Chapter 10 #2
Seeing Bonnie Bay in the morning sunlight, knowing that I am going to be here for the next two weeks, lifts my spirits in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible that rainy day in London.
I feel free, and hopeful, and ready to embrace whatever challenges life throws at me.
Just as I think that, a big splat of bird poo lands on my shoulder. I freeze, and Brody laughs.
‘Supposed to be lucky,’ I mutter, getting a tissue out of my bag and dabbing away at it. It’s in an awkward spot, so he takes over.
‘That was a black-headed gull, saying hello.’
‘Yes. Well. I hope it doesn’t say hello too often. There’s only so much luck a girl can take. Do you want me to take a photo of you? To send to Shannon?’
He thinks it over, and reluctantly agrees, handing me his phone. He stands awkwardly next to a row of big wicker baskets, which I learned from Xander last night are called creels.
‘It’s what they catch lobster in,’ I tell him, once I’m satisfied with the shot. ‘It’s mainly lobster and mackerel fishing, apparently. And there’s beef farming, and potato growing. Tatties.’
‘You learned a lot.’
‘I did, didn’t I? Amazed I remember it really, given my state. Oh, and also, his mum is Shirley who runs the pub.’
‘The dream mom. A lot of people live here then? I mean, it’s bigger than it looks…’
I follow his gaze, look at the way the village slopes up the hill. There are rows of higgledy-piggledy houses rising above us, all interconnected by little walkways and alleys. Some are filled with shrubs in pots, others clear, some used as storage for kayaks and surfboards.
‘From what I picked up, a lot of the older villagers either still live in the cottages, or they’ve moved up near to where Moira and Joanne are, into the more modern houses.
These days, Xander said, a lot of the properties get bought by people from out of town or abroad, what did he call them…
blow-ins! So then they sometimes end up as holiday lets or as second homes, which people seem to have mixed feelings about. ’
‘Xander was a mine of information,’ he says, sounding slightly gruff.
‘He was. Moira mentioned she’d had offers on the bookshop didn’t she? A boutique hotel chain seems to be the front runner. Nobody really wants her to sell, but they’re all expecting she will. I found out some other stuff too. From Xander.’
‘Right. Like what?’
‘Like what actually happened – her accident.’
He immediately looks intrigued, and makes a ‘go on then’ gesture when I stay silent.
‘She fell off a cliff.’
He stares at me in surprise.
‘She did what now?’ he responds, frowning and coming to a stop. ‘Explain.’
‘She fell off a cliff.’
His eyes rove into the distance, taking in the gorse-coated hillsides, the soaring clifftops. I follow his gaze, and gulp. It really is a long way down.
‘The locals were all of the opinion that the cliff would probably have come off worse, because she’s a tough cookie, but it was a bad accident, and she was only found because someone spotted her bright orange trainers, apparently.
She had to be airlifted to Aberdeen, and nobody’s really sure if she’s going to regain the use of her legs or not. ’
He nods, his face stony. His hands go to his back, and I’m not sure if he’s in pain or he’s just remembering his own problems.
‘My God. That poor woman. It’s a miracle she’s still alive.’
‘I know. What happened to you?’ I ask, because, well, I want to know.
He frowns, his lips tight. ‘Long story. I didn’t fall off a cliff. I was thrown from a parking lot. Hmm. Not that long a story after all, I guess.’
He strides on, leaving me playing catch-up. ‘What?’ I say, touching his arm. ‘You were thrown from a parking lot?’
‘More pushed than thrown I suppose, but the end result was the same. Two fractured vertebrae, broken ribs, and a body full of contusions. I was… lucky.’
‘It doesn’t sound very lucky!’
‘I was. I should have died. Shannon always jokes I was too stubborn, and maybe she’s right – but I knew I couldn’t leave her. It was a long road back to fitness, or at least this current version of fitness.’
He sounds vaguely disgusted with himself, and I shake my head. ‘That’s amazing. To recover from that. You’ve done so well. And you still look pretty fit to me…’
As soon as the words are out of my mouth I feel embarrassed. ‘I’m not flirting,’ I add quickly. ‘Don’t worry.’
There’s a moment when our eyes meet, the waves behind us, the birds crying overhead. Neither of us seems quite ready to break it, but eventually he shakes his head, and mutters: ‘I wasn’t worried. Look. Sand martins.’
He points behind me, and I turn in time to see a small flock of pretty brown birds with white bellies flying past us.
They disappear off into tiny holes in the cliffs, and I smile at the sight.
By the time I turn back around, he’s on the move again, marching past the now-open café and towards the bookshop.
I dash to join the rollercoaster that is Brody, and he’s using the keys Moira gave us to let ourselves in.
I notice the little signs of neglect: the dirty windows, the drooping flowers in the baskets, peeling paint on the blue door.
Brody manages to get it open, but it takes a hefty shove of his shoulder.
As he pushes it inwards, the little metal bell mechanism drops from above, and lands at our feet.
I lean down to pick it up, feeling so sorry for it.
Once, it would have let out a sweet little tinkle every time somebody came to visit – now it’s broken and discarded.
The smell seems stronger today, probably because of all the rain.
Dust, damp, mould. The dead flowers giving off a Miss Havisham’s wedding bouquet vibe.
I look around, and try to call up those pictures in Moira’s cottage – the way it used to be, so warm and lively, at the centre of things.
Brody prowls off to inspect the corner of the room, the bulging plasterwork from the leak.
The books beneath it are stained and soggy, their pages swollen with moisture.
I love books, just like my gran did, and I hate to see them like this.
So much effort must have gone in to writing them, printing them, designing their covers.
All that effort, all that magic, and they end up like this. It makes my heart feel heavy.
He goes into the kitchen, comes out with a broom. He pokes the plaster and it seems to burst some kind of bubble inside, water gushing out. I try to rescue the books, but he pulls me back.
‘They’re beyond help, Kate. Leave them. There are plenty more in here, and maybe they’re okay…’
He’s inspecting the room, but undoubtedly seeing it through different eyes than mine.
He’s seeing structural defects and rot; I’m seeing the end of somebody’s dream.
I squeeze away tears, and head into the back rooms. There are three, and one of them is a tiny kitchen.
There’s still a kettle, and from the look of the place some mice too, so I decide against making a drink.
Besides, I only came in here because I didn’t want to cry in front of him.
I spot a cork noticeboard, and look at the photos pinned up on there, tucked away amid flyers for long-gone village fetes and curled-up business cards.
There’s one of Robbie, holding up a trophy in one hand and a football in the other, and another of Moira and her husband, Angus.
He’s wearing a chunky sweater, a big man with silver hair and sparkling blue eyes.
They’re standing together outside the shop, and it looks so different.
So loved. I shiver, and it’s nothing to do with the temperature.
Once I’ve gathered myself, I walk back through, finding Brody on his hands and knees in one corner. He’s going through a pile of books, throwing away the ones that are too far gone, setting the others aside.
I pick up a waterlogged copy of Pride and Prejudice. I love that story, and it breaks my heart to see even one version of it get thrown away.
Brody sits back on his heels and looks up at me. ‘Why are we here again? It feels like a lost cause…’
I nod, and wrap my arms around myself. ‘I know. It’s pretty bad isn’t it?’
He rubs his face with his hands, like he’s washing it, gazing around at the neglected room. ‘Not what we signed up for, huh? I’m sorry, Kate. I know you were hoping for something… I don’t know, special?’
‘Well, if hopes were unicorns, I’d have a zoo full of zebras.
Or whatever. I can’t remember the saying.
This is what it is. And I know it might be a lost cause, and I know she’s planning to sell, but I’d still like to tidy it up a bit – as much for my own benefit as anything, so I don’t have to remember it quite like this.
If I’m only here for a day, I’d like to spend it making a difference. What do you reckon?’
He thinks about it for a few seconds, and I realise that’s one of the things I like about him. He’s not a man who just says the first thing that comes into his head. He gives everything some consideration.
He nods, and climbs to his feet. I’m reminded, now we’re back indoors, of exactly how much space he takes up.
‘Yeah. Okay. But first I’ll go to the café for coffee. This is a coffee kind of day.’
Just as he says that, the door is pushed open again. We both stare in surprise as a woman walks through, all long red hair and smiles. Green eyes, a knockout curvy figure. She’s wearing a full-length apron over a red gingham dress, and carrying a tray of drinks. From the smell, coffee.
‘Are you a mirage?’ I ask.
‘Aye,’ she replies, deadpan. ‘You’re hallucinating right now.’
Her eyes flicker over Brody, and she gives him an appreciative smile. ‘My my,’ she says, eyes bright, ‘I’d heard you were a big man! I saw you both walking past, and thought maybe you could do with some refreshments.’
She looks around for a place to lay her tray, finally settling on a big table near the fireplace, covered in a white sheet.