We leave Bolly and her new friend to it, settling ourselves back on the other side of the carriage, as Heather opens the cake tin, muttering “Genius, bloody genius” and Bolly beams next to her, nibbling on a slice of lemon drizzle. Marnie introduces herself to Lila and Priya, bending down and nodding seriously as Priya launches into a story.
“How are you doing, pet?” Joan asks.
I hesitate. I’m tempted to lie. To tell her everything is great. Perfect, even. Not a care in the world. But…
“I’m getting there, Aunt Joan,” I say instead. Honestly. “Some days I feel amazing. Never better. As if I can take on the whole world. Others I want to crawl back into bed and pull the duvet over my head. But even then, even when it’s cloudy, I feel a lot surer that if I give it time, the sun will shine again.”
“That’s all you can ask for. One day at a time.” She pats my hand. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I’m proud of me too. Still don’t have a plan though,” I add, confessing my secret fear: that despite all the work I’ve done, putting myself out there, forging a new life, I’m still rudderless. Adrift.
“No one has a plan! Not really. Not one that means anything. A plan is nothing more than a flimsy fence against the vagaries oflife.” She winks. “Free thinkers like you and me, we go with the current.”
“Guess I’d better get swimming then,” I say with a laugh.
Joan smiles, and it is warm and wise and full of love. “Oh, love. You already are.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rowan
It’s exactly the way I remembered: the sloping lawn, the copse of trees bending in the wind, the small village of tents, even the dipping sun reflected on the loch. A spot of rain passed earlier, and the smell of petrichor lingers in the air.
My tent is one of the first up. A thrill runs through me as I snap the poles together, use my own mallet to bang in the pegs. Today’s Rowan is a far cry from last year’s Rowan, and it feels good to see all the ways I’ve changed: the little, as well as the big.
I help the others finish theirs, stretching out ground sheets, manoeuvring half-built structures to find flatter ground, offering advice. That feels good too, as does the sight of our group taking up half of the campground, all of them working together, laughing, faces red and ruddy from a day of walking, voices bright.
It’s perfect.
It’s everything I dreamed of.
Except for one thing.
“Bought you a cup of tea.”
Marnie finds me where I’ve retreated to a bench with a nice view of the loch.
“As ever, my saviour.”
Marnie hands me a steaming mug. “Blimey. My legs feel like someone has been throwing rocks at them all day. Is it always like this?”
I laugh. “Oh, it gets worse.”
It won’t be as bad as the first time. I’ve learned my lesson: we’ll be doing the route in eight days, instead of five, and I’m looking forward to every single one, even if my feet are already starting to hurt.
“Can’t bloody wait.”
“So how are you—”
“This has been—”
We speak at the same time and laugh. I open my mouth to try again, but then our phones buzz simultaneously in our pockets. Brian’s sent a photo of him and Rufus cuddling on the sofa wearing party hats, Brian holding a bottle of beer, Rufus somehow taking up as much space as his owner. He’s captioned itBoys’ night. Then he sends us another photo, this time of the opening credits ofBlue Planetplaying on the TV.
BRIAN:Hope it’s all going okay! Missing you both! xxxx
“I’m glad Brian’s having a good night,” I say.
“This is literally his dream. All the Attenborough he wants, and no one complaining about being bored.”
