Chapter 32
Down in the town that morning, the only person known to be missing so far was Cary Anderson, though Senga Gifford had it on good authority he’d left town in a hurry.
She’d heard via Tony from the hop-on, hop-off tourist buses, who’d told his cousin, Jean, who’d told her that Cary had loaded up his truck with suitcases this morning, and that he’d mentioned to the lassie at the petrol station in the Garten valley that he was filling up for a long drive, and he’d had his little cat with him on the passenger seat.
Alice, who’d left the surgery, instructed by Dr Millen, and decided to take herself out for lunch at the repair shop, received this gossip with dismay as she waited for her coffee at the café counter.
‘Bannock?’ Rhona asked.
‘Lost my appetite,’ Alice said, even though a moment ago they’d looked delicious.
‘He’ll be visiting his mother,’ Sachin put in, also at the counter and buttering a toasted bannock for his second breakfast. Mrs Roy, he’d told the little group, had served up his favourite salmon scramble only an hour ago, so no one was to go grassing him up for snacking now.
The repair shop was empty but for some of the volunteers.
On Mondays the shed hosted McIntyre’s vehicle maintenance and repair sessions out on the gravel drive, and although they were still sparsely attended, being new, the shed still opened to serve food and catch any general repair clients who might happen to call by.
Mortified, Alice had to ask, ‘Did Cary say when he was coming back?’
Riled she didn’t have this knowledge to impart, Senga made a big deal of pronouncing, ‘That’s none of our business!’ The absolute gall of the woman.
‘You’d think he’d have mentioned travel plans to someone at the Burns supper,’ put in Rhona innocently.
All eyes turned upon her, and she flinched as though suddenly found guilty of withholding intriguing information.
‘What?’ Rhona protested. ‘I only saw him through the window. He was coming runnin’ up the drive of the hotel in his kilt. Didn’t anybody else see him?’
‘And when was this?’ Senga seemed not to believe her sister, having not witnessed the sight herself.
Rhona shrugged like she wanted everyone’s eyes off her, but even Livvie, Roz and McIntyre were crowding round now, to hear more about their loyal repairer.
‘When exactly?’ Alice couldn’t help herself, a feeling of sickly dread sliding down her insides. ‘Do you remember?’
‘I’d say it was just before they served the dinner,’ Rhona told her, but glancing between the others. ‘He was all dressed in his tartan, and he had a braw posy of purple heathers with him, but, come to think of it…’ She paused. ‘I never saw him inside.’ She looked to her sister. ‘Did you?’
‘No,’ said Alice, answering for everyone, heaviness settling deep in her core. ‘I didn’t see him.’
Something told her, however, that Cary had seen her, and Bastian too, most likely, and that might have had something to do with the abandoned heather she’d found on the hotel steps.
Alice slipped off the café stool and carried her mug to the quiet spot by the fire where no one could see her absorbing this news. The fire’s glow failed to warm her today.
Was it conceited of her to think he’d been coming to the supper for her?
Because she’d asked him if he was coming, hinting that she wanted him there?
And he’d made the effort because he was the rare sort of man who’d turn up just to support her?
A man who couldn’t be more unlike Bastian who’d gatecrashed her big moment expecting to see her failing, and to reclaim her like lost luggage.
Had Cary really come for her and left disappointed? Or was that just another of her wild fantasies? A daydream?
God knows she’d thought about him often enough since the last time she saw him.
She’d wished they could have the conversation about the therapist all over again, and this time she’d be kinder, and she certainly wouldn’t fly off the handle when he told her in that gentle way of his, that he might have an idea to help her feel better.
She still carried the leaflet for that counsellor in her coat pocket. It called to her almost as loudly as her heart was right now asking her where Cary had gone.
She sat with her head in her hands. Why had she snapped at him and scared him off? And why, why hadn’t she been on her guard when Bastian blindsided her? She should have pushed him straight out of the hotel’s revolving doors on sight, putting him into his precious Merc and slamming the door.
Instead she’d been weak, like her mother allowing her dad to call the shots about their separation, making sure to keep one foot in his familiar, comfortable old life while he had the other in his new life with his young girlfriend.
Just like her mum must have found, Alice had been momentarily overwhelmed by the comfort of Bastian’s familiarity, as well as his confidence and brazen charm.
As soon as Alice had left work after her confession to Dr Millen and she’d found that the sky hadn’t fallen in and the world hadn’t stopped turning now that her secret was out, she’d gone looking for Cary’s house, not hard when everyone in town knew the man and were only too willing to give her directions, but when she’d banged on his door there’d been no answer.
When she’d walked down the vennel to his yard and peered through a gap in the fence, the place was shut up and in darkness.
She wasn’t sure why she’d done it other than knowing she needed to apologise as soon as possible for the leaflet thing.
That, and her growing sense of unease, as though her happiness here in this town was somehow tethered to him.
Sachin’s radio, set to the local station, interrupted the non-stop music hour to warn of sudden freezing fog descending over the valley, meaning low visibility for driving, advising residents to ‘stay home and enjoy the tunes’, before a Proclaimers song resumed, blaring about walking a thousand miles to be with a loved one.
Alice sat very still, wishing Cary safe and warm somewhere, hopefully with his mother, enjoying a short visit home, and not putting into motion his idea of going back to Glasgow for good, like he’d mentioned.
The repair shop felt oddly deadened without hope of seeing Cary at his workbench, and so she gathered her things to leave.
‘He’ll be back soon enough,’ came a voice behind her as she made for the door.
Alice turned to find Livvie Cooper fixing her with her ice blue eyes. ‘Like you, he belongs in Cairn Dhu.’
Alice had the tiniest inclination to protest that she hadn’t the foggiest idea what the woman was on about, but she gave up trying to keep her private hopes private any longer and only smiled sadly, jamming her recently purchased Fair Isle bobble hat down over her ears and making her way out into the cold, thinking how she probably did look very much like a local now.
The radio presenter had been right enough; the whole high street was obscured in thin, shifting bands of white, and it was absolutely freezing.
Alice drew her coat closed across her chest and started to hurry towards her flat.
The streetlights were blinking into life as she ran, even though it was only a few minutes before noon.
Their white glow, diffused through icy particles in the fog, made the ground under her feet shimmer with frosty glitter.
She should buy some fresh cartons of soup at the Post Office shop, she thought, and more of those nice morning rolls.
She should change her sheets; even though nothing had happened, they’d still smell of Bastian.
She should call her mother and talk with her about healthy boundary-setting with their exes.
She should probably try to sleep for a while.
Her head buzzed with all the shoulds, as always, and it took a while to realise her feet were slowing, and just as she was wondering why on earth she was almost at a standstill, lingering on the street corner in miserable weather such as this, the mists cleared to reveal a door and a sign that read:
Bonnie Blair, Counsellor
Through the window, she could see a woman behind a reception desk working on a computer and there was a sign that seemed to shout out to her.
APPOINTMENTS AVAILABLE
The desk was positioned right by the window in a waiting room set up to resemble a cosy lounge with two white sofas with plump scatter cushions, empty mugs on a tray upon a coffee table, a very prominent box of tissues, leaflets in racks and tasteful artwork with inspirational quotes on the walls.
A sign by the stairs in the depths of the room said in large letters:
Consulting Room Upstairs
The woman, who’d been typing, lifted her head.
She wore her hair in a bun and big square, arty specs.
She looked back at Alice through the glass and smiled in an open, easy way, as if she somehow knew the reason why a tired-looking Englishwoman would find her feet stuck to the pavement right outside her door.
Without having to think, Alice walked right inside.