Chapter 8 Message to my inner self #2
Even if it was raining cats and dogs, the three of us would be out and across the open fields, chasing the horizon like we were unstoppable.
It didn’t matter what the world was throwing at us, shaking off the cobwebs, as we used to say, made everything feel a little bit lighter. I don’t see why I couldn’t start again.
If I survive.
I scramble to the top of the hill at the halfway point, overlooking more fields scattered with purple heather and bracken as far as the eye can see. It makes me pause, hands on my hips as I steady my breathing. Jesus, I’m out of practice.
Deciding I need to slow down before I go into cardiac arrest, I walk most of the way back towards the village, crossing the cattle grid and heading back home.
Just as I consider breaking into a run again, my heart leaps to my throat, and my feet stop. “Shit.”
A little girl looks up at me from her seat in the bus shelter. I can’t say I’ve spent any time around a child this young, but judging by her height, the red, unlaced Converse and the heavy-looking backpack, I’d say she’s too young to be out here alone.
She stares at me with wide, wondrous eyes. “Are you okay, lady?” She clearly isn’t shy.
For a moment, I don’t say anything, taken aback by the curious way she looks at me. I can suddenly see myself sitting here when I was younger.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She hops down off the seat, tying a hand knitted cardigan around her waist. “You didn’t. I was just waiting for the next bus.”
“On your own?”
The little girl shrugs. “I do everything on my own.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a jar covered in stickers and glitter. She holds it out to me. “You owe me a quid.”
I stare at her, perplexed. “For what?”
“For swearing. Every swear word means a pound goes in the jar.”
I have never seen this girl, but I’m not about to laugh in her face when I notice the jar is empty. “I don’t have any money on me.” I tap the sides of my legs, indicating no pockets.
Stowing the jar away, the little girl loops the straps of her bag over her shoulders. “You can write me one of those… What do you call them?”
“An ‘IOU’?” I reply, eyebrows lifting in amusement.
She clicks her fingers. “Yep. One of those things.”
I nod, feeling like I should, but she doesn’t look at me because she’s suddenly inspecting the bus timetable closely.
“This thing sucks.” She taps the board, peeking up at me, and I give her a small smile like I’m caught in a whirlwind.
“Village this far out, you’re lucky if one comes at all.”
She checks the pink watch strapped around her wrist. It’s tattered and frayed like it’s seen better days. “Crap sticks.”
I can’t stop the widening of my eyes at the little girl’s maturity. And the fact she just swore. “Don’t you need to put a pound in the jar?”
She shakes her head dramatically. “Oh, no. I don’t have to pay.”
Whatever weight I was carrying first thing this morning, feels lighter listening to her speak with so much confidence. “Want me to walk you down to the shop?” I ask. “Maybe someone there can help you out with the bus timetable.”
“Nah, I’m okay. I’ll head back to my… to my aunt’s.” She steps out from the bus stop and starts heading down the hill.
I begin walking after her.
“You’re not following me, are you?”
An amused smile tugs my lips. “No. I live down there.” I point in the direction we’re both headed.
“Okay,” she says uncertain, but gives me a nod of her head.
“But just so you know, I know Brazilian Ju-Jitsu. I’m pretty good at standing up for myself.
This one time, Olly Jenkins—this kid in my class—he tried taking me down, but I was too fast. I got him in a scarf hold, made him cry.
Still, to this day, he never sees it coming. It’s kinda become my signature move.”
“A scarf hold?” I question, this little firecracker of a kid completely surprising me.
“Yeah. I can show you sometime, if you like?”
I laugh to myself as we both keep walking. “Sounds dangerous.”
“It is,” she says pulling a leaf off a nearby tree and fiddling with it. “Most people end up crying on their first try.”
“I’m not a crier, so maybe I’d be good at it.”
Her little feet stop, treading on the dirty laces. “I bet I could make you.”
I fold my arms, caught off guard. The way this kid says something so simple, so honest, slips right past my defences, hitting my heart. “It’s been years since I cried, kid.” I lift my shoulders. “Can’t remember the last time I did.”
“You can’t remember when you last cried?”
“No.” I shake my head.
Her mouth twists and her eyes narrow on me. “What about laughing? Do you laugh much?”
“With my friend, yes.”
She inspects me again, her gaze raking over me. “One friend?” Her shoulders steadily relax. “I have one friend, too.”
“Then we’re the same.”
Her rosy cheeks stretch, and she beams. “That’s cool.”
“Cool?”
“Yeah,” she begins before we start walking again. “Not many people like only having one friend. They think having more makes them cooler or something. Dad always used to say it was better to have fewer friends that loved you than lots of friends who didn’t.”
“He sounds like a very clever man.”
Her head drops, and she scuffs the pavement with her foot. “Yeah. He was.”
Past tense.
My insides shrink.
We walk in silence, a barrage of emotions hitting me all at once. “Where is he now?” I don’t know why I ask, but the little girl who clearly likes to talk is all of a sudden not saying a word.
“In heaven,” she eventually says, her softly spoken words cutting through me.
The conversation shift makes me feel oddly protective of her. “And your mother? Is she around?”
“I never knew her. But my dad… I miss him. We did everything together.”
“He sounds like he was good fun.”
She sniffs. “He was the best.” She looks my way then. “Do you have a dad?”
Clearing my throat, I look down at her. “Yeah, but he’s a bit bossy. We don’t really do anything together.”
“That sounds boring.”
I look around at the trees for a moment, listening to the way they whisper in the light breeze. She hit the nail on the head. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Evie. And I might be a kid, but I’m very grown up for my age.” Her eyes scrunch slightly.
“Evie’s a nice name. I can tell you’re grown up for your age and I haven’t known you for very long.”
“I wish my aunt could see that. She’s been fussing around me. Thinks I can’t do anything for myself.”
“Maybe she’s just looking out for you?” I offer, even though I could say the same about my parents.
Evie stops. Walks. Then stops again. “I don’t need her to. Do you know I could cook before I was six?”
“Impressive,” I tell her honestly. “How old are you now? Eight? Nine?”
“I’m ten,” she says proudly, lifting her chin in the air.
“I think I was learning to ride my bike at ten. Not cook.” I laugh.
Her thumbs hit her chest. “Could do that at four.” She grins at me confidently.
“I bet you could.”
We keep walking until we make it to the bottom of the hill near the shop.
The bell above the door dings as it opens, and both our heads turn.
“Crap sticks.”
My eyes dash down to Evie.
“Evelyn James, where have you been?”
I follow her gaze to Paddy.
He’s wearing a similar outfit to when I last saw him. Nice jeans. A thick jumper underneath a jacket and his signature white trainers.
“With… What’s your name?” she quickly whispers, pulling my hand towards her.
“Morgan,” I whisper back.
Paddy drops his chin and shifts his weight on one foot. He’s trying to be serious, but I see the way he looks at Evie.
It’s endearing.
“I was with Morgan, we were… walking. Yeah. Walking.”
He peers at my clothes, eyes remaining on my legs for longer than necessary, causing my muscles to tighten. “She looks like she was running, and your laces are untied.”
Evie looks down at her feet.
“Doubt you ran anywhere.”
She lets go of my hand with an over-the-top sigh. “Fine.”
Paddy smiles at her, taking a step forward. “Listen, lady.”
Evie scoffs next to me.
“As shit as it might be, you’re here for the long haul. I know you hate the countryside, trust me, I hated it too once. But you’ll grow to love it. I promise.”
Evie crosses her arms then looks up at me. “Do you love it?”
I force a happy expression. “Yeah,” I tell her, nodding my head.
She grumbles. “You’re lying.”
This kid is so perceptive. “No, I’m not.”
Evie turns to face me. “Okay then, quick fire round. I’ll ask the questions, you answer as fast as you can.”
“I—”
“Why do you love living here?” I don’t move. I just stare. “Who’s the person you like most? Where’s your favourite place to walk? What is there to do?”
I stand back with my hands on my hips, watching a ten-year-old interrogate me. She’s caught me off guard with no time to think at all.
“See. Lying.” She spins towards Paddy and starts making her way over, kicking the ground as she goes.
Paddy scratches his lip with his thumb. Embarrassed for me perhaps.
“Wait,” I cry.
Paddy and Evie look at me.
“That was not enough time to answer any of those questions.” I make my way over to her and crouch so that we’re face-to-face.
She looks me dead in the eye.
“I like watching the stars when I can’t sleep. There are no streetlights around here, so when you look up, you can see everything. When I’m feeling a little lost, I used to walk to the bus stop where we met. And do you know, I think my favourite person around here isn’t even human.”
Evie tilts her head, listening intently. “It’s not?”
“No. It’s a little pup named Kevin.”
“You know Kevin?” She laughs.
I laugh back. “Do you?”
“Yeah, he’s my aunt’s dog. Well, she’s not my aunt, just… I don’t know, Uncle Paddy, how do I explain it?”
Uncle Paddy?
Paddy steps closer to us.
I stand.
“Family, kiddo. That’s all there is to it.” We exchange a sincere smile. “Now, go inside. Grandma’s still in there. I’m sure she’ll grab you some sweets or something.”
Evie drops her bag to the ground before opening it and pulling out the swear jar.
I’m smiling before she utters a word. “You owe me two pounds.”
Paddy rolls his eyes. Clearly he’s familiar with the swear jar. Pulling out his wallet from his back pocket, he opens a small zip. “Why two? I only said shit.”
“Make that three.” Evie points my way. “Morgan owes me a quid but doesn’t have any money on her.”
I hold my hands up, playing along with a sheepish smile on my face.
Paddy laughs and shakes his head. “Fine. Three quid.” He drops three one-pound coins into the jar. “Now go and get some sweets.”
Evie drops the jar into her rammed bag. “I’m too old for sweets. But I’ll tell Grandma you called her that when I ask her to get me some peanut M&Ms. I’m so hungry I could eat a whole bag.”
I suppress a gag, lips pressing together. God, I hate peanuts.
Paddy smiles when I look his way, but he doesn’t look into my eyes.
The flutters in my stomach kick into action when I’m not sure what to say. “Well, it was nice seeing you. Again,” I fluster, turning on my heels, wondering how this day—morning—turned into one of the most sociable days I’ve had in recent weeks.
“Morgan, wait.”
I turn back around to see Paddy with his hands in his pockets. “I need to apologise, for the other day I mean. I shouldn’t have tried to make you feel bad for not walking Kevin.”
“Apology accepted.”
My answer is swift, but he bites down on his bottom lip. “Yeah, but it was a dick move. I feel shitty about it.”
“Well, you just apologised so don’t worry.”
He looks up. Eyes round and genuine. “You mean that?”
I offer him a warm smile.
There’s a first time for everything. And this is the first time I have ever seen Paddy O’Keefe looking so… so unlike Paddy O’Keefe. Always the smart one, he used to ooze confidence. Now, he’s shifting awkwardly like he’s in unchartered waters.
When he turns to go inside the shop, I’m unable to look away from him. Like I’m caught in a current, all I can do is watch the way he moves. My chest feels fluttery, and I’m trapped somewhere between wanting to be invisible to him and wanting him to see me completely.
“Paddy,” I call out, before I can register what I’m doing, my hands twisting together awkwardly.
He spins to face me, and my chest practically bursts when our eyes meet.
“I’ll do it.”
He looks at me with confusion. Eyes narrowing.
“I’ll help out with Kevin,” I explain.
He lets out what sounds like a relieved huff, then scratches the back of his head. “Mum will love that. Should I text you?”
Damn. I guess technically I do have a phone now, but I haven’t even turned the thing on. “I don’t know my number,” I answer honestly.
Paddy holds up a finger, suggesting I wait right where I am. He darts inside, the bell ringing out again. He’s only gone a few moments before he’s back, handing me a piece of paper.
“Here. You can add my number.”
“Thanks.” Suddenly, getting a phone isn’t the worst gift I could have received today. “I’ll message and let you know when I’m free.”
“Sounds good.”
I wave nervously, before turning on my heels and running back home.
With Paddy O’Keefe’s phone number in my hand.