by Lisa Hobman
The payphone had been reported broken a couple of days before when someone had tried to cram an old ten-pence piece into the slot, rendering it useless.
I peered around the pub and people awkwardly got back to their conversations.
‘Public phone isn’t working. You’ll have to come through to the back and use the private one,’ I told her, and, without making eye contact, I lifted the bar so she could come through. She followed me into the back hallway and I nodded towards the closed door before us, suddenly feeling the urge to reach out and squeeze her shoulder or make some small gesture of kindness. ‘There you go. And you might want to look in a mirror before you come back through.’ I walked away and left her.
Ron sat with his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t need to tell me what he was thinking… but he did anyway. ‘You deserved that response, in fact you deserved a proper tongue-lashing, Gregory… You got off lightly there.’
I grimaced in frustration with the old guy. ‘Just drop it, Ron, eh?’
He didn’t.
Instead he pointed a stubby old finger at me. ‘If I were you, I would be waiting for her and apologise properly before she leaves and gets her gentleman friend to knock your spots off.’
I huffed and rubbed my hands over my face. Once again he was irritatingly right. I rolled my eyes like an errant teenager and went back through to wait for her. She came out of the bathroom and I smiled, trying my best to be nice. She’d cleaned the streaks of black from her face and was back to being damned beautiful again.
Still smiling, I plucked up my courage. ‘So you’re a Yorkshire lass, eh?’
She scowled at me. ‘That’s what I said.’
Okay… she wasn’t going to make it easy for me. ‘I have friends in York,’ I told her, God only knows why. She smiled… my heart melted and I smiled back. I pushed myself off the wall and stood in front of her. ‘Look, I’m sorry for being an arsehole earlier.’ Watch the fucking language, you stupid shit. ‘I’ve been having a shitty time of it lately but I had no place being like that.’ Fuck… language! I cringed.
She pursed her lips. ‘Don’t worry about it. We’re not friends. You don’t have to explain yourself.’ She stood there, arms folded, glaring at me. Still looking hot. I gulped.
‘Oh, okay. Yes, I get it. That’s fine, then, I’ll be getting back to the bar.’ I felt like crap. She’d actually hurt me. I’d tried but she’d shot me down in flames. This gorgeous, engaged-to-be-married Yorkshire lass had really hurt me. How did I come back from that? I didn’t think I had a chance.
She watched me expectantly, but when I didn’t say anything further, she stormed off through the bar and out of the door into the rainy night. As I watched her retreating form, I was overcome with regret. If I hadn’t been such a bastard, she and I could’ve maybe been friends. Well, I’d ruined that now.
Chapter Eight
The next day I was out with Angus, and I saw Colin and Christine standing outside the shop chatting to Ron. I thought about going over, but it looked like they were having some sort of witches’ coven meeting and so I decided to bypass them and get on my way. I was trying to calculate what I would say when I went over to see the Yorkshire lass and her bloke. I owed them an apology.
‘Greg!’ Christine shouted. I glanced over and she motioned to me to join them. Taking a much-needed deep breath, I plastered a smile on my face and made my way over, wondering if Ron had spread the news about my less than cordial welcome.
‘Mornin’ all,’ I said as breezily as I could manage.
‘Have you heard the terrible, terrible news?’ Christine asked, wiping at her eyes. Oh shit. What had happened?
I shook my head. ‘What terrible news? What’s happened?’
Ron shook his head. ‘That poor wee girl. The one who’s moved into Sealladh-mara Cottage…’ Ron paused and lifted his hand to rub at the wrinkled skin around his eyes.
‘Aye, what about her?’ Shit, had she packed up and left already?
Christine sniffed and Colin put his arm around her. ‘Her man… her fiancé… won’t be joining her.’
My eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? Shit, has he dumped her?’
Ron heaved a deep shaking sigh. ‘No, Gregory… he’s… he’s dead.’
As if I were on a roller coaster, my stomach plummeted.
‘Fuck, no. What happened?’ I ran my hands over my head as I was sure the colour was draining from my face. The churning sensation in my stomach increased and flashbacks of hearing about Mairi’s death tortured me and mingled in with the words I was hearing from my friends. This can’t be happening. It can’t. Not to her too.
‘He was on his way up here and there was an accident. He was hit by another vehicle on the road by Loch Lomond.’
I huffed the air through my puffed cheeks as the news sank in. That poor girl. Shit, and I was such an arse to her.
‘Oh, God, that poor woman.’ I glanced at Ron, expecting him to be giving me the evil eye, but instead he wore a sad expression.
‘Poor girl indeed,’ he agreed. ‘Anyway, I’ll be on my way. I might just pop over there and see if I can do anything to help. I saw she had a little dog. Maybe I could take it for a walk. I don’t know… I just want to do something useful.’
I completely understood his sentiment but figured I’d be the last person she’d be likely to accept help from, so there was no point offering.
Christine wiped her eyes. ‘I was speaking to Aileen from down the road. She thinks there are some friends and family coming to stay.’
‘That’s good that she’s got someone coming,’ Ron said. ‘It must be terrible being in a new place. Not knowing anyone and being alone.’
I made my excuses to leave. I felt terrible. Out of everyone here I was probably the one who understood her pain the most – but I could be no use to her. After all, we hadn’t exactly had the best start. The last thing she needed was some tactless Scotsman making things worse.
*
In the days following the news about the English girl’s fiancé, I noticed comings and goings over at the cottage. I was grateful to the complete strangers for being there for the woman. That was something she would need: friends and family. I saw the funeral cortege leave on the day of the service, and I stood with Ron with my head bowed down as the black cars left the village. In a ridiculous way I was envious. At least she was getting to say goodbye properly. I was glad of that for her. I wouldn’t wish what I’d been through on anyone.
As the vehicle passed us, I caught sight of the dark-haired woman. She looked so… lost. Her face a stoic mask. Emotionless. But lost all the same. My lower lip quivered as I saw the vehicles retreating up the road and my heart ached for the poor young woman.
The pain she must be feeling.
Ron grasped my shoulder. ‘Are you all right, Gregory? You’ve gone pale, son.’
I nodded and pursed my lips for a moment; desperate not to cry in front of the old guy. Eventually I answered, ‘Aye. I’m good, thanks.’
I wasn’t due at the pub and so I decided to take my boat Little Blue out for a wee while. I grabbed my iPod from home and the boat keys along with my big fleece blanket. Angus and I climbed into the Landy and drove the short distance to the village. After dropping Angus off with Stella at the pub, I made my way down to the small marina where the boat was docked.
I pulled on my woolly hat and set out. I sailed for around half an hour, dropped anchor, and then stuck in my earbuds and listened to music for a while. I enjoyed being out in the open water with just my music and my thoughts. It afforded me time to think. Admittedly, I’d been doing rather too much of that in the months after Mairi’s death, but I still needed the alone time.
*
Eventually the temperature began to drop and I pulled my coat up around my neck and my hat down around my ears. ‘You Found Me’ by The Fray bounced around my head as I watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. The vast expanse of water before me had turned black so I switched on the lights
, hoisted up the anchor, turned, and made my way back to shore. Once I was docked, I climbed down from the boat.
A blood-curdling scream rent the still night air and I swivelled around to the direction of the noise. I could just make out a figure on the beach. Realising that the person was in distress, I took off running across the shingle. The cold wind whipped at my cheeks as I stumbled a little on the pebbles beneath my feet.
The closer I got, the more clearly I could hear the most heartbreaking noise. It was her. The Yorkshire lass – and she was sobbing her heart out. She must’ve been bloody freezing, kneeling there on the pebbles in her flimsy black top. Her feet were bare. Luckily, I had the blanket in my arms and so I scooped her up and wrapped her in the fleece simultaneously. I lifted her and her head flopped onto my chest. She’d passed out. Heart galloping, I carried her over to my car as quickly as I could and fumbled with the lock to open the passenger door. Once I placed her on the seat, she came round a little, much to my relief. I made my way round to the driver’s side and stuck the key in the ignition. Switching on the map light, I whacked the heater on full, opened all the vents, and aimed them directly at the Yorkshire lass.
I reached under the seat where I’d put a flask of coffee. It had a dash of whisky in it to fend off the chills. I wasn’t planning on drinking the whole flask. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t advocate drinking and driving. It’s more a case of being there in case I get snowed into my car or break down. Anyway, I handed a half-filled cup over to her as she opened her eyes.
‘Here, take this,’ I said as I held the cup of steaming liquid towards her. She looked up slightly but didn’t seem to be focussing. ‘C’mon, Yorkshire lassie, drink it. You need to get warm. You could’ve caught your death out there.’
She shivered. ‘I don’t care,’ she said in a helpless voice that broke my heart all over again.
I took a deep breath and found some strength. ‘Aye, that’s as may be, but there are plenty that do care. Now drink.’
She took the cup from my hand and hesitantly took a wee sip. She coughed and I couldn’t help smiling. The whisky would have come as a surprise and did have a certain kick to it.
‘You’re not a whisky drinker, I take it?’
She frowned and looked up at me. Her eyes widened. ‘You?’
‘Well, I was me last time I checked, but then again I have been known to have a grumpy-arsed side too.’ I smiled in the hope that I would allay any fears she might be having about being in my car. ‘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?’
Ouch! She really didn’t hold back, this one. But then again, I reminded myself that I hadn’t endeared myself to the woman. This was mild compared to what I could’ve received. I decided to make light of the situation.
Holding my chest, I fell back into my seat. ‘Ouch, I think I deserved that, eh?’ I smiled again. I really did want to make amends. ‘So are you goin’ to tell me your name, Miss Yorkshire Lassie?’
‘Please don’t call me that.’ Tears escaped her eyes and trickled down her beautiful but sad face.
Well done. McBradden strikes again. ‘Okay, so tell me your name, then?’
‘Mallory Westerman,’ she said as she wiped her face with the back of her hand.
Remembering some of Mairi’s books about one of her heroes, George Leigh Mallory, I raised my eyebrows. ‘After the mountaineer, eh?’ It was a stupid question and I expected her to scrunch her face and ask what I was talking about, but instead she nodded. Now I was intrigued. I guessed her parents must’ve been into climbing too to name their daughter after such a man. What a small world.
We sat in silence for a while until I had to ask, ‘Did he call you that? Miss Yorkshire Lassie, I mean. Is that what he called you?’
Her lip trembled as she nodded. ‘A version of it, I suppose. Miss Yorkshire… that’s what he called me.’ She smiled as if remembering him.
‘Ah, I see. Sorry. If I’d known, I would’ve called you something else.’
She snorted. ‘What would you have called me? You didn’t know my name.’
She had a fair point. I had to think on my feet. Another opportunity to make her smile maybe? ‘Probably Wee Crabbit Lassie.’ I smirked at her to let her know I was kidding in case she knew what I meant. The responding frown told me she didn’t.
‘And what does that mean?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Oh-h-h… it means pretty and quiet,’ I joked.
Her face brightened as she squinted her eyes at me in mock annoyance. ‘It does not! I know you’re being mean. Tell me the truth.’
‘You sure? Okay, you asked for it. Wee as in little and crabbit as in bad-tempered.’ I shrank away, fully expecting her to clobber me, but instead she just gave me an indignant glare.
‘Huh, you can talk!’
Yep, fair point. ‘Aye, that’s true.’ I scratched my head and grinned. There was something about her that I couldn’t help but like. Even though she clearly wasn’t overly keen on me. A little glimmer of hope sparked inside me that maybe she’d actually forgive me.
After another few moments of silence I glanced over at her again. ‘You all right now?’
Instead of the affirmative nod I hoped for, she shook her head slowly as more tears spilled down her cheeks. She covered her face with her free hand and began to sob. My heart squeezed in my chest and I felt helpless. I wanted to alleviate her pain somehow. But I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know the girl and she clearly wasn’t that fond of me. I took the cup from her hand and placed it on the dashboard. Sliding over toward her, I slipped my arm around her and pulled her head into my chest.
‘Hey, c’mon, shhhhh, you’ll be fine. Shhhh. It gets easier, I promise you that,’ I lied. It didn’t get easier. I was living proof of the sad fact. I swallowed hard to try to free the lump of emotion that had chosen that exact moment to close up my throat. My eyes began to sting and I chewed at the inside of my cheek, trying my best to fend off the tears. When I tasted the copper tang of blood, I released the soft, damaged flesh from between my teeth. I stroked her hair, incapable of speaking for fear of letting my emotions free. This wasn’t about me. I had to keep my own grief in check.
After she had calmed a little, she raised her head and made eye contact with me. Her bright blue irises were circled with red and the skin around her eyes swollen and puffy. The grief I saw there tugged at my insides. I wanted to hold her again, tell her that I understood. But the words didn’t come. Instead I moved back over to my side of the car again.
‘Come on. We’d better get you home, eh? They’ll all be wondering where you’ve got to.’ I pulled out of the car park and headed down the road towards the cottages.
Chapter Nine
I pulled up the Landy outside Mallory’s new home and climbed out. As I reached her side of the car, the door to the house burst open and three terrified-looking people ran out, followed by a little black ball of fluff on legs that was barking its head off and jumping around. The people all shouted at once and were clearly relieved about her safe return.
I opened the car door and Mallory tried to climb out, but I stopped her. ‘Whoa there, lassie, you’ve nothin’ on your feet,’ I scolded her as I picked her up in my arms and began to carry her towards the cottage and her waiting family.
One of the people, a guy about Mallory’s age whom I presumed was her brother or some relative, glared at me, nostrils flared and jaw ticcing as if he was ready to pounce on me.
I couldn’t say I blamed him. I would’ve been the same if someone I didn’t know was carrying my sister home looking bedraggled and distressed.
He followed close behind me and I could hear his heavy breathing as I followed the women and carried Mallory into the house. I placed her on the couch and turned to find his stare still fixed on me. His attitude was pissing me off. It was as if he thought I’d had ulterior motives with t
he woman; he didn’t know me yet he was quick to judge and presume shit he had no clue about.
His accusative scowl made my skin prickle and anger flared up within me. After he’d asked who I was and insinuated that I was the reason she was in a state I fronted up to him. ‘I found her on the beach sobbing her heart out, if you must know. She’s nothing on her feet and no coat. Have you any idea how cold it gets out there, pal?’ I’m pretty sure I bared my teeth at him.
‘Whoa, hey! Knock it off, please,’ Mallory implored. ‘Brad… Greg came to my rescue when I went a bit crazy tonight and, Greg… Brad wasn’t responsible for my lack of appropriate clothing. I went out like this of my own accord. So can you please just back up and shake hands?’
We all stared at her. This was the most she’d said all night.
The great lummox and I shook hands, and I told Mallory I was going to go. But Brad invited me to stay for coffee. I glanced uncomfortably at Mallory but she just shrugged. So much for gratitude, eh? The others cleared out of the room and it felt a little too contrived for my liking.
I sat beside her on the couch and nudged her shoulder. ‘See, you have people who care. Don’t go scaring them like that again, okay?’
She glanced up at me with those big blue eyes. ‘When we were in your car, you said it gets easier… how do you know that? How can anyone say that?’ Her voice wavered and my heart ached for her.
I stared straight ahead at the dancing flames in the fireplace. ‘Well, only those who’ve experienced loss and grief and have come out the other side can really know, I suppose.’
‘You’ve been through this?’ She sounded surprised and… almost hopeful too. Like perhaps she thought I could help her. I knew I couldn’t really. No one could. I wished it weren’t true.
‘Aye.’ I sensed she wanted details. But I couldn’t say any more.
‘Your wife?’ she pushed.
I needed to leave. I couldn’t do this. Not now. Not with her.
‘Na’, my—’ I scrubbed my hands over my face. No, I really couldn’t do this. I knew it was cowardly. ‘Look, it’s late, I’d better go, I’ve got an early start the morrow. Got to pick Rhiannon up and I can’t be late. Tell your family I’m grateful for the offer of a drink, but I really should be off.’ I stood, pulled open the front door, and left without looking back.