by Freya North
As they strolled to her car they scanned each other’s faces, for here in the flesh, at long last, was the other about whom so much was known already. Both felt immediately at ease in each other’s company and both felt a certain sense of relief that their expectations had been met.
This is Sally’s aunt.
This is Sally’s man.
Waves of approval accompanied their conversation about vernacular architecture, whisky without an ‘e’, and Sally.
‘She hadn’t even woken when I set off. And her morning bath now takes her a long time. Of course, she won’t have me help. But hearing her thumping and thudding, wincing and cursing – I tell you, it is all I can do to stop myself from rushing in to bathe the bairn myself!’
Privately, Richard thought how long it had been since he had bathed her.
Not since last year.
From the corner of her eye, Celia observed him looking far out of the window, scanning the landscape and smiling widely at the lochs and hills. She sensed he was itching for news of Sally but could see he was too well-mannered to pry. Feeling it was her duty and debt to Angus and Robbie, she broke the proverbial ice for him.
‘I’ll think you’ll find that breaking her leg is a blessing of sorts.’
Richard looked puzzled but his eyes implored her to elaborate so she did. ‘We had words the night before, you see. When I discovered she was here illicitly, so to speak, I gave her my mind. I suggested a good, long walk and a long look within. She set off at dawn the next day. Well, she didn’t make the long walk but sitting alone in the open with a broken leg afforded her plenty of time for reflection – and plenty of space, in every sense of the word!’ Celia laughed.
‘Has she come to any conclusions?’ Richard broached delicately. Celia felt that a kindly wink would suffice. Feeling bolstered, he decided to leave it there and judge for himself on seeing her.
‘She’s a funny old thing,’ he mused, ‘never known anyone quite like her.’
‘I’ll say “aye” to that,’ agreed Celia. ‘She says you’ve been together since the autumn?’
‘Mmm. It was quite fortuitous that we met – it was a party that I decided to go to only at the last minute. And there she was.’
‘There she was,’ echoed Celia with a distant look in her eyes.
‘She had this magnetism – I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was specifically. Still can’t! I mean, our Sal’s a pretty girl and has a nice figure but not really, well, eye-catching. I think it’s the whole package. There’s so much to her, like a huge box of treats – each time you dip in, you find something new.’
Celia laughed. ‘Well, the lass certainly has a treat in store today. Are you ready?’
Richard clapped his hands together and whispered, ‘I’ve been ready for quite some time.’
When they arrived at the cottage, the kitchen was empty with Sally’s breakfast things still laid. Celia motioned Richard to sit down and mouthed, ‘Tea?’ Feeling quite nervous now, he shook his head and flicked through a copy of Rob Roy distractedly. From upstairs drifted Sally’s dulcet tones singing Simon and Garfunkel most melodiously, totally unaware of the surprise awaiting her. Relaxed now, Celia and Richard giggled together and settled in at the kitchen table, nibbling digestive biscuits with half an ear on the staircase.
Sally began her clumping descent, singing ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ to steady herself.
‘Aunty Cee? Crikey, I’m pooped!’ she called from halfway down the stairs. ‘Is the kettle on? I’ll certainly need reviving, it seems to be getting harder and more tiring each day!’
‘Just boiled!’ Celia encouraged. Richard forced his eyes away from the door and fixed them to the spine of Rob Roy instead. His stomach churned with adrenalin, his palms were clammy and his mouth was dry.
Clonk, clump, here she comes.
‘Mor––’ she cried, shunting open the door with a crutch, ‘––ning!’ she croaked, flabbergasted and rooted to the spot, eyes enormous, mouth gaping.
‘Morning, Sally,’ Richard replied, in a voice that gave nothing away.
Sally was speechless, Celia was silent, Richard was defiant. Eventually, Sally remembered to close her mouth. She shut her eyes and opened them again, shaking her head to ensure she was not dreaming. He was still there.
‘Richard?’ she mouthed, aghast.
He nodded his reply, still holding on to Rob Roy for moral support.
‘I, er, better check on the, um, daffs!’ stumbled Celia as she backed away, tactfully if noisily, into the garden.
Richard took in all he saw. There she was, that wretched girl who’d played havoc with his heart, hair still spiky in the one patch, face still spotty but neater now. She was standing before him, a vision on crutches, swamped in a dirndl skirt of Celia’s for she had brought only trousers, not having expected a plaster cast to hinder their wear during her stay.
He noticed how her eyes glinted and her face had a fresh bloom. He observed her wrists and saw how the tendons and veins were visible from the strain of the crutches. Her good leg was coddled in a thick sock, the broken one was obliterated by a very large, very white plaster cast – only the tips of her toes were visible and they were slightly blue.
Their eyes were fixed to one another. Quietly, he walked over to her and took away her left crutch, propping it against the door frame. Holding her left hand firmly, he took the right crutch away too and, holding that hand, steadied her. He cocked his head and looked at her; she gazed back, open and ready.
‘Hey, Richie,’ she said meekly.
Their embrace, after so long, too long apart, contained neither passion nor desire. It was infused wholly with tenderness, and they stood still, locked and close in each other’s arms. Richard rested his face against the top of her head, Sally buried hers deep into his chest, lost in his heartbeat.
Celia found them thus when she ventured back from the garden, her arms laden with daffodils. These she promptly thrust between them while hastily brushing a tear from her eye as if it was not there at all.
THIRTY-NINE
Richard eased a sock over Sally’s plaster cast.
‘Richard,’ she said softly, ‘I cannot believe you’re here.’
‘I can,’ he replied.
Taking her arm over his shoulder, he helped her hobble out to the Mini. Celia waved expansively from the doorstep. ‘Have fun, my lovelies. Looks like the day will be fine.’
True, thought Sally.
I hope so, thought Richard.
Fine indeed, thought Celia. Watching them drive away, she turned back to her cottage and chatted to the photograph of Robbie and Angus.
I’m sure all will be fine. When two inherently good people come together, there is so much room for happiness and unity. Our Sal may have been a silly girl but she’s worked very hard to redeem herself and though I feel she is restored to me, all that’s left for her is to do the same to Richard. Now, there’s a man who breathes courage and maturity. It can’t have been easy for him, this journey into unknown territory of every kind, but he is here and I love him. I see you in him, my Angus. And Robbie, you’re living on in your daughter – she is so very full a person. I do believe a happy ending may be in sight.
‘So, which way now, Sal?’ Richard asks, looking as settled behind the wheel of her Mini as he does behind that of his Alfa Romeo.
‘Which way now, Richie?’ smiles Sally, ridiculously pleased that she’s Sal once again. ‘Why, forward, forward, forward!’
They take the coast road and tootle along at a relaxed pace to take full advantage of the magnificent views. At Loch na Keal, they stop but the rain starts, soon to swallow the view. Sally tries not to take this to heart. As the engine dies away, she takes a deep breath and holds it.
I’ve got to do it. I must tell him now. Say ‘sorry’. Tell him ‘yes’.
Do it, Sal.
In a minute, but I can’t hold my breath any longer.
‘My, that’s a big sigh,’ teases Richard
. Sally looks shyly at her hands.
Why is he here? Did he want to come? Did Aunt Celia ask him to, to taxi me back to Highgate?
‘Richard,’ she asks, making a tangential start, ‘did you ever read Rudyard Kipling?’
‘Avidly,’ he replies, batting not an eyelid at her incongruous enquiry.
‘The Just-So Stories?’ she furthers.
‘Cover to cover,’ he declares. They sit in silence which is neither awkward nor heavy. Frowning a little, Sally ventures her hand to his.
‘Do you remember the Leopard?’ she says softly, her eyes downcast.
‘’Course I do,’ he replies.
What is the girl getting at? Is this some big build-up to a let-down? Is she still toying with my emotions?
‘It was one of my favourite stories, as a child. My dad and Uncle Angus used to read it to me over and over. We’d chat about it afterwards, reasoning away – I can only have been eight or nine.’
Richard nods as she curls her fingers around his. He tips his head and his eyes say, Go on, Sal, go on.
Come on, Sal, come on. It’s time.
Yes, it’s time.
‘Remember how the story starts, how the leopard has no spots and how the stripy zebra and patchy giraffe have one up on him?’ Richard’s nod encourages her to continue. ‘Well, I suppose I felt a little like the naked leopard. You know, somewhat powerless in the face of Mother, of Jamie.’ She looks at Richard with large open eyes. ‘When you came along, I decided I’d create my own spots – moreover, that I’d be a spotless vixen rather than a leopard!’ She laughs sadly. ‘But I should’ve known.’ Her voice trails away. ‘We all have our spots, it’s just that sometimes we can’t see them.’ They sit quietly and watch the light rain drizzle disjointed snakes down the windscreen.
‘What I am saying is, spots have been my downfall and my salvation.’
She sees that Richard looks just a fraction confused and can feel him working hard to keep abreast of her drift.
Quick, quick! Restore him.
She looks him boldly in the eye. ‘You see Richie, I thought I had none, so I painted some myself and I wore them with aplomb. Or so I thought. And then, of course, I woke to find myself covered by others uninvited.’ Richard’s eyebrows twitch and cross.
‘Chicken?’ hints Sally, gesturing at her face.
‘Ah ha!’ Richard says triumphantly. She nods and beams at him.
‘You see, these awful itchy spots proved to me how superficial my painted ones were. I have realized that beneath them both – the chicken and the painted – are my true spots; those I was born with, those I had spurned, those that define me as, well, Me.’
Clasping Richard’s hand with both of hers, she summons her will and confides: ‘A leopard can’t change her spots, we all know that, yet I tried to change mine. I wanted to obscure them from view beneath a veil of contrived subterfuge. But now, I should like to show you them. If you would like? If I may?’
They gaze out over the loch. The rain has caused an eerie vapour to whisper along its surface and the hills are shrouded by the mist. Richard turns slowly towards her and summons her eyes away from the water. She raises them to meet his. She is crystal clear.
‘Sal,’ he starts with an affectionate tap to her nose, ‘at first, I was utterly blinded by your so-called painted spots. But, if truth be told, it didn’t take long before I was utterly blind to them and could see way beneath them – that veil was pretty transparent and what was beneath was infinitely more beautiful.’ He pauses. Her gaze has been unflinching and he is heartened.
‘Remember how, once the leopard was accustomed to his spots, his life was good?’
Sally nods, a little forlornly. Richard takes his time, treading carefully, rather enjoying it.
‘Well then!’ he declares.
‘Well what?’ she worries, scouring his face.
Richard lets it lie for a moment.
And why not, Richard? The girl’s led you a merry dance.
‘Well then,’ he says with a big grin, ‘spots and all, you’ll do for me!’
If Sally could have said ‘sorry’ in all the languages of the world, she would have done so, again and again.
Richard settled for just the one which was delivered with conviction and honesty before she kissed him.
‘I’ll never do it again, Best Beloved. I am quite content as I am.’
Richard returned Sally to Celia a different woman. Only her leg was broken, her spirit was whole again. While Sally slept in the next room by the fire, he declared Celia had restored his girl back to him and thanked her. Celia was quite taken aback.
‘It wasn’t me, but you!’ she gasped.
Richard shook his head gravely. ‘If she hadn’t come here, if you hadn’t scolded her, if she hadn’t walked and broken her leg, we would still be at an impasse.’
Celia refused to agree and they stood deadlocked, both too well-mannered to take any personal credit for Sally’s salvation. Both felt indebted to the impact the other had on Sally. And yet both had been integral to her redemption: Celia with her directness, Richard his tact; both for their strength, support and patience.
‘Let us put it down to this old isle, hey? Mull has treated Sally well – in breaking her leg, it has repaired her soul,’ Celia concluded.
‘I raise my glass to the Isle of Mull!’ proclaimed Richard.
Celia turned to the Aga, hiding a private smile from him.
Taking a glass of whisky to the living-room, they padded around Sally. Swathed in dirndl and enveloped in an old Aran knit of Angus’s, she was snuggled deep into the sofa. Her lips were slightly parted and her cheeks were rosy; one hand rested under her chin, the other was pressed between her knees. She was fast asleep, as much a part of the fabric of the sofa as the woollen shawls and hillocks of cushions. Richard and Celia sat down in the armchairs either side of the fire and sipped contemplatively. Every now and then they looked to the sleeping almost-beauty, but before long, the warmth and glow of the embers seduced them away and held them captive. Indeed, only a particularly loud crackle from a spliced branch roused them some time later and they saw it was now quite dark outside.
Still Sally slept.
On the occasional table at Richard’s side teetered a pile of books. He browsed over their spines, smiled at The Just-So Stories but forsook Kipling, Hardy and Scott, for Burns. Celia beamed at his choice.
Closing his eyes, he caressed its worn leather cover and traced his finger over the embossed lettering. Taking the volume to his nose he breathed deeply, savouring the evocative aroma of well-thumbed pages. He laid the book in his lap, closed. Looking first at Sally, he then regarded Celia and grinned:
To see her is to love her,
And love but her forever;
For nature made her what she is,
And never made anither!
Celia clapped her hands and clasped them to her heart, exclaiming, ‘A Burns boy! What joy!’
Sally woke, bleary-eyed and blotched, mumbling, ‘Huh? Hey? What?’
Richard merely shrugged his shoulders at her while directing a conniving wink at Celia.
It is time for Richard and Sally to head home. Into the proverbial sunset? Would you really have wanted it any other way?
Celia will miss them both enormously but sends them on their way with a tin of home-made shortbread and a silent wish.
Sally and Richard receive it unconsciously and bid her farewell with a firm promise to return in the summer. Sally feels quite tearful to be going but both Richard and Celia remind her that it is Sunday and there is school tomorrow. She senses she is leaving Mull to embark on the rest of her life and feels a little timid. But Mull will stay as it is, hugging the coastline of western Scotland, its treasures guaranteed. It is time for Sally to take home all she has discovered there. She knows now that mundanity and romance can happily co-exist but to put it into practice she must return home, to Highgate and school and the patch of rising damp in the bathroom.
&n
bsp; With a chorus of parps and their hands reaching high out of the windows, Richard and Sal tootle away from the cottage and Celia soon becomes just another vague shape in the rear-view mirror.
Part of the heather, part of the cottage. Part of the land, thinks Sally.
They take a worthwhile detour to Glencoe and then follow the road to the Grampian mountains.
‘It’s going too quickly!’ Sally rues when the shores of Loch Lomond arrive so soon after Crianlarich.
‘Want to stop?’ asks Richard.
‘Would you mind?’
Richard parks as near to the shore as he can and helps Sally hobble to the water’s edge. In she dips her hand and waits until her joints ache. She holds her fingers aloft and sees how the hazy sun is caught in the droplets the moment before they fall. Richard allows her the ritual, the space, but she gives him her wet hand and touches his lips so that they glisten.
They are now but a mile or two further down the road because the promise of a warming Scotch at a pretty pub was too hard to resist. The room is quite empty, wonderfully cosy but bright. They sip away beside the fire.
‘Anything else I can get you people?’ asks the landlord.
Richard and Sally shake their heads with a smile. The landlord excuses himself. Richard and Sally chat away happily. He asks her if she feels ready for school. Yes, she says, she does. She asks him if they will make it home in time for an early night. Oh yes, he assures her, they will. Briefly excusing her actions, Sally reaches over to a neighbouring table for a clean knife. She pokes it down the side of her plaster cast and her eyes close in bliss at the sudden coolness of the steel.