Bridge Over the Atlantic

by Lisa J. Hobman

  After a good three hours hard graft the workshop was coming together nicely. The work surfaces all along both lengths of the building were clean. The floor was swept and to her delight Mallory had discovered that under all the dirt there was a terracotta tiled floor. The pot sink was back to its original off white and the whitewashed walls were free from cobwebs and spiders. It needed a lick of paint and maybe a noticeboard and some bright pictures to give her something pretty to look at whilst she worked.

  She unpacked her various table top saws, sanders and routers from their boxes and place them along one length of the work surfaces. Fortunately, she had discovered that the place appeared to have been rewired for a similar purpose and so there were enough power points for all her gadgets.

  Mallory decided that she would venture over to the pub later and ask Greg about what could be done to mend the tap so that she could begin work straight away. She had an idea of a trade-off that would mean they both got a good deal out of the situation.

  Once she had finished setting things up she made a quick inventory of her supplies and wrote a shopping list of things she would need in order to get working. She decided she would go shopping the next day.

  She showered away the grime and rough dried her hair until it fell shaggily around her shoulders then she set about hunting for the old suitcase she kept with her ‘slim’ clothes in. It was in one of the spare rooms under a pile of things ready for the loft. Today she was thankful that she had kept a few items away from eBay and charity shops as she was rapidly running out of clothes that fit. She found a pair of grey trousers and a red v neck sweater that would do. The trousers had been too small when she bought them and now they fit perfectly. Checking that they didn’t smell damp from being packed away she ironed the outfit.

  Once dressed, Mallory applied concealer to the ever present, dark under-eye circles and a rose coloured gloss to her lips. On assessing her appearance in the mirror, she hardly recognised herself, which was quite a disconcerting feeling. Sam would have been so disappointed she mused. She pulled on her black boots and black waxed jacket and set off to the pub.

  It was eight o’clock and the pub was lively with couples and families enjoying the home cooked food. The aromas emanating from the kitchen made her stomach grumble in need of satiation. She wandered over to the bar and perched on a stool. Greg was serving a very well-spoken middle aged gentleman who was enquiring about the local guest beers. Greg was imparting his knowledge and chatting pleasantly. I bet he doesn’t tell him he’s too bloody thin, Mallory growled in her mind. Then she chastised herself. After all, she had spent the past goodness knows how many years feeling self-conscious about her figure and here she was, almost two sizes smaller through no work of her own and she was offended because some bloke she hardly knew had commented that she had lost weight! Stupid bloody cow. She scolded herself.

  Greg finished serving the middle class gent and came over to her. Tonight he was back to his normal self; a black T-shirt with a strange emblem and the words ‘A Perfect Circle’ on the front, black jeans and his usual chord necklace. She could still only see the very edges of the tattoo on his arm. He nodded in greeting but didn’t smile. Hmm, back to the status quo then, eh? She said to herself.

  “You came out then,” he said, stating the obvious.

  Ya think? “I guess so, or else I’m very realistic hologram.” She too spoke without smiling.

  “Aye. Well, what you drinking? It’s on me.” He flung the towel he was holding over his shoulder like some bartender in a western.

  “I’ll push the boat out then and have a Jack and Cola.” She smiled. She hadn’t had one of those for months.

  “Ugh! Have you no taste at all? First you ask for Jack when you’re in a Scottish pub selling the best single malts you’ll ever taste…then you kill it with Cola?” He closed his eyes and shook his head as if slowly realising he had just about done it again. Mallory just stared at him. He gulped, “Coming up.” He wandered over to the glasses and measured out a double Jack, topping up the glass with Cola. When he had placed the drink in front of her he passed her a menu. “Steak pie is my recommendation, but see what you fancy.” He walked away to serve someone else.

  “Nice chatting to you.” She said sarcastically, but he was out of earshot. She perused the menu and settled for the steak pie after all. Once he was done serving he came back over and stood leaning on the bar in front of her.

  “What are you eating then?” he asked sharply.

  “Well, you recommend the pie so I’ll go for that please.” She tried to be pleasant, but he wasn’t making it easy with his brusque manner.

  “Mashed tatties or chips?” he asked.

  “Mash please.” She smiled acerbically.

  “Chips it is then.” He grinned.

  “Oy! I said…” he had already walked away through to the back. Git. She thought.

  Mallory moved over to sit at a table near the roaring fire. She felt a little like a Billy-no-mates sitting there all by herself. Glancing around at all the tables occupied by couples, families and groups she felt uncomfortable. Greg placed a steaming plate of delectable looking food in front of her and then walked away without a word. Shaking her head at his rudeness once again she began to tuck in. She hated to admit it, but Greg was right, it was absolutely delicious. The chunks of steak were melt-in-the-mouth good and the pastry was short and buttery. She even had to admit that the home made chips hit the spot nicely.

  After a few minutes Greg appeared again, pulled up a chair and sat right opposite her at the table. He didn’t even have the courtesy to ask if it was okay. God he could be arrogant.

  “Nice, eh?” He nodded at her plate of food. She nodded in agreement, chewing on a tender piece of succulent beef. He smiled as if proud to be proved right, “Told you it was good.”

  “You did,” she mumbled, still with a mouth full. He was a real master at stating the bloody obvious. She was now trying to decide which was worse, sitting alone to dine or having her mercurial audience of one. It was a toss-up.

  “Anyway, have you got that workshop sorted yet?” he enquired.

  “How did you know about that?” she asked, trying to remember if she had ever mentioned that the house had a workshop.

  “The guy who lived there before, James McLaughlan. I did a bit of work for him a few years back. A bit of rewiring and stuff. He moved up north to be wi’ his family. Nice guy. He used to make wooden toys for the hospital and the hospice in Oban,” he informed her.

  “Oh right, that’s nice.” She thought that James must have been quite a guy to do such thoughtful, selfless things.

  “Aye, he was a top man. Anyways, what are you going to do with the space?”

  He was incredibly nosey, she decided.

  “I make things. It’ll be my workshop, if I stay.” She put another forkful of the delectable pie into her mouth.

  “Oh right, what do you make then?”

  Good grief did he ever give up?

  “I make little signs with phrases, picture frames, chalkboards and a few other bits and pieces.” She decided there was no time like the present to put forward her proposal. “Funny you should mention the workshop actually.” She swallowed the food and took a gulp of her Jack and cola.

  “Aye? Why’s that?” Greg asked inquisitively. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Well you mentioned earlier that you were fixing Colin’s tap and I wondered if you could come and have a look at the sink in the workshop?” She hesitated, “if you have the time, obviously, no pressure.”

  “Oh right. Aye, I could come and have a wee look. What seems to be wrong with it?”

  “I think it may need a new tap altogether. It won’t budge.” Greg looked thoughtful, scrunching his eyes up as if trying to do a mental calculation.

  She placed her cutlery down. “If you can, I thought maybe I could make you that chalkboard you mentioned when I saw you earlier. You know by way of payment and to save you a job.” Greg smiled
and held out his hand toward her. Mallory looked puzzled at the gesture.

  “Got yourself a deal, Mallory.” Ah, right. She thought. They shook on it. “I’ll come around tomorrow and have a wee look if you like?”

  “Great.” That was easier than she had expected. She smiled, relieved.

  “I’ll bring you a dessert menu,” he said whisking away her plate before she’d really had time to decide if she’d finished or not. Mallory was too full to even consider a dessert and so she decided to make a quick exit before he could return. She felt a little guilty, but figured he would get over it.

  She stood outside briefly to gaze up at the stars. It was a very clear night and there was little up light so she could make out millions of tiny white dots of light and a few constellations that she learned about from her dad.

  It took her back to one of the times her dad had taken her out onto the Yorkshire moors when she was around eight years old. They had packed a flask of hot chocolate and Mum had given them a Tupperware box of home-made flapjack. They packed her dad’s telescope and set out at ten o’clock on a chilly October night. They had pulled up in the middle of a picnic area car park near Sutton Bank and gazed up at the stars from the boot of the old car. She had snuggled up to her dad with a little mug of the sweet chocolaty drink as he had pointed out Orion and The Plough; Mars and Venus. They had looked at the clear image of the face on the moon and had named him Boris, just because it was funny and suited his expression. He was such a kind and gentle man; and a wonderful father.

  Smiling at the memory she walked toward the cottage. The fire was so welcoming when she opened the front door. She put up the guard and slumped onto the sofa. It was almost ten and she felt exhausted after her busy day. She couldn’t be bothered to watch TV or read. She let Ruby into the back garden and on her return into the house gave her a little cuddle.

  “Come on Rubes. Time for bed.” The two companions went up into Mallory’s room where she undressed, brushed her teeth in the little en-suite and pulled on her snuggly pyjamas. She climbed into bed and switched off her lamp. Ruby made her way to her favourite place; under the covers beside Mallory’s feet. Mallory smiled when she thought back to the first time Sam had stayed over…

  January 2010

  “Well, I don’t know about you my little love muffin, but I’m bushed.” Sam stretched once the film they had been watching had finished. The movie ‘The Hangover’ had been both hilarious and cringe-worthy.

  “Yup, me too.” Mallory got up from the beat up old sofa and took the empty popcorn package and wine glasses into the kitchen. “You go on up, I’m just going to wash these few dishes whilst you do your teeth.”

  Sam followed her into the kitchen, slid his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. “Mmmmm, are you sure you are okay with me staying over? It’s not too soon is it?” They had been seeing each other for a few weeks but, apart from Christmas, they had been virtually inseparable since that first passionate night.

  “Of course I don’t mind. It’s been three weeks and every night you’ve gone home I have missed you like crazy.” She arched her neck and he nibbled her earlobe, sending shivers down her spine.

  “Okay, well I’m glad you feel the same, Miss Yorksherrr,” he purred. “Now don’t be long, we have some serious heavy petting to do when you come up.” He squeezed her bottom and made his way upstairs. Mallory nibbled at her lips, but couldn’t stop them pulling upwards into a grin that almost made her face hurt.

  She finished up the dishes and went upstairs, Ruby following closely behind. Sam had finished in the bathroom and was lying in bed, in all his scrumptious, naked glory. Mallory brushed her teeth, washed her face and climbed in beside him in her own birthday suit. He groaned with pleasure when he felt her naked skin against his own.

  Suddenly he jumped out of bed. “WHAT THE FU-!!” He switched the light on.

  Mallory sat up abruptly. “What on earth is it?” She panicked.

  Sam flung the covers back from the bottom of the bed to discover a bleary eyed Ruby staring up at him from her usual spot beside Mallory’s feet.

  After things had sunk in they both collapsed in fits of hysterical laughter.

  “I thought…I thought…” Sam gasped, trying to get his words out between loud guffaws, “that you must either be the hairiest woman I’ve ever met, or worse still that you had a huge hairy pet tarantula that you’d forgotten to tell me about!” He held his stomach.

  Tears of laughter streamed down Mallory’s cheeks as she visualised herself braiding her leg hair whilst holding the leash attached to her giant pet spider. When their laughter had subsided they were both drained. They cuddled up together, feet either side of the little black dog who seemed unfazed by the whole episode. Every so often one of them would give a little chuckle until eventually they dozed off.

  May 2011

  Mallory awoke and felt a little strange. She looked around to discover that she was standing at the mid-point of the Atlantic bridge. Had she been sleep walking? Confusion clouded her mind.

  “Hey, Miss Yorksher” a familiar voice came from behind where she stood. She spun to the direction of the voice; heart pounding. A familiar handsome face smiled warmly at her.

  Her mouth fell open. “Wh-what’s happening? You…you’re…” she gasped for breath, shaking her head; not quite understanding the surreal situation she found herself in.

  Sam stroked warm fingers down her cheek, “Don’t worry, baby, you’re dreaming.”

  “No, you’re real…you…you seem real.” Mallory felt her eyes well up with tears. It couldn’t be a dream. She didn’t want it to be a dream.

  “Let’s not dwell on that, I’m here now. Let’s make the most of it, huh?” He enveloped her in his arms and for the first time in weeks she felt calm and serene. She melted against him. The familiar feelings washed over her as she nuzzled his neck and he sighed. “I wanted to ask you about something you said today.”

  “Mmm, anything.” She didn’t want to let go. But she gazed up into the emerald eyes that locked lovingly with hers.

  “You said that the workshop would be where you would run your business if you stay.” How could he know this? Thoughts buzzed around in her mind like bees around a hive, but then reality hit and she realised that this was most likely an interaction with her subconscious.

  “I feel lonely without you, Sam. I don’t know if I want to stay here. Maybe I should go home.”

  “You are home, Mallory. This is where you and I wanted to be. Your heart is here. Look at where you end up on every walk you take and now even in your dreams.” Mallory looked around her and took in the beautiful scenery from the bridge. The sun was beginning to rise over the sea and the sky was an array of glowing orange shades; causing a glistening sheen on the sea as if it were on fire. He was right.

  “But how do I cope without you?” She sobbed, nuzzling into him once again.

  “You remember the wonderful times we had, just like my mom said. You make friends. You start to do what you love in that workshop and it’ll all work out right.” He paused, squeezing her into him, almost as if to buffer her from the blow he was about to deliver. “At some point, Mallory, you will have to scatter the ashes.”

  She shook her head frantically looking up at him in desperation. “No! I can’t do that. It’d be like losing you all over again!” Her heart ached at the thought.

  “No, Mallory, it’s something you need to do. I’m not in that urn, baby. I’m in here and in here.” He touched first over her heart and then her head. “You need to set the ashes free into all the places we’ve visited and loved up here. When you’re ready, you’ll know.” He let go of her and turned to walk away. “Remember how much I loved you Miss Yorksher…with all of my heart.”

  She felt physical pain and grabbed for him but he was out of reach. She tried to run but couldn’t move. Her feet seemed glued to the bridge.

  “Sam! Saaam! SAM!!”

  She lurched to a sitting position; covered in
sweat, or tears, or a mixture of the two; heart pounding; breathing ragged. How cruel to dream such a realistic vision of her beloved and then have it snatched away so quickly. Ruby appeared at the side of her, nuzzling her hand where it lay clutched into the bed clothes.

  When her breathing and heart rate finally resembled normal, she looked at her clock: six forty five. She lay back and tried to recapture the dream but it was no good. A whirlwind of emotions swept through her mind, scattering her thoughts like torn pieces of newspaper on the breeze. She tried to replay the dream in her memory; thinking and rethinking the conversation, but decided her attempts were futile and so she went downstairs. Ruby followed.

  Mallory ate breakfast on the patio, in her checked pyjamas with un-brushed bed hair. The sun warmed her skin as she drank her freshly brewed coffee and looked over the jungle that, at some point, she was sure, used to resemble a cottage garden. It certainly needed work.

  She had found an area of ground near the workshop, yesterday, that had been formerly used as a vegetable patch. There were a few pegs with seed packets attached still remaining, pointing out where potatoes and other veggies had been grown. That was a project she quite fancied attempting, she decided.

  She heard a thudding which she eventually realised was coming from the front door. She checked the kitchen clock which read eight o’clock. Who would be calling around this early? She huffed making her way through the house to find out.

  “Morning! Am I too early? Just thought I’d call in as I was out and about so…shall I have a look at that tap?” Greg stood there in a sleeveless T-shirt and combat pants. It is too early and it’s not that bloody warm, she mentally rolled her eyes at his attire and his persistence to turn up in front of her uninvited. She guessed he was trying to be friendly but he apparently had no social skills whatsoever.

  “I’m not exactly…er…” she gestured at her pyjamas, hoping he would get the hint.

  He trailed his eyes down to her attire and back up to her face. Smiling he said, “Oh, no bother, they’re very fetching. Get the kettle on, eh?” Good grief, this man takes no hints; she pursed her lips at the smiling buffoon in front of her. Reluctantly she let him in with his large metal tool box. “Shall I just go away up there? I know my way,” he said walking past her.