Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-three
Living at Kilmory Cottage: Carly, Eddie, Kenny, Lyla
Carly
Of course I want to look after my elderly dad and a pregnant young woman. Of course I meant it when I said to Lyla last night, ‘I’ll pick up some shopping on the way home from work tomorrow. Is there anything you’d like?’
She scrunched up her face as she considered this. ‘There’s a few bits and pieces. But I can get them. Or we can go out, can’t we, Eddie—’
‘Honestly, it’s no trouble,’ I said. ‘Just leave me a list. I’ll probably be out before you’re up and about in the morning.’
She smiled her thanks. A week, Lyla’s been here. Sharing Eddie’s room, of course. It’s fine, her being here, but she’s also only a month away from her due date and I’m trying to look after her without fussing overly. It’s a delicate balance. She seems so young, and while I’m not likening her to a small domestic animal, it feels a little like looking after someone else’s pet.
Is she comfortable? Too hot, too cold or hungry? Meanwhile my Dad keeps interactions to a minimum, as if frightened of her condition. As if the baby might be born right there on the rug, in front of him, and thrust at him all pink and screaming for him to do something with.
He’s actually afraid of Lyla, I realise. So, although it’s not exactly convenient, we now do our evening meals in two shifts. Together, Eddie and Lyla cook their light and colourful East Asian–inspired dishes. Then, as Dad would no more consume one of his slippers than a poke bowl, I make the hefty beige meals that meet with his approval. Meanwhile Bella’s old smoothie maker has been rinsed thoroughly of its spiders and is now in constant use. Eddie and Lyla chatter and giggle as the house trembles under its high-pitched whirr. They’re like kids let loose for the first time in the kitchen. Lyla also enjoys baking gritty little cakes with seeds in them, which Eddie and I pronounce ‘delicious’. Dad eyes them suspiciously, as if they might contain drugs.
Shame they don’t, I figure, as I pick up the shopping list Lyla left out last night.
Seeds: omega mix, golden flaxseeds, chia (finely milled).
Powders: maca, spirulina, mushroom.
Jar of ghee (organic grass-fed) if you can get it!
Please let me know cost. Thanks so much!
L xx
It’s like a test, I decide as I set off to work. A test to track down powdered mushrooms in a town where you can’t buy a flat white.
I unlock the main door and step into the library. Cool sunlight filters in through the arched windows. I make my customary instant coffee and drink it slowly, revelling in the calm and stillness of the place. As it’s a Saturday we’ll soon be busy with lenders, plus the various groups that meet here. But for now the gleaming tables are bare, the building silent.
Then the library wakes up like a sleepy old giant as Prish arrives. Jamie, I gather, is planning to confront Lewis this weekend, having reached the end of his tether about being a guilty secret at thirty-eight years old.
Now our lenders start to wander in. There’s Bill, who’s researching his family tree, and Jemma with her toddler, who always comes in for Story Corner. There’s Laura who likes to read, quietly, on the sofa in the sci-fi section. Then more parents and children arrive for the story, read by Prish, who’s fantastic with the kids.
As soon as that’s over the Natural History Society arrives. Thelma breezes in now, a buff cardboard folder tucked under her arm.
‘Carly?’ Her voice cuts though the stillness.
‘Thelma, hi!’
‘That bird-calls directory hasn’t come in, has it?’
She’s been asking this for weeks. ‘I’m sorry, no. It looked like it was available on the system but it hasn’t turned up. I have chased it,’ I add.
She frowns. ‘Disappointing.’
‘It is, yes,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry.’ In fact today I’m more concerned with tracking down at least some of the items on Lyla’s shopping list. Which seems ridiculous as they’re hardly essential to life.
I head out anyway, skipping the lunchtime beach walk for scouring the supermarket alone, and coming up with precisely nothing. By the time I’m back at the library, Prish is sorting through a pile of new acquisitions on a table by the kitchen hatch. ‘No luck?’ she says.
‘Nope, nothing. I’ll have to order the stuff online, I think.’
She raises a brow. ‘Couldn’t Lyla do that?’
I shrug. ‘I guess so.’ I pause. ‘You know, I have no idea what Lyla does for an income. I’m starting to think the copywriting business isn’t the runaway success she’s led her mum to believe.’
‘Well, she’ll have plenty of other stuff to think about in a few weeks,’ Prish reminds me. ‘How long is it now?’
‘Only a month,’ I reply.
She pulls a wry expression. ‘And how long is she planning to stay with you?’
I can’t help laughing, because I know what she’s implying. Who else is going to end up living at Kilmory Cottage? I keep expecting Bella to announce that she’s moving back home too. She’d be welcome of course. But how would I fit everyone in? ‘Who knows?’ I say now. ‘No one tells me anything—’ I stop as a figure catches my eye, strolling into the library. ‘Oliver, hi!’
‘Hi.’ He beams. ‘I was hoping you’d be in today.’
I catch Prish looking at us expectantly. ‘Oliver, this is Prish. Prish, Oliver is Lyla’s uncle …’
‘Hi, Oliver.’ She smiles brightly, and then I beckon him away and indicate the group installed around the big table.
‘Natural History Society,’ I whisper. I pull a fearful expression and he grins.
‘They do look intimidating.’ We watch as Thelma addresses the group, her strident tones cutting through the building. I want to stress that submissions for the newsletter must be on topic …
‘Would you like to see our natural history section?’ I ask.
Oliver hesitates then says, ‘I really just wanted to say hi. I’m taking Lyla out for a coffee later. Eddie too, if he wants to come. You’re welcome too, but I assume you’re busy—’
‘Yes, I’m here till five-thirty. But how long are you in the area for?’
‘A few days,’ he replies. ‘Thought I’d take a trip over to Arran sometime. Seems crazy not to when the ferry’s so close …’
‘If you’d like to do that tomorrow, I’m free,’ I say without thinking. Perhaps he’d rather explore the island with Lyla, or alone?
‘That’d be great.’ He looks genuinely pleased. ‘If you’re sure I wouldn’t be taking up your weekend?’
‘Not at all,’ I say, briefly thinking: is this actually okay? What if Frank comes back and thinks it’s weird? But then he won’t, will he? All this time I’ve been waiting and hoping and he still hasn’t come home. ‘Arran’s so beautiful,’ I add. ‘I’m sure you’ll love it.’
Oliver grins. ‘I’m looking forward to it already,’ he says.