Cherry was sad for her mum, for the pain she had gone and still was going through. The small shaft of openness helped her, though. She needed to hear that it wasn’t her fault.
But it wasn’t a magic cure for her lingering feelings about not being enough for Sean, feelings that were going to crop up when people made thoughtless comments, or she saw a mother cooing lovingly at her child, or a plotline on TV triggered her. That was something she would have to decide about on her own. About whether she could let him love her and forget about the outside noise.
Chapter 35
Sean
The colours of the seasons were slowly shifting, with summer giving way to autumn. There would be no more unseasonably balmy days, no more scorched grass. The petals of the flowers Cherry had planted in his garden had tumbled to the earth, soaking to near mulch after a deluge of September rainfall.
Sean stood on the patio drinking his morning coffee, the Swingball set still pitched on the lawn. A few days ago, he’d prepared to pack it into the shed but ended up batting by himself and losing track of time as he remembered Cherry on the opposite side of the pole, laughing and whacking the ball into next week, breasts swaying softly in her bra cups. And, of course, the feel of moving inside her, her moans as she came around him.
God, he missed her.
No time for reminiscing today. Sean threw back his coffee and headed into the house. After six months of gruelling training, the day had finally come. He was embarking on 100 miles of thigh-burning pedalling through Kintyre. All day, he and his six siblings would cycle overundulating hills, through deep forests, coast by rugged castles and secret coves. But it was no leisurely tourist ride with stops to photograph squirrels or turrets. They would pedal until their legs were jelly. It was the least they could do for a man who had endured far, far worse.
The man who had raised them and whom they’d said goodbye to far too soon.
Sean was so ready for it.
But he was also ready for it to be over.
Since Cherry had left, two weeks ago, sleep had also deserted him. There were too many late nights, drinking beer, staring into space – a pursuit Jamie had told him was great for clearing the mind, but that Sean had never quite mastered – and playing online poker, the latter a stupid thing to do when he was trying to stop thinking of her.
Pinning down and boxing to death the temptation to text her one night when he got a royal flush was a challenge in itself.
But he’d won it.
Didn’t stop her being on his mind constantly.
Didn’t stop him going into her bedroom, laying on her bed and imagining her beside him. Now he understood the pillow thing, although he drew the line at cuddling hers. The scent of her was enough, slipping into his senses, invading his bloodstream, making him feral for her all over again.
Where was she now? There were no calls or texts. She knew the ride was today.
In his pocket, his phone vibrated.
Morning gorgeous. Feeling pumped!
It was from Jamie.
Fuck’s sake.Right vibe, wrong person.
Sean dumped his coffee cup in the sink. Outside, he strapped his bike to the back of the car and swung out of the drive onto the rain-slicked road towards Jamie’s place. From there, he’d drive them both to Tarbert, where they’d convene with the rest of the family and ride.
Tarbert harbour was calm and placid, like a sensible aunt who would never cycle one hundred miles in a day. Boats bobbed gently, their reflections wavering in the clear water, and people milled around drinking takeaway coffee and chatting.
The race started with little fanfare – a peaceful beginning to match his dad’s end. Sean caught a tear in his mum’s eye as he and his siblings coasted off, the fresh autumn wind providing a baptism into the day. He hoped they could finally make something positive from the pain of the past few years.
From Tarbert to Claonaig, they cycled close to one another, occasionally chatting or joking, but often pedalling through a comfortable silence that you could only have with your closest loved ones. The panoramic views across the Kilbrannan Sound to the jagged green mountains of Arran were enough to keep anyone quiet.
From Claonaig they coasted along open moorland past Loch Ciaran where, on any other day, it would be great to stop and listen to the lapping of the water and the call of birds. He bet Cherry would know the names by their calls.
The route from Clachan took them over to the eastcoast, where the Atlantic buffered the shorelines with an endless, rhythmic rush. They were thirty miles down now. Ready for refreshments, they pulled into the small village of Tayinloan and sat on rain-soaked fold-up chairs outside a coffee shop, drinking weak coffee and eating sandwiches from floral crockery that had seen better days.
Sean checked his phone to see if there was anything from Cherry. He’d settle for a simpleI miss you.
Nothing.
But he was the one who’d told her to go. If he’d given her leeway to take the time that she needed, she might be here now. It was just that he’d felt like a lobster being boiled alive by that point, and more upheaval was unbearable. He needed his wife there with him.
