Chapter 13
Niall
Niall made himself visible atop a windswept sand dune and gazed out to sea.
A light breeze tickled at the grass and invigorated his senses.
Autumn was such a beautiful time of year in Scotland.
Not too cold and never a let-down if it rained, like summer could be.
Could he live here again? It had been a great place to grow up.
Maybe boring at times, but safe and they’d made their own fun.
Living in a small village with little to entertain you in the way of shops or amenities, meant focusing on other things like surfing, being outdoors and running around expending energy.
Now he was used to the big city, would Kinshore seem too small?
Had it been too small for him back then?
There was a danger of romanticising home when you lived so far away from it.
Being with his siblings was part of the package, and although they didn’t all live in Kinshore, there would be more moments like today at Sean’s, hanging out and having a laugh. And he couldn’t help but imagine, for a second, Carli being part of that too.
You might be fast-forwarding a bit too hastily to the happily ever after, mate. There’s a slim to none chance of that happening at all.
‘Did you learn to surf here?’ Niall’s potential student was a young lad of sixteen – Kieran – who had somehow ended up being excluded from school.
His youth worker, Fiona, drove him to the beach and took a walk nearby while Niall chatted to the boy.
Kieran talked a lot and had a curious nature, asking about tides and rips.
He had clearly been reading up on surfing. Niall took to him straight away.
‘Aye, I did. My dad taught us all as soon as we had the motor skills, so I’ve been at it since I was about six. Fiona says you’ve always wanted to surf.’
‘Aye, but I’ve never been able to afford any of the stuff you need. And to be honest, I’ve been a bit busy fucking up my life.’
Niall chuckled. ‘Och, I’m sure you haven’t fucked up your life at all. You’re only sixteen.’
‘Aye, but a lot of things have gone wrong already.’
‘Like what?’
‘Getting kicked out of school for one, not getting any qualifications. Getting lifted by the police.’
‘Right.’ Niall examined the boy. ‘Look, it’s not a great start, but you’re sixteen and things are redeemable.
It’s what your attitude is now. Trust me.
’ Kieran was a Scottish version of the kids Niall taught to surf in Sydney.
There was a light glowing deep within every one of them if you stood close enough or still enough to feel or see it.
This kid had a spark, Niall believed it.
And if you nurtured that spark while it was there, there was a chance to have it ignite into a burning flame.
‘No offence, mate, but you don’t get it,’ said Kieran. ‘You’re posh.’
Niall laughed. ‘I’m posh?’ He hadn’t heard this in a while.
In Australia, he was plain old Scottish.
But here, there were many more nuanced class categories for him to be placed in.
He got why Kieran might think he was posh.
Family owns a distillery, looks well put together, reasonably well spoken.
And Niall’s accent may have softened a bit from his time in Australia trying to make himself understood by the locals.
‘Aye. You went to a posh school and—’
Niall laughed. ‘I went to the same school as you.’
‘What? Ferniebrae?’
‘No, Campbeltown High. And I’ll tell you something.’ Niall’s gut twisted. Even though he sometimes raised this topic when he was teaching, talking about it here, where it all happened, spiked the shame. ‘I got kicked out of school.’
‘What? Like excluded?’
‘Kind of, aye. More like asked to make the choice to leave, halfway through fifth year.’
‘Aye?’ Kieran’s interest was piqued. ‘What for?’
‘Och, it’s not something I shout about.’ Getting asked to leave school was far from Niall’s proudest moment.
‘Just being a pain in the arse. Some of it was not getting on with teachers, but some of it was not turning up to classes, not doing any work, giving backchat to teachers, being an arrogant wee shite.’
‘But posh kids don’t get excluded.’
‘Like I said, I’m not posh, but yes they do.’
‘So, how come you didn’t go to Ferniebrae?’
‘Well, because they only take kids up to fourth year. So I ended up studying at home with my mum supervising me and did way better than I would have done in school. Sat some highers in fifth year then went off to college up in Thurso to study business. It’s not quite the same as you, but I get a bit of what it’s like.
But let’s pretend I am posh. If I wasn’t then I might not be in this position to help kids like you.
I had a supportive family who got me back on track.
Otherwise, things might have turned out differently.
So that’s why I want to help teach kids that haven’t had the best time of it to surf.
And trust me when I say I’ve seen a lot of changed lives. ’
The whole time Niall was talking, Kieran watched and listened, but as soon as he finished the boy dived in with a question. ‘So, when can I start? Today?’
Niall wished they could. He would love to wade into the water again and get Kieran up on his board, see him emerge from under a wave beaming with joy because he’d stood up for three seconds.
‘Unfortunately, ’cause of your age, we need to sort out police checks and stuff, but it shouldn’t take too long. In the meantime, we can get you fitted out with all the gear.’
‘Brilliant.’ Kieran nodded with vigour. ‘Can I bring my mates? You should set up a surf school.’
‘Ha, aye, you can, and I already did. But it’s in Australia. That’s where I live now. I’m over here visiting family for a bit.’
‘Oh.’ Kieran appeared so crestfallen that Niall wanted to say something to make it better.
‘I might stick around and, if not, I’ll find someone else who can teach you. A personal recommendation from me. As long as you promise not to give up.’
‘Oh aye, I can do that.’ Kieran’s face lit up with the September sun and Niall experienced that life-affirming warmth from making a difference to someone else’s life. There was nothing quite like it.
After saying goodbye to Kieran, Niall walked into the village. There were a few things he wanted to buy for Carli, to make her camping trip a little more comfortable, although he sincerely hoped she’d go for the hotel option.
Kinshore High Street offered a safe reassurance with many of the same shops that had been there throughout Niall’s childhood.
The butcher’s, the florist’s, the bakery.
He was drawn in by the smell of fresh coffee and bread and enjoyed chatting to a school friend who now managed the bakery, having upgraded it with a deluxe coffee machine.
The man would inherit the business from his father, as Jamie would the distillery.
Jimmy had wanted them all to take a role, but only Jamie ended up taking that route.
Although Sean made the barrels for the family whisky and Cal ran bars that sold the stuff. And what did Niall do?
Buggered off to Australia and became a surf instructor.
Niall grabbed a coffee and croissant to go and wandered further up the high street.
He took a turning that led down a narrower street where he was greeted by compact stone cottages with neat squares of garden out front.
Terracotta pots containing brightly coloured flowers sat on doorsteps under front doors painted either pink or white, as if the neighbours had agreed to colour coordinate.
How very Kinshore. God, this place was idyllic.
How had he never noticed growing up? It was tempting to use one of the tourists’ favourite words: quaint.
At the end of a high stone wall an archway led into a walled public garden. Kinshore’s ‘secret garden’. Not that it was a huge secret to anyone from here.
The secret garden was a small space, about the size of a tennis court, with rows of rose beds and several varnished wooden benches.
A team of keen volunteers maintained it, but it was always surprisingly quiet, even in summer.
Niall and Carli had come here and chatted, sometimes about Carli’s mum, sometimes about Niall’s struggles at school, sometimes about nothing much at all, and if they weren’t talking they were kissing, hands fumbling, staring the faces off each other.
Niall wandered the short perimeter path, drinking his coffee, swiping the occasional crumb off his jacket, and soaking in the calm vibe.
Goosebumps rose up on his skin at the care the locals had taken of the place.
All the benches had plaques, the name of which Niall recognised: all touching, some sad.
A young lad, Tom, who’d passed away from illness in his teens, Mrs Christie who’d run the sweet shop in the village and always given him extra bon bons because she liked him. And Carli’s mum.
Alison Caselli, nee Campbell. Mother of Carlotta and Lucia, beloved wife of Gianluca.
Beloved. Really? If Carli’s dad had cared so much about his wife, he would have honoured her wishes to have her daughters finish their education here. And he wouldn’t have wanted to rush back to Australia faster than bloody Concorde. Like Carli, he’d have wanted to be close to Alison, dead or not.
At least, that’s how it seemed to Niall. How he’d have felt if it were his mum, heaven forbid.
Of course, who was he to judge? He’d messed with Carli’s head like her father had. Gianluca Caselli might be a fuckwit, but so was Niall Butler.
One of them was trying to make amends now, though.