by Lisa Hobman
Worry over Sam niggled at the back of her mind and she responded harshly with clipped words. ‘Don’t worry about it. We’re not friends. You don’t have to explain yourself.’
He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it and closed it again. She glared at him expectantly with her arms folded across her damp coat.
He pursed his lips and nodded. ‘Oh, okay. I get it… that’s fine then. I’ll be getting back to the bar.’
He looked a little hurt at her sharpness. Serves him right, Mallory justified as she tried to shake the feeling of guilt. She stormed through the bar and back out into the rain.
She opened the door to Sealladh-mara Cottage, shivered the excess water from her garments and locked the door behind her. Ruby opened her eyes and her tail gave a little greeting wag but she dozed straight back off again. Mallory paced the floor for the next half an hour. She made more tea but didn’t drink it. It was just something to do.
At five past eleven she awoke with a start and found herself curled up on the rug with Ruby. She had only lain down to cuddle the dog for a minute but must have nodded off. The reason for her rude awakening became clear as she heard tapping on the front door. She jumped to her feet, suddenly feeling very excited. She struggled with the keys but eventually fumbled them into the lock. Finally! He’s here, he’s here, oh yeah, and she did a little happy dance in her mind.
She opened the door ready to fling her arms around his neck and cover him in kisses, she’d tell him off later. As she pulled the stiff door free of its sticking frame, she gasped.
‘Mallory Westerman?’ the police officer asked quietly. Another officer stood silently behind him. Mallory nodded as she felt the colour drain from her face. He reached out to touch her elbow. ‘May we come in please? I’m afraid we have some bad news.’
Chapter Four
Mallory sat stoic whilst people dressed in black fussed all around her. She loved that people cared, but she just wanted them to all just sod off and leave her alone. She hadn’t cried yet. She’d just felt completely numb. The ache inside her had been replaced with a strange feeling of… nothingness. People talked about her whilst she sat; as if she had suddenly become invisible. Does she want a cup of tea? Should she have a lie-down? Has she cried yet? Do you think she’ll move back to Yorkshire? It irritated her, but she hadn’t the energy to fight.
Mallory kept replaying the Police Officer’s words repeatedly in her mind. ‘We’re so sorry, Miss Westerman, they couldn’t revive him, they tried, but the injuries from the crash were just too severe. Is there anyone you’d like us to call?’
As soon as they had found out, Renee and Ryan had flown straight over to be with Mallory. Cara had to stay home with their baby boy, Dylan. They had all been amazing, but due to the absence of Sam’s family in the UK, initially, Mallory had been the one asked to identify his body. The image just wouldn’t leave her, it was etched on her cerebral cortex like a horrific tattoo; irreversible; a permanent fixture for her memory amongst all the happiness she’d had up to then. The experience had left her feeling almost anaesthetised.
There had been a discussion about funeral arrangements. Mallory had felt she had no right to even join in the conversation, after all she was only his fiancée; they were his family. Much to her surprise they had decided that Sam should be cremated and the service held near their new home. Renee and Ryan felt that Sam would have wanted that if he’d had the chance to decide for himself. Plus, they added, Mallory needed Sam to be near her. She should choose what to do with the ashes. After all, Mallory would not be returning to Yorkshire. There was nothing to go back for. Aside, that is, from her business and two best friends.
Mallory couldn’t express her overwhelming gratitude for the kindness of the Buchanans. She couldn’t really express anything. But she did thank them with a silent hug. Both Ryan and his mom had cried; Mallory had not. Ryan had felt responsible and had apologised over and over, If only I hadn’t asked for his help… if only he had followed Mallory as planned… if only. Mallory had assured him as best she could that she didn’t blame him. What was the point?
The cremation service had been lovely; if that’s even a possibility for cremations. People had come from far and wide to pay their respects. She had sat and listened as people eulogised about her fiancé. Their words had been so kind. She had been asked if she wanted to say anything at the funeral, but she couldn’t even attempt to muster up the words to express her feelings of anger, loss, emptiness and most of all sadness.
She thought about what Ryan had said and about his apologies. She wanted to go back; to make Sam not go into work on that day. Maybe Ryan was right? Maybe then he would still be alive. If he had followed her instead, maybe that lorry driver would not have lost control on the narrow, rain-covered road by Loch Lomond. When she had, for a couple of moments yesterday, been granted a little bit of mobile signal, a voicemail had come through, so very cruelly. She had played the message over and over again…
‘It’s me my little Yorkshire puddin’! I’ve just left work… it’s about… aaahhh… noon… you must be driving or something… anyways, I’ll be on my way in the next hour… I am sooo excited, baby! You, me and Rubes will have the best time, you’ll see! The BEST!! I love you more than life, I hope you know that and I’m so sorry about today. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Don’t go “chasing cars” ‘til I get there, okay babe? See you soon! Love you.’
Each time she played it she could pretend he was still alive. She could pretend he was just at the other end of the line. It comforted her to hear his voice; the voice of the funny, loving, kind, sexy man who had come into her life and given her so much – loved her so much. How could that be over? It just didn’t seem real. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t cry.
She remembered what Sam had said about his uncle’s funeral which had taken place shortly before they met. He had hated how sombre the whole affair was. A total contrast to his father’s apparently. They stood in the church whilst the choir sang ‘Abide with Me’ and Sam had admitted to fidgeting uncomfortably.
On the day he had told her about it he’d said, ‘If anything happens to me I want you to promise me you’ll make sure that people wear bright colours, get drunk and laugh about the good times!’
She had whacked him. ‘Shhh! I’m not going to talk about you dying. You’re not allowed to die,’ she had informed him, feeling rather cross that he had brought it up.
‘I’m just saying, I think it’s sad when people die and all, but you have to try to remember the happy times.’ He had squeezed her hand and, understanding what he meant, she had squeezed his too. At the time it had been something she didn’t even need to consider, let alone want to think about. It had therefore been pushed to the very recesses of her mind for a time when they were old and grey – or so she had thought.
Back in her new reality, people gradually said their goodbyes until only Renee, Ryan, Brad and Josie remained. The scent of fresh flowers filled the whitewashed lounge of her cottage. Her cottage. Funny how in such a short space of time the plural had become singular.
Ryan had planned to go straight to Glasgow airport after the service. He had to get back to Cara and the baby. Mallory completely understood. She had insisted he go when he faltered at the door of the taxi that had come to collect him.
His voice broke as he told her, ‘I’m only a phone call away, Mallory. I consider you my sister and I want you to feel able to pick up the phone if you need anything, okay?’ Mallory had nodded and hugged him hard. She felt so guilty for not crying. As if he had read her mind, he touched her cheek and said, ‘You’ll cry when you’re ready, don’t feel bad.’ Sweet, just like his brother, Mallory had thought.
Renee squeezed her shoulder. ‘Mallory, honey, you should rest.’ Mallory looked up into sad, bloodshot eyes, grateful that her would-be mother in law had chosen to stay for a few more days. Renee tried to smile. ‘You must be exhausted. You haven’t slept for such a long time and
you need to keep your strength up.’
Keep it up for what? Mallory had wanted to ask it out loud but didn’t. It’s not as if I have anything to look forward to.
That Buchanan telepathy apparently kicked in once again as Renee continued, ‘Mallory, come on now, it may not feel like it right now, but you will get through this. When I lost my husband, it felt like my world had come to an end, but it does get easier, honey. But you do need strength to get through this. Please go to bed and sleep.’
The mother of her precious Sam, who should be concentrating on her own grief, was selflessly helping Mallory through hers instead. She couldn’t be bothered to argue or to even speak for that matter, so she let Renee lead her upstairs. Ruby followed close behind – the poor little mite must have sensed things were wrong as she had begun to shadow Mallory everywhere. With her little dog beside her, she laid on the bed she had shared with Sam back in Yorkshire and drifted off into an uneasy, fitful sleep.
She awoke with a start to an empty bedroom, breathing heavily and sweating. She must have cried out because she heard footsteps bolting up the stairs.
Josie burst through the door. ‘Mallory?’ She lurched towards her distressed friend and embraced her. ‘Oh, Mallory, sweetheart.’ She stroked her soothingly. ‘You cried out his name, shhhh, it’s all right, shhhh.’ They embraced for what felt like an hour. But then again, time meant nothing anymore. After a while Josie broke away and said, ‘Do you want to come and eat something? Renee and Brad have made some food. You should’ve seen them, Mally, they were working together like a well-oiled machine those two.’ She smiled and held Mallory’s face in her hands. ‘Come on, lovely, come downstairs and eat, eh?’
Josie, Brad and Renee sat at the dining table with Mallory and Ruby sat at her feet. Brad and Renee had made sandwiches and had arranged a few other items on plates to try and tempt Mallory’s appetite to return. She hadn’t eaten properly for such a long time now and it was evident in the hang of her clothing. She tried to eat a little, but really couldn’t be bothered. She hadn’t really spoken to anyone. She simply couldn’t find her voice.
While Josie and Brad tidied up after the meal, Renee went to lay down in her room. Ruby had been let into the back garden and Mallory found herself sitting alone. Looking around her, she suddenly felt claustrophobic, as if the walls of her new home were closing in on her and she needed to get outside; to escape. She wanted to feel the cold air on her skin and to be out there, where she and Sam had made memories. Without another thought she opened the front door, tugging it past its sticking point and walked outside.
The air was cold on her bare arms but she didn’t care. It was good to feel goosebumps prick her arms. In fact, it was good to feel. She gulped the cold into her lungs and began walking. It was quite dusky out as she walked up onto the bridge and paused at the midpoint. She could hear Sam’s voice here, urging her to stay strong and remember the happy times. And there were so, so many of those. But right then all she could feel was the excruciating pain of loss; an all-encompassing emptiness that halted the happy memories from finding their way to her conscious mind. The wind was getting up and made the air even chillier. She looked out to the Atlantic. Sam had crossed that sea first to come to the UK and then a few more times with her by his side. He would never make that journey again.
She couldn’t bear to look at the view any longer and began walking again. As she walked she felt physical pain with every step and on looking down she realised she hadn’t put shoes on. Her feet had been stocking-clad but now the stockings had torn through. But it didn’t stop her. She picked up her pace and began to jog; her jog became a run. She had no clue where she was going, but she kept on regardless. Eventually, she came to a stop and looked around her.
It had become quite dark by now. She wandered across some rocks, onto the beach and on down to the water’s edge. She peered out into the distance past the spit and could see a boat with its light swaying in the wind. Suddenly, a wave of emotion took hold of her body and she let out a loud, angry scream. She screamed and screamed. A blood-curdling noise filled with anguish and pain that erupted like molten ash from her body. The scream turned to a heart-rending sob that shook her whole body to the core. She dropped to her knees and the tears finally came.
She hadn’t noticed the figure running across towards her from the water but suddenly she was scooped up and wrapped in a large blanket, or was it a coat? She didn’t know and didn’t care. She had no clue who had picked her up, but it didn’t matter.
She must have passed out as she seemed to rouse back into consciousness as she felt herself being placed into a vehicle of some kind. The engine started and the heaters were turned up full. The welcome warmth began to melt her ice-cold skin and she opened her eyes. It was dark outside and she could see very little in the limited light.
The figure that had climbed into the driver’s seat flicked on the map-reading light. ‘Here, take this,’ the deep, Scottish accented male voice resonated through her. She looked up slightly to see a flask lid filled with steaming liquid. ‘C’mon Yorkshire lassie, drink it. You need to get warm. You could’ve caught your death out there.’
She finally spoke without looking at his face. ‘I don’t care.’ Her voice was frail and wavering.
‘Aye that’s as maybe but there are plenty that do care. Now drink.’
As instructed, Mallory took the cup and warily sipped at the contents. It was coffee but it had a kick that burned her throat and made her cough.
The voice spoke again. ‘You’re not a whiskey drinker I take it?’ He sounded familiar but she hadn’t even looked up. He could be some axe-wielding murderer, she thought. Then she reasoned, Okay maybe there aren’t that many axe-wielding murderers who rescue their victims from freezing beaches and then give them whiskey before they chop them into little bits.
She looked up to see who the Good Samaritan was and gasped. ‘You?’ was all she could muster.
He smiled. ‘Well, I was me last time I checked, but then again I have been known to have a grumpy-arsed side too.’ They sat in silence for a few moments. ‘I didn’t catch your name Yorkshire Lassie, but I’m Gregory. My friends call me Greg.’
‘So, you mostly get called Gregory then on account of having no friends?’ she replied snidely, immediately regretting her cruel comment.
He held his chest as if he had just been shot. ‘Ouch, I think I deserved that, eh?’ His eyes were warm. ‘So, are you goin’ to tell me your name, Miss Yorkshire Lassie?’ he asked.
She closed her eyes as the sting of tears began again. ‘Please don’t call me that.’
His voice softened. ‘Okay, so tell me your name then?’
‘Mallory,’ she informed him, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.
‘After the mountaineer, eh?’
She nodded; surprised that he didn’t need the explanation that most people did.
There was a long pause. ‘Did he call you that?’ He rubbed his nose. ‘The name Miss Yorkshire Lassie, I mean.’
‘A version of it, I suppose… Miss Yorkshire… that’s what Sam called me.’ She smiled as she heard his voice in her head.
‘Ah, I see. Sorry. If I had a-known I would’ve called you something else.’
‘What would you have called me? You didn’t know my name anyway.’
‘Probably Wee Crabbit Lassie.’ His mouth curled up at one side so she knew he was jesting.
Her eyes squinted at him suspiciously as she was fully aware that it was probably an insult. ‘And what does that mean?’
He grinned. ‘Ohhh… it means pretty and quiet.’
‘It does not! I know you’re being mean. Tell me the truth,’ she chastised.
‘You sure? Okay, you asked for it. Wee as in little and crabbit as in bad-tempered.’ He visibly winced, as if he expected her to thump his arm.
‘Huh, you can talk!’
‘Aye, that’s true.’
*
Greg knew she was right. He hadn’t
exactly made the best first impression to the village newcomer. He deserved all he got. He watched as she stared into the cup of steaming liquid and his heart ached. He understood her grief more than she could possibly know. He wanted to reach out and comfort her; tell her things would get easier. But what was the point? She clearly didn’t like him, so what would his words mean?
After a few moments, he dared to speak again. ‘You all right now?’ he asked his passenger.
She didn’t speak. She just shook her head slowly as the tears came again. She covered her face with one hand as her shoulders shuddered.
Greg removed the cup from her hand and he moved towards her, sliding an arm around her shoulders. ‘Hey, c’mon, shhhh. It gets easier, I promise you that.’
He stroked her hair as she let more of the raw emotion spill out onto his denim jacket. He sat there comforting her for what felt like hours, just letting her cry, holding her tightly and fighting back his own tears of grief that had bubbled to the surface.
Finally, she raised her head as her tears subsided. He looked into her red, puffy eyes and saw the raw pain she was feeling.
He reached up and almost touched her face to express his empathy, but he thought better of it and placed his hand on the steering wheel. ‘C’mon, we’d better get ye home. They’ll all be wondering where you’ve got to.’
*
Greg put the vehicle into gear and released the handbrake. It was a gutsy vehicle and she noticed the Land Rover badge on the steering wheel. That figures, she thought. Looking at his left hand, she noticed the indentation where a wedding ring had once been. She wanted to ask him about his family and his wife, but decided to save those questions. She wasn’t sure she could digest any more information at the moment.
They pulled up outside the cottage and the front door opened immediately. Brad, Renee and Josie came running out.
‘Mallory, thank fucking goodness!’ Josie clapped her hands over her mouth when she received a disapproving glance from Renee.