Island Skye

by Fox Brison

  Be still my beating heart. Stuff the lasagne, kale and goji surprise it is.

  I was about to reply when I happened to spy two old ‘friends’, women I’d played hockey with years before, taking an avid interest in us. “Okay this is going to sound paranoid, but I think they’re talking about me. And probably you as well. But mainly me.” I could see it in their eyes and in their body language. Besides they weren’t being very subtle about it.

  I’d heard my name mentioned three times in the space of ten seconds.

  “Ignore them, honey,” Natalie moved sideways and was now blocking my eyeline. Her finger hooked into the loop of my jeans and she pulled me so close we were practically nose to nose, or lips to lips.

  “Gossiping women?” I whispered, “What gossiping women?” I swallowed, hard, the flush of arousal becoming my new normal when I was around her. She smiled and pushed my hair back behind my ears. My eyes closed at her innocent touch and I felt safe, loved and desired in one delicious mix. Until I heard a disgusted tut and it brought me back from fantasyland, a place where there were no hang-ups, no disparaging assholes, and everyone lived their lives in peace and harmony loving whomever they wanted.

  “This place is still in the fifties,” I hissed.

  “No, it’s just some people are so dissatisfied in their own lives, that they can’t bear to see anyone else happy in theirs.” She took my hand and kissed my palm. “I feel sorry for them.” I was shocked. I wasn’t really used to public displays of affection, but somehow, when I looked into her warm eyes, I didn’t care who saw us, or who was stunned into gasps of outrage. “Give your halo a polish,” Natalie finally broke the silence, her smile disarming.

  “My what?” huh?

  “Mam always said if they’re talking about you, they’re leaving someone else alone. So someone out there owes us a favour.”

  “A big one,” I said.

  “A huge one,” Natalie agreed.

  She headed towards the meat section and picked up a package of minced beef. Organic, but at least it was meat, so nay to the whole kale and goji surprise and yay to lasagne. I winced a little at the price. Whilst mentally applauding Natalie’s convictions, I regretted the hit my purse was about to take. “You weren’t joking about the organic stuff, were you?”

  “Of course not,” she looked as if I had two heads.

  “Of course not,” I repeated and sighed. In fairness it wouldn’t kill me to be a little more environmentally conscious. I’m sure Pringles are organic. Snickers too. “You’d better put in another couple of pounds of mince.”

  “Another couple? Are we feeding the five thousand?”

  “No, but Sara always takes leftovers, so I’ve made it a habit of cooking extra for her.” I shrugged. It was nothing, really, simply my way of saying thank-you, but I noticed Natalie’s eyes warm at my generosity and she placed another of the pre-packed packets in the trolley.

  “Want to have some lunch before we head home?” she asked.

  “Sounds good. How does the Black Horse sound?”

  “Good, but… I know it’s been years, but do you remember when you, me and Sara took my cousins Ann and Callum for a walk around the walls? We had a picnic on Brass Bastion. The view over the sea is awesome.”

  “It’s one of my favourite places in Berwick. On a clear day you can even see the island.”

  “Aye. I remember you sitting on that tartan blanket of yours regaling us with stories from Berwick’s past. Ann had a little bit of hero worshipping going on for you that summer. All Aunty Mags heard was Skye said this and Skye said that… You know, she still talks about that as being one of her fondest childhood memories.”

  “Really?” I stopped in the middle of the aisle. What Nat said hit me. I’d been so focussed on how I’d been affected by the actions of others, that I never stopped to think how mine affected people.

  “Don’t look so surprised, you know you have the Jeffries women wrapped around that little finger of yours. So how about it? You, me, a cheese sandwich and we go relive our childhood. It’d be like Five Go Mad in Berwick, except there’s only two of us and we’re too sensible to go crazy.”

  “And I don’t like lashings of ginger ale either,” I added.

  “Me neither. So coke zero to wash it down. You can tell me more stories if you want.”

  “I’d like that.” I started walking again, mainly because we were causing a trolley jam and I didn’t want to risk any incidents of aisle rage. Not good.

  “Me too.” She swerved the trolley sharply towards the tinned produce and I followed along like a good little girlfriend, watching her place organic tinned tomatoes next to the beef, onions and mushrooms. They looked a bit incongruous next to the bags of chocolate, tubes of Pringles and bottles of fizzy pop.

  With a mischievous grin, she dared me to say something.

  I didn’t. I was too happy. She could have put organic anti-fungal foot cream in the trolley and I wouldn’t have commented. Nothing could spoil the high I was on.

  “Next stop ice cream,” Natalie said with a twinkle. “You’d be amazed by the things I can do with a tub of ice cream.”

  Oh I bet I would. I blushed at the thought of Natalie, me and a tub of raspberry ripple…

  “Skye Donaghie as I live and breathe.”

  I jumped out of my lust filled daze and into – I mentally groaned. I had to do it, curse of the bloody commentator. One thing I remembered my mum telling me all the time when I was small was don’t borrow trouble. My day just got so much better.

  Not.

  “Hello, Mrs Robertson,” I said politely. “How are you keeping? Still working at the fish factory?” I saw her eyes twitch then glint. Oh-oh. Why the hell did I poke the bear?

  “Oh I’m fine, fine,” she stressed the second fine, before putting her hand on my arm in that, ‘I’m going to comfort you but I don’t really mean it, I just want the gossip,’ kind of way.

  I not only loathed that, I feared it too.

  I patted her hand. “That’s good, Mrs Robertson, you say hi to Julie and David for me.” She tightened her grip a touch as I tried to leave. I didn’t want to be rude, but get your gnarled and bony hand off me lady!

  “I suppose you’re here because of your Dad?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Poor, poor man. Does he have long?” I could feel my heart thumping inside my rib-cage. Literally. Long? What the hell? When did a bit poorly turn into how long does he have to live? I know I paled. I know I held my breath. I know the world sharpened until there was only me and this god-awful fucking woman touching my arm.

  And then Natalie was there, my caped crusader battling the evil gossip queen who was holding me captive with mere inferences of my failings as a daughter. “If you’ll excuse us, Mrs Robertson.” She removed the hand that held me impolitely in place.

  “Natalie Jeffries. I didn’t know – ohhh!” She gasped and looked appalled and greedy all in one flicker of expression across her flabby jowls.

  “That I was a dyke? Well I guess you’re never too old to learn something new.” Natalie took my hand, possessively. “Have a nice day.” Natalie guided me to the checkouts. “Go to the car, sweetie. I’ll sort this.” She handed me the car keys.

  I didn’t speak, I nodded and somehow shuffled towards the exit, keeping my head firmly fixed towards the floor not wanting to catch anyone’s eye. I didn’t want any more questions asked, questions to which I didn’t have a clue how to answer and I definitely didn’t want sympathy for something I knew nothing about – and had no right to anyway.

  Chapter 20

  Skye

  I sat in the driver’s seat and heard the car boot lift then clunk close a few minutes later, before the door beside me opened and I looked down at Natalie on her haunches next to me. “Hey you,” she whispered softly, her right hand cradling my cheek, her left resting on my thigh.

  “Hey you,” I replied as softly. She took the keys from my hand and helped me out.

  “I’ll drive back to the
island.” The car next to us began to reverse and she closed the door over and moved in closer. She held my hand, tightly, and kissed my cheek.

  “No, Nat, I can’t.” I shook my head vehemently. “Your Mam said my father was poorly. The kids said he was poorly. I thought,” I choked back a sob, “I don’t know what I thought.” The seagulls screeching above in the bright blue sky swooped low towards the rubbish bins. It distracted me for a moment and took me back to when I was very young, and I would wake to the sound of the gulls every morning. “I used to worship the ground he walked on. Then just like that everything changed.” God I remembered it so clearly, it was like it happened yesterday, or was a ‘favourite’ movie scene replayed in ultra-high definition. “I was eight, so Rob would have been ten. Dad came home from the pub and told me to bring him a beer. Mam was at work and me and Cam were playing slapsies on the couch. I can’t remember if I didn’t hear him ask, or if it was because I was engrossed in that stupid bloody game…” I felt her hand tighten on my thigh, “or if I just ignored him, you know? But the next thing I know he’s flying across the room towards me with this… almost… I guess feral look in his eyes. He was inhuman, frenzied. He dragged me off the couch screaming at me, ‘when I tell you to do something, you do it.’ He held me by the arm and was shaking me so hard.” I tentatively touched a hand to my arm as if I could still feel the dark red finger-marks he’d left. “Rob had been upstairs doing his homework but he must have heard the commotion, because suddenly there he was, rugby tackling Dad to the floor. I think we were all in shock and everyone froze for a second, a second that isolated us forever in that one moment in time. That one moment when everything changed. Cam was still sat on the sofa, he hadn’t moved a muscle. Hell, his hands were still up waiting for me to slap them. It had happened that quick. And then Dad woke up. I can still hear the slaps he gave Robbie with his belt. I hid under my covers, the pillow pressed over my head. But I still heard it.” I looked towards the happy shoppers walking in the sunshine. “I’ve never forgotten it. I doubt I ever will. Neither will Rob, he bears the scars on the back of his legs. He was off school for a few days so no-one would ask questions. Not that any of our teachers ever interfered. From that day on I stayed as far away from my Dad as I could.” I choked back a sob. “My brothers used to suffer the brunt of his anger. They’d protect me, hide me when things were really bad.”

  I had worshipped and loved my brothers so much when we were younger. They were Batman and Robin, Captain America and the Iron Man; they frequently saved me, even from myself. But that day was why I hated change. I spent most of my formative years trying my hardest to make everything the same, to not attract attention to myself, or my brothers for that matter.

  Then the next reel in the Donaghie family movie started.

  Another moment, another horrendous life changing event was all it took; one fluttering heartbeat, when it went from the three of us against him, to the three of them against me. “Then my Mam died and nothing was the same again, it was world war fucking three and I was suddenly the enemy.”

  That was the day I became a psychological mess with a side order of emotional stuntedness.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear as much.” Natalie’s hand was comforting in mine. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” I acted by rote. Seatbelt on. Sunglasses on. Emotions off. “Your family blamed you?” Natalie returned to our conversation once we were free of the car park and onto the by-pass.

  I looked up, sharply, and nodded. “Sara?”

  “Sara,” she agreed. “She didn’t mean to betray your confidence, I think she was just as devastated as you.”

  I stared out of the window, the clouds above drifting much slower than my memories were. “I went to the funeral but after, god after, Dad went for me. But this time, instead of protecting me, Robbie followed suit. Cameron stood there and let them. He was good at that, standing by and watching.”

  “Did he hit you?” Natalie’s hand gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  “No.” Not then. But only because Mrs Jeffries had interrupted. Dad’s hand was gripping my throat and he’d begun squeezing tighter when she’d entered the back room of the pub where my Mam’s wake had taken place in. “I rarely come home now. Angie sends me pictures of the boys and always makes sure I spend some time with them during the holidays. Last summer we spent a weekend walking along part of Hadrian’s Wall.”

  “And Cameron?” I heard the right indicator clicking.

  “Cam’s worse than me, he never wanted to rock the boat. You probably know more about his life than I do.”

  “Why would you think that?” she asked.

  “Him being married to Ali McNeill.” I shuddered again.

  “Allison and me had a falling out and I haven’t spoken to her since, gosh, probably the county hockey trials in year ten, the year you got through to the development squad. No disrespect, Skye, but what did Ali see in your brother?”

  I chuckled. “Little Miss Perfect was pregnant.”

  “Wow, she kept that quiet.” There was a hint of sarcasm in Natalie’s statement and it brought about a quiet chuckle.

  “It was the ‘best’,” I used air quotes for that one. I didn’t usually favour the action, but it was definitely warranted, “kept secret in town. Hence the elopement and the ‘honeymoon’ baby.” Again air quotes were definitely needed.

  “I didn’t realise. So not only did you lose your mother, you lost your whole family too. Life really sucks sometimes.”

  “It’s not life that sucks, it’s the bastards who suck the joy out of it.” We pulled to a stop outside Robbie’s house. “Nat, I know you and Angela were friends too, but-”

  “It’s okay, I understand. I’m right outside if you need me.” I couldn’t speak, and at that moment a curly headed eight year old appeared at the window, two gaps showing the tooth-fairy had started visiting.

  “Aunty Skye, you came!” he exclaimed.

  I opened the door, carefully, and took his hand. I held back the tears as I looked down into his familiar eyes; he was the spit of his father. Jamie practically dragged me up the cracked concrete path, his youthful voice chattering nineteen to the dozen. The grass was long, bowed beneath the weight of its summer growth. Clearly Robbie had bigger priorities than keeping a neat lawn, which told me Dad was indeed worse than anyone said behind their hands. “Knock, knock,” I called and Robbie dropped the fish slice he was using to flip the fried eggs he was burning.

  “What do you want?” he growled.

  “I told you I was coming to say hello to Dad and Angela.”

  “An’ I telt ye, you’re not welcome here,” he turned his back to me, his shoulders tight with anger. I saw Jamie’s bottom lip wobble.

  “Hey squidling,” I tickled his ribs and he gave a squeaky giggle. “I think Natalie bought some chocolate. If you ask her really nicely, she might let you have some for after dinner.” He raced from the kitchen and I walked through to the living room. My father was sat in a recliner drinking a beer.

  I was shocked.

  Nothing had prepared me for seeing him in this state, so frail, so weak. He was wearing an oxygen mask and his grey skin looked as if it was vacuum packed against his bones. It was obvious from a young age that my father was an unabashed bigot, always accusing his friends of being ‘pooftahs’, the tone, condemnation and derision implying the were lesser men because of it, making certain it would hit every nerve I held tight, always, always pushing my buttons. His eyes still held the disgust I was used to seeing, even though they were darkened hollows in his skull. For some reason, Edvard Munch’s Scream came to mind.

  He ignored me.

  So, being the obstinate bitch I am I said, “Hey Dad.”

  He still ignored me and I shook my head at the futility of it all. Sanctimonious arse, I thought, sarcastically. But my heart broke a little more. He was clearly much worse than anyone had let on, not that anyone had really told me anything. I don’t know what made me do it, ma
ybe I was on auto pilot doing what I thought a normal family would do, or maybe being with Natalie, seeing the past as something other than the black and white movie of despair I was used to, but I went back into the kitchen and took a chance.

  I hugged my brother.

  I felt him stiffen, but then, to my surprise, he relaxed, just a little. “He’s dying,” he whispered, not wanting little ears to hear. “The doc says there’s nowt that can be done. Nowt more anyway.”

  “How… how long?” I held it together, I had to. I didn’t want to feel anything, least of all this conflicted, this exposed. I didn’t even know if I had any right to be upset.

  “A few months tops,” Angela said from the hall doorway, “but probably less. His heart can’t handle the strain his lungs are putting on his body.”

  “Ye should be in bed,” Robbie scolded, affectionately. “You were up all night with him.”

  “We have a guest Rob, one of my best friends. Family.” I heard the calm censure in her tone, and for once Robbie heeded to it.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

  “We’ve only just found out how bad it is,” Angela said quietly. “And it wasn’t something I wanted to tell you through email or text.”

  “Is there honestly nothing?” I was grasping at straws, I knew. Shock still held me tight and I was looking for something, anything to lessen the immediate pain. I may not have seen eye to eye with him, but he was still my Dad and for better or worse, I didn’t want him to end his days like this. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.

  “No, nothing. He has emphysema and chronic pulmonary disease. He won’t go into a hospice, so we brought him here to live with us.” Angie was so matter-of-fact about it all. She truly was an amazing woman but I could see she was exhausted, as was Robbie. Caring for a dying man was draining enough, and add looking after two energetic young boys into the mix, I’m surprised they were both still upright.

  “We cannae afford a nurse.” Robbie’s voice held a note of quiet desperation.