‘Dad! Tell me you didn’t fuck it up with Kate!’
‘Hey!’
‘Sorry, Dad, it’s just England – they swear all the time here. But seriously, what’s going on with you?’
I hear the worry in her voice, and it reminds me of why I went to Scotland in the first place – why I thought it was a good idea to follow the instructions I found on a random card inside a random book. Shannon being happy was the whole point of it to begin with.
‘Look, baby, I’m heading back to Chicago for a while, okay? I have my new job set up, and I need… I need some time, okay?’
She’s silent for a few moments, then replies: ‘It got too serious, didn’t it? With Kate? Too much, too fast?’
‘Yeah, that’s about the size of it, kid. Don’t give me shit for it, all right? I’m giving myself enough.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she says quietly. ‘And I don’t want to give you shit. But I also don’t want you to give up on this. If you need to go home for a spell, then do it – but don’t give up. I saw how happy you were up there, with Kate. I saw how different you were. I want that for you.’
‘I know you do, Shannon, and I appreciate it. But right now I’m a disaster zone. I should have crime scene tape around my brain. Kate doesn’t deserve that.’
‘She’s a grown woman who can decide what she deserves herself, Dad. But… okay. Will you call me when you land?’
I promise I will, and hang up with a heavy heart. This is all so much harder than I thought it would be. Hundreds of miles between me and Kate doesn’t seem to be enough to sever this bond between us. I still feel her pull, the lure of the selkie calling me back.
If hundreds of miles don’t do it, maybe thousands will. I need to go home today, I decide. I need to detox, go to rehab. Get clean of Kate, and the time I spent with her. I need to say goodbye to it all.
There’s a flight leaving in three hours, I see. I manage to change my booking, and drag myself into the shower.
Everything will feel better once I’m home, I tell myself. If I stay here any longer I’ll either drink myself to death, or drown in my own pathetic tears. I need to act, not feel. Feeling is way overrated.
This hurts, but a lot of things in life do. The only way to end this is to do it quickly – rip off the Band-Aid and hope for the best.
As I pack up, I notice the book on the bedside table.Hiking in the Highlands: A Journey in Pictures. I don’t remember doing it, but I guess I must have been looking at it last night before I passed out. I pick it up, and the card falls out onto the bed.
The photo of the puffins looks different now. Now, I know it was taken by Angus, Moira’s husband. I know they lived and loved together in the cottage I have been calling home. I have seen the puffin colony with my own eyes, and know that the place it captures is even more beautiful in real life.
I indulge myself one more time before I hit the road, reading the words that Moira wrote. Now, of course, the words come with a name and a face and an accent, and I smile as I think of her determined spirit and her kindness. Even the memory of Joanne’s sour features makes me grin.
Now, even more than the first time I saw it, the message hits home.Relax and rest. Let go of some of that pain that’s trapping you. Sleep soundly, live fully, and learn to love the world again. Stay for a day, stay for a week, stay forever – who knows?
I hear Moira’s voice as I read, and swipe away the tears that have snuck up on me.Get a grip, I tell myself.You slept. You rested. You stayed a while. Now it’s over, and no matter how tempting it is to go back, I have to keep moving forward.
I hail a black cab on the street, enduring the mind-numbing traffic and inane chat of the driver as we make our way to Heathrow. The airport passes in a blur, on auto-pilot as I check my bags, show my passport, go through security. I’m off my game, not on full alert, barely even noticing the people around me or the threats they might present. Who the hell am I? I guess the world will have to remain safe for one more day without Brody Quinn’s assistance.
I eat, and drink, and do all the things I usually do before a flight – staying mobile, stretching out my back, preparing for the hours of forced immobility. I’m tempted by a medicinal beer, because airports are timeless places where it seems perfectly acceptable to drink at any time of day or night. I manage to resist, and stick to coffee. It’s going to be a long day, and I can at least wait until I’m in the air.
Eventually, they call my flight, and I make my way to the gate. I join the back of the line, paperwork in my hand as we shuffle along.
I reach my spot, and the man checking the boarding passes looks up at me expectantly. I stare at the rest of the passengers, all making their way into the jet bridge that links us to the waiting plane.
‘Sir?’ he says, polite but slightly pissed off. ‘We’ll be closing the gate, would you like to go through?’
I nod, shake myself back to reality. ‘Sure. Thanks,’ I reply.
I shoulder my bag, and walk into the tunnel.
THIRTY
KATE
I wake up alone in the cottage for the first time this morning, the sea singing to me and the sunlight creeping around the edges of the curtains. It is later than normal, but I suppose my body needed the rest.
