“That poor wee girl. The one who’s moved into James’s…” Ron paused and lifted his hand to rub at the wrinkled skin around his eyes.
“Aye, what about her?” Shit, had news spread about my ill treatment of her already? Had she packed up and left?
“Her man… her fiancé… won’t be joining her.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Really? Shit, has he dumped her?”
“No, Gregory… he’s… he’s dead.”
As if I were on a roller coaster, my stomach plummeted.
“Fuck, no. What happened?” I ran my hands over my head as I was sure the colour was draining from my face. The churning sensation in my stomach increased and flashbacks of hearing about Mairi’s death tortured me and mingled in with the words I was hearing from my friends. This can’t be happening. It can’t. Not to her too.
“He was on his way up here and there was an accident. He was hit by another vehicle on the road by Loch Lomond.”
I huffed the air through my puffed cheeks as the news sunk in. That poor girl. Shit, and I was such an arse to her.
“Oh God, that poor woman.” I glanced at Ron, expecting him to be giving me the evil eye, but instead he wore a sad expression.
“Poor girl indeed,” he agreed. “Anyway, I’ll be on my way. I might just pop over there and see if I can do anything to help. I saw she had a little dog. Maybe I could take it for a walk. I don’t know… I just want to do something useful.”
I completely understood his sentiment but figured I’d be the last person she’d be likely to accept help from, so there was no point offering.
Christine wiped her eyes. “I was speaking to Aileen from down the road. She thinks there are some friends and family coming to stay.”
“That’s good that she’s got someone coming,” Ron said. “It must be terrible being in a new place. Not knowing anyone and being alone.”
I made my excuses to leave. I felt terrible. Out of everyone here I was probably the one who understood her pain the most—but I could be no use to her. After all, we hadn’t exactly had the best start. The last thing she needed was some tactless Scotsman making things worse.
~~~
In the days following the news about the English girl’s fiancé, I noticed comings and goings over at the cottage. I was grateful to the complete strangers for being there for the woman. That was something she would need; friends and family. I saw the funeral cortege leave on the day of the service, and I stood with Ron with my head bowed down as the black cars left the village. In a ridiculous way I was envious. At least she was getting to say goodbye properly. I was glad of that for her. I wouldn’t wish what I’d been through on anyone.
As the vehicle passed us, I caught sight of the dark-haired woman. She looked so… lost. Her face a stoic mask. Emotionless. But lost all the same. My lower lip quivered as I saw the vehicles retreating up the road. My heart ached for the poor young woman.
The pain she must be feeling.
Ron grasped my shoulder. “Are you alright, Gregory? You’ve gone pale, son.”
I nodded and pursed my lips for a moment; desperate not to cry in front of the old guy. Eventually I answered, “Aye. I’m good, thanks.”
I wasn’t due at the pub and so I decided to take Little Blue out for a wee while. I grabbed my iPod from home and the boat keys along with my big fleece blanket. Angus and I climbed into the Landy and drove the short distance to the village. After dropping Angus off with Stella at the pub, I made my way down to the small marina where the boat was docked.
I pulled on my woolly hat and set out. I sailed for around half an hour, dropped anchor, and then stuck in my earbuds and listened to music for a while. I enjoyed being out in the open water with just my music and my thoughts. It afforded me time to think. Admittedly, I’d been doing rather too much of that in the months after Mairi’s death, but I still needed the alone time.
~~~
Eventually the temperature began to drop and I pulled my coat up around my neck and my hat down around my ears. “You Found Me” by the Fray bounced around my head as I watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. The vast expanse of water before me had turned black. I switched on the lights, hoisted up the anchor, turned, and made my way back to shore. Once I was docked, I climbed down from the boat.
A bloodcurdling scream rent the still night air and I swivelled around to the direction of the noise. I could just make out a figure on the beach. Realising that the person was in distress, I took off running across the shingle. The cold wind whipped at my cheeks as I stumbled a little on the stony ground.
The closer I got, the more clearly I could hear the most heartbreaking noise. It was her. The Yorkshire lass—and she was sobbing her heart out. She must’ve been fucking freezing, kneeling there on the pebbles in her flimsy black top. Her feet were bare. Luckily I had the blanket in my arms and so I scooped her up and wrapped her in the fleece simultaneously. I lifted her and her head flopped onto my chest. She’d passed out. Heart galloping, I carried her over to my car as quickly as I could and fumbled with the lock to open the passenger door. Once I placed her on the seat, she came around a little, much to my relief. I made my way around to the driver’s side and stuck the key in the ignition. Switching on the map light, I whacked the heater on full, opened all the vents, and aimed them directly at the Yokshire lass.
I reached under the seat where I’d put a flask of coffee. It had a dash of whiskey in it to fend off the chills. I wasn’t planning on drinking the whole flask. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t advocate drinking and driving. It’s more a case of being there in case I get snowed into my car or break down. Anyway, I handed a half-filled cup over to her as she opened her eyes.
“Here, take this,” I said as I held the cup of steaming liquid toward her. She looked up slightly but didn’t seem to be focussing. “C’mon, Yorkshire lassie, drink it. You need to get warm. You could’ve caught your death out there.”
She shivered. “I don’t care,” she said in a helpless voice that broke my heart all over again.
I took a deep breath and found some strength. “Aye, that’s as may be, but there are plenty that do care. Now drink.”
She took the cup from my hand and hesitantly took a wee sip. She coughed and I couldn’t help smiling. The whiskey would have come as a surprise and did have a certain kick to it.
“You’re not a whiskey drinker I take it?”
She frowned and looked up at me. Her eyes widened. “You?”
“Well, I was me last time I checked, but then again I have been known to have a grumpy-arsed side too.” I smiled in the hope that I would allay any fears she may be having about being in my car. “I didn’t catch your name, Yorkshire Lassie but I’m Gregory. My friends call me Greg.”
“So you mostly get called Gregory, then, on account of having no friends?”
Ouch! She really didn’t hold back, this one. But then again, I reminded myself that I hadn’t endeared myself to the woman. This was mild compared to what I could’ve received. I decided to make light of the situation.
Holding my chest, I fell back into my seat. “Ouch, I think I deserved that, eh?” I smiled again. I really did want to make amends. “So are you goin’ to tell me your name, Miss Yorkshire Lassie?”
“Please don’t call me that.” Tears escaped her eyes and trickled down her beautiful but sad face.
Well done. McBradden strikes again. “Okay, so tell me your name, then?”
“Mallory,” she said as she wiped her face with the back of her hand.
I raised my eyebrows. Now I was intrigued. “After the mountaineer, eh?” She nodded. I remember Mairi reading books about George Leigh Mallory. Fascinating man by all accounts. I guessed her parents must’ve been into climbing too to name their daughter after such a man. What a small world.
We sat in silence for a while until I had to ask, “Did he call you that? Miss Yorkshire Lassie, I mean. Is that what he called you?”
Her lip trembled as she nodded. “A
version of it, I suppose. Miss Yorkshire… that’s what he called me.” She smiled as if remembering him.
“Ah, I see. Sorry. If I’d known, I would’ve called you something else.”
She snorted. “What would you have called me? You didn’t know my name anyway.”
She had a fair point. I had to think on my feet. Another opportunity to make her smile maybe? “Probably Wee Crabbit Lassie.” I smirked at her to let her know I was kidding in case she knew what I meant. The responding frown told me she didn’t.
“And what does that mean?” she asked suspiciously.
“Ohhh… it means pretty and quiet,” I joked.
Her face brightened as she squinted her eyes at me in mock annoyance. “It does not! I know you’re being mean. Tell me the truth.”
“You sure? Okay, you asked for it. Wee as in little and crabbit as in bad tempered.” I shrunk away, fully expecting her to clobber me, but instead she just gave me an indignant glare.
“Huh, you can talk!”
Yep, fair point. “Aye, that’s true.” I scratched my head and grinned. There was something about her that I couldn’t help but like. Even though she wasn’t overly keen on me. A little glimmer of hope sparked inside me that maybe she’d actually forgive me.
After another few moments of silence I glanced over at her again. “You alright now?”
Instead of the affirmative nod I hoped for, she shook her head slowly as more tears spilled down her cheeks. She covered her face with her free hand and began to sob. My heart squeezed in my chest and I felt helpless. I wanted to alleviate her pain somehow. But I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know the girl and she clearly wasn’t that fond of me. I took the cup from her hand and placed it on the dashboard. Sliding over toward, her I slipped my arm around her and pulled her head into my chest.
“Hey, c’mon, shhhhh, you’ll be fine. Shhhh. It gets easier, I promise you that,” I lied. It didn’t get easier. I was living proof of the sad fact. I swallowed hard to try to free the lump of emotion that had chosen that exact moment to close up my throat. My eyes began to sting and I chewed at the inside of my cheek, trying my best to fend off the tears. When I tasted the copper tang of blood, I released the soft, damaged flesh from between my teeth. I stroked her hair, incapable of speaking for fear of letting my emotions free. This wasn’t about me. I had to keep my own grief in check.
After she had calmed a little, she raised her head and made eye contact with me. Her bright blue irises were circled with red and the skin around her eyes swollen and puffy. The grief I saw there tugged at my insides. I wanted to hold her again, tell her that I understood. But the words didn’t come. Instead I moved back over to my side of the car again.
“Come on. We’d better get you home, eh? They’ll all be wondering where you’ve got to.” I pulled out of the car park and headed down the road toward the cottages.
Chapter Nine
I pulled up the Landy outside Mallory’s cottage and climbed out. As I reached her side of the car, the door to the house burst open and three terrified-looking people ran out. They all shouted at once and were clearly relieved about her safe return. I opened the car door and Mallory tried to climb out, but I stopped her.
“Whoa there, lassie, you’ve nothin’ on your feet,” I scolded her as I picked her up in my arms and began to carry her toward the cottage and her waiting family.
One of the people, a guy about Mallory’s age whom I presumed was her brother or some relative, glared at me, nostrils flared and jaw ticking like he was ready to pounce on me.
I can’t say I blame him. I would’ve been the same if someone I didn’t know was carrying my sister home looking bedraggled and distressed.
He followed close behind me and I could hear his heavy breathing as I followed the women and carried Mallory into the house. I placed her on the couch and turned to find his stare still fixed on me. His attitude was pissing me off. It was as if he thought I’d had ulterior motives with the woman; he didn’t know me yet he was quick to judge and presume shit he had no clue about.
His scowl and accusative tone made my skin prickle and anger flared up within me. After he’d asked who I was and almost accused me of being the reason she was in a state I fronted up to him. “I found her on the beach sobbing her heart out, if you must know. She’s nothing on her feet and no coat. Have you any idea how cold it gets out there, pal?” I’m pretty sure I bared my teeth at him.
“Whoa, hey! Knock it off, please,” Mallory implored. “Brad… Greg came to my rescue when I went a bit crazy tonight, and Greg… Brad wasn’t responsible for my lack of appropriate clothing. I went out like this of my own accord. So can you please just back up and shake hands?”
We all stared at her. This was the most she’d said all night.
The great lummox and I shook hands, and I told Mallory I was going to go. But Brad invited me to stay for coffee. I glanced uncomfortably at Mallory but she just shrugged. So much for gratitude, eh? The others cleared out of the room and it felt a little too contrived for my liking.
I sat beside her on the couch and nudged her shoulder. “See you have people who care. Don’t go scaring them like that again, okay?”
She glanced up at me with those big blue eyes. “When we were in your car, you said it gets easier… how do you know that? How can anyone say that?” Her voice wavered and my heart ached for her.
I stared straight ahead at the dancing flames in the fireplace. “Well, only those who’ve experienced loss and grief and have come out the other side can really know, I suppose.”
“You’ve been through this?” She sounded surprised and… almost hopeful too. Like perhaps she thought I could help her. I knew I couldn’t really. No one could. I wished it weren’t true.
“Aye.” I sensed she wanted details. But I couldn’t say any more.
“Your wife?” she pushed.
I needed to leave. I couldn’t do this. Not now. Not with her.
“Na’, my—” I scrubbed my hands over my face. No, I really couldn’t do this. I knew it was cowardly. “Look, it’s late, I’d better go, I’ve got an early start the morrow. Got to pick Rhiannon up and I can’t be late. Tell your family I’m grateful for the offer of a drink, but I really should be off.” I stood, pulled open the front door, and left without looking back.
I climbed back in the Landy and smashed my hands into the steering wheel. Fuck! You fucking shithead! She needed your help. Some kind of reassurance would’ve been nice! You fucking prick! I clenched and unclenched my jaw before ramming the key in the ignition and reversing up the lane like the idiot I’d become.
Pulling to a jerky halt outside the pub, I yanked the handbrake on. Then I flung open my door, climbed out of the Landy, pushed through the double doors, and stalked inside with purpose. Wallet in hand, I walked behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of the cheaper whiskey, and thrust a note into the cash register.
“Greg? Everything okay?” Stella asked with a look of grave concern.
“Aye… I’m just a fucking prick, that’s all,” I mumbled loud enough for only her to hear.
“Oh, is that all?” She smirked.
I gave her a snide curl of my lip.
As I turned to walk out, she grabbed my arm. “Don’t go drinking yourself stupid, Greg, okay?”
Her eyes told me that she knew that’s exactly what I was going to do. I had to think fast to change her train of thought. “Oh, erm… hey. How about Friday? For me to play, I mean?”
Her face lit up. “Really? Oh, Gregory, that would be wonderful!”
“Fine. Getting Rhiannon back tomorrow, so I’ll be fine by Friday.”
“Great. Thanks, Greg.” She squeezed my arm. “It will be okay, you know.”
I couldn’t decide whether she meant the gig or my life in general. Maybe she meant both. I smiled tightly and nodded once. She released me and I left the pub. Shit, I’d fucking gone and confirmed it. I was definitely a fucking idiot.
~~~
By Frid
ay I’d worked myself up into a frenzy about the gig. What the fuck had I suggested it for? I liked to play, obviously, but I liked to play melancholy songs about heartbreak in the privacy of my own home. The thought of singing in front of people scared me shitless. My stomach churned and I pulled almost every shirt I owned out of the fucking wardrobe. What should I wear? Shirt? T-shirt? Do I need to look a particular way? Fuuuuuck!
After a great deal of to-ing and fro-ing, I settled on my navy button-up shirt with pale blue flowers on it. I grabbed Rhiannon and made my way to the pub. It was already busy and my heart leapt as I walked over to the bar. Stella was wearing a proud grin. Bless her. She really did care.
When it was time to perform, she gave me a warm smile of encouragement. The knots in my stomach tightened and my mouth went dry. Glancing around the pub, I spotted a fair few familiar local faces. My gaze landed on a head of long, dark, wavy hair. Mallory. Oh, great. I took my place behind the mic stand and cleared my throat.
“Ahem… evening all.” I coughed. “Good to see you. Ahh… for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of being served intoxicating liquor by my good self, I’d better introduce myself, eh?” Trying to get comfy on my seat, I wriggled about a bit. “My name is Greg McBradden and I’m the local handyman, bartender, and all-round grumpy arse.” I glanced straight over in Mallory’s direction and she cringed. I couldn’t help sniggering a little at her reaction. “Anyways, I’m going to do my best to add entertainer to my list of talents. Thanks to Stella, the owner here—she seems to have a disliking for all you locals, as she’s agreed to let me sing to you.”
The place erupted in laughter and I smiled. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. The locals heckled and booed me, which made me laugh. Bloody mad lot.
I looked over at Mallory again, but her head was down and she was picking at her jeans. I wondered if maybe I’d overstepped the mark… again. Holding my guitar aloft, I carried on talking shite.
“Anyways… I’d like to introduce you to Rhiannon, my guitar, named after a Fleetwood Mac song that got me into playing in the first place. So you can blame them if you don’t like ma playing.” Everyone laughed again and I relaxed a little more. “She’s just been repaired at the guitar hospital, also known as a music shop for you heathens, so she sounds grand. If any of youse get up and leave, don’t forget I know where most of you live.” I chuckled along with the crowd. They were lapping it up, and the tension in my body continued to ebb away.
Bridge of Hope Page 5
