Chapter 18 #2
I swipe at my eyes, so annoyed with myself. I’ve picked up crying disease since I’ve been in Bonnie Bay. As well as laughing disease and feeling relaxed disease, not to mention growing a backbone disease. It’s been good for me. So why am I still crying?
‘Why are you crying?’ comes a voice from behind me, uncannily.
I whirl around, and see that it’s Moira.
She’s tottering towards me, and I jump up and hold her arm, help her over to my big boulder chair.
She plonks herself down, stares out at the water, and sighs.
‘It’s beautiful enough to make me cry too, mind…
but I’m guessing that’s not the reason, hen? ’
‘Maybe,’ I reply, smiling as she holds my fingers in her gnarled hand and squeezes reassuringly. ‘It’s probably part of it. Missing Beth perhaps. The men and their stories too. The music. Seeing you all together in the pub… a bit of sensory overload, I think, Moira.’
‘Aye. You have the soul of an artist, Jane. Sensitive, even when you pretend you’re only any good for filling out forms. There’s more to it, I think. It’s Rory, isn’t it?’
My eyes go wide, and she laughs out loud. More of a cackle, truthfully. ‘It’s not hard to spot if you’ve eyes to see, child. Call me crazy, but is he the one… is he the boy you planned to run away with all those years ago, to Bonnie Bay?’
How on earth has she figured that out? We’ve been so careful, and haven’t told another living soul.
Then my mind goes back to that first night at his, when we were talking about teenagers never being as clever as they think they are.
To Moira, Rory and I are probably still teenagers, and definitely not that clever.
Should I deny it? No, I think. I can’t lie to this woman’s face.
‘How could you tell?’ I ask. ‘And does everybody know?’
‘No, don’t worry about that! I’m just an especially perceptive old biddy, you see.
The way you two look at each other… and the way you try so hard not to look at each other.
Plain as day that there was something going on, it just took me a minute to put the pieces together.
Must have been an awful shock to you, eh?
Him turning up on the doorstep like that? I swear I didnae know, petal!’
I believe her. I shrug, shake my head. ‘It really was, for both of us! We’ve talked. Found out some things. Water under the bridge, I suppose. We’ve both moved on.’
‘Have you though? I’m not so sure he has.
I always wondered what that fella was running away from, and I think I know now.
And the only problem with living at the edge of the world like this,’ she says, pointing at the sea, ‘is that there’s always a risk you might fall off.
There was a sadness in him, my lovely Irish charmer, and I think you’ve chased it away, Jane.
So thank you for that, and for everything you’ve done here.
For the grant which we’re now sure to get.
For the project we’ve started. It means more to me than you’ll ever know. ’
Shit. Moira’s got tears on her wrinkled cheeks now. Crying disease must be contagious. I slip my arm around her shoulder and give her a cuddle.
‘Oh Moira, please don’t cry! I feel terrible that I’ve infected you! Let’s talk about something more hopeful… like the portraits. Those men we met today were amazing. I was thinking, once you’ve exhibited them, you should share them – maybe local museums, or the university in Aberdeen?’
She wipes away her tears, then wipes away the remainder of mine, and looks deep into my eyes. It’s quite hypnotic.
‘You see, Jane? Straight away there, you’ve come up with another whole concept.
But that’s looking ahead way too far. I hope we get the portraits done, and that’s a grand idea – but for now, for me?
I can’t look so far into the future. For now, I just want to see this through.
Get the grant money. Involve people more.
Show the world my Angus’s photos. That’s enough for me – because who knows what’s around the corner, eh?
What life might chuck at you next? When you get to my age, it doesn’t pay to plan too long term. ’
‘Rubbish! You’re fit as a fiddle. And I’ll help as much as I can, even when I’m gone. I’ll help you find the perfect artist.’
She shakes her head, and makes a scoffing noise.
‘Do you not think that maybe she’s sitting right here, Jane?
I saw those drawings you were trying to hide earlier.
The way you captured those auld numpties so perfectly…
and that was in minutes, with a jotter on your knee.
Imagine what you could do if you set your heart on it. ’
I wave the compliment away. I enjoyed drawing them, and that is enough. Perhaps it’s one of the things I can look at doing more when Beth leaves for uni, but for now, I won’t be going professional.
‘Thank you, but you can do better than me,’ I reply.
She looks disappointed, and responds: ‘You think that way too much for my liking, darling. Maybe you’re just exactly right, just exactly what’s needed.
For this place, for Rory, most importantly for yourself and your wee girl.
Believe me, life is too short to waste – you should be grabbing it with both hands, not sitting out here looking all peely wally. ’
‘All what now?’
‘Pasty and pale and sad. That’s not living the rainbow, is it? Remember who you are, Jane – you’re the one who followed that crazy card of mine all the way here. You’re the one who took that leap of faith. Don’t turn your back on that brave version of yourself now, will ye?’
Brave… I’ve never thought of myself as brave.
Efficient, hard-working, dedicated. All of those things, yes – but not brave.
I’ve lived a lot of my adult life in fear, I think.
The aftermath of Rory. Marrying a man-child who cheated.
Raising a daughter alone, losing my parents.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt safe, and I suspect I’ve lived my life in a way designed to at least fake it.
So, am I brave? No, I am not. But maybe I can be?
‘What about you though, Moira, and that man Harry who asked you out? He sounded nice. Maybe you should be brave as well!’
She makes a ‘pah’ noise and shakes her head. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, Jane, signing up to that dating app! The perverts out there, man, you wouldn’t believe it!’
I would. It’s one of the many reasons I don’t date. I try and keep my face straight at the thought of my eighty-four-year-old friend dealing with the pitfalls of internet dating, and decide that any scam artists out there would come off worse from the encounter.
‘I suppose you were thinking that it would be fun. That you might enjoy it. That you might even meet someone special.’
‘Maybe I did. But the timing isn’t right, and that’s that. Some things are outwith our control, and I don’t want to give anyone false hope.’
Timing? I think. Is she going to wait until she’s ninety so it’s a nice round number? Or is there more going on here? She seems so driven about getting the gallery up and running, but so dismissive of any longer-term goals.
Moira slaps her knees, and stands up. Subject closed. ‘Right. That’s me away. I need to deal with the old sots back in the pub, and anyway, the man himself is heading this way.’
I follow her nod, and see Rory striding along the sea-front path towards us.
He waves and heads to join us. ‘Need a hand?’ he asks, as Moira takes a few hesitant steps on the soft sand, her feet sinking slightly.
‘Or maybe a piggyback? I could even stick you on my shoulders like we’re at Glastonbury if you like? ’
She reaches up and slaps him across the head, not too gently. ‘Enough of your cheek, pup. I won’t say no to an arm to lean on, mind. What are you doing here anyway, thought you were working? Or did you run out of old microwave ovens to set on fire?’