Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
KATE
We’re standing in the hall of Aberdeen Airport, which is small but perfectly formed.
All around us, there are people bustling around – greeting visitors, being reunited with loved ones, dashing off to their next stops.
It reminds me of the film Love Actually, and the brilliant way it uses airports to show the richness of human life.
I glance up at Brody, wondering if he’s seen it.
The concept almost makes me laugh out loud, but you never know.
I try to put my own emotions out of my mind, because the last thing I need right now is to start imagining him leaving, me waving him off at a place just like this.
That’s a tale for another day – this day isn’t about me.
It isn’t about Brody, or even the bookshop we’ve spent the last few weeks pouring our hearts and souls into.
It’s about the latest flight from London, and the very special person who will be disembarking from it. I know I’m risking Moira’s wrath by even being here, by having arranged this, but I cross my fingers that it will be worth it. That she’ll respond with love, actually, rather than anger.
Brody has hired a car, and drove me here this morning.
He is, as I could have predicted, hyper-vigilant, scanning the room and watching everybody who walks by.
My own personal bodyguard, I think, my mind fluttering to Kevin Costner in the movie…
it seems to be a morning for movie references.
I’m probably trying to distract myself from the anxiety of real life.
I shake my head and force myself back to reality.
I do as Brody is doing, and look around.
He’s undoubtedly searching for threats, but I’m trying to figure out what type of person takes a plane to Aberdeen – there are business people wearing suits, men with sets of golf clubs, a few ladies arriving alone.
One is met by both a younger woman and a Great Dane, who proceeds to slobber all over her with such joy it makes me grin.
‘That’s the first smile I’ve seen from you since we got here,’ Brody says. He’s right. I am worried. What if I’ve done the wrong thing?
‘It was a Great Dane. How can you not smile at a Great Dane?’
He nods. ‘My brother has a pit bull called Kevin. Gorgeous boy. You want to see a photo?’
‘Of a dog called Kevin? Of course!’ I appreciate the distraction.
He gets out his phone, and the picture of the dog leads on to pictures of his family, his mum and dad and siblings, and eventually to Shannon when she was younger. He tenses slightly when we inevitably reach one of Sandy and him, mountains and forests in the background.
‘It’s okay,’ I say, laying a hand on his arm. ‘She’s part of you, Brody.’
I look at the image, see how much Shannon resembles her. ‘She’s beautiful. And so is that place, where is it?’
‘North Cascades National Park in Washington. Hiking trip. It was… it was a good time.’
His voice is strained, and I can only imagine the emotions that are washing through him.
I know part of him still feels guilty about us, as though he is betraying Sandy in some way.
I’d like to say that doesn’t bother me, and mainly it doesn’t, but a tiny bit of me – a tiny bit I’m not proud of – is bothered.
I know I only have Brody on loan, and one day I’ll have to give him back to his real life.
Most of the time I deal with that in an incredibly mature way, by completely ignoring it, but every now and then a feeling of panic rises up and swallows me.
I’ve finally blocked and deleted Harry’s number, after one drunken message too many, and for the time being, I am free of my past. Brody, though, always carries his around with him, and has Shannon as a living reminder.
We’re saved any further awkwardness by an announcement that the flight from Gatwick has landed.
I recognise him as soon as he emerges, wheeling his case by his side.
He’s in his mid-twenties but looks younger, with shoulder-length dark hair, blue eyes, and a tan that speaks of time spent in sunnier climes.
‘Robbie?’ I say, approaching him, Brody right behind me.
‘Yes,’ the young man says, smiling in a way that immediately reminds me of Moira. Moira, his grandmother, who has no idea that I’ve done this. ‘You must be Kate and Brody!’
He gives me a hug, and shakes Brody’s hand.
‘Thank you,’ he says as we make our way back to the car park.
‘For getting in touch. I’m still a bit angry with her, truthfully, for not telling me what happened.
I’ve spoken to her once a week and she’s just pretended everything was fine, the stubborn old moo! ’
We climb in and Brody starts to drive, heading to the coastal road that leads us back to Bonnie Bay.
‘She didn’t want to worry you,’ I reply, turning to look at him in the back seat.
Even though he’s a grown man, he still has the air of a teenager who hasn’t quite grown into his height.
‘And… well, yes. She is a stubborn old moo. Not going to lie, I’m a bit concerned she might come at me with an axe when she finds out what I’ve done… ’
‘Och no,’ Robbie replies reassuringly. ‘She’d just use Joanne’s shotgun!’
Brody snorts out a laugh, and I wonder if he’d jump in front of a bullet for me, like Kevin Costner. I decide he probably would, but hope it doesn’t come to that.
We chat during the journey, and Robbie expresses his amazement that anybody responded to the cards they sent out.
‘She did it for my granddad really, to honour him, you know? To start with, she was expecting someone to turn up every day. Whenever the bell rang in the shop, she’d look up and think a stranger had arrived to accept the invitation…
it was sad, the way nobody did. And now you guys are here, in the flesh, and you’re already making a difference. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy after all.’
He looks wistfully out of the car window, taking in the lush green hills, the fields full of cows, the spectacular coastline. ‘It’s good to be home,’ he murmurs, ‘even under the circumstances. How is she doing?’
‘Great,’ Brody asserts firmly. ‘Getting around some with a walker. Doing all her physical therapy. The docs have told her the damage might never totally heal, but I’d lay good odds she makes progress.
Especially when she sees you. She’ll be so damn determined not to worry you, she’ll probably get up and dance a salsa! ’
‘Aye,’ Robbie replies, grinning. ‘I can picture that! She always was first up at the music nights, always the life and soul of the party!’
As long as I’ve known Moira she’s been disabled, but I can easily imagine her being the kind of woman who danced on tables and led conga lines around the village.
Her spirit is huge, and her crazy scheme changed my life.
Bringing Robbie home is, in its own way, thanking her for that. I only hope she sees it that way.
Joanne, Shirley and Ginny are all in on the plan, as are the other villagers. None of them tried to stop me, but none of them helped either – it’s only my head on the chopping block.
They decided there was safety in numbers, and organised a ladies’ lunch session at the Kestrel. We park up nearby, and Robbie runs his fingers through his hair as we stand at the waterfront.
‘Sydney is great,’ he says, staring at the fishing boats and the long stone jetty, ‘but I guess there really is no place like home. I didn’t realise how much I missed it until now.’
I pat him on the arm. I can see he is emotional, and stand with him while he gathers himself.
Once he’s ready, the three of us head to the pub.
Brody goes first, then me. Joanne looks up straight away and makes eye contact, and I give her a little nod.
Moira is in her wheelchair but also has her walker with her, and the table in front of the women is peppered with wine glasses and empty bottles.
Moira spots us, and waves. ‘Where have you been, Miss Daniels?’ she asks. ‘And why do you look like a naughty schoolgirl?’
‘Um, well, I suppose that’s because I have a surprise for you, Moira.’
‘Aye? What kind of surprise? Is it a stripper?’ She cackles loudly, and Brody chokes back a laugh.
‘No,’ I say, ‘it’s a bit more personal than that.’
Robbie makes his entrance, emerging through the pub door, and I add lamely: ‘Surprise!’
I swear that everyone in the room collectively holds their breath as we watch Robbie walk towards his extremely shocked grandmother. Her hands fly to her mouth, and tears immediately swim in her eyes. For once, she seems completely lost for words.
Robbie reaches her and holds out his hands.
He’s crying too, and even Joanne looks like she might crack.
I clasp hold of Brody’s arm as I look on, and Moira heaves herself upright.
She’s unsteady, and falls into Robbie’s embrace, sobbing onto his shoulder.
He holds her steady, and they stand like that for a few moments, lost in their reunion.
She finally pulls away, and lifts her hands to his face. She smooths back his hair and examines him with forensic precision. This is a child she has raised as her own, who she has seen grown from boyhood into manhood – a child she hasn’t seen for more than two years.
‘Och,’ she finally says, tears still flowing. ‘Do they not have barbers in Sydney, Robbie?’
He laughs, and helps her back down into her chair, sitting next to her and holding her gnarled hands.
They stare at each other some more, both taking in the changes, big and small, both still smiling with such genuine happiness I fear my heart might explode.
I don’t care if she tells me off. This was so worth it.
She glances over his shoulder and catches my eye. ‘We’ll be having words about this, missy,’ she announces with some authority.
‘And we’ll be having words about you not telling me, Granny,’ Robbie responds just as firmly. ‘All this time, I could have been here with you.’
She pulls a face, and looks about as remorseful as I feel.
‘Get away with you now, you loon. I didn’t tell you because you were living your own life out there, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.
Besides, I was in safe hands – Joanne here fed me gruel twice a day, and only beat me with her whipping stick when I’d been bad. ’
Her sister sticks her tongue out at her in a gesture that is so out of character it makes us all laugh. She comes to give Robbie a hug of her own, and adds: ‘Good to have you home, son. We’ve missed you.’
After that, a full-scale celebration begins.
There is wine, and whisky, and a few pints of Guinness for Brody.
Rosie arrives with a giant cake that says ‘Welcome home Robbie!’ on it, and more locals turn up to greet the prodigal son.
Some of them bring instruments, and before long there’s a full-on sing-song going.
I sit off in one corner with Brody, and he raises an eyebrow when I refuse a glass of fizzy wine.
‘I don’t need it,’ I say quietly, ‘this is enough. Being here with you, seeing this. Feeling this place in my bones. I guess you could say I’m already high on life.’
Brody nods, and slips his fingers into mine. He squeezes them but doesn’t speak – there’d be no point now, anyway, because Billy Baird, the local postman, has started playing his pipes. Moira throws a beer mat him, but he is undeterred. It’s not the most melodic of sounds, but it feels right.
Everything feels right, and I savour the moment. I know there won’t be many moments like this left here in Bonnie Bay, with Brody.