Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
brODY
I make it to London, but my plan to get the train to Oxford to see Shannon doesn’t quite materialise. In fact nothing materialises apart from some heavy drinking, and almost getting into a bar fight.
I checked into a hotel, and headed for the nearest pub, where I propped up the bar and tried not to talk to anybody apart from the bartender.
The Guinness was followed by whisky, and the whisky was followed by free shots of something green.
No clue what it was, but it hit the spot. The spot being total annihilation.
A couple of women tried to chat to me, but my natural charm soon put them off.
And as usual, as the night wore on, a few wannabe tough guys decided to try and prove themselves by tangling with the biggest man in the room.
I’m used to this, and now recognise the signs that some asshole is about to take a run at me, try and provoke something.
My usual approach is to stay polite and refuse to engage, but last night I came close to losing it.
One idiot kept pushing me as I sat on the bar stool, making comments and physically invading my space.
The woman serving had told him to get lost three times, having that instinct for trouble that people who work in bars often have.
He kept asking if I wanted to ‘take it outside’, which is pretty much international code for a dustup.
He wouldn’t take the hint, and in the end I physically picked him up like he was a child, carrying him in my arms through the door.
He was punching my shoulders and screaming at me, which I ignored, and then I stood him up very carefully on his unsteady feet.
I patted his face gently, and said: ‘There. We took it outside. Sober up, asshole.’
This was ironic coming from me, possibly the drunkest man in the room by that stage, but I was in control.
Just about. I didn’t hurt him, but I wanted to.
Or maybe I wanted him to hurt me, who knows?
I was feeling pretty messed up, and I’d have welcomed something simple like a good old-fashioned bar-room brawl.
The guy had wobbled and threatened, but in the end his pals persuaded him to leave it. He’ll wake up this morning with a sore head, and a phone full of mocking messages, because the same pals had filmed the whole thing.
The bartender had given me more free shots as a thank-you, and made the kind of comments that suggested she wouldn’t mind meeting up when she finished her shift.
She was cute, pink hair and full-sleeve tattoos, but I wasn’t interested.
There is only one woman on my mind, and I left her behind in Bonnie Bay.
I woke up today with a hangover that is threatening to kill me, chugging water as I sit on the side of the bed and consider standing up. My back is giving me crap, and my heart is giving me even more.
I am heading back to Chicago tomorrow. I am leaving the UK, and returning to the only life I’ve ever known. My beautiful city, and my friends and family, and a new job. This should feel like a fresh start. It doesn’t. It feels like a fresh hell.
I should talk to someone who isn’t a random stranger in a bar. I should reach out, and get some support. Shannon would be there for me, my folks, my brother Connor, who I’m closest to and has had his own troubles. They’d all listen.
The problem is that they’d also talk, and I’m not sure I want to hear what they’d be saying.
Shannon liked Kate, I know. She’d be telling me to get my ass back up there.
Connor would be more measured, but essentially tell me I was being a dick.
I don’t need anybody to make me feel worse than I already do.
I was so sure I was doing the right thing in leaving.
I was so sure it was right for both of us, no matter how difficult it was in the moment.
Now I’m hundreds of miles away from her, and I feel like there’s no oxygen in the room.
I’m constantly wondering what she’s doing, where she is, how she’s feeling.
I can’t get the image of her out of my mind, the way she stood outside the cottage waving me off, trying to be brave but her lips trembling with the emotion of it all.
I consider calling Rosie and checking in on her. I consider calling Kate, just so I can hear her voice. Even if I hung up straight away, the sound of her saying hello might be enough to calm me. I feel like a goddamn junkie jonesing for his next hit.
As well as Kate, I realise I’m missing everything else – the store, Moira, even Joanne’s venomous humour. What’s happening in Bonnie Bay right now? Does Moira know I’m gone yet, and will she forgive me for not saying goodbye in person? Is the store open? Is Betty wondering where I am?
Why does any of this matter? I’ve done the right thing. I’m sure of it.
My phone rings, and I grab it up, hoping it’s Kate. It’s not. It’s Shannon, and I hate myself for feeling disappointed when I see my daughter’s name.
‘Dad, why are you in London?’ she asks straight away. Shit. I’d forgotten she can see where I am. I can hear bells ringing in the background, the sound of Oxford in the morning.
‘I… uh… well…’ I mutter, trying and failing to come up with a decent reason.
‘Dad! Tell me you didn’t fuck it up with Kate!’
‘Hey!’
‘Sorry, Dad, it’s just England – they swear all the time here. But seriously, what’s going on with you?’
I hear the worry in her voice, and it reminds me of why I went to Scotland in the first place – why I thought it was a good idea to follow the instructions I found on a random card inside a random book. Shannon being happy was the whole point of it to begin with.
‘Look, baby, I’m heading back to Chicago for a while, okay? I have my new job set up, and I need… I need some time, okay?’
She’s silent for a few moments, then replies: ‘It got too serious, didn’t it? With Kate? Too much, too fast?’
‘Yeah, that’s about the size of it, kid. Don’t give me shit for it, all right? I’m giving myself enough.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she says quietly. ‘And I don’t want to give you shit. But I also don’t want you to give up on this. If you need to go home for a spell, then do it – but don’t give up. I saw how happy you were up there, with Kate. I saw how different you were. I want that for you.’
‘I know you do, Shannon, and I appreciate it. But right now I’m a disaster zone. I should have crime scene tape around my brain. Kate doesn’t deserve that.’
‘She’s a grown woman who can decide what she deserves herself, Dad. But… okay. Will you call me when you land?’
I promise I will, and hang up with a heavy heart. This is all so much harder than I thought it would be. Hundreds of miles between me and Kate doesn’t seem to be enough to sever this bond between us. I still feel her pull, the lure of the selkie calling me back.
If hundreds of miles don’t do it, maybe thousands will. I need to go home today, I decide. I need to detox, go to rehab. Get clean of Kate, and the time I spent with her. I need to say goodbye to it all.
There’s a flight leaving in three hours, I see. I manage to change my booking, and drag myself into the shower.
Everything will feel better once I’m home, I tell myself. If I stay here any longer I’ll either drink myself to death, or drown in my own pathetic tears. I need to act, not feel. Feeling is way overrated.
This hurts, but a lot of things in life do. The only way to end this is to do it quickly – rip off the Band-Aid and hope for the best.
As I pack up, I notice the book on the bedside table. Hiking in the Highlands: A Journey in Pictures. I don’t remember doing it, but I guess I must have been looking at it last night before I passed out. I pick it up, and the card falls out onto the bed.
The photo of the puffins looks different now. Now, I know it was taken by Angus, Moira’s husband. I know they lived and loved together in the cottage I have been calling home. I have seen the puffin colony with my own eyes, and know that the place it captures is even more beautiful in real life.
I indulge myself one more time before I hit the road, reading the words that Moira wrote. Now, of course, the words come with a name and a face and an accent, and I smile as I think of her determined spirit and her kindness. Even the memory of Joanne’s sour features makes me grin.
Now, even more than the first time I saw it, the message hits home. Relax and rest. Let go of some of that pain that’s trapping you. Sleep soundly, live fully, and learn to love the world again. Stay for a day, stay for a week, stay forever – who knows?
I hear Moira’s voice as I read, and swipe away the tears that have snuck up on me. Get a grip, I tell myself. You slept. You rested. You stayed a while. Now it’s over, and no matter how tempting it is to go back, I have to keep moving forward.
I hail a black cab on the street, enduring the mind-numbing traffic and inane chat of the driver as we make our way to Heathrow.
The airport passes in a blur, on auto-pilot as I check my bags, show my passport, go through security.
I’m off my game, not on full alert, barely even noticing the people around me or the threats they might present.
Who the hell am I? I guess the world will have to remain safe for one more day without Brody Quinn’s assistance.
I eat, and drink, and do all the things I usually do before a flight – staying mobile, stretching out my back, preparing for the hours of forced immobility.
I’m tempted by a medicinal beer, because airports are timeless places where it seems perfectly acceptable to drink at any time of day or night.
I manage to resist, and stick to coffee.
It’s going to be a long day, and I can at least wait until I’m in the air.
Eventually, they call my flight, and I make my way to the gate. I join the back of the line, paperwork in my hand as we shuffle along.
I reach my spot, and the man checking the boarding passes looks up at me expectantly. I stare at the rest of the passengers, all making their way into the jet bridge that links us to the waiting plane.
‘Sir?’ he says, polite but slightly pissed off. ‘We’ll be closing the gate, would you like to go through?’
I nod, shake myself back to reality. ‘Sure. Thanks,’ I reply.
I shoulder my bag, and walk into the tunnel.