Chapter Thirty-Four
Rowan
“Here we are!” The car jerks to a stop outside the train station as Joan slams on the brakes. She checks her watch. “And fifteen minutes to spare. See, I told you there was no need to worry.”
“I’m going to be sick.” Ewan is chalky pale, tinged with green.
“I did tell you not to eat that sandwich,” Lila says from where she’s huddled in the backseat, one arm around Priya, the other bone-white where she’s been clutching at her seatbelt. “I know it’s your mum’s special, but six days is too long for something to fester in a bag.”
“It’s not the sandwich that’s the problem. It’s the boy racer up front with no clutch control,” Ewan squeaks. “That was worse than a rollercoaster. At least there you know you’re getting off alive.”
“I don’t know what you’re harping on about.” Joan gives the wheel a cheery bang. “Old Rosie’s never failed me. Not in twenty years.”
“Do you not normally drive her into oncoming traffic then? Or on the wrong side of the road?”
Joan sniffs. “Everyone knows the road markings are suggestions.”
“What about the lights? Are they suggestions too?”
“You were never in danger!”
“The van driver who almost ran into us would beg to differ!”
“I thought young people were meant to be fun.” Joan sinks into her seat like a petulant child. “Rowan, dear, you don’t think my driving’s that bad, do you?”
“I am not getting involved.”
“Coward,” Ewan mutters.
“Joan, thank you so much for driving us here,” Lila says diplomatically. “It’s certainly been an experience I’ll never forget.”
“You’re so welcome, dearie.” Joan beams. “Let me know if you’re ever in Lancashire – do stop by for a cup of tea.”
“We will.” Lila opens the door and swings her legs out. “Priya, have you got everything?”
“Yep!” Priya replies, scrambling out as if she can’t wait to leave the car.
After that drive, I’m not sure she’ll ever willingly get in one again.
I roll down the window. “I’ll meet you on the platform.”
Ewan salutes and follow the others out, somehow managing both crutches and his bag, and leaving Joan and I alone.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me?” she asks.
“No!” I choke. “No, thank you, Aunt Joan. I want to go home.”
Home being Marnie’s sofa, for now. I texted her on the drive, asking her if I could crash. She sent me a picture of Brian giving the camera two thumbs up. They’re what I need right now. Marnie and Brian and Rufus, a tub of ice cream, and a long, hard cry.
“Well, the offer’s there if you ever need it. Bol and I would be glad to have you. Oh, you can try our latest creation: peach focaccia with a mustard marmalade drizzle. It was Bol’s idea.” Her eyes glaze over as her smile turns dreamy. “She’s always so creative when it comes to cooking.”
“Did you say mustard… marmalade?”
Joan smacks her lips. “That’s right. Bitter. Tangy. Sweet. Hits all the notes.”
I try not to shudder. “Fascinating. I appreciate the offer, but I really do need to face the music.”
And yet, still I sit there, listening to the faint whirr of the engine and the quiet voices on the radio, watching as other cars pull up and people get in and out, and wonder where they’re all going, and who is waiting for them at the other end.
“It’s going to be okay, love,” Joan says eventually.
“Is it?”
I have no home, no boyfriend, no qualifications, and no sense of what I want to do or where I want to go. I miss Angus already. The burr of his voice. The warmth of his arms. But he doesn’t want me. No one wants me.
Nothing.
Everything feels hopeless. When I think about the future, it’s a dense, black hole, and I don’t know what will happen when I pop out the other side – or if I even would.
I bite my lip. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, Joan.” The confession spills from my lips like stones. The words are heavy: thoughts I’ve kept bottled up in the darkness for so long that it’s a struggle to bring them into the light.
“Cut out for what, pet?”
“Life.” I sniff. “It’s hard. It’s so hard, all the time, and sometimes I’m so sad I can’t even take it, and I want— I wish—” I can’t say it. Can’t get it out.
It’s too big to voice, but I feel it there, that distant thought, lurking, always, somewhere, the fear that I’m not going to make it, that life will crush me, that it is too much, that I would lie down forever if I could.
This is the fear I’ve been running from since I was twenty. The one I’ve built my life around avoiding.
And now here it is again.
“What do I do?”
“You suck it up. And then you do it anyway, no matter how hard it is. Sure, today might be shit. And maybe tomorrow will be too. And the tomorrow after that. You could spend weeks or even years feeling like total crap. It might always be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”
“So why even bother?”
“Because you don’t know, Rowan, love. You have no idea what’s coming next for you, and you won’t unless you see it through.
Next week could be the best day of your life.
Or not. The slugs might come out and eat the cabbages you’ve slaved away on your hands and knees in the mud for all year – or you might finally harvest those crisp bundles of green and make the most delicious salad you’ve ever eaten.
You don’t know!” Joan pats my knee fondly.
“If I hadn’t stuck it out, I wouldn’t have Bol, wouldn’t be looking forward to trying her peach focaccia, wouldn’t get to laugh with her over a cup of tea, or look at her face when I wake up every morning.
My life with her brings me so much joy. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have known I could be so happy.
And now I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.
Every second of agony has been worth it, for me.
And it will be worth it for you, too. You need a little trust, and a little hope. ”
“You think there’s hope?”
“There’s always hope.” She releases my knee and gives me a fond look. “Even for miserable gits like you and me.”
I laugh. “Thanks, Joan. Comforting as always.”
“I live to inspire. Now get out of my car, please, and go get on your train. You’re keeping me from my afternoon tea.”
“No offence, but that cake sounds disgusting.”
Joan laughs. “I could not agree with you more. But Bolly’s excited about it, so I am too. Even if it’s going to taste like a horse’s arse.”
I shake my head. That’s what I want: to be so head-over-heels about someone they can make anything feel like an adventure. Even a catastrophe of a baked good.
And for a second, I thought I could have it. Not yet, not right now. But that Angus was a person I could see myself with, could see myself falling for, could imagine waking up next to every morning and counting my lucky stars each time.
That’s over. Done.
That kind of love isn’t for failures like me.
I throw myself at Joan and wrap her in a hug. “Thanks,” I whisper in her ear, leaving her a little stupefied as I open the passenger door and haul myself out.
I check my watch. The train is in a few minutes. Fuck.
So there I am, once again sprinting with my heavy bag banging on my back, my stomach churning a little from the wine I drunk last night, cursing my life. None the wiser, no closer to a resolution.
And yet somehow, indefinably, entirely changed.
I throw myself on as the whistle blows, and the doors slam shut behind me. The engine rattles. The train pulls away.
I’ve made it.
Ewan, Lila and Priya wave at me from a table they’ve found, and I join them after stowing my bag. Lila has a pack of cards out, and is dealing Ewan and Priya in, but she smiles as I sit down.
“All okay?”
I nod, not quite trusting myself to speak.
“What are you playing?”
“Go Fish.” Priya bounces happily in her seat, clutching her cards. “Want to join?”
“Sure.”
“I can’t believe it’s over,” Lila sighs after we play the first hand.
I follow her gaze out of the window, and we watch the landscape rush by: green and leaping, the hills rolling off into the distance like tempestuous waves.
I’ll miss it. The rugged peaks and the wind-blown grass and the sharp gorse and the sense of being at the heart of something wild.
A sky wide with possibility. The south of England’s neat hedges and orderly fields have lost their appeal.
And London… I’m not ready to think about that.
“I cannot wait to get home.” Ewan closes his eyes. “My own bed. Ma’s got a roast on to welcome me back, and the football is on tonight. Bliss.”
“What happened to going to the big city to find your fortune?” I ask.
“All sorted. I’m going down next week,” he says, eyes still closed.
“What?” Lila and I both ask in unison. “What do you mean, sorted?”
“Yeah, Jonathan offered me a job.”
“A job? Doing what? His laundry?” I can’t see polished, elegant Jonathan having anything to offer Ewan, who is about as scruffy and un-city-like as it is possible for a twenty-year-old to be.
“Ha ha, very funny.” Ewan’s eyes snap open.
“Fine. Maybe it’s not quite a job as it is an unpaid work placement at his firm.
But still. It’s a foot in the door. I tracked him down last night.
He said I’m the most persistent person he’s ever had the misfortune of meeting and then asked if I’d like to learn about responsible investment.
Now, I’m not sure I’m so interested in being responsible, but I do like the idea of investments.
Sounds like money to me. Reckon I’ll give those poshos at the firm a bit of a scare too, which could be fun. ”
“But where will you stay?” I ask, still aghast at the idea of Ewan finding his way into a city firm. I try to picture it: Ewan with his Adidas tracksuits and his neon-pink crutches and his obsession with pickles among the slick finance bros.
It will be like a fox in a henhouse. Or a chicken in a fox den. Honestly, I’m not sure which.
A smile creeps across my face. The more I think about it, the better it is. Ewan isn’t easily cowed: the hike has proven that. Maybe it is a brilliant idea, after all.
“With Jonathan and Stuart,” he continues nonchalantly. “What do you reckon their place is like? I reckon it’ll be mint. Sleek. I’m picturing those floor-to-ceiling windows you see in perfume ads, yeah?”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all sorted.” Lila smiles at him.
“I think I have. Yeah.” He smiles shyly back. “I’m kind of excited about it, you know. Feels like something… big. What about you, Pri? Looking forward to your contest?”
Priya looks up seriously from her cards. “It’s an audition. Not a contest.”
“Well, we’ll all be there, cheering you on!” I say.
“Will we?” Ewan asks.
I kick him under the table. “Yes, of course we will!”
Priya blushes crimson, and looks down at her cards again, but I can see the small smile tugging at her lips.
“Thank you,” Lila murmurs across the table.
“What about you, Rowan? Looking forward to being home?” Ewan asks.
“I—” I pause, unsure of how to answer. “I’m going to stay with my best friend for a bit. Figure things out.”
Lila catches my eyes and nods. I think of her husband, the conversation she’s dreading. I know she, of everyone, understands.
The card game ends. The train rolls on. I settle back in my seat and watch the world go by, as first Priya and Lila and then Ewan get off, and we all hug and cry and say our goodbyes and promise we’ll keep in touch.
Maybe we will. Maybe we won’t.
I like to believe we’ll try.
The train keeps flying south, my destination drawing closer with every passing second. I’m ready to be there. I can’t imagine ever getting off.
I don’t want to go back. Back to being single.
Back to being alone. Back to a listless life watching TV on the sofa every night.
Back to my job, to long monotonous hours making deck after deck after deck for clients who were never happy, never satisfied, and dull conversations with my co-workers about whatever crap reality TV is currently on, and the sad plant at my desk I can never quite keep alive.
At least Brian and Rufus and Marnie will be waiting for me, ready to wrap me in the biggest hug in the world.
Brian will likely list at least fifty facts he thinks are “really cool” and will “take my mind off things”, and I will secretly think really are cool, although I’ll never tell him that.
I picture their cozy flat, and wandering down the canals with Marnie, coffees from our favourite café in hand, and lazy Sundays watching chick flicks while Brian brings us his latest batch of homemade popcorn.
It helps.
But still there’s a hollow ache inside of me. And the clouds keep rolling in.
What am I going to do?
Where am I going to go?
I think of how alive I’ve felt this last week: the wind sharp on my skin, my hair tangled in its braids, the ache and pain and agony of my legs.
How exhausted and how exhilarated and how aware of every single passing second of time.
How it felt to open myself up: to the torment of the walk, to new friendships, to Angus.
How it felt to kiss him for the first time, the pins and needles excitement of it.
That feeling is gone.
No matter what Joan says, the world feels like it has been leeched of colour. Of possibility. Of hope.
I keep hearing Angus’ voice echo in my head.
Nothing.
And still the train rolls on.