I hate this. It reminds me too much of those days after Sandy died – feeling like everyone was looking at me, not knowing how to react. I was unhinged by the loss and hiding it from the world, because I had this pathological need to appear okay. To appear like I was coping, that I was fine – when in reality I was falling apart inside, and terrified someone would notice.
‘That’s it,’ I say firmly, avoiding their eyes. ‘That’s my story. That’s all I’ve got for you.’
There’s more, of course there is. The pain. The sleepless nights. The guilt. The loneliness. The fact that Sandy’s clothes still hang in our closet, that I still visit her grave most days, that without her I feel lost. Empty. Useless.
Kate’s eyes drift to my hands, and I know what she’s thinking.
‘It’s too precious,’ I tell her, keeping my voice as calm as I can. ‘The ring. I lost it once, on the job. It came off during a drugs bust, and I spent hours crawling around the floor of a crack house until I found it again. That was before she died. I decided it had no place in that part of my life.’
Sandy understood, and never once complained. Sandy understood everything about me. She knew the way I loved her had nothing to do with a metal band on my finger. Our marriage was far from perfect, but it was good. It was ours.
‘Your turn,’ I grunt out. ‘Kate. Your turn.’
She looks as though she still has questions, but wisely realises that I’ve reached my limit in the spotlight.
She nods, accepting the baton. ‘Well, I’m not very interesting at all,’ she says quietly. ‘I was raised by my mum and then my gran in London. I was married, but… umm, well, now I’m not. No children. No career. Not an awful lot to report really. I’m so sorry.’
My stomach is in knots at the way she looks, the way she sounds. Defeated, apologising for even existing. Shrinking in on herself. I’ve dealt with a lot of domestic violence victims in my life, and she has that same look. Like she’s scared to take up space, scared to draw attention.
‘There’s more to you than that,’ I say firmly. ‘You’re funny. You’re kind. You’re pretty damn brave, or you wouldn’t be here right now. And you have a great smile.’
She looks momentarily shocked by this, but then it appears. The smile I was talking about. Huge, heartfelt, reaching her hazel eyes in a way that undoes those knots in my belly.
‘Och, you’re right – she does so!’ Moira adds, clapping her hands together, delighted. For a second there, I’d forgotten she was even in the room. I blame the Guinness.
I feel odd. Tense and light at the same time. What the hell is this place doing to me? I stare at the tea cup, wonder if Joannehas Mickey Finned me. Right on cue, she bustles into the room, face like thunder. She glowers at us all.
‘So, will they be staying?’ she asks abruptly. Hell no, I think. Not with all these gnomes and evil jugs. ‘At the cottage?’
‘Aye, I hope they will, Jo,’ Moira replies, looking from me to Kate and back again. ‘Even if it’s just for one night. They have the cards, after all. Fate has spoken.’
Right. Moira’s ‘wee cottage’ that she mentioned earlier. I’m not staying there, I’ve already decided. I’ll be checking into a hotel, and putting this whole thing down to experience. It’s been quite the trip, but I can’t take any more weirdness today. I want a bland bed in a bland room, and a sports channel on a TV. I want to get away from all this emotion. Joanne makes apfffftsound that expresses her disgust at the whole fate thing, and disappears again.
‘She takes the church a wee bit too seriously,’ Moira whispers as she leaves. Then she folds her hands on her lap, eyebrows raised beneath her silver hair.
‘In all seriousness, I would love it if you stayed. For a night, a week, two, whatever you like. My own wee cottage would like the company, and so would I. I know the bookshop might not be quite what you imagined, but you’re welcome to visit.’
‘What happened, Moira?’ Kate asks. ‘To keep you away?’
Moira lets out a snort, and replies: ‘A bad day happened! On top of a bad week, and a bad month, and truthfully some bad years…’
She’s avoiding the question, not telling us exactly how she injured herself, and that’s her prerogative. I often take the fifth about my own accident too.
‘So when were you last there?’ Kate continues, frowning. ‘In the shop?’
‘Och, too long ago! It might be my mobility that’s keeping me away now, but the truth is my heart wasn’t in it long before I hadmy accident. I was already letting things slip, ignoring the damp patches, skimping on the maintenance, turning a blind eye to all the jobs that needed doing. It used to be my pride and joy, but then… well, for a lot of reasons, I was running short on both. I’d given up. I don’t think it’s feasible for me to go back to running it by myself, and I know I’ll have to sell it. I’m not short of offers, mind, ever since my accident I’ve felt like I was being pecked at by vultures…’
It’s a horrible image. ‘You don’t have to sell if you don’t want to,’ I say. I’ve always hated bullies.
‘I know, son, technically you’re right – but what else am I going to do, eh? I can’t even get up the steps! Anyway, it’s sad, but it is what it is. Worse things have happened at sea. But for now, it’s still there. You could visit whenever you like if you stay here in the village – your own personal bookshop, battered as it may be. It might not be at its best, but it’s still filled with magic.’
Yeah, I think, remembering the state of the place. Filled with magic, dust, and probably some mould spores. I’m not sure she has any idea quite how bad it’s gotten in the last year. Like Ginny said, it’s as though Moira isn’t whole without the store.
‘You’ve come a long way to visit us,’ she carries on, ‘and you were the only people to respond to those cards. That’s got to mean something. Why not stay a while? You’d be doing me a favour, it would lift my spirits like nothing else has for a long time, to know that our invitations worked as we intended… I don’t have much to look forward to, as you can see…’
I don’t like being manipulated, and I can see that’s what she’s doing. Yet somehow, I still don’t quite have it in me to say no straight out. Beneath the guilt trip, there’s real need in her words. I don’t have the monopoly on pain, or loneliness, and that’s what stops me leaving.
Kate looks up at me, her eyes huge and hopeful. There’s a rainbow outside the window, and if someone pipes up and tells me it’s a sign, I’m out of here.
