Full English

by Rachel Spangler

  Without meaning to, her gaze found its focus on the white peak of Emma’s conservatory. Was Emma enjoying the sun in there? Had the warmth of it helped melt the lines of anguish Brogan had caused to crease her forehead? Would the graceful glide of gulls overhead help her find some of the peace Brogan had shattered? Would the subtle scent of salt on the air soothe the raggedness that raked Emma’s voice as she called herself stupid, or would it only remind her of the tears Brogan had seen shimmering in her eyes before she closed the door?

  The thought sent another sharp pain through her chest, and she jerked back as if she could somehow escape the point of some invisible knife.

  “Brogan!” her father shouted in a tone she hadn’t heard out of him in ten years or longer. Pure dad voice, raised in fear and frustration, was the first thing to cut through the haze she’d been shrouded in all week, and she looked up to see a literal boatload of family members staring at her.

  Her mother clutched her twin nephews, one in each arm. Nora had a sleeping baby strapped to her chest. Charlie and Archie stood at the bow, staring back over their shoulders, while Arthur and Ginny sat stock-still between Neville and Marcus. No one appeared hurt, but then she noticed James and Lily still frozen in a half crouch in front of her dad with the boom to their back.

  Looking slowly down at the wooden bar clutched closely to her side, she realized what she’d done. While trying to pull away from her internal pain, she’d jerked them all off course, causing the boom to swing wide and wildly toward her niece and nephew.

  “I’m sorry.” She said the words that had circled through her mind ever since that morning at Emma’s.

  “What were you thinking?” Liam asked, residual fear making his Irish accent burn through forty-plus years of living in England.

  “I . . . I didn’t . . . I got distracted.”

  “Not good enough,” he said, a little softer. “Not like you, either. You know better. The water’s no place to lose your head.”

  She nodded as her voice caught in her throat. He was absolutely right, and she did know better, but she’d sort of come out here hoping for a distraction. She’d hoped some time at play with the people she loved most would help her think about something, anything, other than the mistakes she’d made, and the hope she’d lost.

  Now, looking at her siblings, their spouses, their children, she was struck once again with a wave of grief at the thought that she’d likely never have a family of her own. She took a deep, shaky breath and stared down at her hands, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Brogan?” her dad asked, “what’s got into you?”

  “Liam,” her mother said softly, “not now.”

  “What’s the matter with Aunt Brogan?” Wendell asked, or maybe it was Seamus.

  “Not a thing, boyo,” Liam said, his usual affection back in his voice. “Want to go take off your shoes and swing ’em off the bow?”

  “Yay!” All the smaller kids shouted in unison and began tugging on trainers and socks.

  “Go help the littles,” Margaret urged the older two kids, and then waited for them to all scramble away up front before turning back to Brogan. “Now you hand your brother the tiller. He’ll manage until you pull yourself together.”

  Even if she’d had the inclination to argue, she knew better, so she wordlessly switched places with Neville.

  She eased onto the low bench along the starboard side and closed her eyes. Tilting her chin toward the sun until its light illuminated even the back of her eyelids, she took several slow, deep breaths. She had to tell her family something, but how could she possibly explain what she didn’t fully understand? She could barely even make sense of what had occurred, much less why. Everything that had seemed clear in the heat of the moment felt muddled and murky upon reflection. Shouldn’t it have been the other way around?

  A strong hand clasped her shoulder and squeezed.

  “It’s okay to have an off day,” Neville said.

  “Lord knows you’ve earned one,” his wife Claire added.

  “Kind of makes me feel a little better about myself, actually,” Nora said with a hint of teasing in her voice. “If Brogan can miss a swinging boom, I don’t feel as bad about putting the baby’s diaper on backward this morning.”

  Brogan snorted softly and blinked open her eyes. “Thanks.”

  “Honey, we all have hard times,” her mum said. “We all make mistakes.”

  “I’ve made a lot of them this week.”

  “Nah,” her dad said. “So you nearly knocked my grandchildren into the North Sea. I’ve got plenty more of them.”

  Her mum smacked him on the shoulder, but the others all laughed.

  “That wasn’t even the mistake I meant,” Brogan admitted.

  “How’d you mess up with Emma?” Nora asked.

  Brogan didn’t stop to ask how Nora knew her anguish centered on Emma. She’d rather not hear what the village rumor mill had to say on the subject. “The fact that you know it has to do with her proves things had gone too far. I let her go.”

  They all stared at her for a second before her mother finally said, “Did you ask her first if she wanted to be let go of?”

  Funny how that seemed like such a logical question when phrased that way. Why hadn’t she thought to ask it herself sooner? She shook her head.

  Several people around her groaned.

  “I blame myself,” her dad said solemnly. “I spent too much time fishing with you as a kid, but I never liked to clean them, so I didn’t teach you the right lessons, I suppose. You see, women aren’t of the catch-and-release variety. Some of them want to be caught.”

  “I just assumed she would—”

  “There’s your first mistake,” her brother-in-law Marcus said, with a chuckle. “You shouldn’t assume anything with women. I mean, I thought you’d have understood that, seeing as how you are one.”

  “Right?” Neville asked. “I sort of suspected the whole playing for the same team would be easier. I’m with you, Nora, kind of glad to know Brogan doesn’t have a one-up on the rest of us.”

  “You two,” their mother scolded. “Can’t you see your sister’s upset?”

  “She’s always been her own worst enemy, though,” Nora said matter-of-factly. “Too perfect for her own good.”

  “Too industrious, too,” Neville added. “Sets the bar too high for the rest of us. Your standards are too high.”

  “Come off it,” Brogan grumbled. “That’s not true. I’m not perfect. That’s the whole point. She deserves better, she deserves someone perfect, and she looked at me like I was. I couldn’t take waiting for the other shoe to drop. I couldn’t sit around waiting to disappoint her. I’d only lead her on by making her think I could be what she needed when I knew deep down I couldn’t.”

  They all stared at her for several more long seconds before Nora got up, pushed her husband aside and wrapped her in a hug as tight as the sleeping infant between them would allow.

  Brogan sagged into the embrace. All the strength and denial and distraction she’d tried to use to keep herself upright drained from her bones and muscles, and she nearly went limp as her mother joined the hug. She breathed deeply, the smell of salt and baby shampoo filling her senses, and the soothing touch of people she loved enveloped her. How long had it been since she’d let herself accept affection without wondering when it would end?

  “You are the biggest numpty of the whole family. You know that, right?” Nora asked after several long minutes. “I thought it was Charlie, but it’s definitely you.”

  “Mum,” Brogan pretended to whine, “Nora called me a numpty.”

  Her mother smoothed her hair with a gentle caress. “Nora’s right, dear.”

  Brogan sat back from the hug. “What?”

  “I’ve never known a single woman in my whole life who went into a relationship expecting perfection,” Claire said.

  “Some women get lucky and find it, though, right?” Neville asked, causing his wife to laugh outrig
ht.

  “Nice try, but no.” Then turning back to Brogan, she said, “I don’t love your brother because he’s perfect. I love him because he’s perfect for me. He’s kind and hardworking and he makes me laugh, and most of all because he loves me even through all of my own imperfections . . . of which there are very few.”

  Brogan turned to Neville, who shrugged and smiled. “She’s right on every point.”

  Claire caught his chin in her hand and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  The move was so sweet and easy, Brogan felt another pang of regret at what she didn’t have.

  “I’m not one to be doling out relationship advice,” Marcus cut back in, “but I can add that while you McKays are an intimidating clan to marry into in a lot of ways, I’ve never met a more fiercely loving group of people in my life. And you McKay women in particular come with a special brand of strong will and soft heart. I’ve never met Emma Volant, but I can’t imagine she’d be any more immune to that combination than any other mortal.”

  Nora eyed her husband lovingly, then glanced down at their newborn daughter before grinning. “Do you see how these babies keep happening?”

  Liam puffed out his chest. “That’s right. I’ve heard all the jokes about the McKay’s propensity for breeding, but it’s not because I’m Irish. Well, not totally. It’s because we love each other. We have plenty of love to go around, so we keep expanding the circle.”

  “But who says Emma wants to join that circle?” Brogan asked. “She’s got other options. Lady Victoria is trying to woo her.”

  “And?” Liam asked.

  “Lady Victoria has a title, and a castle, and—”

  “A tight-ass family,” Neville cut in.

  “Neville,” his mother chided.

  “Language aside, Mum, it’s true,” Nora said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, in her mum tone. “Brogan, it doesn’t matter what anyone else has. It matters who you are and whether or not you’re happy with the life you’re leading.”

  “Are you happy with your life?” her dad asked, staring back across the water toward the village.

  Brogan followed his gaze and pondered her answer. The vista was still as stunning as ever, and the sea as familiar as it was exhilarating. Nothing about this place or her own place in it had changed, but maybe she had. “I still love this place, and I still love all of you.” Brogan managed a weak smile toward her nieces and nephews, all dangling their feet over the front rail. “I’m proud of where I live and where I come from, and I’m content with what I do, but for the first time, I let myself wish for something more, for someone to share it all with. Now, for the first time, I feel truly and pathetically lonely.”

  Her dad sighed. “That sounds . . . pretty . . . human.”

  “Human?”

  “Yes,” her mum agreed. “Human.”

  “It doesn’t make you pathetic,” Nora added, “or maybe we’re all pathetic, but I think it’s safe to say every single one of us is in the same boat . . . figuratively and literally.”

  The others all nodded before their mother smiled. “And maybe if you can let go of all your preconceived notions about wealth or fame or jobs, you might find that Emma is human, too.”

  Brogan smiled faintly, but the emotions clogging her throat made it hard to breathe, much less speak. The truth of that statement should have made her feel better. Emma was human. She’d been open about her humanity, her weaknesses, her fears, her sadness, and also her hopes. She’d been open and honest every step of the way, and Brogan hadn’t believed her. She’d let her own insecurities overcome all evidence that she had a real chance at happiness, and she’d blown it. The realization hurt even worse than thinking she’d never been in the running at all. Before, the forces against them had seemed random and distant. Now, as she faced the prospect of a lifetime wishing for a second chance that might never come, she also had to live with the consequences of knowing she had only herself to blame.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Left side!” Diane and Esther called in unison, their voices having taken on a singsong quality as they’d raised the chorus at every intersection between Newpeth and Amberwick. Then they all giggled, giddy with the excitement that infused the entire adventure of Emma buying her first ever new car.

  Emma smiled as she signaled, shifted, and made the turn. She wasn’t doing terrible, which was probably also a broad statement for her life in general. She’d gone another week without seeing Brogan, and in that time, she’d managed to shower regularly, eat massive amounts of scones and one or two vegetables, and most importantly, she’d written. Oh, and of course she’d bought a car.

  “I still think you should have gone with a zippy little Beamer,” Diane said as Emma worked her way through the gears on her way back up to speed. “But I suppose a Mercedes what-do-you-call-it isn’t exactly slumming, is it?”

  “It’s an A-Class,” Esther said. “Like Emma, it’s class-ay.”

  Emma shook her head. She hadn’t considered the name or even the brand much in her research. “I wanted something safe, and powerful enough to make it up these hills without me having to suck in my stomach and pray for the best.”

  “Plus, it’s got a big back seat,” Diane added, patting the leather seat on either side of her. “Plenty of room for . . . whatever.”

  Esther snickered, and Emma shook her head. “For folding down and hauling some furniture. I’m tired of living in a furnished holiday let. It’s time to buy some more comfortable chairs.”

  “Goodie, more shopping,” Diane said excitedly, as Emma downshifted and entered the roundabout that signaled the turn toward Amberwick.

  She white-knuckled the curve, but managed not to grind any gears as she exited the turn.

  “Left side!” her passengers sang again, but to Emma’s surprise, she hadn’t needed the reminder. She really hadn’t needed their help at any part of the process, but she’d enjoyed having someone to share the big moment with. Again, her heart constricted as she couldn’t quite ward off the mental image of who she would’ve rather shared the first drive with, but she held the sadness at bay.

  “I still don’t know why you got a manual transmission when you could’ve easily afforded the automatic.”

  Emma smiled faintly. She’d pondered the choice extensively over the last week. All the logic pointed to her making the opposite decision, and when the time came, she simply didn’t. She didn’t want to try to explain it to herself any more than she knew how to explain it to her friends, so she simply said, “Maybe I wanted to remind myself I could do it.”

  They crossed a picturesque stone bridge over the river and into town, and Emma slowed to make another turn. “Now I just have to make it into my own driveway, and I’m done for the night.”

  “No, you’re not,” Esther said. “It’s half 4 on Friday. We’ve got to get to the Raven.”

  Emma shook her head as the tightness in her chest ratcheted up a few turns.

  “No two ways about it,” Diane said frankly. “You’re a local now. You’re obligated to the full English lifestyle, which means time to join Friday Club.”

  Emma started to shake her head again, as both women sang, “Left side!”

  The comment jolted her back into the moment, and she realized for the first time she’d actually pulled onto the right-hand side of Northland street.

  She gasped and nearly killed the engine, barely saving it from a shuddering, sputtering death-lurch at the last second. Her cheeks burned and her eyes watered.

  “Come, come,” Diane said softly. “No worries. It’s a one-way street. There’s no harm in taking your half out of the middle.”

  Emma swallowed painfully, grateful for the excuse for clamming up. At least outwardly, she could pretend she’d merely gotten flustered by the driving and not the prospect of seeing Brogan again.

  She’d been doing so well. She’d mostly managed to function like an adult human for two weeks, and she’d even managed to have fun a few times, but
she’d also steadfastly avoided Brogan. She was struck by the sudden fear that if she saw her now, all the progress she’d made would evaporate. Of course, that thought made her wonder, if all the strength and sense of security she’d fostered could be erased at the sight of someone, did it really count as progress, or did it simply count as avoidance? She didn’t want to go back to pain and shame and depression, but more than that, she didn’t want to go back to doubting herself. She desperately needed to know what was real and what was illusion, and as she turned into her driveway, she figured there was only one real way to find out.

  As Diane and Esther flanked her like some flight risk, she allowed herself to be nudged down the street toward the Raven. She must have done a passable job of hiding her apprehension, because the two of them chatted amiably, giving no indication they could hear the throbbing bass beat of Emma’s heart pounding against her ribs. Still, she couldn’t prevent her feet from faltering as they reached the door to the pub. It felt as if the memory of what she’d seen the last time she’d opened the door had imprinted on her muscles, and she stopped short. Unfortunately, neither of her friends had any such trauma to resist, and swung open the door wide.

  Emma didn’t have to cross the threshold. She didn’t have to let her eyes adjust to the dim light inside. Apparently she didn’t even have to breathe. All she had to do was freeze where she stood in order to lock eyes with Brogan McKay.

  She stood behind the bar, tall, broad shoulders, a pint glass in one hand, the other resting casually atop a tap. Everything about her posture spoke to her strength and her competence, her efficiency, but her eyes told a different story. Their captivating green was laced with hints of red and underlined by dark smudges against pale skin. Emma recognized the tells of sleepless nights, and her heart lurched in sympathy.

  Time stopped as they stared at each other, wordlessly relinquishing wishes and dreams that had never had a chance to fully form, until her need for air overrode all her senses, and parting her lips slightly, she took in a painfully sharp inhale. At the slight movement, she saw Brogan exhale, the breath she’d been holding released in the fall of her chest and the slump of her shoulders. Push and pull, inhale and exhale, a mirror image, a complete cycle in equal and opposite reactions.