Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-three
Carly
I left the curtain open last night so I could see the stars. And now, as the sun rises, the room is filled with golden light. I sit up and look out, pulling the fleecy blanket around my shoulders as I gather my thoughts.
Oliver. Dinah. And Suki, doing her utmost to jolly everyone along. As the events of last night slide into place, I slip out of bed and pull on a sweater over my pyjama top. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, going to all this effort and being met with ungratefulness and downright rudeness. Still best that I leave, I figure. The thought of a repeat performance tonight – with Dinah especially – is more than I can stomach. I’m not worried about shooting off without saying goodbye to her, or to Oliver. I can’t imagine either of them being exactly chirpy over their muesli, or minding that I’m leaving. But I won’t head off without thanking Suki.
At just gone seven I pull on my trainers, figuring that it’ll only take me a few minutes to pack and be ready to leave. There’s no sign that anyone else is up yet, and I don’t want to disturb them by moving around too much. So, carrying only my phone, thinking I might take some photos outside, I creep through the cabin and quietly open the front door and step out onto the deck.
The sight before me makes me gasp.
We have incredible sunsets at Sandybanks but I have never seen a sunrise like this. Dawn is streaking the sky with vivid orange and pink. Never mind that I’m not even properly dressed; there’s still no one around. I step down off the deck and tread lightly along the path that skirts the forest. It feels so good to be out, and alone. It’s more peaceful, even, than those early mornings in the library. Because here there are no traffic sounds, no rumble of the twice-hourly train. Just the cry of a bird and the breath of a light wind through the trees.
I pause briefly and send a quick message to Prish. She was all for me coming up here, saying the ‘change of scene’ would do me good. Trapped with bizarre group in the middle of nowhere, I type, with a gone-bonkers emoji. Send help! Then I stride onwards, feeling better already as I mentally rev myself up for my ‘sudden sciatica attack’ performance, back at the cabin.
Finally, about to turn back, I perch on a sawn-off tree trunk and check my phone. I’m not expecting a reply from Prish yet. Rather, I’m hoping that a message from Frank has miraculously appeared. But there’s nothing. I want to be with him now, to pour it all out – how I miss how we were together. So I start to type out a message. Hope all good. Hate to admit but you were right. Strange group here so I’m thinking of— I look up with a jolt, tapping ‘send’ accidentally. ‘Oh!’
‘Sorry,’ Oliver starts. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you …’
‘It’s okay,’ I say quickly. ‘I just didn’t hear you there.’ So much for the peace of the morning.
He steps back as if keen not to encroach on my space any further. In a dark green jacket and jeans and a black beanie hat, he’s more sensibly dressed than I am for the crisp early morning. His boots look as if they’re designed for serious walking, and a small rucksack is slung over a shoulder. ‘I really didn’t mean to creep up on you like that,’ he adds.
‘Honestly, it’s okay.’ I jump up, glancing at my PJ bottoms. ‘Look at me, not even dressed!’
A smile crosses his mouth. ‘Aren’t you cold?’
‘I’m not actually.’ I shrug, feeling awkward now. ‘I came out to see the dawn. Woke up early, you know.’
He nods. ‘Me too. Thought I’d have a stroll before – well, before it all gets going in there.’
‘Right,’ I say, realising I should probably start to conjure up my terrible back pain right now, if it’s to be believable. But somehow I can’t bring myself to put on an act. Oliver slips his rucksack off his shoulder and unzips it, pulling out a metal flask.
‘Don’t suppose you fancy a coffee?’
‘Erm, I was just going to head back to the cabin. But actually, that sounds good—’
‘I only have one cup,’ he adds apologetically. ‘But I can pour you one, if you like?’
‘No, no. You have it.’
He fills the cup. ‘Here. Have this. I can drink from the flask. Hope black’s okay for you?’
‘Yes, perfect. Thank you.’ We both sit on the tree trunk where I sip the coffee, grateful now for the warmth of the cup in my hands. ‘It is a bit chilly out here.’
‘Yeah. Beautiful though, isn’t it? And a good time to see who else is around.’
‘Who else?’ I ask, puzzled. He seems to be scanning the area around the forest’s edge. ‘Not a bear , is it?’ I smile.
‘Not as far as I know.’ He smiles too and sips from his flask, seeming so different from the terse, stove-poking man of last night. ‘Let’s wait,’ he suggests. And so we do just that, and as the sky lightens from pink and orange to a wash of pale blue, it strikes me that I have no urge to fill the silence now. Because it feels anything but awkward as we sit and wait and watch.
And then it happens. There’s a small rustling noise as, from out of the woods, a red squirrel appears. It stops, looking around in jerky movements.
I glance at Oliver. ‘Wow,’ I mouth silently.
He nods, eyes widening. This squirrel is smaller and leaner than the plump greys that frolicked around our Glasgow garden when I was a child. Its coat is deep rust-red, its eyes beady bright as it scampers in short bursts, stopping to scratch among the leaves and pine needles on the ground. Having found some kind of snack, it clutches it with both paws like a child gripping a hot dog. Then another squirrel appears, and then another.
We watch, transfixed by the spectacle. And as the sun rises and the squirrels enjoy their breakfast, I sense something happening to me.
All the stress and worry about Eddie and Frank – and Dad too. That’s always there, a niggling undercurrent of anxiety over whether he’s really okay, stuck in that second-floor flat all alone. But all of that seems to blow away now like a dandelion seed on the breeze. Sitting here, with a man I barely know, I feel entirely at peace.
Time passes. I don’t know much because neither of us want to make a sudden move that might scare the squirrels away. Then something startles them – another animal or bird – and they flee.
‘That was amazing,’ I announce as we get up.
‘Quite something, aren’t they?’ There are no beleaguered teacher vibes now. Oliver’s blue eyes are bright, his demeanour relaxed. Clearly a little older than Suki, I’d put him at late forties. He’s pulled off his beanie now. There’s a hint of grey around his temples, and his face is lightly tanned and slightly weathered around the eyes. He seems like a man who’s happiest outdoors.
‘I’ve never seen red squirrels before,’ I tell him. ‘Thanks for showing me.’
‘We’re lucky they came out,’ he says, then seems to hesitate. ‘Erm … can I just say I’m sorry?’
I look at him in surprise. ‘What for?’
He exhales, running a hand back over neatly cropped hair. ‘I owe you an apology, Carly. The way I was when I came to pick you up – and the rest of it. I want you to know how sorry I am about last night.’