‘Sorry,’ said Callum with an apologetic wave of his hand, realising how his remark might be misinterpreted, ‘that was clumsy of me, as though I was saying you were doing the wrong thing.’
‘No need to apologise. Life changes and the mistake we frequently make is not to recognise an opportunity when it comes our way.’
‘You’re right, I guess.’
‘Trust me, I am. Too often we live with our heads in the sand, or become blind to what’s beyond the boundaries of the world we’ve created for ourselves. Or worse, we become scared of taking that step into the unknown, scared of breaking free.’
At precisely the same moment, they both tipped their heads up to watch a quartet of greylag geese fly over the river in half-hearted formation, their wings flapping lazily. When they’d disappeared into the distance, and Callum had taken a long sip of his cold beer, he said, ‘You sound as though you’d been wanting to change your life for some time, Alastair. Had you?’
‘That’s an interesting question.’
‘Which you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’
This was the first time Callum had been alone with Alastair since before Orla’s death. It didn’t feel the way it used to. Alastair had changed. He was quieter, and more pensive. Which was understandable.
Alastair gave a shrug and scratched at a faint dirty mark on his jeans. ‘Don’t you think we all want to change our lives at certain times?’ he replied at length. ‘Or do you believe that’s the prerogative of the young?’
‘Not at all,’ said Callum. ‘I’m a great advocate of change, but I for one can’t think of much I’d want to change about my life as it is now. It’s pretty much perfect.’
‘What if that ceased to be the case,’ said Alastair, ‘what if perfection bored you?’
Callum considered this while listening to the soft plop of a fish surfacing the water, and then disappearing with a flash of quicksilver. ‘Then I suppose I’d do something about it,’ he said.
‘Exactly. That’s my point.’
‘So what is it about life here at Linston End that is no longer enough for you? Is it not being able to share it with … Orla anymore?’
Alastair twisted his head to look at Callum, but he didn’t say anything.
‘Hey, just tell me to keep my big mouth shut, or to bugger off for that matter,’ said Callum.
‘No need,’ Alastair said with a small smile, before turning to look at the river again. ‘But since you’ve set us off down this particular route, I’ll go along with it. It’s quite simple really. Just as you knew when you were at university that the future it offered was not for you, I left here to go travelling knowing that I was doing it to give myself a fresh perspective. Orla’s death had left me …’ He paused. ‘… Confused and rudderless, you could say,’ he went on. ‘I needed to put some distance between myself and everything that reminded me of her so that I could come to terms with what had happened, especially the way she died.’
‘That makes sense,’ replied Callum carefully. He badly wanted to ask more about Orla’s death, to discover whether Alastair was prepared now to be honest. Because Callum knew that Alastair hadn’t been entirely honest with what he’d told the police, or what he’d said at the inquest. Had he been honest with Dad and Danny, did they know the truth? Whenever Callum tried to raise the subject with his father, he lost his nerve. To suggest that Orla’s death could be anything but a tragic accident was tantamount to heresy. Many times Callum had wanted to share what he knew, or what hethoughthe knew, but he didn’t dare. What would it change if he did anyway? Why stir all that up again for Alastair?
‘It takes courage to do what you’re doing,’ he said to Alastair, ‘to change your life so dramatically.’
‘It’s been an easier decision to make than you’d imagine,’ Alastair replied. ‘The right decision is always easy, and this feels right. Absolutely right.’
‘Do you think Orla would approve?’ Callum asked, taking the potential sting out of his question by adding, ‘I mean, do you think she would have done the same thing herself if, well, if she’d outlived you?’
All at once he felt Alastair’s body stiffen, as though charged with an electric pulse, and turning to look at him, Callum saw a frown darkening his expression, his features disturbingly sharpened in the glow of the setting sun. For a terrible moment Callum thought he’d gone too far.
‘You always did ask a lot of questions, didn’t you?’ Alastair said quietly. ‘Even as a young boy.’
‘I apologise again. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s got into me.’
Seconds passed.
‘My honest answer to you is, no,’ said Alastair at last. ‘No, I don’t believe for a second that Orla would approve of what I’ve set in motion. Furthermore, she’d hate the idea of me loving anyone but her, and of anyone but her loving me. But that was Orla; that was what she was like, she needed the whole of a person, half measures didn’t come into her thinking, as I’m sure you remember. Now then,’ he said in an altogether different tone of voice, and indicating with his hand the mill that was silhouetted against the setting sun, ‘what do you know about Laura Manning, who’s renting the mill? I’ve spoken with her a couple of times now, more recently in the post office in Horning yesterday, when I gave her my mobile number and email address, just in case she needs any help with anything.’
‘She’s renting a boat from us,’ said Callum, accepting that he’d been told in no uncertain terms the previous topic of conversation was now closed. ‘She seems like a very capable sort of woman. I’d say she’s one of those self-contained people who’s sociable on her own terms.’
Just then the still, enveloping quiet of the evening was broken by the familiar sound of loud music approaching. Less than a minute later and theSouthern Comfort, a double-deck paddle boat that plied the river three or four times a day, now lit up with brightly coloured lights and a jazz band playing, cruised by, the party atmosphere on board spilling out across the water. During the tourist season the sight of the boat was as much a part of river life as the heron that had now flown off into the darkening sky.
Later, when it was quite dark and he was puttering home in his dinghy – a neat clinker-built wooden boat that he had restored himself – Callum mulled over some of what Alastair had said about Orla, in particular the implication that Callum knew how demanding she could be.
It was true, he could think of any number of times when Orla had offered to do something with him and always she had demanded the whole of his attention; anything less was not acceptable. On one occasion, when he’d been about eleven, and only too pleased that he’d been singled out by Orla to play a game with her, he’d unfortunately grown bored, and had begun to let her win just to get the game over with so he could go and do something more interesting, like play outside. She must have realised what he was doing, and worse, sensed that he was bored with her company, and with a single swish of her hand, she had sent the Monopoly board and pieces scattering violently across the floor. Without a word she had stood up and left the room, leaving him to pick up the pieces and put them away.
