Chapter 35
Sean
The colours of the seasons were slowly shifting, with summer giving way to autumn. There would be no more unseasonably balmy days, no more scorched grass. The petals of the flowers Cherry had planted in his garden had tumbled to the earth, soaking to near mulch after a deluge of September rainfall.
Sean stood on the patio drinking his morning coffee, the Swingball set still pitched on the lawn.
A few days ago, he’d prepared to pack it into the shed but ended up batting by himself and losing track of time as he remembered Cherry on the opposite side of the pole, laughing and whacking the ball into next week, breasts swaying softly in her bra cups.
And, of course, the feel of moving inside her, her moans as she came around him.
God, he missed her.
No time for reminiscing today. Sean threw back his coffee and headed into the house.
After six months of gruelling training, the day had finally come.
He was embarking on 100 miles of thigh-burning pedalling through Kintyre.
All day, he and his six siblings would cycle over undulating hills, through deep forests, coast by rugged castles and secret coves.
But it was no leisurely tourist ride with stops to photograph squirrels or turrets.
They would pedal until their legs were jelly.
It was the least they could do for a man who had endured far, far worse.
The man who had raised them and whom they’d said goodbye to far too soon.
Sean was so ready for it.
But he was also ready for it to be over.
Since Cherry had left, two weeks ago, sleep had also deserted him.
There were too many late nights, drinking beer, staring into space – a pursuit Jamie had told him was great for clearing the mind, but that Sean had never quite mastered – and playing online poker, the latter a stupid thing to do when he was trying to stop thinking of her.
Pinning down and boxing to death the temptation to text her one night when he got a royal flush was a challenge in itself.
But he’d won it.
Didn’t stop her being on his mind constantly.
Didn’t stop him going into her bedroom, laying on her bed and imagining her beside him. Now he understood the pillow thing, although he drew the line at cuddling hers. The scent of her was enough, slipping into his senses, invading his bloodstream, making him feral for her all over again.
Where was she now? There were no calls or texts. She knew the ride was today.
In his pocket, his phone vibrated.
Morning gorgeous. Feeling pumped!
It was from Jamie.
Fuck’s sake. Right vibe, wrong person.
Sean dumped his coffee cup in the sink. Outside, he strapped his bike to the back of the car and swung out of the drive onto the rain-slicked road towards Jamie’s place. From there, he’d drive them both to Tarbert, where they’d convene with the rest of the family and ride.
Tarbert harbour was calm and placid, like a sensible aunt who would never cycle one hundred miles in a day. Boats bobbed gently, their reflections wavering in the clear water, and people milled around drinking takeaway coffee and chatting.
The race started with little fanfare – a peaceful beginning to match his dad’s end.
Sean caught a tear in his mum’s eye as he and his siblings coasted off, the fresh autumn wind providing a baptism into the day.
He hoped they could finally make something positive from the pain of the past few years.
From Tarbert to Claonaig, they cycled close to one another, occasionally chatting or joking, but often pedalling through a comfortable silence that you could only have with your closest loved ones.
The panoramic views across the Kilbrannan Sound to the jagged green mountains of Arran were enough to keep anyone quiet.
From Claonaig they coasted along open moorland past Loch Ciaran where, on any other day, it would be great to stop and listen to the lapping of the water and the call of birds. He bet Cherry would know the names by their calls.
The route from Clachan took them over to the east coast, where the Atlantic buffered the shorelines with an endless, rhythmic rush.
They were thirty miles down now. Ready for refreshments, they pulled into the small village of Tayinloan and sat on rain-soaked fold-up chairs outside a coffee shop, drinking weak coffee and eating sandwiches from floral crockery that had seen better days.
Sean checked his phone to see if there was anything from Cherry. He’d settle for a simple I miss you.
Nothing.
But he was the one who’d told her to go. If he’d given her leeway to take the time that she needed, she might be here now. It was just that he’d felt like a lobster being boiled alive by that point, and more upheaval was unbearable. He needed his wife there with him.
And now she was gone. Who knew where? Thriving again in the poker world? Or lonely, like him, longing to wake up together again.
Sean shoved his phone back in his pocket. He was breaking his own race rules thinking like this.
‘You’re awful quiet, Seany,’ said Eilidh. ‘Not tired already?’
‘What, because I’ve not spoken in three minutes, I must be tired?’
‘Yes.’
The rest of his siblings laughed.
‘Don’t worry about me. I’m conserving my energy for the next seventy miles.’ Sean wrapped a slice of millionaire’s shortbread in a napkin and stuck it in his pocket. ‘You should all do the same.’
‘Nice energy boost strategy,’ said Niall. ‘Don’t talk. Stockpile shortbread.’
‘Aye, I’m sure I heard Sir Chris Hoy say that once.’
For all its faults, the coffee had touched the edges and given Sean a small lift.
Combined with the morning sun edging the rain off its patch, his mood improved as they set off again, up into the hills, rising to Carradale, where you could see the rugged volcanic dome of Ailsa Craig rising proud in the sea.
For some reason – not that he needed a prompt – Ailsa Craig brought Cherry to mind. A solitary, strong, fearless presence.
Fuck it! After the race, he’d get in touch with her.
He needed her. Missed her. He loved her.
That was the truth. If he’d told her that, she might have stayed instead of needing to venture out to find her certainty.
He’d claimed to have given her everything, yet he’d held those words back, needing to know she wasn’t leaving him.
Before fucking her against the wall.
What an arse.
But the future could be bright. Right?
A packed lunch and more coffee, forty-six miles in – nearly halfway there.
Energy levels were where they should be, and they boosted each other’s spirits.
It would power them along the twenty-two miles of craggy shores to Campbeltown, past more castles, woods and lochs and onto the curved, golden shores of Dunaverty.
‘Hard to believe a massacre happened here, eh?’ Jamie swept his hand across the beach over to the grey crags of Blood Rock, like an enthusiastic history teacher at the end of a very long school day.
‘My legs feel like they’ve been massacred,’ Cara groaned.
Sean was with Cara on this one. Normally full of boundless energy, he was so ready for this to be over, to see the bright lights of Kinshore on the horizon. To get home, fall into a bath and text Cherry.
But it was as they were leaving Southend and barrelling down to the southernmost point of Kintyre, the landscape wild and unsheltered, golden eagles wheeling ominously above, that Sean wondered if the bright lights were happening already.
A glare caught the edges of his vision.
What was that? He shook his head but continued pedalling.
Then there was a sensation of the ground being further away than before. Sean blinked hard, puffed out a sharp breath or two and adjusted his hold on the handlebars.
Focus, Seany.
‘You alright, bro?’ Nate sounded more serious than usual.
‘Aye, aye, fine. Just a fly.’
But the strangeness swept in again, and this time there was no mistaking it for dizziness.
Sean gripped the handlebars, noticing distinctly the fading tan mark where his wedding ring had been.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. Strange, as he’d been taking it easy.
Was he dehydrated? Coffee wasn’t great for hydration, and he’d had a fair few cups today. He reached for his water bottle.
But there was no time to drink. It all happened in a split second as the gleam of afternoon sunlight cut across his eyes, and his vision spun again.
This time, his balance faltered and the front wheel of his bike caught the edge of gravel where it sliced into slippy, wet mud.
Underneath Sean, the bike twisted, front wheel first, and he was falling – off the road and down into the ditch – the sound of Eilidh calling his name the last thing he heard before he hit the ground.
And everything went white and still.