by Emma Browne
As she sat at the other end of the table, avoiding my eyes at all cost, I tried to engage in the conversation about Nick getting malaria in Kenya that Julia and Mum were having. I didn’t contribute much to the conversation, and Julia kept giving me funny looks, as though she knew there was something going on, but she wasn’t sure what.
I ignored her.
I wished for things with Miranda to be different. My sore heart ached at the sight of her avoiding me. There were only a few metres between us, but it felt like I might as well have been in Hong Kong, as the distance between us felt so great.
What would it take for us to put the past behind us?
Then we ended up discussing what God knows. It struck me that between the conversation I had had with Michael about God possibly restricting his power, and the conversation we had that afternoon about there being restrictions on God’s knowledge, there appeared to be a theme. Maybe there really were restrictions on God in order for him to be able have real relationship with us?
The whole concept confused me, as it made for a rather weak God. If God had such restrictions on his power, and on his knowledge, and on his ability to control things, then what made him God?
Wasn’t the whole point of him being God that he could do whatever he wanted?
But then again, if God was all-powerful and he predestined people to go through horrendous things, then he wasn’t a God I wanted anything to do with either.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Seeing Miranda again combined with all the questions I had about God made me feel restless. Nothing in my life made sense anymore.
The next day, I went to work and tried to concentrate, but I found myself staring off into space. When Liz, the secretary I had struggled with when I first started at the office, asked if I was having a rough day, I shrugged. ‘It’s been two months of rough days.’
‘Huh.’ She tilted her head. ‘This smells of heart break.’
I gave a weak laugh. ‘Maybe.’
‘Is it that girl you used to have a picture of on your desk?’ She was referring to a picture I had taken on the train in China of the two of us.
I had spent hours looking at the way Miranda’s eyes seemed to shine in the photo. She hadn’t let me post it to Instagram, so instead I had got it printed, and it had been on my desk until I came back from Michael’s and my camping trip. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘She looked like a nice girl.’ She sat down and winked at me. Her voice was hoarse from smoking her whole life, but her smile was warm. ‘Tell Auntie Liz what happened.’
I snorted and shook my head. ‘I don’t even know.’
Liz reached out and patted a hand on my arm in a rare display of affection. ‘I don’t know much about love, except that it takes a strong heart to love, but it takes an even stronger heart to continue to love after it’s been hurt.’
I pushed my other hand through my hair. ‘Yeah, maybe.’
She watched me for a moment, before standing up. ‘I think you should take a couple of days off. Think through what you want your life to be like. You’ve spent so much time at the office over the last few months, I’m sure we can spare you a few days.’
‘Not sure Euan would agree with that.’ Euan was the manager of our department.
Liz snorted. ‘You leave Euan to me. Don’t you worry about him.’ She patted my arm again and stood up. ‘Now pack up your things and get out of here. I don’t want to see you back before Thursday.’
I sighed. Taking time off wouldn’t fix things, but it might give me a chance to get some rest so I could concentrate. I didn’t have any pressing meetings in the next couple of days, and I was useless at the office when I was this tired.
So, I packed up my things and went home. And though it was only three o’clock, I went to bed and slept for two hours.
I woke up when my phone rang.
‘Hello?’ I rubbed at my face as I answered the phone.
‘Jack? It’s Mum.’
‘Uh-huh.’ My eyes seemed to be glued closed, and my limbs were still heavy. I yawned.
‘Are you ok?’
‘Mhm. I just woke up.’
‘Oh? Never mind. I just wanted to let you know that Jimmy’s back from hospital now.’
‘What?’ I sat up, tiredness forgotten. ‘Jimmy was in hospital?’
‘Oh, you didn’t know?’
‘No. What happened?’
‘Oh. I thought Miranda would have told you.’ She cleared her throat. ‘He was in a fight and was cut rather badly. He’ll be okay, though. Miranda’s got him home now.’
As I got out of bed, I wondered how Jimmy had ended up in a fight. I tried to recall every interaction I had had with him, and every time Miranda had talked about him. I remembered going fishing with Dad and Jimmy as a child, going swimming in the sea, and going for walks in the Pentland hills. In all my memories of him, he was a gentle and kind man, so him being in a fight seemed out of character.
The next morning, I went to see Miranda. Though I was clear on all the reasons for why we wouldn’t be getting back together, and all the reasons for why I couldn’t afford to care about her, I found myself knocking on her front door. I figured it would all be awkward, but she was going through a hard time, and I could at least be kind.
Mum opened the door, and Dad and Jimmy were having coffee in the kitchen.
I struggled to keep from grimacing when I saw Jimmy’s face. It did not look good. Stitches ran across his cheek and down his neck, and there was still a lot of swelling. He moved as though it hurt, but he smiled when he saw me.
‘Long time, no see.’ He said and shook my hand.
‘Yeah. I hear you’re lucky to be able to see at all just now, eh?’
He snorted. ‘Takes more than a knife to take out old Jimmy.’
‘Uh-huh.’ I said. ‘Is Miranda around?’
‘She went for a run,’ Mum said. ‘Probably won’t be long. You can wait for her here if you want.’
‘Sure.’ I went to put the kettle on and busied myself making tea. Mum and Dad soon left, and Jimmy and I were alone.
‘How long have you been back for, son?’
I took a deep breath as I thought about it. ‘About six months now, I think.’
‘Huh. Do you miss it?’
‘Yeah, sometimes I miss it. Hong Kong is beautiful, and the food amazing.’ I thought about how less tangled my life had been in Hong Kong. ‘And I guess I miss the lifestyle I had out there.’
Jimmy narrowed his eyes. ‘Uh-huh. And what’s it been like to be back?’
I wondered what he knew and how much he remembered from when I left. He had been drinking hard then. ‘I guess it’s been good. And hard. And surprising.’
‘Mhm.’ Jimmy went to scratch his chin but thought better of it and pulled his hand through his hair instead. ‘So, are you back with Miranda, then?’
‘Nah.’ I gave a wry smile. ‘She wouldn’t have me back, and it’s for the best.’
Jimmy shook his head. ‘She’s always been too smart for her own good, my lass.’
‘No, I think she’s right about this. We would just hurt each other, you know?’
Jimmy snorted. ‘Oh, I know. I’ve spent my life trying to avoid hurting people and being hurt. I’ll tell you, it doesn’t do a man much good.’
I frowned.
‘You know, I am probably God’s favourite person in the whole world.’ He smiled.
Considering the life he had led, I struggled to see how he could have come to that conclusion. ‘How do you figure that?’
‘Because no matter how stupid I’ve been – and I’ve been plenty stupid – he gave me Lisa, and then Miranda.’ He looked out the window, as though deep in thought. ‘And though I’ve caused the both of them a whole lot of hurt, they’ve always cared for me.’
‘Well that’s good, but…’
‘I couldn’t accept it, though. Can’t handle people caring about me when I’m like this.’ He pinned me with his eyes. ‘Don’t be like me, Jack. Don�
�t throw love away if you’ve found it.’
‘Um…’ I swallowed. ‘Well, as I said: Miranda won’t have me, so…’
‘Will she not, now?’ Jimmy’s eyes twinkled as though he found it all amusing. He shrugged. ‘Oh well, I guess that’s it, then. She’s a stubborn one, my Miranda is.’
‘Uh-huh.’ I nodded. Unsure of where to go from here, I decided to change the subject. ‘Do you remember that time when we went camping up by Glencoe?’
Chapter 41
Miranda
I set my phone to record my run but didn’t bother with music. There was enough noise in my head as it was. It was my first run of the year, and I headed toward Arthur’s Seat, setting a pace that left me having to focus on my breathing instead of on the warring thoughts in my head.
By the time I got to the steps at the car park by Duddingston Loch, my lungs were gasping for air and I had to slow down. Though slower, I pushed myself to run up the steps to Queen’s Drive, the road that circled the hill. Muscles burning, I slowed to a walk and looked toward the sea.
The view of the sea meeting the sky was soothing, and though I was in the centre of the city, the air smelled different up there. It was fresher somehow.
I shivered. It was also windier.
I pushed some hair out of my face, took a deep breath and set off again, this time at a more reasonable pace. Following the road round the hill, I stretched my legs as I passed Dunsapie Loch and the road started sloping downward. Though it was only February, and Monday morning, there were plenty of people on the hill – though nowhere near as many as during the summer months.
My runs had started getting longer back when Jack had left for Hong Kong, Mum was sick, and I had miscarried. Though there were weeks after Mum died where I struggled to get out of bed, I soon found that the only way to put life together again was by making sure I kept running. Running meant I had to eat properly, and the days I ran I found sleep came easier. It also helped me think, and it let me feel all the pain of the losses I was experiencing, and I found I was able to somehow go on.
The following summer, I ran a half-marathon, which seemed like a massive win for me. God had just dealt me the shittiest year, but I had survived. Running was how I dealt with sadness, and I reminded myself now that though I was sad, I could handle it. I thought about how I was going to broach the idea of rehab with Dad. And how I was going to pay for it.
But most of all, I thought about God.
Reading John’s Gospel at the hospital the previous day had stirred a hunger inside me, and now I wanted answers. If God wasn’t some old man on a cloud with a stick out to get me – if I had been wrong about him all this time – what was he really like? The more I thought about it, the more I felt something on the inside grow. It felt like spring, but on the inside of me.
When I came home, I found Jack at the kitchen table with Dad. He hadn’t been over since the night I told him about the miscarriage and seeing him there startled me and made my pulse race again. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello, darling.’ Dad’s eyes sparkled as he looked from me to Jack and back again.
Jack set his cup down and pushed his chair back. ‘Hi. I’ll get out of your hair.’
I frowned. ‘No, it’s okay. You’re welcome to stay.’
He looked at me as though he wasn’t sure what to think but stayed in his seat.
Ignoring all the feelings of seeing him at my table again, I went to get a glass of water, and drank it all in one go.
‘Nice run?’ Dad asked.
‘Uh-huh.’ I wiped at my face, conscious of how sweaty I was. ‘I’m going to shower.’ I wondered what had brought Jack over. He used to avoid any sign of Dad being in a rough place – to find them chatting over coffee seemed weird.
When I came out of the shower, Jack was pulling hummus and vegetables out of my fridge, making lunch for us, and again I wondered why. He seemed comfortable in my kitchen, and despite my questions as to why he was there or what he wanted, I liked that he was there. His presence soothed me, even as it raised questions.
I decided to leave the questions for another time and gave him a tentative smile as I went to put out new cups for tea to go with lunch. ‘This is nice. Thank you.’
He put some pita breads in the toaster and shook his head. ‘It’s no problem.’
Lunch was awkward. There were loads of questions I wanted to ask, both of Dad and of Jack, but none of my questions seemed appropriate to ask either of them when the other was there. I let them talk to each other, instead, and listened as they told me a story of when they had gone fishing together with John many years ago. It must have happened before Josie died, and it made me try to remember what those years had been like. It seemed Jack and Dad had several memories together – none of which I was part of – and they were having a nice stroll down memory lane together.
I recalled Mum saying that Dad would need me to remember and remind him of who he was. That he wasn’t just some alcoholic, but a kind person who was creative, and fun, and caring. And it struck me that Jack was doing exactly that: reminding Dad of who he was even as his jittery hands and the stitches and swelling on his face wanted to label him a drunk.
After lunch, Dad took his pills and went to sit down in the living room.
Jack stayed in the kitchen, helping me clear the table.
‘Thanks for staying with Dad when I was out.’ I stepped around him where he was putting things back into the fridge. I felt clumsy and unsure of how to handle having him back in my kitchen after so long. What did it mean that he was here?
Jack shrugged. ‘It was nice to catch up with Jimmy. Haven’t seen him in years.’
‘Uh-huh.’ I rinsed the kitchen cloth out and went to wipe the table down. Not knowing how to ask how he was doing, I decided to avoid the whole question of why he was here and what it all meant. ‘I didn’t realise you guys had hung out that much before.’
‘It’s a long time ago.’ He said in a distracted voice as he looked around the kitchen as if to check everything was put away. ‘I’ll be on my way, then. Thanks for lunch.’
I followed him to the hallway and watched as he shrugged into his coat. His hair was a mess and I wanted to run my fingers through it to fix it. Or ask how he was doing. Or invite him to stay longer – have a cup of tea with me and catch up. But I knew I didn’t have the right to do any of that. Instead, I kept my hands to myself and stayed quiet.
‘I’ll see you later.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I said, not knowing what he meant. Later when? Shaking my head, I went to talk to Dad in the living room. His legs twitched as he sat on my couch pretending to read a book, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before he left.
‘Dad, do you need a drink?’
He looked at me, then quickly away, and I kicked myself for not being more specific. Of course he wanted a drink. He was an alcoholic.
I sighed and gentled my voice, ‘I meant I was going to make some tea. Would you like some too?’
He cleared his throat and said yes, even though tea was probably last on his list of preferred beverages.
The kettle had just boiled when I heard the front door close. I watched through the window as Dad sat down on the front step and took out his cigarettes. He seemed so jittery, and it struck me he was nervous.
Everything in me wanted to yell at him, but maybe that would do more harm than good, even if it might make me feel better. Deciding on a softer approach, I finished making the tea, and took it out and sat down next to him.
‘You know Miranda, I’ve been thinking.’ He took a last pull on the cigarette before putting it out on the doorstep.
‘Not too hard, I hope,’ I said and winked.
He snorted and it was good to see his eyes light up, however briefly. The last few days had been rough for both of us.
‘I haven’t got many brain cells left after the life I’ve lived, but I rubbed the ones I still have together, and I thought perhaps there are a few things we need to talk about.’ He bit the in
side of his cheek as he waited for me to respond. He saw my raised eyebrows and lifted chin and took it as a sign to keep going. ‘You know I loved your mother.’
‘Are you sure you want to talk about this now?’ It had been six years since Mum died, and we still hadn’t talked about it. I hadn’t wanted to bring it up, as I wasn’t sure if the topic would make his drinking worse, but part of me had longed to talk with him about her.
He gave a sharp nod. ‘From the time I met your mother, I fell in love. She lit up the room, and life seemed just a little golden when she was around. She made me believe there were things in life worth living for, you know?’
I nodded.
‘I didn’t have an easy life, and I got into my fair share of trouble. There were drugs and alcohol, and I did things I shouldn’t have done. And then when I met her, I realised life didn’t have to be like that.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘There were other options. And when I was around her, changing the way I lived wasn’t even hard. And then you came along, and I had another reason to live.’
I rested my head against his shoulder, huddling closer to fend off the cold, and let him keep talking. He smelled of smoke, and I made a mental note to make sure I washed his clothes before he went back home again.
‘The thing with life, though, is that things don’t always go the way you want them to. And after a while, I thought I could go out with some friends and have a drink. Only, when they went home, I kept drinking. It was like I couldn’t stop. The next morning, I felt terrible and I didn’t know what to tell your mum. I knew she’d be disappointed. So, I decided I would have another beer to make the headache go away. Just so I could think clearly again. But again, I couldn’t stop. That time I was away for a month.’ He sighed. ‘And when I finally came back, your Mum looked at me, asked me if I was done, and took me back.’
He bit the inside of his cheek. ‘She was like that. She always believed the best about me – even when I showed her there was no good in me. When my mood swung, she took me to the doctor, and I was given pills to help stabilise me. But living with someone so good, someone who has such high expectations for me, was exhausting, and over and over again I slipped back to the alcohol.’ He gave me a wry smile. ‘I know I am a failure, and in the end, it became easier to accept that than to continuously push it all away.’