Chapter 12 #2
Ironically, now I know our host is Rory, I feel far calmer about leaving her here without me. Turns out we’re not staying with a stranger after all.
There’s no sign of Rory in the lounge or the kitchen, and I am both disappointed and relieved. I’m sure there are other choices – his bedroom, probably a studio, the outbuildings – but I’m too much of a coward to go and search him out. I need time to deal with this mess, and I’m sure he does too.
Outside, the day is absolutely glorious.
It’s not even eight, but the sun is already high in the sky, and from our perch up here I can see for miles – endless rolling waves, a blue horizon that disappears off into infinity.
I pass the piles of metal and scrap, see heaps of industrial-looking equipment, and wonder what he’s working on now.
I stare at the shapes for a while, picking out the different surfaces, textures, even variations in colour.
Not all junk is created equal, and I’m fascinated by how this can be used to produce something beautiful.
I can’t even begrudge him all this now, knowing what I do.
The walk down into the village takes me a while, because there is so much look at.
Flowers, little streams, pockets of such wild beauty that I have to stop and stare and take photos.
I bombard Beth with them on WhatsApp, my spirits lifted by the sights, by the sounds of the birds overhead, the smells of the sea and the vanilla-scented bright yellow gorse.
It’s intoxicating, and helps clear my mind.
I arrive in Bonnie Bay feeling lighter, more whole, strolling along the beach on my way to the bookshop. I hadn’t planned specifically to go there, but it seems it’s been my destination all along. It’s already my happy place.
I realise when I get there that it’s early – it might not be open. I stand in front of the lilac building, and catch a glimpse of somebody moving inside. The door opens, and a tall woman with gorgeous long dark hair blinks at me in surprise. She looks tired, and rubs her eyes.
‘Oh. You are real,’ she says. ‘Which means you’re probably Jane! I’m Kate, come on in. Coffee?’
‘Always.’
‘Apologies in advance if I’m a bit groggy,’ she says, after three attempts to get the pod into the Nespresso machine. ‘We got back late last night, after a flight from Chicago and then London. Plus the baby decided she was going to deal with her jet lag by staying awake all night.’
‘Don’t they say that’s the best way to do it?’ I ask, taking the mug and following her through to the main room. She sinks into one of the comfortable chairs by the fireplace, and I join her.
‘In that case, she’s a tiny genius! Moira told me you found one of her invitation cards, just like me. What do you think of Bonnie Bay so far?’
That’s a complicated question. It’s possibly the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.
It’s made me question my life and career choices, and led to me defying my boss for the first time.
It’s made my sometimes-sulky daughter beam with happiness, and oh yes, it’s also reunited me with my ex, and completely rewritten our past. All in all, pretty hard to sum up.
‘Um… it’s been great,’ I say, shrugging and sipping my coffee. Kate’s eyes narrow slightly and she points a finger at me.
‘There’s more going on, I can tell,’ she says, smiling. ‘As Moira might say, Bonnie Bay is working its magic! I was… well, I was a mess when I arrived here. I didn’t know how broken I was until I met Brody and started to mend. It’s… it’s a special place.’
She looks a little misty-eyed, gazing around the bookshop fondly.
I know she’s been a driving force in giving the Edge of the World a whole new lease of life, and her love for it shines through.
It is special, I think, taking in the gleaming shelves and their precious cargo.
Full of charm, full of stories – not just the ones inside the many books, but the ones being lived by people like Kate, by Moira, by this lovely little community.
‘Moira mentioned your plan to manage our grant process, and a new art project doing portraits of some of the elderly residents,’ Kate says, which comes as a bit of a surprise.
‘Well, I didn’t quite say that. I said I’d help. Manage? That’s too strong a word – I’m not even sure how long we’re staying!’
Damn. I did say I’d help, before I knew anything about Rory. Now I feel like I’ve committed to something that feels impossible – how to navigate this? How to stay true to my word and help Moira, but also retain my sanity?
Kate listens to my slightly panicked bleating, and grins.
‘That’s what we all say. But while you’re here, we’ll take all the help we can get.
The gallery will open regardless of the extra funding, thanks to our investor, James.
I suspect he’ll be looking to find a place for a proper hotel too, once we’re up and running and bringing more tourists in.
He’s a good man, but not an idiot – he’s not doing it all for the sake of art.
The grants, though, they could make all the difference.
If we can give some extra cash to local aspiring artists, support them to display their art here…
A gallery will be a commercial proposition, but Moira wants it to be so much more.
She wants it to matter to the people who live here, to make a difference.
And to be honest, whatever Moira wants, I’ll do anything to give her. ’
I can feel how much this means to Kate as well – and how much Moira means to her too. ‘I’ll get the papers for you,’ Kate says. ‘Moira’s running late but will be in soon. And Rory should be here in a bit, to plan the murals…’
Kate gets to her feet and heads behind the counter.
She roots a file from a cabinet, while I stare at the door and wonder if I can make a run for it.
I came down to the bookshop today to escape from Rory and the drama of it all, and now it’s following me.
I suppose that’s the downside of living in a tiny village instead of a town near London.
‘You okay?’ she asks, eyeballing me as she hands me the file.
‘Yes! Of course. Do you only have hard copies?’
‘No, it’s all digital as well – but Moira prefers something she can hold so I print everything off for her. You can go and sit in the office if you want some peace and quiet? Brody might stop by with Alice soon, and… well. That gets noisy.’
I agree, and shuffle off to the small room at the back with my coffee. She pauses before she leaves me there, and gives me a quick hug.
‘Thank you,’ she says sincerely. ‘For coming here. Moira put so much effort into those cards, inviting people to the shop and the village… and it’s wonderful that we weren’t the only people who turned up. And thank you for helping with this – it means much more to her than she lets on.’
‘How so?’ I ask.
‘Well, it’s not just her bookshop – it’s her and Angus’s legacy, I suppose.
They built it together, and by all accounts he was a marvellous man with a sensitive soul.
The bookshop, the gallery, all the impact she wants to make?
That’s for him as much as for her, and I get the feeling that she’s…
well. She’s even more invested than normal. So again, I say – thank you.’
She looks slightly worried, and I see how strong the connections here are. Kate, the shop, Moira – all of them tangled together. I nod. ‘Okay. I get it. I’ll just take a look then.’
Everything she has said makes me more determined to do whatever I can, and truthfully, I also just need to be alone for a minute.
Kate seems really nice, and I’m sure we could be pals, but I’m also not sure how much of an actress I am.
If Rory really does turn up, I could swoon, panic, cry or pin him to the wall and snog him – all of them are viable options, and I need to get a grip of myself.
I open the file, and start reading through the paperwork.
It’s something I feel better equipped to handle, and welcome the tedium of official language and form-filling jargon.
I can see some of the answers already pencilled in are fine, but some are lacking.
I smile as I recognise Moira’s handwriting from the card, and read the little comments she’s scrawled on her draft of the application, able to now imagine her voice to go with them.
One says: ‘This bit is rubbish!’, another says ‘weak and weedy’, and the last simply says ‘give me strength!’
I have my own ideas about how to boost their pitch, and make notes on a pad as I go through. If I’m here long enough, I can totally knock this into shape for them, but this way even if I leave this afternoon I’ll have given them something to work with.
I can totally see where the portrait project for the elderly folk of Bonnie Bay could fit in, too. I wonder how hard it would actually be? What would we need to make it happen? I notice the ‘we’ there, and feel both unnerved and comforted by it at the same time.
I start to make a list. I love a good list, it restores order in a world that is often sadly lacking it. Maybe I should make a list of the pros and cons of being anywhere near Rory Callaghan, maybe even a nice spreadsheet.
I shake my head, and herd the cats that now seem to live in it.
I’ve managed a lot of different projects at work, and I’m sure I’m capable of this.
It’s just a matter of finding the right people for the right jobs – just like those cards of Moira’s were searching for the right person at the right time.
If we get the funding, it would be a matter of then finding the right artist or even artists, scheduling sittings, discussing mediums – we could look at oils, watercolours, sketches, a combination of them all.
Lots of options, lots of interesting ways to present them.
It’s all right there, ripe for the creating.