What did any of it matter. ‘I saw the most incredible beach today,’ Taylor said.
‘Better than this?’ Drew swept his arm in an arc and laughed.
‘Just – different. This island is something else.’
‘It sure is.’
They stood quietly and then Drew turned to him, touched his arm.
‘Taylor – I’m really sorry about your folks. About the divorce. I’m really, really sorry about that.’
The words pushed into Taylor like a gust of wind and his breath caught. His parents had not said if they were sorry or not, they hadn’t thought to ask Taylor how he felt about it all, if he was alright. Twenty-three, thirteen, three; it made littledifference how old he was or where he was at in his life. He was their child. The tenderness in Drew’s voice, his concern; the love. Just then, Taylor felt he could be that little kid.
‘You okay?’ Drew gave him a small nudge.
Taylor considered the question and how its default response wasyeah, orI’m fine. He really thought about whether he was okay.
‘Nope, not really,’ he said. ‘It sucks and I don’t think I am okay.’ His voice cracked and a sob broke as if bursting the stitching he’d so carefully sewn around himself. Here he was, right now, in this crazily beautiful quiet place in a hugely fucked up world.
Gentle but steady, Drew placed his arm around Taylor’s shoulders. ‘It’s okay, man.’
Things were never going to be the same again. And that was a fact. Taylor let go and he sobbed and he howled as he crumpled into the arms of his friend.
‘It totally sucks,’ Drew said, gazing at the waves as if compelling them to take his friend’s sorrow far out to sea. ‘But itwillbe okay.’
The afternoon seeped away and the tide came in bringing dusk with it as Drew and Taylor walked slowly to the end of the beach and back along the road to Flora’s House. All the lights were on in the cottage and JB’s baritone boomed right through the old stone walls and across the small garden as if heralding their arrival. They laughed and rolled their eyes. You had to love that guy no matter how infuriating he was. Perhaps out of the three of them, JB’s life was actually the most unenviable. Imagine being him! No thank you.
They opened the front door and JB turned to face them, still singing. He was standing at the stove where pans were bubblingaway on every ring. He was wearing his signature baseball cap and an apron they didn’t know the cottage had. His face was red and shiny.
‘Dinner is nearly ready, soldiers!’ he told them. He held aloft a sieve and a knife as if he was about to strike a gong. ‘You guys had better be hungry. You’re running a marathon in the morning.’
Chapter 11
Friday: The Harris Marathon
It was a quiet start to the day, an early one too which Drew and Taylor had mostly spent staring at the ceiling above their beds for what felt like hours. They knew every hairline crack that coursed along it, every dink in the plaster, by 7 a.m.
Even JB kept his voice down.
‘You guys ok? You set? T-minus ten for breakfast.’
He had popped his head around the door to see the other two, lying very straight and still in their single beds, nodding obediently. They were grateful that someone was doing the thinking for them. As they dressed, Taylor and Drew studied the weather through the window. They didn’t dare jinx it, but they noted with some relief how the clouds were barely moving across a blue sky, the sun was having a morning stretch and the windowpanes bore no tracks of rain.
Breakfast on the day of a marathon was always a hard meal to eat; the pressure of its importance made chewing and swallowing difficult and JB had cooked up a lot of pasta. Your stomachs onlyfeelsmall, he told them, it’s just the adrenalinputting on a psychological squeeze. Somehow, they finished everything he served them and then began the rigmarole of checking and double checking what they’d be needing. Unlike the official marathons they’d run, there would be no regular stations set up today with drinks and gels for them to grab on the fly. However, they had hydration vests which they filled with water and electrolytes and they tucked their gels into the pockets. JB flinched from the image of his vest upstairs, redundant. He didn’t mention it.
‘Madainn mhath.’ Dougie knocked and entered, he clapped his hands and grinned at them. ‘Good morning, lads.’ He was wearing trackpants and trainers, he looked like a sports coach. ‘How are we feeling? Ready to hit the road?’
‘Hopefully not literally,’ Drew said darkly.
‘If it’s all the same to you, do you mind taking us to Hushinish?’ Taylor said.
Dougie paused. ‘That’s a heck of a run.’
‘To the door, it’s pretty much spot on,’ Taylor said.
‘I know,’ said Dougie, ‘I’ve done it six times over the years. And I’ll tell you, it’s a stunning route but it’s hard. There are a few wee climbs, I’m warning you.’
‘Why do you guys say ‘wee’ when you mean anything but?’ Drew asked.
