A Year of Finding Happiness

by Lisa Hobman

  I climbed back in the Landy and smashed my hands into the steering wheel. Fuck! You fucking shithead! She needed your help. Some kind of reassurance would’ve been nice! You fucking prick! I clenched and unclenched my jaw before ramming the key in the ignition and reversing up the lane like the idiot I’d become.

  Pulling to a jerky halt outside the pub, I yanked the handbrake on. Then I flung open my door, climbed out of the Landy, pushed through the double doors, and stalked inside with purpose. Wallet in hand, I walked behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of the cheaper whisky, and thrust a note into the cash register.

  ‘Greg? Everything okay?’ Stella asked with a look of grave concern.

  ‘Aye… I’m just a fucking prick, that’s all,’ I mumbled loud enough for only her to hear.

  ‘Oh, is that all?’ She smirked.

  I gave her a snide curl of my lip.

  As I turned to walk out, she grabbed my arm. ‘Don’t go drinking yourself stupid, Greg, okay?’

  Her eyes told me that she knew that was exactly what I was going to do. I had to think fast to change her train of thought. ‘Oh, erm… hey. How about Friday? For me to play, I mean?’

  Her face lit up. ‘Really? Oh, Gregory, that would be wonderful!’

  ‘Fine. Getting Rhiannon back tomorrow, so I’ll be fine by Friday.’

  ‘Great. Thanks, Greg.’ She squeezed my arm. ‘It will be okay, you know.’

  I couldn’t decide whether she meant the gig or my life in general. Maybe she meant both. I smiled tightly and nodded once. She released me and I averted my gaze and called out to Angus. Once he’d trotted up to my side we left the pub quick smart. Shit, I’d gone and confirmed it now. I was definitely a brainless idiot.

  *

  By Friday I’d worked myself up into a frenzy about the gig. What the hell had I suggested it for? I liked to play, obviously, but I liked to play melancholy songs about heartbreak in the privacy of my own home. The thought of singing in front of people scared me shitless. My stomach churned and I pulled almost every shirt I owned out of the wardrobe. What should I wear? Shirt? T-shirt? Do I need to look a particular way? Fu-u-u-u-uck!

  After a great deal of toing and froing, I settled on my navy button-up shirt with pale blue flowers on it. I grabbed Rhiannon and made my way to the pub. It was already busy and my heart leapt as I walked over to the bar. Stella was wearing a proud grin. Bless her. She really did care.

  When it was time to perform, she gave me a warm smile of encouragement. The knots in my stomach tightened and my mouth went dry. Glancing around the pub, I spotted a fair few familiar local faces. My gaze landed on a head of long, dark, wavy hair. Mallory. Oh, great.

  I took my place behind the mic stand and cleared my throat. ‘Ahem… evening, all.’ I coughed. ‘Good to see you. Ah-h… for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of being served intoxicating liquor by my good self, I’d better introduce myself, eh?’ Trying to get comfy on my seat, I wriggled about a bit. ‘My name is Greg McBradden and I’m the local handyman, bartender, boatman and all-round grumpy arse.’ I glanced straight over in Mallory’s direction and she cringed. I couldn’t help sniggering a little at her reaction. ‘Anyways, I’m going to do my best to add entertainer to my list of talents. Thanks to Stella, the owner here – she seems to have a disliking for all you locals, as she’s agreed to let me sing to you.’

  The place erupted in laughter and I smiled. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. The locals heckled and booed me, which made me laugh. Bloody mad lot.

  I looked over at Mallory again, but her head was down and she was picking at her jeans. I wondered if maybe I’d overstepped the mark… again. Holding my guitar aloft, I carried on talking shite.

  ‘Anyways… I’d like to introduce you to Rhiannon, my guitar, named after a Fleetwood Mac song that got me into playing in the first place. So you can blame them if you don’t like ma playing.’ Everyone laughed again and I relaxed a little more. ‘She’s just been repaired at the guitar hospital, also known as a music shop for you heathens, so she sounds grand. If any of yous gets up and leaves, don’t forget I know where most of you live.’ I chuckled along with the crowd. They were lapping it up, and the tension in my body continued to ebb away.

  ‘Right, well, seeing as this is my first night, I’m not going to scare you away with my own compositions. This first one, you should all know, but don’t bloody sing along. I hate that.’ I laughed, but I’d said it in all seriousness. There’s nothing worse than hearing that inane bloody mumbling that people make when they try to sing along with something they don’t really know. It’s ridiculous and highly embarrassing; cringeworthy, even. Plus the fact that if there’s someone on a stage performing, it’s his job. So shut the hell up, I say!

  ‘It’s a little number I like to call “Trouble” … because erm… that’s the song title.’ Another rumble of laughter, but this time I felt like a dick. Stupid fucking thing to say. ‘It’s by a guy called Ray LaMontagne, and I’d like anyone who knows him or follows him on Twitter to tell him I’m sorry.’ The place roared with laughter yet again. Get me. I was quite funny really. A smile took up residence on my ugly mug and I felt just a tiny bit happy.

  Chapter Ten

  The night was going swimmingly. Being applauded sent shivers of excitement down my spine and I decided then and there that I’d be doing it again. I took a long gulp of my beer as I scanned the room. After placing my glass back down, I began to play the introduction to one of my all-time favourite songs. The singular notes played in a staccato rhythm rang out through the room as people fell silent. Clearly it wasn’t just me that liked it.

  I sang the opening line of ‘Chasing Cars’ by Snow Patrol. The hush that had fallen on the room was broken by the scraping of a chair and fumbling noises. I glanced up in the direction of the noise just as Mallory shoved her way through the crowd and made a dash for the door. What the hell? Maybe the long-haired beauty had drunk a little too much. I couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t as if I’d been sober since Mairi’s death.

  As I sang, her friends dashed out after her. Concern etched on their faces as they flung open the door and ran out of the pub. Shit. Maybe she’s sick. I carried on playing but an uneasy knot returned to my stomach. Maybe she wasn’t used to the alcohol and it’d affected her badly. I vowed I would go over tomorrow and check up on her.

  At the end of the night the crowd congratulated me and shook my hand. The compliments were flying. You should have been playing here for ages, Greg… You’re a natural, Greg… You have the sexiest voice, Greg. It was quite an ego boost. But it was all overshadowed by a niggling in my gut. Was Mallory okay? Why did I care so much? Okay, so we shared something in common: grief. But I didn’t know her and she didn’t like me. It was stupid to feel so concerned about someone I’d only just met. But for some reason I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  I arrived home and made myself a cup of coffee. Probably not the best idea, since caffeine so late at night was bound to exacerbate my sleeping issues. But I wasn’t tired anyway. Images of Mallory crying came to mind; the way her limp body huddled into me as I carried her to the car; the way she sobbed silently when we shared those few words of conversation; her running out of the pub without looking back. There must’ve been a valid reason for her speedy retreat from the pub tonight, and I needed to know that she was all right. That got to me though. I didn’t simply want to know. I needed to know.

  At around two in the morning I said goodnight to Angus and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. After stripping free of my clothes, I climbed into bed. I should’ve showered first, but I figured the sooner I got to bed, the sooner I could get up and go round to check on the Yorkshire lassie.

  Just as I’d anticipated, sleep didn’t grant me the pleasure of its company for quite a while. Instead I tossed and turned. Churning the possibilities around in my mind for Mallory’s earlier quick exit, I narrowed it down to five:

  1) She was sick.

  2) She hated my singing. />
  3) She was drunk.

  4) She was drunk and sick.

  5) She was drunk, sick and my singing made it worse.

  Fu-u-u-uck! I slammed my fists back into the mattress. When I did eventually fall into a fitful sleep, I was plagued by the image of Mallory on her knees on the beach again. My heart broke as I ran towards her, pain-filled sobs ringing in the silent night air.

  I awoke with a start, a little confused and racked with guilt at the fact that my dreams had, for once, been filled with a virtual stranger instead of the love of my life.

  *

  Once I’d showered and dressed, I jumped in the Landy with Angus and drove down to the village. I parked across from the pub and dropped Angus in with Stella. She took him out the back and gave him some leftover steak. His tail wagged frantically and no bloody wonder. He was better fed than I was.

  ‘I’ve just… erm… got something to do, okay? Be back soon,’ I informed her. Leaving the pub, I paused and took in a deep breath with my head back, letting the morning sunlight warm my face. Courage, McBradden. Just walk over, knock on the door, ask how she is, and then leave. Simple. My feet began to move and before I knew it I was knocking on the door of Sealladh-mara Cottage, Mallory’s front door, with a pounding heart and sweating palms.

  The door opened and there stood the petite blonde friend who I had gathered was called Josie or Jodie or something like that. In her arms was the small wriggling black dog I’d seen before, wagging its tail frantically.

  Before lifting her head, she frowned at the dog. ‘Keep still Ruby.’ When she set eyes on me she raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, hi. What are you doing here?’

  I twisted the Landy keys in my hand. ‘I came to check up on Mallory. I saw her run out last night and was worried she was sick or something.’ I nervously ran my hand through my hair as the moths in my stomach set about beating their wings.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. Thanks.’ Her expression saddened a little. ‘You played “Chasing Cars”. That was the song that was played at her engagement. It meant a lot to her and Sam… It was their song.’

  As if I were on the world’s biggest roller coaster, my stomach fell and my heart tripped over itself. ‘Oh my God. No fuckin’ wonder she ran out.’ I felt like utter shit. The poor wee girl. I covered my face with my free hand and exhaled all the air from my lungs. Words suddenly escaped me and I found myself floundering in front of this total stranger. ‘Please… fuck, oh, I’m sorry to swear, but fuck. Please tell her I’m so, so sorry. Fuck. What a fucking idiot!’

  She held out her hands towards me in reassurance. A wasted gesture. ‘Hey, Greg, you weren’t to know. Honestly, don’t beat yourself up, eh?’

  ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Oh, God, sorry, my language.’ I covered my mouth as if doing so would stop my verbal diarrhoea.

  A voice travelled through from somewhere inside the house. ‘Don’t worry, mate, Josie has said much worse.’

  Brad’s attempt at putting me at ease didn’t help any either. I shook my head. ‘Every time I see that girl, I put ma fuckin’ size ten in my mouth. I’m going to go before I do any more damage to the poor wee girl. As if she hasn’t been through enough, eh?’ I turned to go but looked back over my shoulder to see pity in the blonde’s eyes. ‘Seriously, please tell her I’m so sorry. I’ll be keepin’ out of her way, I reckon.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Greg, honestly. You weren’t to know.’ Her eyes told me she genuinely didn’t blame me. But I did. As I walked away swearing at myself, I decided that I really needed to just lay off and stay away from her. Not only had I been a shit to her that first day, but I’d upset her friends and broken her heart with a bloody song. Not bad going for a few weeks’ work.

  Better not walk under any ladders, McBradden. Karma is a bitch.

  Chapter Eleven

  Thinking about Karma got me thinking back to Alice. I suppose now would be a good time to tell you that delightfully twisted story, eh? I met Alice at university in the nineties.

  Alice Gibb was sex on legs. Long blonde hair, killer curves, big brown eyes, lush breasts… Don’t judge me, I am a man after all. Anyway, I was only nineteen and she was every teenage bloke’s wet dream. Sorry for my crude turn of phrase but… aww, who the hell am I kidding? You’ve already figured out what I’m like, eh?

  I keep digressing… sorry.

  So, I was attracted to her instantly, but so was every other guy at university. I thought I was uber cool with my long hair and my grunge attire. I absolutely idolised Eddie Vedder from Pearl Jam, Dave Grohl from Nirvana, and Chris Cornell from Soundgarden. I was a real grunger: checked lumberjack shirts, band tees, and combat boots. I used to walk around campus with my headphones on as some American rock, indie, or suchlike screeched out of my CD Walkman. Jeez, showing my age now, eh?

  We were taking completely different subjects. I was music production, she was textiles. She was going to be the next Vivien Westwood and I was going to be the next Jimmy Page. To say we both had delusions of grandeur would be an understatement. I got chatting to her one lunchtime…

  *

  ‘Can you pass me a can of Diet Coke, please?’ came a sweet voice from beside me. I looked to my right and met the big brown eyes of the girl I’d been staring at for the past few months. She was even hotter up close. Long blonde waves that fell past her shoulders. Large, perky breasts and big hips. She wasn’t fat. Far from it. She was luscious in that Marilyn Monroe way. Every guy in university had been ogling her from day one and I was no different.

  ‘Oh, yeah, sure.’ I reached for a can and passed it back to her. She smiled and blushed. Too cute for words.

  She scrunched her face. ‘You’re Gregory, aren’t you?’

  She knows who I am? I gulped in disbelief and must’ve looked ridiculous opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish out of water.

  ‘Yeah. That’s… that’s me.’ I nodded emphatically as heat rose in my cheeks.

  ‘You play guitar, don’t you?’ she asked with her head to one side and a playful look in her eyes. I nodded again. Come on, stupid mouth, work! Despite my chastising myself, intelligent words wouldn’t form.

  Tilting her head to the other side, she bit her lip for a moment. ‘I think guitarists are hot.’ And with that she turned and walked away, glancing over her shoulder and almost electrocuting me with a killer smile.

  ‘Oy! Are you moving or what?’ came an angry voice to the side of where I was apparently superglued to the floor in the lunch line.

  My head swivelled round to the pissed-off guy. ‘Aye. Sorry, mate. Sorry.’ I shuffled on.

  Later that same day I was walking back to my digs when someone behind me shouted my name. I stopped and turned around. It was her.

  ‘Wait! God, you walk fast,’ she panted.

  ‘Sorry, I was just on my way home.’

  ‘Want some company?’

  ‘Sure. Yeah. You not going home yoursel’?’

  ‘Na’. Not yet. Thought I’d come and see where you live first.’ She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth again. All the blood in my body rushed south, and I hoped to God she couldn’t see what was happening down there.

  ‘So, Gregory—’

  ‘Call me Greg, all my friends do.’

  A wide smile spread across her stunning face. ‘So, Greg, do you have a girlfriend?’

  ‘Girlfriend? Me? Erm… no.’

  ‘Would you like one?’ Wow, she certainly isn’t backwards at coming forwards, that’s for sure.

  Feeling a little braver, I smiled back. ‘You offering?’

  ‘I’d have to get to know you better first,’ she replied.

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ I couldn’t quell the shit-eating grin that had taken up residence on my ugly mug.

  And that was how the thing started.

  *

  The following January

  We were all going out around Oban. There were a few clubs that played great music, and a gang of us decided we’d go out and get pissed, have a laugh, do s
ome dancing, you know?

  I called for Alice around seven thirty. She opened the door to her room and there she stood, short, tight black skirt, thick black stockings, muckle clumpy boots – sounds crap but, believe me, she looked hot as hell – and a tie-dyed cropped top. Her black leather jacket finished off the ensemble nicely. My mouth fell open. I wanted to shove her back on the bed and get her out of the silly clothes that were in my way, but as if reading my mind, she shook her head and wagged her finger at me.

  ‘Not yet, Mr McBradden. You’ll get yours later tonight.’ A sudden rush of blood descended to my favourite organ. By the way, sex with her was amazing. I had nothing to compare it to – her being my first – but oh, wow, I didn’t care. She was horny as anything and couldn’t get enough. Which was fine with me.

  We arrived at Club Zero and met with the rest of our group of friends. Some had been there awhile and were already on their merry way to pissed-up land. I grabbed us a couple of drinks from the bar and we made our way over to the group. ‘Fade Into You’ by Mazzy Star played over the PA system, and I watched Alice sway to the music with her eyes closed. She was so incredibly sexy in everything she did.

  And she knew it.

  The song ended and we drank a little more. Her eyes were glazing over and she was totally relaxed. The next song was the Cowboy Junkies version of ‘Sweet Jane’. It was a song that Alice and I had made love to on more than one occasion. We were on the dance floor together and with her back to me she ground herself into me as we swayed to the music. A guy appeared in front of her and started dancing with her as if I were invisible. I clenched my jaw as I watched her respond to him. She turned her back to him and faced me. I grimaced at him, hoping the words ‘Yeah, fuck you, pal’ were clear in my face. But to my utter shock, she lifted her arms up, letting them fall behind her head, and draped them around his neck.