Chapter 19
NINETEEN
RORY
Over the next few days it feels like we get lost in some kind of time-slip.
We manage to be both lazy and busy, easily aroused and incredibly calm.
There is a lot of sex, and it is phenomenal.
But there is also a lot of companionship – walking, talking, simply being.
I persuade her to paint with me in the studio, and I adore the way she hesitated but eventually agreed.
She is talented, and it is a joy to see her get in touch with that side of herself again.
We go for drives and journeys, I show her more of our beautiful corner of the world, and I take her out on the Juliet. A pod of dolphins frolicked alongside us as we sailed through calm waters and out to one of the rocky islands to watch the seals.
It’s a joy to study her face on days like that, to see the look of awe spread across her pretty features, the shine of amazement in her eyes.
I spend more time looking at her than I do the wildlife around us, because to me, she is the thing of wonder.
Even when she’s beating me at quiz shows – because she was right, she absolutely destroyed me at Mastermind – or washing the dishes or sitting at the table doing paperwork, she astounds me.
Every now and then, she’ll glance up from whatever she’s doing, catch me out.
‘What are you looking at, Rory Callaghan?’ she’d said the other night, while she was replying to work emails, tapping away on her laptop with the concentrated expression she always gets when she’s doing something important.
That’s one of the things I like about the new Jane – whatever she’s up to, she gives it her all.
The grant application for the gallery, the search for an artist, her actual job.
She goes at them all a hundred per cent.
‘Didn’t your mother teach you it was rude to stare? ’
‘My mammy, as you well know, has only a vague notion of what other people class as rude, and she gives not one single damn about them anyway.’
I’d felt a twinge then, an emotional poke in the eye – I still haven’t quite gotten used to the idea that my parents were responsible for our break-up. It will pass, I know, I love my mother dearly, but it is still a thing to be worked through.
She’d known this, and immediately jumped up from her spot at the table, and come to sit on my lap. As distractions went, it was highly effective, and naked shenanigans ensued. As they often do, it seems.
Despite the good times we’ve been having, I know she’s still holding back.
She’s still shut down in ways I can’t change, closed off in places I can’t reach.
I have to accept that, because it was part of the deal.
I keep telling myself that’s okay, that’s all good, but I’m not really sure it is.
Every time I think of her leaving, my heart threatens to explode in my chest. This is my home, and I love it.
I love the beauty of this place, I love the bookshop, I love Moira and all my friends here.
But I’m starting to think that I would leave it all behind if she wanted me to – I would follow her to the ends of the earth.
Damn. I am not doing well at this whole leaving it to fate thing.
I also know that if I let her see exactly how strong my feelings are, she might leave.
Possibly move house, get a fake passport, and relocate to the jungles of Peru.
And she might be right to do that, because I’m not a complete idiot – I know that the way I feel right now isn’t balanced or normal or maybe even sustainable.
We’re living in a bubble here – away from her reality, and mine now completely distorted by her presence.
Plus Beth is away, and she’s the most important thing in Jane’s life and always will be. I need to slow down.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ she asks, from her seat next to me in the car.
This morning, we are taking a drive to check out a scrap yard an hour away.
The guy who runs it knows me, and tends to save up anything interesting he thinks I might be able to use.
The project in Yorkshire is going ahead, and I’m always on the lookout for new materials – in this case an old cast-iron anchor.
Jane is interested in the process, and wants to see how it all starts.
‘They’re not worth a penny,’ I reply, smiling at her as we wind through the hills. ‘They’re barely thoughts.’
I suspect she knows this is a fib, but she doesn’t push it. Ironically, part of our deal seems to involve accepting each other’s white lies as well as being honest.
I take the path upwards, looping behind the village, planning to rejoin the main road once we’ve completed the circuit. It’s a spectacular view, all the way down over Bonnie Bay, out to sea. She gazes out of the window and sighs. ‘It’s not the Tesco car park…’ she mutters, confusingly.
I glance across at her, and she shakes her head. ‘Don’t worry about it… is that Moira? At the side of the road?’
We’ve reached the junction where the smaller road merges onto the main route towards Aberdeen, and it’s very unusual to see anybody walking along here.
There are far nicer footpaths to follow, and no decent pavements.
I stare ahead, frowning, and see a small figure lurking at the edge of the carriageway.
‘I think it is,’ I mutter. ‘What the feck is she up to?’
I slow down as we approach, beeping my horn and eventually coming to a stop on the lay-by. I see the look on Moira’s face, and know her well enough to pick up on her disapproval. She is not pleased to see us, which would be a dent to the ego if I wasn’t so worried.
‘Off with you!’ she says, as I wind the window down. ‘Away on your business, man!’
She sounds impatient, annoyed, and pretty determined not to engage any further.
She strides away in the opposite direction, and I turn the engine off.
I share a confused look with Jane, who shakes her head.
‘That’s not right,’ she says simply. ‘We’d better see what’s going on, even if she doesn’t want us to. ’
I nod my agreement, and we both get out of the car. Moira speeds up, actually trying to outpace us, which is even more concerning. ‘Oi!’ I shout as she shuffles away. ‘You there, in the bright green trainers! Stop pretending you can’t hear me!’
Jane starts to jog after her, and I join her. I didn’t expect to be chasing an eighty-four-year-old granny along the road this morning, for sure. She’s moving at a surprising clip for her age, but we still catch her up pretty quickly. When we do, I see that she is even more upset than I thought.
‘Can ye not mind your own business for once?’ she snaps, glaring at us both, hands on hips.
She’s aiming for angry, but her wobbling lower lip is ruining the show.
I haven’t seen Moira look like this – frustrated, anxious, lashing out – for a very long time.
Not since the early days of her accident, when she was confined to a hospital bed and understandably unhappy with life.
‘No, it doesn’t look like I can,’ I reply, not budging an inch when she pokes me in the chest with a bony finger.
‘And neither can I, sadly,’ Jane adds, her voice soft and gentle despite the firmness of her words. ‘There’s obviously something wrong, and maybe we can help. What are you doing out here? Even I know this is strange.’
‘I’m waiting for an Uber, if you must know,’ she snaps back, gazing up at the still pretty empty road. ‘I’m going to get the messages.’
An Uber? We don’t usually use them in Bonnie Bay, relying instead on each other’s goodwill for lifts when needed, or on our solitary cabbie, known imaginatively as Peter the Taxi.
If she’s ordered an Uber, it’s come all the way from Macduff or even Peterhead, I’d think.
I’m not an expert and don’t have the app, and frankly I’m shocked that Moira does.
What the hell is this all about? Where is she going, and why is she trying to hide it?
She’s damn sure not getting the messages, because around here that means nipping out to the shops or running a few errands.
Why would she need to do any of that in secret?
‘Doesn’t look like they’re coming,’ Jane responds, following her gaze. ‘Why don’t you let us take you wherever you’re going? Or we can just drop you off nearby if you like?’
Moira seems to soften, and turn it over in her mind. She glances at Jane, comes to a decision. ‘Aye. Okay. That sounds all right. I’m heading to Aberdeen, mind, so if you’re not going so far, leave me by a bus stop. I’ll be fine.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ I reply, shepherding her towards the car. ‘But we won’t be doing that, you stubborn old moo. Are you going daft in your dotage?’
‘Maybe I am,’ she replies, climbing into the back seat, Jane joining her. ‘But I’m still smarter than you, Rory Callaghan, so hold your wheesht why don’t you!’
Jane snorts out a laugh, and we set off.
She chats to Moira about the upcoming visit from the grant people, and tells her about some of the painters she’s shortlisted to approach.
She floats the idea of Moira having her own portrait done, which I fully expect to be condemned.
Instead, I’m both surprised and alarmed when she replies: ‘That’s no a bad idea, hen.
I’m almost as ancient a relic as some of the others, and maybe…
maybe it would be nice for Robbie, you know? For when I’m not around any more.’
‘And… is that something you’re thinking about, not being around?’ Jane asks, her voice low and undemanding. Non-threatening, inviting Moira to open up without pushing too hard.
It turns out to be exactly what was needed, because after a small silence, she mutters: ‘Aye. It is.’
She lets out a shuddering sigh, and I glance in the rear-view mirror, see Jane holding her hand. ‘If you must know, I’m on my way to the hospital.’
I drag my eyes away and back onto the road.
I’m shocked and worried, and starting to piece together lots of little things – she’s been more emotional than usual, more determined to sort things out.
I’ve felt there was something off for a wee while, but I never guessed it was anything like this.
If she’s going all the way to the city, then it isn’t anything simple, either.
I grip the steering wheel and concentrate on driving. It won’t help any of us if I crash.
‘I see,’ Jane answers. ‘Okay. Well, in that case, we’ll take you there. If you don’t mind the company that is?’
‘I’m sure you’ve got better things to be doing with your time. I’ll be grand by myself, thank you.’
‘Nothing we had planned is more important than this, Moira,’ I tell her. ‘More important than you. Let us help you. We won’t tell anybody unless you want us to – though you know Robbie will kill you for doing this to him again?’
When she had her fall, her grandson was living in Australia, and she didn’t tell him anything had happened.
She also banned all of us from telling him, which wasn’t a comfortable situation.
She moved in with Joanne, and seemed resigned to her fate.
It was only Kate’s interfering that brought him home again, where he had every right to be.
‘Och, I know that, Rory! I just… I wanted to find out what the score was before I broke the news, all right? I didn’t want to be all “oh, by the way, I have a touch of the cancer” when I didn’t really know what was going on!
He’s finally so settled back here, and Kate’s busy with the baby, and Joanne…
well. Much as I mock her, she’d be devastated.
She’s already put up with me in my sick bed once. ’
My throat goes dry and my knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
Cancer? Please God, no… I try not to overreact, to not let my face show the horror I’m feeling inside.
I’m suddenly all out of words, suddenly a typical useless man, and I’m grateful when Jane steps in right away.
Her tone is surprisingly matter-of-fact as she asks: ‘And is that what it is, then?’
‘It is. But today I find out more – I’ve had scans and biopsies, and wretched blood tests, and today I have a meeting with the young doctor to find out my fate.
What stage it’s at, what treatment there is, that kind of thing.
I’m trying not to be too gloomy, but I cannae deny it’s been playing on my mind… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Rory.’
‘That’s okay,’ I answer, not wanting to add to her sorrows.
‘But I’m glad I know now. We’ll take you to the hospital, and we’ll wait and take you home afterwards.
No arguments now, before you gear up for one – you can thank your good friend fate for disappearing your Uber, can’t you? She must have wanted us to find you…’
‘Bah. We’ll be having words, me and fate… but thank you. Both of you. I’m sorry for all the fuss.’
Jane passes her a tissue from her bag – she seems to carry the whole world around in that bag of hers – and Moira dabs at her eyes. I hate that she’s crying. I hate that she’s sick. I hate that she’s been bearing this alone for so long.
‘Would you like us to come in with you?’ Jane asks, slightly hesitantly, maybe not wanting to overstep. ‘Or just Rory?’
There’s a huge sniffle, and the sound of Moira blowing her nose.
Then: ‘Maybe you, dearie, if you’re sure?
I love the very bones of our Rory, but I’m not convinced he needs to be on such intimate terms with my anatomy…
he’s always been a wee bit in love with me, it might be too much for him, you ken? ’
I shake my head and grin. That sounds more like the old Moira, I think.
Jane agrees, and we continue on our way.
I’m still in shock by the time we park up, and walk together towards the busy foyer of the building.
Moira walks in the middle of us, both arms linked into ours for support.
‘I feel like Dorothy on the yellow brick road…’ she comments, her skin pale but a bit of fight back in her.
‘And before you ask, son, you’re the Scarecrow.
Have you read that, Jane? The Wonderful Wizard of Oz?
I have a copy from the thirties in the shop, beautiful illustrations… ’
They chat about the book as we make our way into the lift and up to a floor of the hospital that nobody wants to visit. There, after a short wait, her name is finally called.
We stand, and I wrap Moira in my arms. I don’t want to let her go.
‘It’ll be all right, you big lummox,’ she tells me, giving me a peck on the cheek.
I meet Jane’s luminous brown eyes over her shoulder, and she gives me the sweetest smile. ‘It will. You big lummox.’
I watch them go, disappearing down the corridor, taking the whole of my heart with them.