by H P Tune
“Afraid so. You ready to go through?” Mia reached out for Juliet but was halted when Juliet jolted upright.
“I’d better be.”
“Sure,” Mia said, taking her handbag off her lap and dropping it onto the chair as she stood. “So I just want to thank you. I’ve actually had a great couple of days. And I’m really glad that I saved your butt with Jeremy in LAX.”
Juliet scuffed her feet slightly, fingers toying with the hip pockets of her jeans. “Me too. It was really nice to meet you, Mia.” She took a step to the side, eyeing the screen again.
“Hey,” Mia said. “I at least want a hug. I mean, you’ve seen me eat cheesecake and fries, after all.”
It was enough to elicit a weak laugh from Juliet, and she met Mia with a tight embrace. “Thanks for keeping me sane.”
“You’re welcome.” Mia leaned back and pressed a kiss to Juliet’s cheek. “I hope this flight goes okay, and I look forward to your e-mails.”
“You too.” Juliet stepped away and towards the security point before turning back. “Don’t forget: do what makes you feel good, Mia. Okay?”
Mia felt a smile spread across her cheeks. “Okay.”
And with a brief wave, Juliet disappeared, and Mia walked in the opposite direction. She carried with her a few contact details of a stranger, a stranger to whom she felt strangely close to. But that shouldn’t make sense. She was being irrational and childish, everything she had been accused of her whole life. There was no way that a normal person could imagine a relationship was possible with some random woman she had met two days ago in an airport.
* * *
The further they drove, the more snow Mia observed out the window from the backseat of the black Bentley that had picked her up from Edinburgh Airport with its wheel rims carefully polished and tyres meticulously shined. The snow-capped hills far off in the distance signalled winter long before the small pockets of white ice usually began appearing at the side of the road and on the grassy fields. She checked her watch and phone. Juliet would hopefully be settling into her apartment by now, and with any luck, she’d manage to stay awake through the afternoon.
When Mia’s driver Martin had picked her up, she had greeted him with a warm smile and a shake of his hand, even a light peck to his cheek. She knew him relatively well, and he had a cheeky, wicked sense of humour, although it only appeared occasionally, when he was sure it was appropriate. Mia had always appreciated the wink that he would give her when everyone else was oblivious to his humour.
Still, Mia knew after she had left Juliet in Heathrow Airport that not even Martin would call her by her first name or joke with her completely without filter. Anyone at the house would be walking on eggshells, doing whatever they could to keep her happy and content, for with just one bad word from Mia to the employment agency in London, their jobs could be lost or their company’s contracts could be cancelled.
But Juliet didn’t know about any of that and presumably wouldn’t care. Mia had the impression that Juliet didn’t need to be liked by Mia or anyone else. Mia was just someone with whom she crossed paths for twenty-four hours, nothing more and nothing less.
The estate in Overscaig, in the Highlands, had been staffed for a month pending her arrival, and so the kitchen would be brimming, the grass would be trimmed, and the horses would be groomed. Three boxes of belongings would be awaiting her arrival, just a range of necessities she had shipped a few weeks ago.
As expected, Martin had a small cooler in the backseat stocked with two small bottles of white wine, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a can of traditional lemonade. Mia avoided the wine and sipped occasionally on the juice, unscrewing the top and drinking out of the bottle, thinking about Juliet.
They had been travelling for almost four hours when the window between the backseat and the front slowly descended; she met Martin’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.
“Ms Revira, we are coming up to a service centre, would you like a comfort stop?”
Mia smiled and nodded. “Please,” she said softly. “Thanks, Martin.”
“You’re most welcome. After this, we leave the dual carriage way, and it’s mostly single lane from here. We’ll be travelling a little slower.”
“The view is beautiful, I can hardly complain.”
He smiled again. “It is nice to have you again, Ms Revira,” he said after a moment. “And, may I say, I was sorry to hear about…” He paused. “Well, I was sorry to hear about things.”
Mia swallowed. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that, but please, I’m here on my own, so what I would really like is for you to call me Mia.”
“Of course. It’s a beautiful name.”
Martin’s compliment came out more like a distant, neutral observation, but Mia blushed a little anyway and tucked some loose strands of matted and messy hair behind her ears. “Is Jasmine still there? She used to make the most incredible risotto.”
Martin shook his head as he took a short exit off the main road. “No, she met a young man in Glasgow, and he is in his final year at Dundee, about to become a doctor. They married not long ago, I heard, just a few weeks ago.”
“A doctor?” Mia asked, eyes widening and mouth opening. “How lucky.”
“To marry a doctor? With all those long hours, I’m not sure I would want my daughter marrying a young doctor.” Mia observed his head shake in the rear-view mirror, and he waved his hand in the air.
“No, I meant to be studying medicine,” Mia said. “Who would want to marry, right, Martin?”
Martin rested his elbow on the centre console and Mia met his eyes in the mirror. “You’re a wise girl, Mia. A wise, wise girl.”
* * *
Having successfully negotiated the train from Brussels to Bruges without uttering a word of mispronounced, grossly incorrect Flemish, Juliet was stuffed—completely, utterly, and deliriously exhausted. And it was highly possible that not one of the four locks on her apartment door actually fastened adequately.
The kitchen she had been promised housed no more than a small fridge and a microwave on a bench. The apartment did have a bed with an oddly sized double mattress that was a few inches too short for the frame. But at least it had clean, crisp, white sheets and two new pillows. And the bathroom, the glorious bathroom, was no larger than a closet, but it had hot running water. Scalding hot. Which was good, because the heater seemed to rumble loudly but barely emanate warmth.
She literally stumbled from the bathroom to the bed, catching her shoulder on the corner of the door and feeling her knee buckle slightly. She’d never had a knee injury, never even had so much as a twinge, but even her knee was begging her to stop moving at this point, with the implied threat that it soon would prevent her from walking at all if she did not comply.
And it was only six in the evening. Pulling out her cell phone, she double-checked the settings and time zones, then examined her watch to make sure everything matched. Blinking heavily and rubbing her eyes, she tried to focus on the screen.
Made it to the apartment, and it even has a bed. Thank fuck. Have you made it too?
She had to read the message four times and go back and correct the typos, but eventually she got it readable and pressed send. She made a mental note to get her hands on a local SIM card in the morning, or whenever she regained consciousness.
Only a couple of minutes passed before her phone beeped, though it was loud enough to make her jump. She was sprawled across the bed, freshly showered and dressed in sweats, but she had yet to slide under the warm covers, as she was trying to maintain an illusion of alertness. Who was she kidding? She was already half dozing.
Getting close. So pleased you’ve made it. Is the apartment up to standard?
Juliet couldn’t help but laugh.
Mine or yours?
Quickly, her old Nokia chimed.
Somewhere in between? :-) I hope you sleep well tonight. I know I will.
The apartment is fine and has a bed, which is all I care
about right now. Sleep well too, and take care.
Juliet kept her phone in her hand and curled onto her side, reaching across the bed to tug the blankets down. They were thick and heavy, and she could already feel her eyelids sporadically closing against her will as she manoeuvred herself underneath the covers without having to get herself up.
After a few minutes, her phone again received a message, and it jerked her back awake.
You too.
* * *
It may have taken five days, but the sun finally came out and the clear blue sky above Overscaig was stunning as Mia settled into the driver’s seat of a 2010 Jeep Wrangler. It wouldn’t last, and even in the best conditions at that time of year, she would only have six hours or so of light. It was bitingly cold, thanks to a seasonal wind that cut through layers of clothing. She had taken a few days to get her energy back after the lengthy trip, just lazing by the fire and drinking cups of steaming soup until she had begun venturing outside on a few occasions, walking through the snow to the stables that sat almost nine hundred feet from the main house. The horses had relished her attention and had accommodated her on short rides as she tried to rebuild her confidence with the skill. They seemed far taller than she remembered from her last ride, just under two years ago. Or perhaps it was that her sense of invincibility was progressively vanishing with every month and year.
She had a specific destination in mind, a one-hundred-mile return trip that in the midst of summer would only take three hours but with her cautiousness in winter would take her close to four or five. Add in a coffee and lunch, and she would easily be out each minute of sunlight. Despite her need for vigilant awareness of ice patches and other cars on the narrow country roads, the driving was relaxing. She loved the view, the stone fences that ran along the shoulder of the roads, and the sweeping, rock-filled fields.
And she was alone. There was no one checking on her or offering her food and drinks. Although the maid Janet had relaxed since her arrival, Mia still felt smothered. Even her insistence that she travel alone to Durness had elicited an hour of concerned banter and eventually a survival package, which she was fairly sure had enough supplies to keep her alive in the car until the end of winter. She appreciated the concern, but she wasn’t made of glass and wasn’t about to shatter at any given moment. She was not useless.
So the drive was a pleasant reprieve and essentially drama free, if she didn’t count the small, furry, and unidentified animal that may have had a misfortunate run-in with one of the all-terrain tyres. Which she didn’t: some things were a little different in the country.
Eventually, she pulled into a small parking space outside a bed and breakfast that doubled as the local café. There was a fairly well-stocked Spar just up the road and a hotel just a few hundred yards in the other direction. In the warmer months, it had the most delicious sight of the ocean—the North Atlantic with a view towards the Norwegian Sea. Making a quick run between the car and the café entrance, her fingers curled inside the pockets of her knee-length woollen coat and she hurried into the building, looking forward to and the warm comfort of a log fire and gas heating that she knew was inside.
Just one other patron sat quietly in the corner, focussed intently on the laptop that he had in front of him. It took a few moments for staff to respond to the old-fashioned bell hooked on the front door. “Hi,” Mia said, blowing into her hands to warm them.
“Good morning,” the middle-aged woman said, apron tied around her waist. “Can I get you anything?”
“Mmm, please.” Mia scanned the laminated menu on the counter. “Could I have, umm, a skinny latte and the Caesar salad?”
The woman chuckled. “I can do the salad,” she said politely, “but the ingredients aren’t the freshest around here at this time of year. I can recommend the soup, though. It comes with a crusty bread that is to die for. The lasagne and chips are popular with the locals.”
Mia’s face ducked down an inch, and she returned to the menu, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks. “Of course, I didn’t even think. Sorry…” Contemplating, Mia suddenly heard Juliet’s voice in her mind and she smiled. “Actually, the lasagne and chips sounds spectacular. Thank you.”
“Not a problem. Just take a seat, and I’ll have it out in twenty minutes or so. Help yourself to the magazines or newspapers.”
“I heard that you have a bookstore here, is that right?” Mia asked, taking a step back and peering around the corner.
“Ah-huh, just around there. Go ahead and browse, I’ll give you a call when your lunch is ready.”
“Thanks.”
Stepping around the corner, Mia walked past a small line of tables next to the wide windows until floor-to-ceiling shelves appeared. The narrow corridor opened into a large expansive room. Bookshelves lined the walls and were in tightly squeezed rows in the middle. She picked up a small calico bag and worked her way through the sections. Although her goal was to try and find Juliet’s novel, she didn’t particularly expect it to be stocked and so went about selecting a range of reading material, something to keep her busy for a few weeks. Her eclectic tastes meant she chose two autobiographies and a thick crime book and then another last-minute inclusion by an Australian comedian she had once seen at a women’s health fundraiser in Los Angeles. Focussing her attention then, she started scanning the spines for Juliet’s book and working her way through different genres. Juliet had been incredibly inept at disclosing to Mia anything about the content, and Mia sensed it was more a book of self-discovery and philosophy than anything fiction.
She was wrong. There, in the middle of the fiction section, under T on the bottom shelf, were two copies of a novel by Juliet Taylor. Mia tugged at one of them from the tightly packed shelf, and sat back on her feet where she had knelt down.
Things My Mother Should Have Told Me:
A story of being anyone but who you were raised to be.
Mia was grinning widely when she earned a tap on her shoulder, and she jumped slightly at the contact. “Found anything you like?”
“Yes, actually. I’ll take these five…and the bag.” She still couldn’t believe she had found Juliet’s book.
“I’ve just put out your lunch. Go ahead. We’ll fix these up when you’re done.”
“Thank you. Is it all right with you if I start reading? I’m keen to start this one.”
“Absolutely, you go ahead, love. And a fabulous choice. That’s up for a few awards this year, one of the best written, bravest literary fictions that I’ve read in a long time. I hope it does win an award or two. It might get the publicity it deserves. Actually, a media release that we got from the publisher a few months ago said the author had another book in the works and that it was due out this Christmas. Guess it didn’t happen.”
Mia nodded slowly and gave a half smile. “I know the author, actually. Juliet. Well, met her recently.”
“You did?”
“Ah-huh. I did.”
“Well, lucky you. If you can ever get me a signed copy, there’s a week-long stay here in it for you.”
Mia laughed quietly. “I’ll have to work on that.”
* * *
Blank.
It didn’t matter how many times Juliet closed her laptop and reopened it. The document was still glaringly blank. Empty. Void of anything profound, thought provoking, or insightfully brave. It was even absent of something crap, grammatically flawed, and sickeningly clichéd.
Juliet let her forehead drop. Her computer emitted a familiar rapid-paced buzzing sound, of a computer key being struck and then held down. When she raised her head, biscuit crumbs were pressed to her right eyebrow, and the screen was no longer a mocking white but had two and a half lines of a lower case c across the top of the page.
That was never going to win her a Pulitzer.
* * *
Most of the people in Overscaig both dreaded dealing with the Revira family and yet had, at some point, relied on them for a decent chunk of their income. Janet, who had only
recently begun working as a maid at the estate in advance of the black sheep daughter Mia returning to the fold, was no different. The Revira family reputation preceded them, and just the mention of one of them returning to stay had sent the small local towns into a flurry. It seemed as if most had a story to tell of conflict at some point with one of the family members, everyone from the local produce suppliers through to the Royal Mail outlet.
Janet herself had experienced some anxiety at the thought of coming to work here, but she’d needed the money, and for all that they were difficult to deal with, the Reviras tended to pay their victims well for their trouble.
However, Mia Revira was turning out to be something quite unexpected. Janet had grown up in this town, and when she had told her father that she would be working for the Reviras, he had repeatedly warned her not to expect too much. She remembered being a young girl and how her father would return home from delivering supplies and lecture them. It doesn’t cost anything to be respectful, but those people still can’t afford it, he’d say. It didn’t make any sense to Janet until she was much older.
She couldn’t quite recall when Mia and her husband had purchased the adjacent estate, but at some point, the Revira family had had less presence in the area and then had disappeared completely. The gossip that went around for months when Mia and her husband divorced was that it couldn’t have happened to a nicer family.
Yet, although Mia was a grown woman with her mother’s infamous ease at telling servants what to do, this current lady of the house had not grown up with Mrs Revira’s equally infamous disdain for them. At the moment, Mia reminded Janet of a girl, actually, curled up in the corner of a long sofa, a hand-knitted wool blanket over her lap.
“Can I ask you a question, Janet?” Mia asked quietly. The sofa’s wide seat and deep cushions seemed to almost swallow her.
“Of course.” Janet hid her surprise, returning a polishing cloth to the bucket she was carrying as she worked her way around the wooden furniture. She even smiled at Mia as she sat down on a recliner across from Mia, having finally started to relax while on the property, thanks to Mia’s cues. “Do you need something?”