‘Wow. That sounds very impressive.’
‘Aye. She’s a powerhouse.’ Hal sighed, with a smile of fond longing on his lips. ‘An’ she’s done so much fer me an’ the castle, an’ the estate, it’s only right that I should support her career. Anyway, I’m proud tae be on her arm.’ He shrugged, smiling.
‘Zelda is awesome,’ Deb agreed. ‘That’s so exciting for her!’
‘Aye. She’s all fingers an’ thumbs in the meantime though, aye.’ Hal laughed. ‘Nervous as a cat.’
‘All the more reason for her to have her man by her side.’ Deb felt a twinge at seeing how much Hal supported Zelda. They really were partners, in the way that you were supposed to be: Hal had Zelda’s back, and vice versa. It stung when she thought about Dan, who complained about stacking the dishwasher and relied on her to do everything.
‘Aye, well. That’s what ye do, isn’t it?’ Hal replied, simply.
‘You would think so,’ Deb replied, a little archly, and looked down at her notepad. Work was a good distraction from her love life, which, unlike Zelda and Hal’s, was significantly less than ideal.
‘Now. Where were we?’ She uncapped her pen, trying to ignore the feelings of loneliness that came from comparing her relationship with Dan to Hal and Zelda. But perhaps she needed that comparison: perhaps she needed to see that settling forsomething you perceived as easy wouldn’t make you happy. It hadn’t, despite the fact that she had thought it was a safe option.
If her mother, Janice, had been here, Deb knew that she would have suspected Hal of deviousness in some way: she wouldn’t have believed that a man could be so pure of heart, or so devoted to the woman he loved.
It seemed to Deb that you got what you expected in life, and Janice had expected a hard life in which she could trust no one. It wasn’t her fault: that was how she’d been brought up herself.
Maybe I can expect more, she thought. Half of her was intimidated by Zelda and Hal, living in an actual castle and jet-setting all over the world. It was a wildly glamorous and apparently unattainable lifestyle. Yet, the other half of her could see beyond that: the look in Hal’s eyes when he talked about Zelda transcended wealth and glamour and awards ceremonies and parties at the castle. That was love, and Deb knew that was what would remain if all the other trappings were gone.
That was what she wanted, but she had never allowed herself to have.
In fact, it was love that was intimidating; not anything else. To open yourself up to another person that deeply was something she had always – if she was truly honest with herself – been afraid of. She was still afraid of it, but, Deb allowed herself to imagine for a moment what it would be like to be loved that deeply. And to love someone else as thoroughly.
The thought was terrifying, but it also drew Deb like a magnet and refused to let go. What might life be like with that kind of love?
SIX
‘Morning, Mum. How are you?’
Deb had been dreading her twice weekly call to her mother, Janice. Not because she hated her mum, or anything as dramatic: they’d always got on fairly well. Rather, she felt guilty about being away for a few weeks, and not being as available.
‘Can’t complain, poppet.’ Her mum sounded tired, but she always did, nowadays.
‘How’s the dialysis?’ Deb asked. Her mum had been diagnosed with diabetes some years ago, which she now needed two sessions of dialysis a week for.
‘The same. I wish they’d refresh the magazines in the treatment room. I’ve started listening to audiobooks. You can get them from the library, you know.’
‘That’s good. How about when you get home?’
‘Well, I’m done in, obviously,’ Janice said, briskly. ’Four hours of your blood being pumped out of your body, cleaned and then pumped back in will do that to you.’
‘I know, Mum,’ Deb replied, evenly. She was all too aware that it was unlikely that Janice would have much energy to cook dinners and do the housework after dialysis.
If Janice didn’t get a kidney transplant in the next couple of years, things didn’t look great. People could be on dialysis for years: the doctor had told them that. But, over time, Janice’s kidneys would get weaker, and she would get more vulnerable, and more prone to complications. ‘Has the taxi been okay?’ Usually, Deb drove her to the clinic a couple of times a week for her treatments, with a local taxi taking her there and back on the days Deb couldn’t manage. Deb already hadn’t been able to drive her mum for six weeks after the hysterectomy, and she’d felt hideously guilty about it. Now, as she was away in Loch Cameron, her mum would be taking the taxi for even longer. Deb was paying for it, which she didn’t mind at all, but she still felt awful.
‘It’s fine. Taxi drivers are a bit predictable. Always going on about the state of the roads, or politics,’ Janice sighed. ‘However, I had a nice conversation with one of them the other day about music. He was a Cher fan, of all things.’ Janice never liked talking about her treatment. ‘We had quite the discussion.’
‘That sounds good. As long as they’re not coughing all over you.’ Deb was referring to the time that Janice had caught a bad cold from one of the taxi drivers who were on a contract with the hospital. In her immune-compromised state, what had been a normal cold to him had put Janice in bed for weeks.
‘Don’t worry, Deb. I sit in the back and make them put the plexiglass guard thing up,’ Janice tutted. Deb could imagine her rolling her eyes. ‘Don’t fuss.’
‘I’m not fussing.’
‘How’s the little village?’ Janice changed the subject.
‘It’s nice. I’m staying in a really cute little cottage. You’d like it.’
