Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rowan
It’s exactly the way I remembered: the sloping lawn, the copse of trees bending in the wind, the small village of tents, even the dipping sun reflected on the loch. A spot of rain passed earlier, and the smell of petrichor lingers in the air.
My tent is one of the first up. A thrill runs through me as I snap the poles together, use my own mallet to bang in the pegs. Today’s Rowan is a far cry from last year’s Rowan, and it feels good to see all the ways I’ve changed: the little, as well as the big.
I help the others finish theirs, stretching out ground sheets, manoeuvring half-built structures to find flatter ground, offering advice.
That feels good too, as does the sight of our group taking up half of the campground, all of them working together, laughing, faces red and ruddy from a day of walking, voices bright.
It’s perfect.
It’s everything I dreamed of.
Except for one thing.
“Bought you a cup of tea.”
Marnie finds me where I’ve retreated to a bench with a nice view of the loch.
“As ever, my saviour.”
Marnie hands me a steaming mug. “Blimey. My legs feel like someone has been throwing rocks at them all day. Is it always like this?”
I laugh. “Oh, it gets worse.”
It won’t be as bad as the first time. I’ve learned my lesson: we’ll be doing the route in eight days, instead of five, and I’m looking forward to every single one, even if my feet are already starting to hurt.
“Can’t bloody wait.”
“So how are you—”
“This has been—”
We speak at the same time and laugh. I open my mouth to try again, but then our phones buzz simultaneously in our pockets.
Brian’s sent a photo of him and Rufus cuddling on the sofa wearing party hats, Brian holding a bottle of beer, Rufus somehow taking up as much space as his owner.
He’s captioned it Boys’ night. Then he sends us another photo, this time of the opening credits of Blue Planet playing on the TV.
brIAN: Hope it’s all going okay! Missing you both! xxxx
“I’m glad Brian’s having a good night,” I say.
“This is literally his dream. All the Attenborough he wants, and no one complaining about being bored.”
“Marnie, you can’t get bored of Attenborough. That’s sacrilege.”
“You and Brian should start a fan club.” Marnie puts her phone back in her pocket. “I think Brian’s going to propose to me when we get back.”
“Really?”
“Well, he’s been acting weird about his bedside table. Like, he won’t let me clean it, and he starts sweating if I go near it. And about a month ago, he said his friend Dan was thinking about proposing and asked if I would look at some options for rings to help him choose.”
“So?”
“So, Dan is already married.”
“Oh, Brian.” I shake my head. Tears prick my eyes. “Marnie. That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”
Marnie sits back with a quiet smile. “It is, isn’t it?”
“I did wonder sometimes…”
“…why it’s taken him so bloody long?”
“You’ve been together, what, nine years?”
“Ten, actually. First man I dated out of university. And here we are.”
The breeze ruffles the pompom on the top of Marnie’s beanie, which is traffic-light red and has a picture of a strawberry on the back.
On the front it reads Juicy. A true Rowan original.
I knitted it shortly after I got back, and Marnie insisted on buying it off me.
She wears it all year round, even when it’s too hot.
Think of what this will be worth one day! she says. When you’re a hotshot designer and the waiting list for your stuff is a gazillion years long.
As always, Marnie has more faith in me than I do in myself.
“I think,” she says slowly, “he was waiting to feel ready. He’s always been scared of the next step, and he had some things he wanted to work out – mentally – before he could. And now he has, and he can.” Marnie pauses. “A bit like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m your best friend, Rowan. I know when you're pining for someone.”
I stare at my mug. I’ve been trying so hard to keep it hidden, but every step of the walk reminds me of Angus.
Angus grumpy. Angus smiling. Angus’ careful, clever hands helping me with my tent. The low rumble of his voice. His dark, flashing eyes. The way he makes his coffee in the morning, precise, not a movement wasted. The surprising beauty of his singing. His quiet, unshakeable kindness.
We parted so badly, and he said such cruel things, and yet I still think about him every day. Wonder what he is doing. Who he's with. Where he is.
If I’m ever on his mind, the way he lives in mine.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only to me.”
“I miss him.” I sigh. “Like, all the time. Isn’t that stupid? We only knew each other for seven days, and he’s still the first thing I think about when I wake up every morning. I’ve tried going on dates with other men, and telling myself that I’m better off without him, but…”
“It’s not the same?”
I shake my head. “Not even close.”
With Angus, every touch was electric. Like I was metal, and he was lightning, and even the merest brush of his lips was enough to set my entire body to thrumming. Even now, if I close my eyes and imagine it hard enough, I can feel the pressure of his kiss.
“Do you think you can fall in love with someone that fast?”
“Do you think you’re in love with him?”
“I… I don’t know. Yes. There’s this ache in here,” I touch a hand to my heart, “as if there’s something missing and the only thing that will fix it is the weight of his chest. Is that crazy? It doesn’t make sense.”
Marnie blows a long breath over her steaming tea. “With Brian, I knew. The instant I saw him.”
“Really?”
“We were both invited to the same fancy-dress party. I hate them, so I turned up in all-black and told the host I had another invite afterwards – which we both knew was a fucking lie.” Marnie laughs.
“God, I’m an arsehole. Anyway, then Brian walks through the door in this stupid pterodactyl costume he’d clearly made himself, with these enormous wings that kept knocking over everyone’s wine.
And I took one look at him, and this little voice inside me woke up and said: yes. That one. That’s the one for you.”
“Because of his pterodactyl costume?”
“Because of the effort he made. And because he knew he looked stupid, and he didn’t care – in fact, he found it funny. And I loved that. I thought, this man will never make me feel bad about myself. This man will never take life too seriously. This man is perfect for me.”
“And he is.”
“And he is.” Marnie laughs. “Of course, he’s not actually perfect.
And sometimes he does make me feel bad about myself.
And sometimes we both take life too seriously.
It’s taken him ten bloody years to work up the courage to marry me – touch wood – and I won’t pretend that hasn’t been hard.
But when I look at him I can still hear that voice, and it still says yes every single day.
” Marnie puts her hand over mine. “Love doesn’t have to make sense to be right.
But real, lasting love… that’s more than a feeling. It’s a choice.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to make that choice,” I say quietly.
“Don’t you?” Marnie asks. “Why are you here, Rowan?”
“What do you mean? I’m here for you, and the others! For Single Woman Walking!”
“Is that why you chose this walk? On this week?”
I freeze. She’s right. There’s a part of me that hoped we’d see him. That he’d be doing the walk too. After all, he does it every year.
It isn’t only that: I want this walk. I want to do it with these women. I love having them here, and I want to show them the place where I rediscovered myself. I’ve grown so much since then, worked on being comfortable by myself, on forging new friendships, on taking risks. And it’s working.
For the first time in a long time, I really love my life.
And I want to keep loving it.
But, right or wrong, I also want him.
“It’s okay to want to share your life with someone.” Marnie echoes my thoughts. “That doesn’t mean you haven’t changed.”
“He probably doesn’t feel the same way anyway. The things he said…”
I can still hear them. The way he said them. Cold. Cruel. Did he mean them? Is that how he felt? Or was it something else, a protective instinct? Fear?
I’ll never know. Unless…
“It’s not like he’s come looking for me,” I continue. “It’s been a year. He could have called.”
“He could,” Marnie replies evenly. “I want you to be happy, babe. That’s all. Whatever that means to you.”
“I know. I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
We sit in silence and sip our drinks. The sun dips lower over the loch. It’s almost time for dinner. Last time I was here, I could barely even light my stove. This time, I’ve brought my own lentil mush. Although, if Marnie asks, I could be tempted by a visit to the pub…
“Married, hey?”
“Mrs Miller? It’s got a ring to it, don’t you think?”
“It sounds great.” I glance at her. “I’d better be maid of honour.”
“Actually, I’m thinking about asking Lucy…”
“I’ll tell Brian on you!”
“He hasn’t even asked me yet!”
“Then he’d better hurry up so I can take my rightful place. Lucy!” I scoff. “She doesn’t even know how you like your hot chocolate.”
“Nor do you.”
“I’ve seen Brian make it at least a dozen times.”
“And you’ve made it how many?”
I hold up my hands. “I plead the fifth, your honour.”
Marnie laughs and slowly stands up, making low sounds of pain as she does. “Fuck me that hurts. And you say it gets worse?”
“Much, much worse.”
“All this hiking has changed you.” She looks past me to where the warm pub lights are shining in the distance. “I’ll tell you what will help.”
“Pint?”
“Pint.”
Marnie helps me up and together we stagger in the direction of the pub, grabbing Lila, Priya, Joan and Bolly on the way, as well as half of our ramshackle, mismatched group.
I feel another pang as we step over the threshold and I find myself searching the room for that dark head of hair, disappointed that he’s not sitting in the corner, lost in a book.
Stupid, to hope that he’d be here. That he’s changed his mind. That he might see us as something more than the nothing he claimed.
But then Marnie calls me towards the bar, and Priya wraps both of her arms around my side, and Lila holds up the beer she ordered for me, and Bolly buys us all tequila shots, and Joan accidentally snorts hers out of her nose, and even if a sliver of sadness remains, most of all there’s love.
Maybe at the end of the walk.
Once we reach Fort William, his farm won’t be very far away.
Maybe it is time to be brave…