Don't Be Afraid (9 page)

 

Torcuil

I left little Leo with Lara while I went for some groceries, and then I decided to stop at La Piazza to say hello to Margherita and maybe give her a hand. That was, if she'd let me. She was pretty territorial around her kitchen, maybe because I tended to be useless at cooking, like everyone in my family. Or maybe because it was something just for herself, away from me and away from her children, her own space to be something other than a partner and a mother. I understood very well how she felt. I was longing to go back to the university and back to an everyday routine, with no more emergencies, no more jumping if the mobile rang, in fear of bad news. Just . . . normality. To be with my students and my papers seemed an oasis of peace in comparison with how life in Glen Avich had been. I had taken a few days off last week to be near if Angus needed me, but I would be back at work tomorrow. Much as it pained me to admit it, I was looking forward to it.

He'd phoned me earlier to say that he and Bell were going to spend the day alone at home – he wanted to gauge how her time with Clara had been and help her to accept Clara's new role in her life, as well as just having some peaceful time together. I remembered a time when this would have broken my heart: years ago, when I was still in love with Izzy and desperately trying to deny it – long, unhappy years, until Margherita swept away the last remains of heartache.

On my way to the coffee shop I looked back at that time with dismay, and relief that it was over. I'd probably erased most of that era from my mind, but there were things from the time just after Izzy had left me for Angus that I could never forget. I couldn't forget that my eyes were dry, my heart was shut, and I was drifting away on a lonely sea. I had watched my father die slowly while I was cut off from my brother and a stranger to my sister and my mother.

Without Izzy.

I used to close my eyes at night and imagine Izzy coming back to me, and in the little films I played to myself I took her back without question, forgave her without resentment, loved her without reserve, like it could never happen again. During the day, I said to myself I was over her; at night, I was raw with longing. Even after Angus and I made up, after my father's death; even as “Bell and Angus” became a way to address one single creature, like one could not go without the other; even then, I still loved her.

It was easy to convince everyone I was over her. It was easy for someone like me, who carries his feelings buried deep inside anyway, to pretend. My love for her was buried so deep that nobody could see it any more – at times, not even me. Buried like a lost jewel at the bottom of a black, black loch.

Sometimes I believed my own lie and acted like nothing had happened; sometimes I was sure I would never recover. I went through my life on autopilot, breathing in, breathing out, putting one foot in front of the other, eating and sleeping automatically, because it was necessary for survival. All this made worse by Angus's and Izzy's choice to move back to Glen Avich and buy the cottage on the other side of the loch, which had stood empty for a long time. We had made peace, we were close again, so why not? I had been so good at hiding my true feelings, so thorough in deleting all traces of love and loss from the surface of my mind, that Angus could not suspect how seeing them doing up their house under my nose broke my heart. I couldn't take it any more and took on a lecturing post in London. After my father's death, nothing tied me to Glen Avich – or so I wanted to believe.

After a few years I came back, of course. Contrary to what I thought, I pined for Ramsay Hall and Glen Avich. I was surprised how seeing Angus and Izzy together – Isabel, she was now
Isabel
– hurt a little bit less. How I could live with it. Just.

But all this was long ago. Everything changed once again, with Margherita and her children coming into my life.

And here I was, a partner and a stepfather – who would have imagined I would be doing nursery runs, standing among the playground mums and dads, holding Leo's hand while we waited to step in? And helping Lara to do her homework in the evening?

I was sitting at the window table at La Piazza with a steaming coffee in front of me, watching rain splash on the cars and gather in puddles on the pavement. Debora was sparkling with energy and cheerfulness, as ever. If only I could take a little bit of her and Margherita's eternal positive mood and pour it inside Izzy like a healing balm . . .

“Any news of Isabel?” Debora asked softly, as if reading my thoughts, and her forehead creased in concern. The shop was empty but for a few pensioners near the fireplace, so there were no curious ears to listen, and Debora had showed her kindness towards Izzy many times, so I was happy to reply. I usually felt protective of Izzy, quite unwilling to share news of her.

“She's a lot better, thank you . . .” I began. And then I saw Clara from the window, strolling towards the cafe as if she were on a sunny promenade, as if the icy rain didn't bother her at all. She came in with a warm smile and a gust of cold air, trailing a soaking umbrella with her. After greeting Debora and the girls she sat with me with a murmured ‘May I?' I waited until her order was on the table so we could speak freely, without being overheard. When Angus and I had spoken on the phone earlier, he'd been unable to tell me about Izzy and Clara's first encounter – apart from a laconic
it was fine
– because Izzy was there. I needed to know more.

“How did it go?” I asked at once. There was no need to specify what I was talking about.

“It went well. She is such a lovely person . . .” There was a light in Clara's eyes, like she was genuinely happy to spend her time with Izzy, and for a moment I was jealous. It was so hard for me to keep in touch with Izzy, to know what she was doing, what she was thinking – but she let a stranger into her life so easily? But then I cringed at my unfairness.

“She let you in okay?” I asked, and I didn't just mean into her home.

“Well, after a little while. We had cup of tea and a chat. I think it's going to work out,” she said, and she was beaming.

“Good morning,” an Irish voice came from the kitchen, before I could say anything else. Aisling walked through from behind the counter, followed by a tiny girl with the face of a mouse and a mane of blue hair. “Hi guys, this is my sister, Kate. At last. I can go home and put my feet up,” she said, patting her belly.

“I'll show her the ropes. You're officially on maternity leave, so go home or go and sit on the sofa and I'll bring you a cup of tea,” Debora said.

“Are you sure?” Aisling didn't seem at ease with being served instead of doing the serving.

“Absolutely. Can I get you something else, Torcuil? Clara?”

“No thanks, I just had a gallon of coffee,” I said.

“You can never have enough caffeine in my view,” Margherita appeared from the kitchen. “Hi, Clara. Was Leo okay?” she asked me.

“He was great. Went without any bother. I thought maybe I could give you a hand?”

“No, you're fine, chat away.” She dismissed me with a wave of her hand. Just like I thought, she would not let me near the food she was preparing. She gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared again.

“Kate, if you come here I'll show you how to work the coffee machine . . .” Debora began. At that moment, a loud song pierced our ears.

“Sorry, it's just my phone! I've got to get this. It's Pablo,” Kate declared, and strode out of the coffee shop into the street.

Aisling and Debora looked at each other.

“Wait, I'll just clear up that table . . .”

“You go
home
!” Debora ordered. “Or if you want to stay, you are going to sit there and eat cake. You are forbidden to do any work! Enough is enough.”

“Fine,” Aisling said, and gazed out of the window at her sister, who was standing close to the wall, out of the rain, and talking on her mobile. Clara and I exchanged an amused look.

“Go sit on the sofas,” Debora said.

“I wouldn't get up again!”

“Come and sit beside me, then,” Debora said, patting the chair behind the counter.

“Sorry!” Kate walked in again. “That was my fianc
é
e.”

Fiancée?
She looked about fifteen.

“Fiancée?” Aisling got up again. “Do Mum and Dad know about this?”

“Not yet. So don't tell them.”

“Kate, you are still—”

“I'm old enough to make my own decisions!”

“Right. We'll talk about it later,” Aisling concluded and gave her a
wait till I get my hands on
you
kind of look.

“Anyway, Kate, come and I'll show you how to use the coffee machine—” Debora began again.

“Ouch!” Kate said, bringing her hand to her eye.

“What's wrong?”

“My contact lens fell out. I can't see a thing without it. I need to go home and get my glasses.”

Debora and Aisling looked at each other again as Kate disappeared out of the shop once more.

“I'm going to kill her!” Aisling said, and disappeared after her. It was like being at the theatre, really. But with all the commotion, I hadn't had the chance to speak to Clara, and she was already standing to leave.

“Well, I'm off. I'll see you soon. And don't worry, it'll be fine,” she said.

I didn't have time to say anything but “Keep me posted”, and she was already out of the coffee shop with a hurried goodbye. It was like she didn't want to give away too much, somehow. I wondered why.

I watched Clara leave, walking down the street with the umbrella in her hand, closed, and the rain soaking her hair. She seemed immune to the cold. I was about to stand and go home too when a black-haired woman came in. I was so rarely in the village, I had forgotten how you're bound to meet someone you know at every corner.

It was Anne, my former classmate at Glen Avich Primary and then Kinnear High. She was a good friend of Isabel; they had always played together during her summers in Glen Avich, and then, as teenagers, they went out with the same group of friends. I watched while she slipped her umbrella into the vase beside the door and then walked to the counter, her spine straight. She was a heavyset girl, with black hair and freckles all over her fair skin. She carried a sense of peace and contentment about her, with her unrushed ways and slow, deliberate voice.

“What do you have in the way of cake, Debora? It's my father-in-law's birthday and we're throwing a bit of a bash,” she said, tucking a strand of black hair, streaked with grey, behind her ear. It was strange to think she was the same age as Izzy – she looked a lot older. Izzy had, somehow, stayed frozen in time. But Anne also looked so much happier than Izzy.

“Anything you dream of and more,” Debora replied with a smile. “I can make you a sponge and decorate it for him, if you have time to wait until tomorrow?”

“I'm afraid I have to take what you have ready. It's all very last-minute. The party is tonight . . . Oh, hello, Torcuil!”

“Hi Anne, how are you? And the family?” Anne had four boys and a huge extended family that usually trailed after her. I realised it was the first time I'd ever seen her on her own, without either a child or a granny or two in tow.

“All good, thank you. Debora, could I have that chocolate cake, please? And a latte? Do you mind if I sit with you, Torcuil?”

“Please do.” She did, resting her shopping bags on the floor.

“I was just wondering how is Isabel . . .”

“Well, she had a bit of a blip . . .” I didn't want to talk about Izzy behind her back, but Anne was a good friend, and I didn't want her to feel unwelcome about asking after Izzy. I was happy she had. In spite of Izzy's effort to isolate herself over the last three years, there were people all around who cared for her, thought of her, wished her well. I thought it was a precious thing; I thought she needed to know it was so.

“I know. I heard.”

Of course she had.

“Yes.” I looked into my coffee.

“How is she now?”

“She's back at home. That's something.”

“Oh, Torcuil, my heart goes out to her. I tried to get in touch, but she never seemed to want to talk . . .”

“She doesn't mean it. It's just . . .”

“You don't need to say. I just want Isabel to know I'm here if she needs me. I'll be here when she's better.”

“Thank you. She'll be happy to hear that.”

“I made a parcel for her a wee while ago – some soaps. I left it with Angus. I'll make her another one.”

“I'm sure she'll appreciate it,” I said, and I thought of how people sent Isabel packages and letters, as if she was marooned somewhere far, far away.

“I just wanted to say . . .” It was her turn to look down, now. “Sometimes, my husband . . . Well, my husband went through a stage when he wasn't really feeling himself. Dr Robertson gave him some stuff to take and he felt a lot better.”

“Yes. Thank you,” I said. A silent brotherhood and sisterhood of sorrow. I was grateful.

“Will you give her my love?”

“Of course.”

She looked at me thoughtfully, like she wanted to say something else. But then she changed her mind and left, clutching her cake box to her chest, her dark-green umbrella bobbing as she walked under the freezing rain. On impulse, I took my mobile out and texted Angus.

Could you
give Isabel a message from me? Tell her that Anne
was asking after her, she sends her love.

Any lifeline Izzy was thrown was worth clutching.

 

Isabel

Angus and I were alone, at home. It happened so rarely that when it did I treasured every moment, every hour. We lay together until late, the curtains drawn, under the warm, heavy duvet. In his arms, I found an oasis of peace, a moment of respite from my restless thoughts. I couldn't even remember the last time we'd been alone together without arguing or discussing my health.

It was like a miracle, and I was determined not to spoil it with anxieties or upset. All I wanted to do was lie in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, and forget all about the world.

“So, it went okay with Clara, didn't it?” he said in a low, soft voice, caressing my hair. We were so close that I could hear his voice resound in his chest.

I nodded. I didn't want to speak. Not yet.

“You think it will work out with her?

I nodded again.

“You seemed to be so relaxed with her. I have to admit, I was surprised.”

“So was I,” I whispered.

“I can't begin to tell you my relief. Thank you, Bell—”

“Please don't thank me. Don't.”

“You pushed yourself so that I could still go to work. I'm so grateful. I really am.”

I couldn't believe what he was saying. He was
grateful
? After all I had inflicted on him?

His love for me always left me speechless. His unconditional, generous kindness towards me was a treasure I would not squander, I would not relinquish.

He placed a kiss on my temple and I closed my eyes, drinking in his love, his presence, his warmth. He wrapped his arms around me and began kissing me, and I forgot all about the darkness inside me and lost myself in him.

Afterwards, he brought me a cup of coffee and opened the curtains. I brought my knees to my chest and sipped my hot, sugared coffee while he sat on the windowsill and looked outside. Autumn was singing its last, spectacular song before the land fell asleep for a long, long time.