Chapter 12 #3
Beneath all of that, though – beneath the logistics – are the people.
Moira told me a little about some of them, the lives they have led.
The way that the fishermen and farmers are an essential part of this community, but somehow still apart from it.
Their isolation, and the way that Moira wants to use this project as a way to both honour them and bring them closer.
I might not live in the wilds of Scotland, but I do understand loneliness. If there’s something I can do to help, then I’m all in.
I’m so enthused that I don’t notice how much time passes until I’m startled by the sound of a baby wailing.
I look up, on instant alert, even though my own baby is sixteen and probably still in bed.
I message her quickly, asking if she’s still alive.
No, comes the immediate reply. I’m typing this with my ghost fingers.
I laugh and send her a few white-sheeted emojis, then go into the bookshop.
I pause before I show myself, because there is a lot going on out there. For a start, Beth – she must have messaged me while she was already here, just for fun. There’s also a huge man perched on one of the tables, gulping down coffee.
And in the middle of it all, Rory.
He’s walking around with the baby cradled up against his shoulder, doing a little jig. His hand is firm against the back of her adorable head, and he drops little kisses on her velvety crown. He’s murmuring consoling sounds to her, and it’s working – she’s stopped crying.
‘Yeah,’ says Brody – it’s got to be him – wearily. ‘Now you just need to keep doing that for the next ten hours. Jesus, I’d forgotten how hard this all was…’
‘And you wouldn’t change a thing, would you now?’ Rory replies.
Brody’s big, battered-looking face breaks out into a slow grin. ‘Nah. No way. I’m the luckiest man in the world.’
‘That you are, my friend,’ Rory says, ‘that you are.’ Am I imagining it, or does he sound sad?
Is there a note of yearning in his voice, or am I yet again externalising my pain?
I know that seeing him like this, so tenderly caring for that little one, is melting some ice from around my heart. What could have been…
I finally walk through, and Beth makes a little ‘ooh, I’m a ghost’ face at me.
She has a copy of The Hunger Games in her hands, taken from one of the shelves I presume, and it makes me smile.
She read those when she was thirteen and went through a complete Katniss impersonator phase. ‘Mum,’ she says immediately, ‘can I—’
‘Go and play with Laurel?’
‘No, actually – can I go and work with Laurel! In her mum’s café. I’ll get paid and everything.’
She sounds very excited at the prospect, and much as I’d like to keep her around as a human shield, I let her go.
She gives me a quick hug, and disappears off in a whirl of hair and Converse.
I’m left with two men and a baby, and put on my game face as Brody introduces himself.
I am a confident and mature woman, I remind myself, used to wrangling empire-builders on a daily basis.
I can do this, no matter how weak at the knees seeing Rory with a baby in his arms makes me feel.
It’s irritating though, like some biological imperative has kicked in.
I peer at Alice’s fuzzy head, see her little hands scrunched up together, her face peaceful as she snoozes. I feel a whoosh of emotion as she snorts in a breath, so tiny and helpless and completely perfect.
‘Beautiful isn’t she?’ Rory asks, his voice low. I briefly meet his gaze, and wish I hadn’t. I nod, and move away quickly. It’s all too much.
‘Absolutely gorgeous,’ I reply, and leave the room. I don’t care if it looks weird, I need to be away from him for a second. I wander into the children’s room, and find Kate and Moira both splayed out on bean bags. I join them, splatting gracefully down with a trademark ‘oof’.
‘Here she is, our saviour!’ Moira announces, grinning at me. ‘Have you got us a million pounds in funding yet? I have my eye on a Caribbean cruise…’
I laugh, and reply: ‘Not just yet. I have some ideas though. And I made a list.’
‘Aye, I bet you did. You’re probably full of ideas to whip us into shape, am I right?’
I nod. She is in fact correct. ‘I’ve done as much as I can for now. As for the portraits project, the next stage is really about the people – who you’d like to take part, whether they’d be willing, even who you think might need this more than others – the ones who need a way back in?’
That, I realise, is what this is all about.
It’s not about grants or money or even art – it’s about bringing people back into the community.
It makes me feel emotional, as does everything right now, and I shake my head to clear it.
‘Anyway, Moira – over to you. You probably know everything about everyone within a hundred-mile radius, because you seem like a very nosy woman.’
Kate snorts out loud, and nods. ‘She is! With every single person who walks through the door, she has their whole life story in seconds, then sells them books they never knew they wanted! She’s like an evil mix of kindness and capitalism…’
‘The first one is the most important,’ Moira responds, ‘but the second one pays the bills! So, if I come up with the subjects for the portraits, you’ll take care of everything else, Jane?’
‘No,’ I say firmly. It’s a big ask, finding the right artists, writing commissioning briefs, and a lot of responsibility. ‘I’m not committing to that. I’ll do as much as I can while I’m here, but that isn’t even set in stone yet.’
‘Well your wee lassie seems to be enjoying herself,’ Moira points out, staring at me intensely, as though she’s trying to solve a puzzle. ‘And you said you had leave booked. You’ve got a nice place to stay, and now a task to complete. What’s the problem?’
Just as she asks that question, the problem himself walks into the room, now baby free, and it suddenly feels crowded.
He takes in the three of us lying on our bean bags and shakes his head.
The smile he gives us is enough to make my heart race, and I try not to blush.
This, I think, is the problem – how can I be around this man and not react like this?
I have too many emotions all pointing in his direction, I have a lot of things I need to think about…
but all he has to do is smile like that, and I forget it all.
I’m just a girl again, looking at the first and last man she ever truly loved.
‘What’s going on in here, my darlings?’ he asks, laying on the Irish accent thicker than usual. ‘And where was my invitation to the slumber party?’
‘Och, now, Rory,’ Moira replies, amused. ‘There’s too much woman here for even you to handle! Now, don’t just stand there looking pretty, help me up!’
He holds out his hands and hauls her up, giving her a little cuddle when she lands. I see for myself now that she wasn’t lying when she said he was a very good friend – it’s obvious how much they care for each other. Kate and I join them, her with slightly more grace than me.
Rory stares at the walls, and says: ‘So, ladies, have you decided?’
‘Animals,’ says Kate.
‘Flowers,’ says Moira.
They stare at each other and burst into giggles.
‘Looks like no, we haven’t decided,’ Moira says.
‘Maybe you could choose, Rory? You and Jane, in fact – I can tell she has an eye for beauty, just like yourself. We’ll leave you to it, eh?
I need to go and placate my sister. I started burning my wee bundles of sage in the house, and she’s threatening to call a priest and have them do an exorcism on me… ’
She cackles and exits, Kate following. I’m alone with him again, and feeling overwhelmed.
Again. I’m tired, I’ve been around a baby, and I am in a small room with the man who broke my heart – it doesn’t matter how it happened, it still broke.
I look anywhere but at him. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.
‘Are you going to cry?’ he asks. ‘Your nose is doing that scrunching up thing it always used to do before you cried.’
‘No! Why would I be crying?’ I snap back, annoyed that even after all these years he knows me so well. That he remembers so much. He looks at me, his eyes searching mine.
‘Because this is all pretty unsettling,’ he says gently. ‘Because if you’re feeling anything like I am, you’re all over the place. I spoke to my mother, this morning.’
My eyes widen, and I bite my lip. Do I even want to know?
‘We were right,’ he goes on, voice dripping with bitterness.
‘She didn’t want to talk about it, but I made her.
Not my proudest moment, bullying my own mammy, but she’s a tough woman and she could handle it.
Eventually she told me everything – and it was exactly what we thought.
They planned it all together. The messages, leaving me at the station, the trip to France.
Going back to Dublin was something they’d been considering anyway, but they moved up the process when they found out what was going on – your dad overheard us talking about it one night.
Simple as that. The note I left was just a wee bonus they used against us. ’
He sounds dejected, hurt. I understand that, and feel the same – but he still has his mum around, still has to deal with that situation. Without planning to, I reach out and take his hand in mine to comfort him.