off all kinds of alarm bells.
‘Xander’s nice isn’t he?’ she asks, smiling.
‘Yeah. He’s a prince.’
‘He’s not as nice as you though. Or as hot, really. He’s pretty, you’re… oh, what’s the word? My gran used it about Charles Bronson… rugged! Yes, you’re rugged.’
‘Uh, thanks,’ I answer, as her fingers twine into my hair. She’s so close I can see the tiny flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. I need to get this woman into bed. Alone.
‘Did you know,’ she asks slowly, stroking the back of my neck, ‘that I haven’t had sex in over two years?’
I did not know that, and I really didn’t want to.
My body is starting to respond to her in a way that doesn’t make me feel good about myself.
I am not that man. I have never been that man, and whatever my stupid body thinks, I’m not going to take advantage of her.
I remove her hands, and lean her against the wall while I get the door open.
It takes way too many attempts, there’s definitely something wrong with it.
Inside we go, her looking at me in a way that suggests all kinds of trouble.
I persuade her to drink some water, and take off her shoes and the coat.
She briefly objects, looking for the Guinness, but I manage to guide her up the stairs.
I wait outside the bathroom while she does her business, and when she emerges her breath is minty fresh.
‘I brushed my teeth,’ she announces, sounding immensely proud of herself.
I help her through into her room, and close the drapes against the moonlight.
It’s going to be one heck of a beautiful view out there in the morning, but I’m guessing she won’t be in any state to appreciate it.
I pull back the covers, and she nestles, fully clothed, beneath them.
I could help her undress, but it would be over-stepping – as well as disturbing.
I’m already having a self-worth problem, and I won’t make it worse.
I draw the duvet up to her chin, tucking her in.
I’ll bring the water and the pills up later, leave them for her.
‘Thank you,’ she says, snuggling down into the warmth, her dark hair spread over the pillow like an explosion of black velvet. ‘You’re my guardian angel. Grumpier than I thought an angel would be, but still…’
I head to the door. I need to get away from her and dip my head in a bucket of ice. Maybe some night-swimming would do the trick.
‘Brody,’ she calls, as I’m about to switch off the lights. ‘Will you stay?’
I glance back, and the look on her face breaks my heart. I can practically feel her need, her loneliness. I feel it, and I understand it – because I have my own. What the hell. It’s not like I have anywhere else I have to be.
‘Yeah,’ I say quietly. ‘I’ll stay.’