Chapter 17 #2
We’d said we were going to talk, but in reality we don’t – not about anything serious at least. We just enjoy the sunshine, the views, the scent of the gorse.
I take her hand in mine, and point out the pods of dolphins in the distance.
She’s delighted, watching them as I watch her, my heart almost exploding with happiness.
So much happiness it actually feels dangerous.
She holds me in the palm of her hand, yet again, and it is frightening.
She glances at me, as though sensing my scrutiny, her smile faltering. ‘Are you okay?’ she asks quietly. ‘I know this is complicated…’
‘I’m grand,’ I tell her firmly. ‘And right now it feels simple. Sunlight, nature, you. That’ll do for me.’
‘Enjoy the moment is it, Rory? Live for the craic?’
‘Why not?’ I ask, grinning, sounding more light-hearted than I actually feel. ‘When the moment’s like this, and the craic is so good?’
She nods. I’m not sure if she believes me, and she’s right not to.
I need to let all of this settle, figure out how I feel.
Right now I am euphoric, but I know that might not be real.
It wouldn’t be fair to either of us if I started declaring my undying love and making plans for us to spend the rest of our lives together when I’m not sure what I really feel.
Besides, I suspect if I did that, she’d run all the way down the cliff, leap into the sea, and swim back down to London. My Juliet is a flight risk.
We reach the bookshop, and find the place already busy.
There’s a small group of tourists in, walkers from the look of them, and three Labs, all different colours.
Jane is thrilled with the dogs, and immediately goes over to pet them.
She looks like a child, surrounded by fur.
She always loved dogs, but her mum was allergic so they couldn’t have their own.
I wonder why she doesn’t have one now. Or maybe she does.
Just because I don’t know about it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, I remind myself.
I nod hello to Kate, and make my way into the children’s room.
It’s temporarily closed, the shelves, games and bean bags moved out for now.
I stand in the middle and look around. The surfaces are prepped, the outlines drawn on both the farmland and the sea walls, and partially on the forest. I’ve done the trees, and as Jane joins me, she smiles at what she sees.
‘What animals are you going to do?’ she asks, thoughtfully.
‘Not sure – I was hoping you’d help with that. Truthfully, you were always better than me at the drawing now, weren’t you?’
She scoffs. ‘That was years ago! And you’ve… actually, I don’t know – did you train, go to art college?’
‘Not really. I did some night classes, and then apprenticed to a blacksmith for a year after I moved here. I already had an idea what I wanted to work in, and that seemed more useful.’
‘Oooh,’ she replies, gazing at me. ‘A blacksmith…’
‘Aye,’ I answer, flexing a little. ‘Bare-chested by the flames, so I was.’
‘Really?’
‘No, you eejit – that’d be dangerous! I had a leather apron. In fact I still have it.’
I raise my eyebrows at her saucily, and she laughs. ‘Okay, okay… maybe some hares. I like hares.’
I’m slightly hurt at how quickly she’s pivoted from me being bare-chested by the flames through to the murals, but such is life.
‘Red squirrel, deer… is there anything specifically Scottish that you should include?’ she asks.
I think about it. ‘Maybe capercaillie? It’s a really big grouse. Also known as the cock-of-the-woods.’
She smirks, fighting a losing battle with laughter. ‘Glad to see your sense of humour’s matured,’ I say.
‘Oh come on! Cock-of-the-woods? You’d have to be dead not to laugh at that…
anyway. I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got work to do.
We’re going to go through Angus’s photos, and Moira has invited some of the local people in – the ones she says have kind of lost touch with the village?
A lot of Angus’s pictures are from his time on the fishing boats, so she wants to show them.
And, you know, sell them on the idea of having their portraits painted…
it’s a shame we can’t get it all done quicker, really.
It would be nice to display them together.
I have a shortlist of possible artists, though, maybe you could look at with me? ’
‘Yes. I know a lot of the Scottish painters.’
She nods, tucking away the information, presumably on her mental spreadsheet.
This new Jane is so different in a lot of ways – organised, efficient, businesslike.
It’s what’s allowed her to hold down a demanding job and raise a child alone.
It might not be the kind of trait that Shakespeare would write a sonnet about, but it’s part of her now, I know.
‘Um. Okay. Well, I’ll see you later, I guess?’
‘You will,’ I reply firmly. ‘I’ll see you at home.’
She hesitates, and I have no clue what has unsettled her. I’d been planning on closing the door, pulling her in for a kiss, but something in her eyes tells me not to.
‘Yes,’ she says eventually. ‘See you then.’
She turns, leaves. I shake my head, and prepare my paints. We’re both on uncertain ground, tiptoeing our way across new terrain. I’ll go mad if I read too much into every little gesture, every word.
I go back to painting, mixing different tubes to try and find exactly the right shade for the sea, filling in the white gannets and the orange beaks of the puffins. I gaze across at the trees on the opposite wall. Cock-of-the-woods… it really is funny.