by Abigail Mann
Moira shouts to get his attention from across the street, breaking into a jog to meet him halfway.
‘Does he know I’m here?’ says Mum, her eyes fixed on Andrew like he’s a fox in the front garden about to ransack the bins.
‘No …’ I say.
‘He hasn’t aged well,’ says Mum, out of Moira’s earshot. ‘He looks old.’
‘Well, it has been a fairly long time …’
‘Like a pickled anchovy.’
I make hushing noises as Andrew slopes towards us, his hands deep in the pockets of a lumberjack sweater.
‘I was just coming up to the tearoom,’ he says, somehow managing to look everywhere apart from directly at us.
‘We were supposed to meet at four,’ says Moira.
‘Ah, right. I must have … Yeah. Well I just popped in for a quick pint. Jim’s stopped by on his way to Aberdeen and I owed him one.’
Andrew looks at Mum and stands up taller, his once curly hair cropped short. ‘Didn’t think I’d see you up here again, Lorrie. Last thing I remember, your peace and earth loving lot were being pulled off the rig by the coastguard.’
‘Mmm, that’s right. I couldn’t stomach another dry oatcake by that point.’
Andrew chuckles and looks up at Mum beneath wiry eyebrows. ‘So, have you, err, sorted everything out?’ he says, gesturing between us.
Before Moira or I say anything, Mum pipes up. ‘Yes, I’d say so. There is the small matter of why you didn’t think to get in contact about your first daughter, but—’
‘Well, hold on. You never asked me to.’
‘I sent you a letter. I sent you two, actually, and I know you got them.’
‘I thought you were just telling me, you know? You didn’t give me any sign that you wanted me to do anything, as such, so … There’s not much I could have done from up here anyway. If I’d have known—’
Mum puts up her hands in defeat. ‘Andrew, it’s all right. Really, there’s no point going into it. I’m not in the habit of poring over the past with a nit comb. You don’t owe me anything. Truly.’
Andrew runs his tongue along his lower lip and rubs the back of his neck. Moira nudges me with her elbow and gives me a look as though she wants to leave.
‘You’ve done a good job, by all accounts,’ he says.
‘Thanks.’ Mum holds her chin high and looks to me. ‘But I knew that already. Shall we get going?’ says Mum.
Andrew waves a finger in my direction. ‘Oh, Ava. Can I have five minutes?’ he says.
Mum bites her cheek and takes her suitcase off me. ‘Chuck us the keys and I’ll put this in your car.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ says Moira, bunching her hands inside her pockets as they walk away.
When they’ve disappeared around the corner, Andrew walks half a pace ahead of me, each step slow and deliberate. I follow him and try not to make it obvious that I’m staring at his features and trying to figure out which parts made their way over to me.
‘Has your right eyebrow always grown upwards like that?’ I ask.
He answers hesitantly. ‘Yeah … I think so. Can’t say I’ve studied it up close.’
‘Interesting,’ I add lamely, silently blaming him for all I’ve endured after years spent trying to ensure mine lay flat. I can’t think of what else to say, so we walk in strained silence until the road pulls level with a concrete slipway that tips down towards the waves. Around us, boats lay on their sides like slumbering seals, a sun-bleached trunk of driftwood cast ashore between them, its branches twisted and worn smooth like fuzzy felt. Andrew sits down and leans his forearms on his knees.
‘I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I grew up without a dad, so I know what it’s like.’
Well, this makes it worse. He addresses a tangle of fishing nets hung from a barbed-wire fence.
‘I want to do something. I can’t make up for … all that business in the past, but I’ll try and meet you halfway. I’m leaving for a job tonight, but if you want to come out on the boat for a few hours, that’d suit me just fine. We can put the spinning rods off the back, see if we can catch some mackerel.’ Andrew looks up and quirks the corner of his mouth in a smile. Out in the bay, a small trawler is followed by a flock of seagulls who screech and squawk, swooping as the fishermen dump fish scraps overboard.
I take a moment to analyse how I’m feeling, poking and jabbing at the recesses of my brain. There isn’t much left to consider. I reached a conclusion when Moira took me up to her room and showed me the photograph she kept tucked away in her wardrobe.
‘I’m not the person you should be asking,’ I say, facing the wind so it blows the hair off my face. ‘It’s Moira. I mean this in the kindest way possible; it would mean so much more to her than it would do to me.’
Andrew bites his cheek. When he looks at me again, it’s the first time that that things don’t feel painfully awkward between us. He nods. When I smile, it feels heavy and I realise how bone-tired I am. For the first time since I ran out of the studio in London, the muddy waters I’ve been wading through have started to clear, like silt settling into solid ground.
Chapter 39
It’s definitely far too early for bubbles, especially drunk from a mug with chickens painted on the side.
Kian has his back to us. For once, he’s stayed in pyjamas past six o’clock. He flips a thick slice of eggy bread in a cast-iron pan and slides it onto a plate, sprinkling brown sugar on the top that caramelises, soft and gooey from the heat.
‘I thought you said that working on the farm has been really hard,’ says Mum, drawing out her sentence to make it sound like it’s come from a six-year-old’s mouth.
‘Uh, it has been, thank you very much,’ I say, sipping coffee so creamy and sweet that it’s more like cheesecake than a hot drink. ‘Kian, how many times have you made breakfast since I’ve been here?’
‘Every day,’ he says, gesticulating towards me with the egg flipper. ‘Don’t you go telling porkies.’
‘I knew you two would gang up against me,’ I say, spearing a forkful of eggy bread as Mum laughs into her giant cup of tea. ‘What are we celebrating, by the way?’
Kian tops his orange juice up with the last of the prosecco, his grin set squarely like it has been for the past hour. ‘Well, we’ve had the lovely Lorrie come to stay, which is reason enough.’
‘Hmm. I have a feeling there’s something else behind all this …’ I say, eyeing him over the rim of my mug.
Kian could smile for the next week and it wouldn’t be enough. Yesterday, we pulled up to the farmhouse as he waved off representatives from the University of Edinburgh, their neat hatchback splattered with mud. By the time they’d dipped out of sight, Kian was partway through a lap of the courtyard, fist-pumping the air like Tyler Durden in Fight Club. He greeted Mum with a smacked kiss on the cheek, looping us under his arms in a jostling circle, cheekbones clashing in uncoordinated jumps.
Kian takes a fork, spears a green, meatless sausage from the tray on the table, and bites the end.
‘I’ve just got a good feeling, y’know?’ he says, waving his fork around. ‘I can’t call it, but the fact that we can accommodate three sets of students a year must help. Well, hypothetically we can. I’ll need to sort the rooms out and get someone in to help, probably. They were completely sold by the pigs.’ Kian slides a notebook over. ‘That’s the third bullet point,’ says Kian, jabbing the page, ‘“the best example of saddleback swine seen this side of Sterling.” This side of Sterling! And they’re going to help with the woodland maintenance, which means—’
‘Truffle hunting!’ I say. ‘Yeah, check you out! You’re diversifying! Just think – Braehead – the future of farming.’
‘Steady on,’ says Kian, but I can tell he’s excited by the thought. I push my chair back to get milk out of the fridge. As I shut the door, Moira appears in the doorway wearing an oversized hoodie that reaches her knees.
‘Morning,’ she says.
‘I t
hought you called John to take you home last night?’ I say.
‘I, err, yeah. I didn’t go back, in the end,’ she says, her cheeks pink.
Mum coughs, catching my attention. She raises her eyebrows and flicks a glance at Kian.
‘Oh! No way. Yes! Did you? No, don’t answer that. But you guys? Eh?’ I blurt, as Moira bursts into laughter.
Kian tucks her into his chest, one arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other holding a mug of tea away from her head.
‘Don’t answer that. We can’t discuss it, not now you’re my official baby sister.’
Moira laughs and sits cross-legged on a dining chair, her hair a homage to Kate Bush in her Hounds of Love days. She tucks her legs up inside the hoodie, propping her chin on her knees.
‘What are you guys doing before you get the train back to London?’ says Moira.
‘Shouldn’t I be asking what you’re doing?’ I ask, wiggling my eyebrows.
‘I’m going fishing with Dad.’
‘Oh. Sorry, I made that unnecessarily weird,’ I say.
Moira rolls her eyes, her smile as broad as Kian’s. I take a mental photograph as he puts a plate down in front of her, wanting to capture this golden moment before we’re at opposite ends of the country again. ‘I would suggest a wee tour of Kilroch, but I doubt much has changed since you were last here, Lorrie.’
‘Not from what I can gather,’ she says. ‘But there is something I’d like to see before I go.’
***
On our way to Kilroch Point, Mum regales me with stories from her time with The Earth Mamas. I knew that she was a tambourine-wielding, henna-haired activist before she settled in Dulwich, but this is something else. The tale of three women and how they washed themselves with a flannel and one bottle of water between them goes some way to illustrate the unglamorous side of occupying an oil rig in the North Sea.
In turn, I tell Mum about Braehead: the way the house rattles when it warms, the territorial guard geese, and how I’ve learned to predict the next day’s weather based on where the sheep huddle before sundown.
We squelch alongside the hedgerow as dull winter sun pokes through gaps in the bramble. Without warning, Mum stops, taking both my hands to pull me round to face her.
‘Ava, I’m not sure I ever said this to you. Not out loud, anyway.’
‘Oh, God. What now? I’m not sure I can handle any more life-changing news, unless it’s that Pickles is in fact half-cat, half-slug, which would explain his lack of mobility and tendency to leave slobber trails near food.’
Mum rolls her eyes and sighs. ‘No, nothing like that. Honestly, I’m trying to build a moment here.’
‘Oh, right. As you were.’
‘I wanted to say that I’m proud of you.’ We stand there, crows cawing in the cropped field behind us, linked by our fingertips and a thousand other things.
‘I’m proud of the decision you made to come up here. I’m proud of that silly grin you have when you complain about the animals. I’m proud of the way you’ve established yourself without me. I’m proud that you’ve figured out what your version of happiness looks like.’
‘I can also carry an egg in between each finger. Are you proud of that?’
‘Yeah, we’ll add it to the list,’ she says with a smile.
She squeezes my fingers. When she lets go, I open my palm. A tiny glass-blown dolphin sits there, barely a centimetre long. She curls my hand back around it.
‘I’ve kept this in my purse since I left Kilroch. I wish I’d been more open with you about your dad from the start. I do. But I don’t have any regrets about coming here. How could I when this place gave me you?’
Mum blinks, her bottom lip quivering as I enclose her in my arms, interlacing my fingers at her back.
‘I’m struggling to breathe here,’ says Mum, her voice muffled by the excess of knitwear bundled at her chin.
‘Sorry,’ I say, releasing her. I take a deep breath.
‘Mum, I … I think I’ve realised something.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I have this feeling that I’m … that I’m not meant to leave—not yet, anyway. I want a chance to be myself here, to spend more time with Moira before she starts her course. I’m not sure how it’ll work, but I thought I’d try the “see what happens” approach. For once, the thought doesn’t terrify me as much as it once did.’
Mum scans my face. ‘Are you sure?’ I nod. ‘You know how cold it gets here in winter?’
‘I’ve heard tales,’ I say, my voice thick.
I look up as Mum’s eyes fix on a point in the distance. Through a break in the thicket, I see him too. Ross. He walks between graves in the churchyard, head down, leaving a trail of emerald footprints behind him where his boots have kicked a path through the dewy grass. Mum tugs my forearm and gasps.
‘Oh, he’s got a nice Heathcliff feel, don’t you think?’ she says in a whisper. ‘The right amount of brooding without the disturbing violence. I can see why you don’t want to leave that behind.’
‘Mum, don’t say anything, don’t—’
‘Coo-ee! Ross! Morning!’ Mum trills off a laugh and I groan, my cheeks flushing. Ross stops to raise a hand.
‘Morning! Cold one for a walk,’ he says, tucking his hands in his pockets. ‘I was just on my way to Braehead, actually.’
‘For Kian?’
‘No, for you.’
Mum pulls me back behind the bramble and pulls her mittens on with purpose, her voice hushed. ‘I’ll go on without you. It looks like he’s keen to talk.’ Just as I’m about to protest, she puts a woolly finger to my mouth. ‘Go on! Fingers crossed you don’t burn up if you decide to have a snog in God’s house.’
‘Honestly. You give me a reputation and I don’t even have a reputation,’ I say.
‘I don’t know … Cavorting with priests? Sounds like a good scandal to me,’ says, poking me in the ribs until I squirm. ‘See you later, sweetheart.’
‘If this gets back to the Dulwich WI, I know who to blame.’
***
I try and stomp the circulation back into my toes as Ross weaves around parcel-taped boxes inside the parsonage kitchen.
‘Are you going somewhere?’
‘Yeah,’ says Ross, ‘back to Edinburgh. Doug Dingwall has made a miraculous recovery from his hip operation and, apparently, he’s more than ready to take up his duties again. Going by the tone of the care worker I spoke to on the phone, they want shot of him as quickly as possible.’
‘Why?’
‘Let’s put it this way, they had to remove the antibacterial gel dispenser from his bedroom. Suddenly it’s not so strange that I’ve found six mini bottles of gin stowed in hiding places around the church. There was even one slipped down the spine of a King James Bible. Worrying, as it’s the one we use for the children’s service.’
‘Wow. I expect Eileen will be back on dinner duty. Have you told her yet?’
‘Yeah, she knows. In fact, she offered to move down with me as a “housekeeper”, so it’s nice to know I’ve got options.’
‘The woman has no shame,’ I say, sitting on the corner of the table.
Ross grins, but his smile falters as he steps closer. He’s let a beard grow, which suits him exponentially, despite it hiding half his face.
‘So, this is it,’ he says.
‘Is it?’
I put my hands on his hips and he covers them with his own, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.
‘You know I’ll be in Edinburgh, right?’
‘Yeah. I’ll let Mum know. She’s stopping over for a couple of nights whilst she visits her friend.’
‘What about you?’
‘I thought I’d stick around,’ I say, my gaze drifting up to the spider webs hooked around the ceiling beams.
‘Aye? How long for?’
‘I haven’t decided.’
After weeks spent inhabiting different versions of myself depending on who was in front of me, I’ve settle
d into quiet contentment. Now that Mum and I no longer need to tiptoe around The Dad Issue, I sense a new kind of trust between us – one that sees our messy, blended family and embraces it anyway. With the truth of our sisterhood out in the open, it’s like Moira and I have met for the first time all over again. I don’t want to leave when we’re only just getting started.
‘Hold on. Is this Ava without a plan?’ he says, jokingly patting me down as though I’ve got a concealed weapon. ‘You haven’t got a highlighter tucked in here, have you?’
He grins and puts his hands on either side of my face. It’s a shame because I was quite enjoying the frisking.
‘If you want to see me, I’ll be here. If you don’t, I’ll understand. There’s no pressure.’
Ross scratches his newly adopted beard and frowns. ‘I’ll have to think about it.’
‘We don’t need to decide anything. Let’s worry about it later, okay?’ I say, worried that I’ve pushed him too far.
Ross slides his hands in his pockets and moans under his breath in a way that makes my thighs feel three-glasses-of-wine-fuzzy. ‘I’m done worrying about it,’ he says, bending down towards me. I thread my fingers through his belt loops and arch my back, reaching up to meet him.
If it’s possible for a kiss to be polite, this feels like the opposite. Each kiss overlaps into the next until I’m clutching onto the lapels of his coat like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. I break away, our foreheads touching, and flick his collar. The remnants of a bar code are printed on one side.
‘Have you still not upgraded the milk carton?’
‘Shh,’ he murmurs, kissing me again. This time I push him back with my lips, sliding off the table, one step towards the door.
‘I should catch up with Mum,’ I say.
‘Let me drive you,’ he replies.
‘All right then. But take me on the scenic route.’
Chapter 40
‘How are you doing that?’ says Kian, taking a break from his continuous pacing of the driveway to stare at Mum with a look of mild horror and awe.
‘She just needs a gentle touch, don’t you sweetheart?’