by J P Sayle
He took a couple of steps and bent to retrieve several items of clothing. He straightened and beckoned Gemma closer. Not giving her a chance to refuse, he thrust the clothes into her arms. After a moment, she shrugged and chatted.
Ellie answered her questions as they made several trips upstairs. They then worked diligently to unpack and store all his clothes. He carted the suitcases into the spare bedroom with a sense of relief. Feeling the kinks in his back, he stretched, bent, and twisted to ease them, then checked his watch. His eyes widened. “Christ, we’ve been at this for three hours.”
“You’re surprised because?” Gemma fired back.
Tongue in cheek, Ellie fluttered his eyelashes. “I don’t have a clue what you mean.”
“Yeah, yeah. You did notice that there isn’t any space left in those triple wardrobes or the three chests of drawers, hmmm?” Gemma raised a brow at him.
“Come on. There has to be food in this place. Brody said he’d filled the cupboards and the freezer.” Ellie grabbed Gemma’s hand and led her downstairs, pleased she came willingly and that she didn’t mention leaving anytime soon.
Selecting a couple of Marks & Spencer’s pizzas he found in the freezer, he unwrapped them and popped them into the oven. He moved about the kitchen with directions from Gemma to find plates, cutlery, and glasses.
“So what made you decide to move to the island,” Gemma asked.
The innocuous question should have been easy to answer, but his racing pulse and the sweat sliding down his back said differently. He searched for an answer that would sound plausible as his hands balled at his sides.
“It’s all right if you don’t want to tell me,” Gemma said, her voice laced with concern.
With a glance over his shoulder, Ellie saw what looked like genuine concern, before her shoulders drooped in defeat and a mask of fake cheeriness slipped into place.
Ellie turned to face her, phrasing his response carefully, not wanting her to think he didn’t want to be friends. Not when it seemed she genuinely wanted his friendship. “I’m not sure if it was just one thing. But when Brody said he was leaving and then offered me the job, it was a no-brainer. Heck, it’s a promotion, so that means more money, and the rent here is dirt cheap, and I get to be close to my best friend,” he said with a shrug.
Something passed over Gemma’s face as her brows knitted together at the mention of cheap rent. She changed the subject and talked about what Brody’s boyfriend, Nick, was planning for her kitchen. Before he knew it, the afternoon bled into the evening. It was only when Gemma said she needed to leave and get ready for work that he realised how late it was.
“You’re going to work tonight… but… you haven’t slept?” Ellie asked in a horrified tone.
Gemma waved it off. “I’m used to it. I’ve worked nights for years. I only work part-time, so it’s not too taxing.”
Following behind her, Ellie felt a little saddened she was leaving. “Do you want my mobile number? Maybe we could go out for a drink one night, and you can show me what the island has to offer,” he asked eagerly.
“Yeah, of course.”
Ellie pulled out his phone, tapping the screen to add Gemma’s details before giving her his. He smiled when she gave him a big hug before charging out the door much like she’d charged through it hours earlier.
He sat at the bottom of the stairs after shutting the door, feeling a little off-kilter. He balanced his elbows on his knees and rested his face in his hands.
He stared at the door for several minutes, letting the day sink in. The overwhelming sense he’d made the right decision to move to the island filled him from top to bottom, missing no part of him. The pure delight of spending time with someone who didn’t want anything from him, except friendship. What about Brody? The memories with Brody were mostly of their time spent in the workplace. This was somewhat different, and he liked it a lot.
His lips twitched before he let out a carefree giggle. Giddy with laughter, he slapped a hand over his mouth to stop the ridiculous noises coming from him. What did it matter if he wanted to laugh like a loon? Isn’t it time for me to be happy?
He got up and headed to the kitchen to clear up. The hope renewed his belief that life was going to change for the better, keeping the smile on his face for hours.
Connor
For the tenth time, Connor checked his watch and looked out the window again for the hire truck.
“Why don’t people come when they say they will? The hire company was supposed to be here half an hour ago. At this rate, we won’t have time to pack everything and make the evening sailing.”
Connor stared at Morgana, unamused when her whiskers twitched as she turned around and headed out into the hall.
“A fine lot of help you are,” he shouted after her.
He glanced back out the window, and seeing the drive still empty, he huffed and grumped to himself. When the street remained deserted, Connor stepped away from the window before he had a mini breakdown. He was reminded of something his mother always used to say about watched pot never boiling. Not that he got it as a child, but it seemed to strike a chord right now, when he considered how long he’d spent waiting and watching out the window.
Too long, that was how long.
With hands raking through his hair, he muttered as he walked impatiently towards the open doorway. He could barely skirt past the two-seater grey love seat that he’d stupidly decided to drag into the hallway. A put-upon sigh escaped at having to squeeze past the tower of now wobbling boxes. Automatically going to steady them, he cursed loudly. He grabbed a couple off the top of the pile and searched for a space to put them.
It took all his effort not to let his body slump, seeing that there was nowhere to put them. He carefully eased past the other boxes and breathed out when he made it past without incident. Back in the front room, he dumped the boxes next to the empty bookcases.
He gazed around, his heart sinking. How the hell were they going to fit all this in a truck?
Refusing to release another sigh, he sat on the remaining sofa, a leather Chesterfield. His back twinged in disagreement with his choice of seat. His hands ran over the soft, worn leather while he inhaled its scent and that of his mother’s perfume. His eyes stung at the memory of her sitting relaxing on the sofa in the evenings, reading.
He’d always thought it was too uncomfortable for his large frame to stretch out on, but his mother had loved it. Initially he’s been undecided about donating it to charity or keeping it, just because he thought he should. It seemed silly, given that he didn’t like it. Common sense had prevailed, and the hospice had arranged to come and collect it this morning.
He eyed the doorway with some trepidation when he considered how difficult it would be to get it out past all his crap currently cluttering the hallway. If the removal team didn’t get their backside in gear, the hospice wouldn’t be collecting diddly squat at this rate.
With his head pounding, he tried to remind himself why he’d thought to sell the house and to accept the job offer was a good thing. He rubbed at his temples. Was this the right decision?
The guilt he’d felt on his last day at work surged to the surface. The one big regret he’d had was leaving the kids behind. There were even some he’d miss. Over the years, he’d tried his best to keep the line between teacher and student clear. But he knew there was always the exception to the rule. Nick.
A smile lit Connor’s face. Finding Nick at the airport in the Isle of Man was something he’d never expected. It was a small world. His brow pinched. Their relationship, he supposed, was something few would understand without judging him. There had never been anything other than friendship between them, but he’d assumed the school board and his colleagues wouldn’t have seen it like that, so he had purposefully kept it private. When one day he’d found Nick sitting on the roof of the school looking forlorn and in need of someone to talk to, Connor had obliged. And though some of the conversations they had were beyond strange, i
t had cemented a real friendship between them.
When Nick had left school, they had kept in touch and spent time together. To the point that he had invited Nick to meet some of his ex-boyfriends, and unfortunately one of those had been Andy. Nick’s instant dislike of Andy had stopped their regular contact to the point Connor couldn’t remember the last time they’d seen each other. Knots of guilt for letting a boyfriend stop him from seeing one of his friends wound tightly in his stomach, reminding him what a shitty friend he’d been.
The vow he’d made to himself after seeing Nick at the airport remained true. He’d kept in touch with Nick, who had even gone as far as to help him search for a house when he couldn’t take any more time off work. Nick had happily gone to the estate agents to gather information on the housing market to send to him. But as it turned out, Nick didn’t have to look far. When Nick’s brother Aaden’s neighbours had put their house on the market, Nick had rung him straight away.
Several pictures of the house were enough for him to decide he wanted it, and with his own selling quickly, he’d put in an offer that was accepted. Nick had done several virtual walk-throughs with him on FaceTime so they could discuss what was required before he arrived. Again, Connor was unwilling to ask for time off, not after explaining to a red-faced, spitting-angry headmaster that he’d be leaving at the end of half term, especially as half term was only a week away.
The moment of panic he’d anticipated at changing the one constant in his life since his mother’s death didn’t happen. In its place was a sense of relief he hadn’t expected to feel. He’d all but skipped out the school gates singing “I’m Movin On” by Rascal Flatts. Only the students giving him the side-eye had stopped him.
He was roused from his thoughts by a loud thumping against the front door, and he jumped up, just missing trampling on a box in his haste to get to the door.
His heart rate kicked up a notch as he walked down the hall. Let’s hope this is the right decision. Ignoring his fluttering stomach, he took a deep breath and opened the door. He greeted the ruddy-faced driver. “Hi, I’m Connor,” he said, offering a hand before ushering the guy inside. “I’m not sure where you want to start, but I’ve brought as much as I can downstairs ready to load.” Connor continued to talk, pointing to the stuff in the hall as he walked to the first pile of boxes.
“That’s great. I’m Jeff, and I’ll be your packhorse.” He laughed at his own inane joke while strolling to the boxes, scratching his chin. “You marked all the boxes with breakables, right?”
“Yes, I followed the packing instructions your company sent me. So everything should be correct.” Connor wanted to groan at how uncertain he now sounded.
The guy’s raised brow had Connor waving his hand to encourage him to start. Connor lifted the box nearest to him and walked out the door to the truck. Anyone would look a little harried and uncertain after being given only a week to pack up a lifetime’s worth of possessions, right?
He blamed the education board in the Isle of Man, who wanted him to start right after the half term due to the old headmaster taking ill. He had wanted to complain about the tight deadline, but he’d kept his lip buttoned, not wanting to piss anyone off before he started. The fact that everything had slotted into place from the couple selling their home and agreeing he could stay in the house, paying rent until all the paperwork got sorted, to completing on his own home made things far more straightforward than he’d anticipated. The only issue was that Connor hated to rush. He liked to take his time to contemplate all the angles before deciding on a plan of action. The last few weeks had been a blur. A headless chicken on speed sprang to mind and made him feel dizzy at the ever-growing list he’d acquired since resigning. It left him tetchy and feeling out of sorts, like he’d missed something important.
He shook off the thought and loaded the box into the designated area. Returning to the house, he halted and took in the chaos. “Shit. Morgana.” He scratched at his stubbled jaw, his brows knitting together. What should he do about Morgana? He couldn’t leave her loose while they were moving all his crap. What if she got trampled on?
The thought got him moving, even as he groaned at the prospect of coaxing her into the cat box. Sweat beaded his upper lip as he picked up the pet carrier. He rubbed his free palm down the leg of his old jeans and took a deep, fortifying breath.
“Morgana, where are you, girl?” he called, hoping she didn’t notice the tremor in his voice. She was intuitive, and the last thing he needed was for her to go into hiding. He walked towards the stairs where Jeff lifted a couple of boxes to clear his path, and he nodded his thanks. He took the stairs two at a time and halted at the top, unnerved when he met Morgana’s jewelled eyes.
He swallowed. You got this. His stomach jittered faster than an American swing dance. Morgana peeled back her gums, releasing a mean-sounding growl. The ensuing hiss made him inch back, laying the travel box on the ground. “Come on, Morgana. We’ve talked about this. To travel, you need to go into the cat box,” he coaxed in a baby voice. He’d be more than mortified with when he had time to think about it.
Connor got the distinct impression Morgana was listening when her head tilted to the side, and her top lip curled up in what could only be a cat sneer.
Her haunches sagged, and his shoulders released as she stepped into the open carrier, hissing. His breath gasped out as he quickly shut the door and flipped the lock closed. He lifted the tub up until he saw inside. “Thank you, Morgana,” he said with sincere gratitude.
Unable to resist, he blew her a little kiss, then laid the box carefully on the ground. He headed back downstairs and went in search of Jeff to see what he needed to do next.
Swiping at his sweaty brow, he stretched, hoping the pain in his back would ease when he sat down in the car. He checked his wristwatch, pleased to note they’d time to spare. He grabbed the last boxes, checking the labels to make sure of where they needed to go before heading out to the overflowing truck.
He handed the last of the packed boxes to Jeff.
“I think that’s the last of it,” he said, eyeing the full truck, “or should I say, I hope it is.” His anxiety ratcheted up another notch. How on earth would all his stuff survive in one piece on the long road trip and subsequent boat journey?
When Jeff patted his back, he couldn’t stop the sigh.
“Stop stressing, man. I got it under control. I’ve done this a thousand times, and I’ve never damaged anyone’s prized possessions before.” The jovial humour dancing in Jeff’s eyes did nothing to allay Connor’s fears.
He eyed the dirt-streaked T-shirt stretched over Jeff’s ample belly. Jeff turned and headed to the driver’s door. Connor shuddered at the arse cleavage his low-slung, filthy jeans revealed. His nose wrinkled. Could anyone that dressed that sloppily be trusted?
Stop being ridiculous. It’s not like the driver was going to turn up in a suit and tie.
The voice of reason pushed away his worried thoughts. Jeff was dressed like that because it was hard, dirty work, moving other people’s stuff.
He shook his head, unable to feel Jeff’s optimism or listen to the voice of reason telling him that his things were in safe hands.
Connor walked away, mumbling, “not yet, but there’s always a first time.”
His trainers squeaked on the wooden floors as he trailed through the now empty house to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. The old Victorian house, he was told, was built by his late great-grandfather for his wife, and over the years it had been passed down to the following generations, eventually going to the firstborn child on his mother’s side of the family.
As his parents had him late in life and he was an only child, the house had come to him after the death of his mother ten years previously. His memories of his father were hazy, since he’d been so young when he’d died.
He sighed at the empty rooms. Rooms he knew had been filled with so much love and laughter, even when it was only the two of them. His mother had made
every effort to fill the gap his father’s death had caused them.
He chewed his fingernail, a habit that would have got him a slap if his mother were there, at the need to feel her reassuring hug. It brought with it a wave of grief. Though not as intense as it had been on previous occasions, it was still there. A taint on his heart he didn’t think he’d ever lost. No amount of wishing his mother would walk through the door would bring her back. Right this minute, he’d sell his soul to have just that: a second to feel her strong supportive embrace, telling him he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life by selling their family home.
He’d hummed and hawed over whether he should keep it versus renting it out. The reality he’d come to accept was that he’d never have a child to pass it on to, no matter how much he wanted that. He was forty-two, had no significant other, and a pile of exes who only wanted him for what was in his bank account. So where did that leave me?
Alone in this big house, that was where—being continuously reminded of what he didn’t have.
No. It was time to move on. He just needed to keep that in sight.
At the loud meows coming from the cat box sitting by the door, he jerked. “Yes, yes, Morgana, I’m coming.” He walked quickly to the cat box and lifted it until he saw her shining green eyes. “I know. It’s time for new adventures.” Her purred response drew out the first smile to light up his face since he’d got up that morning.
He walked out the front door, locked it, and quickly dropped the keys through the letterbox, as the estate agents requested.
A lightness he hadn’t expected filled his chest as he strolled down the path to his BMW. “It’s time, Morgana, for new beginnings.”
He placed Morgana on the passenger seat before rounding the car to get into the driver’s side. He started the engine, exited the driveway, and drove down the street, taking one last look in the rear-view mirror. The lightness he’d felt moments ago waned at how lonely the house appeared. Closing down the notion, he stared out the front window, blinking back the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, his fingers gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened.