60. Unpacking the boxes
60
UNPACKING THE BOXES
‘Mum is so gonna wish she’d hung around for longer,’ said Merrie. ‘She’s gonna be really pissed off at missing you being all-action hero.’
They were sitting in the waiting area of New Street Station. It was a vast open space with lots of people, benches and, curiously, a thirty-foot metal bull. Doogie pulled his attention back from the bull to the conversation. ‘I doubt that very much. And talking about being pissed off, I’m still racked off with you for not listening to me about waiting for Arthur and Geraldine.’
‘Ooh listen to you coming on so dad-like. Anyway, they were right behind me.’
‘Only because they had to scramble out the car after you when you shot past them like a racehorse, according to Arthur.’
‘Well I was scared for you when I saw Byron coming back.’
‘You don’t need to be scared for me. I can look after myself.’
‘Well obviously I know that now, Mr Hardcore. Hey, can you teach me some boxing moves next time I see you?’
‘Boxing moves? It’s not like dancing, you know. Yes. All right. If that’s what you want. I don’t know what Claire will say though.’
Merrie crossed her long legs. ‘Dad, I know you like, missed a few years, but I am twenty now. Mum is not the boss of me.’
Doogie laughed. ‘Have you broken that to her yet?’
‘Hell no. Oh, my train’s here. I’d better go.’
He walked her to the barrier. ‘Let me know when you’re back home.’
‘It’s only Brighton.’
‘I know but I worry.’
She took her bag off him. ‘Huh. Where were you when I fell off my bike and broke my arm?’
She meant it as a joke, but he felt it all the same.
She kissed him. ‘So you’ll let me know how it goes with you and Grace?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ll think about St Kitts?’
‘Yes. Go, before you miss the train.’
She threw herself on him. ‘I’ve decided. I do actually love you, Dad.’
‘I love you too.’ His daughter loved him. He’d been a terrible father, and she still loved him. He held her, not wanting to let her go.
She slipped away from him. He watched her going down the escalator to the platform, a massive grin on his face. Then she was gone, and he realised he was crying. He hoped she hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t fair to lay his emotions down on her. She deserved better than that. It occurred to him this was the second time the man who didn’t do emotions was doing emotions. Something strange was happening to him.
On his way out, he took another look at the bull. It looked like it had been built out of spare parts. People were crowding around to watch it move its head slowly from left to right, then back again. Doogie walked away. This mad fucking city. He needed to get home.
He put his bag into the car and went back inside to collect Spike. He’d left him in the back garden to give him as much time outside as he could before the long ride home. He’d been in Birmingham a bit less than four weeks, but it seemed a lot longer. Doogie couldn’t wait to get away, and yet he knew he’d miss it as soon as he was gone. Miss her.
If it had only been those three years at uni then it was just possible, he wouldn’t be here now. When Netta dumped him that first time, he had probably stood a small chance of letting her go. Even though losing her had made him feel like he was no longer a whole person, Doogie reckoned he could have lived like that with a broken part somewhere in the place where the essence of him had been. In the ten years between then and seeing her again, he’d got used to it and had built a reasonably good life. Claire would have argued it was a life devoid of emotional risks and maybe it was, but it worked for him. And anyway, that wasn’t all down to Netta.
It was the second time that really did it for him. Seeing her had been one of those coincidental things that change the course of your life. The minute he saw her, he was whole again. He knew it was a really bad idea to start it back up, but the need to be with her was too strong.
He soon found out she was still the same old Netta, but different. Still smart, funny and crazy bonkers mad. Still on a different planet to everyone else. But she was colder and harder. On the outside at least. Inside, she’d become so fragile. It killed him to see her like that. He wanted to take her in his arms and never ever let her go. And that was it. That was why he couldn’t pack her away and forget about her. Not even when she walked away for good, and he burned all the things she left behind on Crosby Beach. Not even when he had chances to be happy with someone else. He was spoiled goods. And everything that came after her was ruined.
When she did finally come to him again, as he knew she would someday, he’d patted himself on the back for not jumping into bed with her and being civilised about the whole thing. And he still hadn’t been able to let her go. But Doogie was getting too old and too weary of living in the past. There comes a time in a man’s life when he’s earned the right to choose between what makes him happy and what makes him pine for something that was never really his. He was following Priscilla’s advice and making a choice. He’d have to wait and see whether it was the right choice.
Netta was waiting in the kitchen for him. He’d hoped to get off before she woke up but he should have known she wasn’t going to let that happen. She was putting a flask into an already full carrier bag. ‘I’ve followed my mum’s example and done you a food parcel for the journey.’
‘I could have stopped on the motorway.’
‘Don’t deny me this one pleasure.’
He kissed the side of her head. ‘I’ll bring the flask back next time I come.’
She pushed the bag over to him. ‘You never said whether you were going to marry Grace.’
‘Because I don’t know what’ll happen when I get back up there.’
‘I thought you had an open relationship. I didn’t realise it was serious.’
‘It changed a couple of years ago.’
‘You never said. Why didn’t you say?’
‘Because it’s none of your fucking business.’
She put her hand on her hip and dropped her head to one side. ‘Charming.’
Her crooked smile almost took his breath away. Fucking hell. This woman. She did things to him that no one else could. If he’d been a believer, he’d be praying for the big man’s help right now. ‘You do know you’re not the only woman in my life, Netta Wilde?’
‘Er, clearly. I think Merrie is testament to that. And by the way, I still can’t believe you copped off with my best friend as soon as my back was turned.’
‘You mean years after you dumped us both.’
She folded her arms. ‘All right, Chambers, don’t rub it in.’
They laughed, then stopped, their eyes searching each other. He sighed. ‘Net, I’ve gotta go.’
She nodded. ‘I know.’
She walked him to the car and opened her arms for him. ‘Claire’s right you know. You do need to sort your life out. Commit to something.’
If only she’d given him the chance back when it counted. He pulled her into a hug. ‘Sort out your own life, missus. All this living next door to your man business. I’m not the only one who needs to commit to something.’
She pushed herself away, laughing but there were tears in her eyes. ‘Yes okay, Chambers. You can fuck off now.’
‘Fuck off yourself, Wilde.’ He kissed her for the last time, then got in the car and drove.
As soon as he hit Loch Lomond, Doogie began to relax. When he reached Glencoe, he stopped to breathe in the air and let Spike stretch his legs. They’d been on the road for most of the day. With the exception of Netta this morning, he’d said his goodbyes last night. He’d be back there later in the year for one of Betty’s pups. He’d promised to take one. Although it wasn’t confirmed yet that she was pregnant, all the signs were pointing that way.
He’d call in on Priscilla when he went back. Yesterday, after he’d taken Merrie to the station, he went round to see her. She was still refusing to forgive Samuel, and he got why. He understood the anger and the sense of betrayal. But he could also see it from Samuel’s perspective. His own decisions were probably rooted in the same fears and inhibitions as Samuel’s had been. And that was the most frightening thing. Because Samuel had known he’d let them all down. That must have been so hard to live with. Maybe even harder to die with.
Doogie took a photo of the mountains. Last night, Frank had told him about that road trip he’d had at Easter when they’d bumped into each other. He’d talked a lot about how he’d been bowled over when he stopped at Glencoe. He sent the photo to him.
A minute later he got a reply:
Lucky bastard.
He smiled. Yes, he was, but it had taken a trip to Birmingham to show him that. Frank was lucky too. Doogie hoped he realised exactly how lucky.
He took a detour that allowed him to stop off at his grandad’s grave. It was in a small cemetery overlooking the sea. His uncle’s cottage was only a mile away. His grandad had loved the sea. Even when he’d lost the strength to walk, he’d have Doogie wheel him down to the shore and they’d sit together watching the waves crashing. Sometimes they’d sit in silence, two generations of Dougal Macraes temporarily at peace with their demons. Other times they’d talk. Mostly about all the Macraes that had come before him. It was like the old man was on a mission to drum as much family history into him in the short time he had left. Because there was one thing his grandad was unequivocal on, Doogie was a Macrae, and this place was as much his heritage as any other Macrae.
Occasionally, they’d touch on old Dougal’s thoughts on life and love. It was just after Doogie had lost Netta for the first time and he was still hurting. His grandad had helped him see the way through. For all his faults, old Dougal was the only man Doogie had ever talked to. Really talked to. And then just like that he was dead and Doogie was left to figure things out on his own again. Sometimes, life was a real bastard.
He found the grave nestled among the other Macraes, some dating back hundreds of years. It wasn’t hard: he’d been plenty of times before. He wiped dust and salt off the headstone with his sleeve and imagined his grandad’s spirit sitting on top of it, giving him the Macrae stare. He’d probably be telling him what a big fucking mess he’d made of his life. Just like Priscilla. Come to think of it, maybe that’s who she reminded him of. Doogie scanned the other graves, his family, then turned back to his grandad’s imaginary spirit. ‘I’m back, old man.’
It was almost eight by the time he pulled up outside his cottage. Spike ran into the garden sniffing everything and making his mark. Doogie opened the cottage door but Spike wasn’t ready to go in yet. He was a dog for wide open spaces, not the confinement of four walls and big cities. So was Doogie. He dropped his bags inside, closed the door and walked up to the beach. Spike went the other way, up to the farm. He’d go up there soon enough but for now he wanted to feel the moist salty air on his face. He wanted to look out to the horizon and see nothing but sea and sky, hear nothing but the crashing of waves on white sand.
He stood on the sea’s edge and breathed slow and deep. He was where he should be. He was home.
Grace appeared at his side. She slipped her fingers between his. They fitted perfectly. ‘I thought I’d find you here. Spike came to let me know you were back.’
‘He’s missed home. So have I.’
‘It’s missed you. Are you hungry? We could have a barbecue here.’
‘In a bit. First we need to talk.’
‘Good.’ She led him away from the water and pulled him down onto the sand. ‘Talk.’
She was still annoyed with him. He could tell by her manner that he wasn’t going to get off lightly. But that was Grace all over. She didn’t take crap from anyone, not even the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. He loved that about her and he was going to tell her so. He was going to tell her everything. Because Doogie was ready to unpack those boxes now. He was ready to do emotion. She would give him a hard time, but he already knew by the way she’d held his hand on the shore that she would ask him again to marry her. And this time, he wouldn’t run away. This time, he knew what his answer would be.