Five Hundred Miles From You: the brand new, life-affirming, escapist novel of 2020 from the Sunday Times bestselling author

by Jenny Colgan

  ‘Hi, Jake,’ she said seductively, tossing her hair over her shoulders. Lissa smiled. She clearly expected Jake’s tongue to unravel like a cartoon fox.

  Jake, meanwhile, had been having a profoundly disappointing evening. By now, in his personal schedule, Lissa should have been incredibly impressed by how he knew everyone, and terrified on the very high ride and he’d have had to comfort her with an arm round her. She should also have thrown her arms around his neck when he’d easily won her the biggest toy in the fair and, well, it was a pretty short trip from there back home, he reckoned. But it was worse than that. His entire gift of the gab had deserted him. He’d always found it easy to chat to women; they always liked him. He had treated it like a game, and it had worked.

  Lissa hadn’t felt like a game, and that had made it completely impossible. He couldn’t think straight. And now Ginty McGhie was throwing another spanner in the works.

  ‘Hi, Ginty,’ he said in a resigned tone of voice.

  ‘Who’s this?’ said Ginty as if she didn’t know.

  ‘Oh, you know . . . this is Lissa? She’s doing Cormac’s job?’

  ‘Where are you from?’ said Ginty.

  ‘London,’ said Lissa putting her hand out. The other girls looked at that and sniggered.

  ‘No, I mean, where are you really from?’ said Ginty.

  ‘London,’ said Lissa shortly, bristling. The evening, which had started so promisingly, had taken on a sour turn. The brightly painted machines and stalls of the fair suddenly looked tawdry, chipped under the bright lights; grubby and cheap.

  ‘Mm,’ said Ginty, undaunted. She liked to think of herself as someone who was straight with others and told them what they thought of them to their faces. Not everyone saw this as quite as much of a virtue as she did.

  ‘So, Jake, are you coming down to the bonfire again? Everyone’s going.’

  Too late, Jake remembered that the previous year he had spent the evening of the fair – several evenings, in fact; it wasn’t as if there was so much entertainment came to Kirrinfief that anyone only went once – down in the sand dunes, rather close to Ginty. Extremely close actually.

  ‘Um . . .’

  ‘What’s the matter, didn’t have a good time last year? Don’t you remember?’

  Ginty was pouting now. She turned to Lissa. ‘Jake and I have always been . . . friends . . .’

  The other girls sniggered.

  ‘They’ve lit the bonfire,’ Ginty went on. She bit her lip seductively. ‘It’s pretty hot down there.’

  Jake was absolutely scarlet.

  ‘Do you know?’ said Lissa. ‘I’m feeling pretty tired.’

  ‘I’ll take you home?’ said Jake desperately.

  ‘But you’ll miss it!’ said Ginty.

  Lissa looked up.

  ‘You know what,’ she said. ‘It’s okay. You go.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The music of the fair faded as Lissa made her way along the still light road, stopping to watch a baby rabbit make a desperate plunge across it in front of her. She smiled, then pulled out her phone. Then put it away again. He was on a date. With Yazzie. She shouldn’t be even thinking about him. This was ridiculous. It was just that she didn’t know him, that was all. And she was in a strange place and dealing with a lot of crap in her life, and of course she’d glommed on to the nearest person who seemed okay and not a terrible loser. She knew nothing about him, not really, didn’t have a clue even what he looked like. It was a fantasy in her head, that was all, and to start talking to him at ten p.m. on a Saturday night was . . . Well. It was ridiculous. A conversation that had begun about someone else’s snake.

  She stared at the phone. To her amazement, she had a text message.

  Hey?

  She picked it up with fumbling fingers.

  Hey.

  Cormac had been staring out over the lights of London. He was amazed how electrified he was to hear from her. He’d texted Lennox too – they’d picked up Robbie, who had apparently gone to work with gusto. Fingers crossed it would last. The news had made him feel happy and anxious all at once, and he wanted to talk to someone about it.

  Someone specific, he realised.

  You still out?

  Nearly home.

  Cormac felt a huge gush of relief. This was ridiculous. He didn’t even know this girl. But somehow he’d found that she was the one he wanted to talk to.

  You?

  I’m back too. It’s hot out there.

  But what about the delicious meat buns?

  It turns out I’m quite quick at eating meat buns.

  Lissa felt her heart beating faster as she reached the little cottage. She went into the back garden to try and take a picture of Ned, but he hadn’t appeared. She continued anyway: So what’s on your mind?

  A bit of her, the tiniest bit, thought she should call him. But somehow, in the absolutely stillness and quiet of the night, it seemed strange; such a boundary-crosser. She was too nervous. This was safe, and she needed to feel safe.

  You know when you were at that accident?

  Yeah.

  How did you feel?

  You sound like my therapist! Shit, I need to skype with my therapist.

  Had you forgotten?

  Yes!

  I wonder if that’s a sign.

  Of me being a coward, probably.

  Of you getting better, maybe.

  Lissa looked around the garden, the evening scents of the cooling grass hanging heavy in the still air. It was lovely, even if it was getting horribly overgrown. The stream tinkled prettily.

  This place is quite special.

  It is. So is London.

  Is this about meat buns again?

  Yeah probably.

  Anyway, why are you asking?

  I just . . . I think. It might be a bit the same as the Army.

  Lissa didn’t say anything, just sat and waited; the little glowing phone in her hand was the centre of her world right then. And Cormac poured it all out, typing as if his life depended on it, his spelling all over the place. Telling her about the hideous injuries, the pointless pain, the children caught in the crossfire, the waste of all of it. How he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop worrying about it. How he had come home, and his mother was ashamed of him, and he felt like a coward for leaving his comrades. She read it all, patiently and carefully. And at the end of it, she typed just two words.

  I know.

  And she signed it off with a kiss. Cormac held his phone close to his chest as, five hundred miles away, Lissa was doing exactly the same thing, as if they were holding each other’s hearts in their hands.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Oh, the luxury, the rare luxury, of waking on a sunny Sunday morning with nothing to do and someone else to think about.

  Once upon a time, this would have made Lissa panic. She would have felt lonely and worried that she was living in the centre of the greatest city in the world and not making the most of it. She would have been entirely concerned that she was wasting time; desperately checking her Insta in case her friends had been up to something fun that she would have wanted to go to; pinging her mates immediately to see if anyone was up to anything, while trying not to look too needy; worrying if her mother was coming in to visit, as she would want to complain about her hair or her living conditions or darling, why didn’t she just look at these brochures for research chemistry, she’d been so good at chemistry at school and there were all sorts of interesting careers that could spin off it now, it wasn’t just in labs, you know, you could travel all over the world . . .

  But there was something about living in Kirrinfief that had changed all that, she could tell. Something about being perfectly content with your own company – you had to be in a region the size of London but with eight thousand people living in it instead of eight million. If you wanted company, you could simply wander into the village and someone you knew would come along immediately. You could head down to the fair, or the pub and find yours
elf caught up in whatever came along. If there was anything to do – a fiddle band playing, a community play, Nina running a book reading – everybody went automatically. And if there wasn’t, you stayed in and suited yourself. In the middle of nowhere, she found, she didn’t feel lonely at all. She was so far removed from everything she couldn’t possibly be worried about missing anything. And what was she missing anyway?

  Nonetheless, she thought, stretching luxuriously, the sun making panes on the duvet, she would potter into town, buy something nice and actually cook for herself; pick up some eggs from Lennox’s farm, which were very fine things indeed; buy a book from Nina to sit and read in the sun; maybe see what Zoe was up to. Zoe always seemed happy to have her around, even if there was never a moment when she didn’t have about five people climbing all over her. She didn’t seem to mind a bit. Lissa occasionally wondered if she didn’t actually bother counting up however many people were in her kitchen at any one time. Then tonight she’d open a bottle of wine and call Kim-Ange and see how her date had gone and they could laugh about hers being a bit of a disaster, which would help, and maybe – maybe – she would tell her about her and Cormac. But tell her what, truly? That they messaged a lot? Kim-Ange had met plenty of men who were happy to chat online but when it came to meeting, everything changed. In the cold light of day, it could just be anyone offloading.

  She walked across the quiet kitchen that she had grown to love in its understated way, boiled the kettle and was briefly startled by the rattle of the postman at the front door. Little arrived for Cormac except bills and circulars. She needed to send him his statements on actually. She smiled to herself. The post office was open until lunchtime, so she would go and do that. She liked the women who worked there, and they also sold incredible cheese and local bacon on the side (nobody in the Highlands had only one job really) so that would give her a little purpose to her morning, which would somehow allow her to spend the entire afternoon lazing around, having completed her purpose. And maybe, she thought. Maybe . . . maybe . . . talking to Cormac.

  She picked up the letters. Two political leaflets for parties she’d never heard of, one in a language she couldn’t read and then, to her great surprise, a letter to her. It was in a white envelope, her name and address typed, with a redirect stuck over it in Kim-Ange’s flamboyant handwriting. She frowned. There was a crown printed on the envelope, and suddenly she realised what it was.

  She put it down on the table incredibly quickly, as if it were hot, and stared at it.

  The Crown Prosecution Service.

  Instantly, she could feel her every muscle tighten; her fingers curled too. Her throat felt like it was closing over. She was suddenly gasping for breath. Every ridiculous claim she’d made the night before about feeling better, about getting over things – they were all nonsense.

  No, no, she kept telling herself. No. She stumbled towards the door, opened it wide and drew in as many deep breaths as she could. The fresh, bright air stung her lungs as she told herself to calm down. Calm down. The road was empty and she stumbled across it to the copse of trees on the opposite side.

  Feeling faintly ridiculous, she held on to one of the trees, and it seemed to sooth her. The deep heavy scent of the bark and the sap, and the overwhelmingly neon greenness of the new leaves filled her senses; the shade and the height of the great oak made her feel strangely safe. She leant against it, hands on her knees, and took great deep breaths, her back against the trunk, she felt her heart rate gradually return to normal. She had known this was coming, of course she had. She always did. Anita had told her about it, over and over again, but she had been too resistant. Classic health professional: terrible patient.

  But she had been stupid and arrogant and frustrated at having to pay attention, to think about the thing she didn’t want to think about – and now she couldn’t cope with this, not at all. She had thought she was getting better, had genuinely truly believed it. But now she felt back at square one.

  Cormac?

  Yes?

  I got the letter from court. I have to testify.

  Cormac couldn’t help it; his heart started to beat a little faster.

  You’re coming to London?

  I have to go to court.

  When?

  Next week.

  What’s going to happen?

  I have to stand up and . . . go through it again.

  That will be okay, won’t it? Help put it to rest? Isn’t that what you’re meant to be doing?

  I’ll have to see his mother. I’ll have to see the man who did it, and what if I can’t remember his face?

  He’s not going to get off. He’s not going to come after you.

  His friends might.

  She felt her breathing rise again, felt the panic rise.

  I think you’ll feel sorry for him more than anything else.

  I don’t know what I’ll feel.

  There’ll be a lawyer with you.

  Oh God

  Honestly, don’t panic. I promise. You got this.

  How do you know? You haven’t met me. I might be completely useless.

  Not according to my sources.

  She half smiled at that.

  Have you been in a court case?

  There was a long pause.

  Yes.

  What was it?

  Friendly fire.

  Lissa blinked.

  Did you shoot someone?

  No. It was a friend of mine. A translator, working with us. Out with his friends. Some of the squaddies got a little . . . well . . .

  He got shot?

  Everyone got shot.

  He deleted that last message but it was somehow worse after the fact that he’d done so. It made it clear that it had had a big impact on him. Which it had.

  Lissa looked at her phone for a long time. Finally, she put together a row of screwy-face emojis and typed: What are we like?

  Cormac looked up at the grey river and smiled to himself. Suddenly, in the midst of eight million people, he felt incredibly close to someone very, very far away.

  He turned back to his phone.

  Eejits.

  Lissa smiled to herself and wrote back:

  Eediats.

  And that was the moment Cormac nearly called her. He almost pressed the button. But what if he called her and she didn’t pick up? What would he do then? What if he broke the connection and ruined everything? He thought of Jake telling him that he didn’t behave well with women. He thought too of Jake, who thought he was dating her. Oh lord. Well. He put his phone back in his pocket so he wasn’t tempted.

  He was so tempted.

  Lissa stared at the screen. Maybe he would just call? Throw caution to the wind? Call and talk and tell her everything? She wondered if he sounded like Jake, with that melodious Highlands accent. Maybe deeper; Jake said he was taller than him. She sighed to herself. This was ridiculous. She was building it into something it really wasn’t. The wind rustled through the trees.

  But just connecting had worked, somehow. He had calmed her down, made her feel better. She straightened up again, looked around her. The birds were calling, high up in the fresh air. Their days, she supposed, were all the same. The world was awake around her.

  And it wasn’t going anywhere. The trees had been here for hundreds of years. The wood had been standing through wars and great changes, but had never been uprooted. The foxes and deer lived their lives; the trout still jumped in the stream; the seals would still flap along the lochside.

  For the first time, Lissa started to wonder. Could she build a life here? Not with Cormac of course – that was ridiculous! They hadn’t even met; she didn’t even know what he looked like; of course he wasn’t going to like her, how could he? It was an absurd crush, that was all; a good distraction from the anxiety and the pain. Plus she had his job.

  But even without that . . . might this be a place for her? She thought of Nina’s friendly face behind the piles of books she organised so beautifully. She had fo
und a home here. And Zoe too, even if she was trailed by what looked like six or seven children at all times and, if Lissa’s professional opinion was not mistaken, what looked like another one on the way.

  They had found a place here. Could she?

  She got up slowly. She would read the letter. She would read it, and she would face up to it and then, when the secondment was over, then she would see.

  She glanced sadly once more at the phone. She missed him already.

  Just as she crossed the threshold, it pinged. She grabbed it delightedly. Was it him?

  It was:

  So . . .

  Cormac had thought about things. He’d heard from Jake about Ginty McGhie, which was patently terrible news for Jake, who was stuck somewhere with a terrible headache and deep regrets.

  And he’d thought about everything. About everything he’d learned in London, where people were bold, not shy; where people came to get what they wanted, to try everything and anything out there. He knew he’d been lazy in relationships; had always preferred to think of humanity in the abstract, rather than people in particular. He wanted to change that. Starting now.

  Wanna meet in London then?

  Chapter Nineteen

  The letter had been short and straightforward, with a date a week hence and a time she was due at Southwark Crown Court then. It warned her that the timings might be off and that she may have to wait, and there was a form for expenses.

  The lawyer, Roisin, had rung her just as she was trying to pluck up the courage to ring them, and had talked her through what had happened. She would be allowed the opportunity to read the statement she’d given at the police station first time round to refresh her memory for the small details, then Roisin would walk her through the event on the stand.