Sally (35 page)

Richard thought for a moment.

‘Does she know?'

Celia thought for a moment.

‘No.'

Richard was silent. She spoke again.

‘I do know that she has done a fair bit of thinking, and that she is not very proud of the way she has behaved. But I can see the impact you have had on my girl, and if at my old age I can assist in a bit of enforced matchmaking, then I'll jolly well do so!' Richard swallowed hard as a sudden burst of sunlight streamed through and struck his face.

‘What's tomorrow? Friday, Friday …' He thought aloud. ‘I may as well take the sleeper tonight. So, Aunt Celia, we'll meet at long last tomorrow morning. No, no, please … I'll take a cab from the ferry. Thank you so much for calling. For understanding.'

‘Richard,' Celia faltered, anxious to hold him a moment longer, ‘you sound – well – as lovely as you sounded.'

Richard regarded the replaced handset and then asked Sandra to book a one-way ticket to Oban. For once, Sandra did not mind that he gave no explanation. In fact, she was not remotely interested.

‘Hi, Di!'

‘Hullo, Stonehill!'

‘I'm off to bonny Scotland.'

‘Sally! When did she call? What did she have to say for herself?'

‘Actually, it was the venerable Aunt Celia who called. The girl's gone and broken her leg in two places while soul-searching in the heather.'

‘Serves her bloody well right!'

‘She doesn't know that Celia called me. She doesn't know that I'm going up.'

‘Ha! Serves her even more bloody well right!'

‘Any messages?'

‘Tell her she's a stupid old cow and I hate her. Tell her I'll break her other leg when I see her.'

‘Right ho.'

‘Oh, and Richard?'

‘Yes?'

‘Send her my love. All of it.'

Richard packed a small bag with a host of emotions crammed into his head. He had been so relieved to have had the contact, albeit indirect, with Sally. Yet he felt somewhat peeved that once again he was at her beck and call. And yet Celia's lovely voice, her words, had created a hope he had not felt for a long while. Though he was concerned to hear of Sally's new plight, a part of him was really rather satisfied.

‘After all,' he mused to his toothbrush as he packed it, ‘there is no come-uppance more severe than that dished out by oneself.'

Catherine had clapped her hands for joy on hearing the news. ‘See, Richard,' she had said, ‘the time is coming. One way or the other; for better, for worse. It's what you need. Whatever happens, it will be for the best. And we love you lots.'

Richard was simultaneously excited and yet filled with dread; he brimmed with sympathy yet boiled with anger. Only the one emotion lay intact, and that was his love for Sally. It was unconditional and that irritated him supremely.

The journey passed without mishap. He had a surprisingly good sleep and an even more surprisingly good British Rail breakfast. Catching the Oban train at Glasgow, he felt relaxed and fresh and sat back to enjoy the immense scenery of the West Coast. With time to kill in Oban, he browsed through the town and visited the porcelain factory, buying a small seal for Celia, and a penguin for Sally.

If she's lucky.

As the CalMac took him across the water, he hummed ‘Speed Bonny Boat' and made up his own verses replacing
‘Skye'
with
‘Mull'
and
‘carry the Lad who's born to be King'
with
‘give me the girl who's born to be mine'
.

Richard, who had never had sea legs, silently thanked the boat as he left it at Craignure. Filling his lungs with the salt-tinged air, he was swept with a sense of well-being and a feeling that his trip was indeed positive. As he turned to find a taxi, a figure amongst the busying throng caught his eye. Instinctively, he knew she was Aunt Celia and by the smile on her face, she'd recognized him too. She lifted her hand and he responded, sauntering over to her. They contemplated each other quietly for a moment or two before he tipped his head and kissed her cheek, saying it was his true pleasure. Celia said she was delighted.

As they strolled to her car they scanned each other's faces, for here in the flesh, at long last, was the other about whom so much was known already. Both felt immediately at ease in each other's company and both felt a certain sense of relief that their expectations had been met.

This is Sally's aunt.

This is Sally's man.

Waves of approval accompanied their conversation about vernacular architecture, whisky without an ‘e', and Sally.

‘She hadn't even woken when I set off. And her morning bath now takes her a long time. Of course, she won't have me help. But hearing her thumping and thudding, wincing and cursing – I tell you, it is all I can do to stop myself from rushing in to bathe the bairn myself!'

Privately, Richard thought how long it had been since he had bathed her.

Not since last year.

From the corner of her eye, Celia observed him looking far out of the window, scanning the landscape and smiling widely at the lochs and hills. She sensed he was itching for news of Sally but could see he was too well-mannered to pry. Feeling it was her duty and debt to Angus and Robbie, she broke the proverbial ice for him.

‘I'll think you'll find that breaking her leg is a blessing of sorts.'

Richard looked puzzled but his eyes implored her to elaborate so she did. ‘We had words the night before, you see. When I discovered she was here
illicitly
, so to speak, I gave her my mind. I suggested a good, long walk and a long look within. She set off at dawn the next day. Well, she didn't make the long walk but sitting alone in the open with a broken leg afforded her plenty of time for reflection – and plenty of space, in every sense of the word!' Celia laughed.

‘Has she come to any conclusions?' Richard broached delicately. Celia felt that a kindly wink would suffice. Feeling bolstered, he decided to leave it there and judge for himself on seeing her.

‘She's a funny old thing,' he mused, ‘never known anyone quite like her.'

‘I'll say “aye” to that,' agreed Celia. ‘She says you've been together since the autumn?'

‘Mmm. It was quite fortuitous that we met – it was a party that I decided to go to only at the last minute. And there she was.'

‘There she was,' echoed Celia with a distant look in her eyes.

‘She had this magnetism – I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was specifically. Still can't! I mean, our Sal's a pretty girl and has a nice figure but not really, well, eye-catching. I think it's the whole package. There's so much to her, like a huge box of treats – each time you dip in, you find something new.'

Celia laughed. ‘Well, the lass certainly has a treat in store today. Are you ready?'

Richard clapped his hands together and whispered, ‘I've been ready for quite some time.'

When they arrived at the cottage, the kitchen was empty with Sally's breakfast things still laid. Celia motioned Richard to sit down and mouthed, ‘Tea?' Feeling quite nervous now, he shook his head and flicked through a copy of
Rob Roy
distractedly. From upstairs drifted Sally's dulcet tones singing Simon and Garfunkel most melodiously, totally unaware of the surprise awaiting her. Relaxed now, Celia and Richard giggled together and settled in at the kitchen table, nibbling digestive biscuits with half an ear on the staircase.

Sally began her clumping descent, singing ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water' to steady herself.

‘Aunty Cee? Crikey, I'm pooped!' she called from halfway down the stairs. ‘Is the kettle on? I'll certainly need reviving, it seems to be getting harder and more tiring each day!'

‘Just boiled!' Celia encouraged. Richard forced his eyes away from the door and fixed them to the spine of
Rob Roy
instead. His stomach churned with adrenalin, his palms were clammy and his mouth was dry.

Clonk, clump, here she comes.

‘Mor––' she cried, shunting open the door with a crutch, ‘––ning!' she croaked, flabbergasted and rooted to the spot, eyes enormous, mouth gaping.

‘Morning, Sally,' Richard replied, in a voice that gave nothing away.

Sally was speechless, Celia was silent, Richard was defiant. Eventually, Sally remembered to close her mouth. She shut her eyes and opened them again, shaking her head to ensure she was not dreaming. He was still there.

‘Richard?' she mouthed, aghast.

He nodded his reply, still holding on to
Rob Roy
for moral support.

‘I, er, better check on the, um, daffs!' stumbled Celia as she backed away, tactfully if noisily, into the garden.

Richard took in all he saw. There she was, that wretched girl who'd played havoc with his heart, hair still spiky in the one patch, face still spotty but neater now. She was standing before him, a vision on crutches, swamped in a dirndl skirt of Celia's for she had brought only trousers, not having expected a plaster cast to hinder their wear during her stay.

He noticed how her eyes glinted and her face had a fresh bloom. He observed her wrists and saw how the tendons and veins were visible from the strain of the crutches. Her good leg was coddled in a thick sock, the broken one was obliterated by a very large, very white plaster cast – only the tips of her toes were visible and they were slightly blue.

Their eyes were fixed to one another. Quietly, he walked over to her and took away her left crutch, propping it against the door frame. Holding her left hand firmly, he took the right crutch away too and, holding that hand, steadied her. He cocked his head and looked at her; she gazed back, open and ready.

‘Hey, Richie,' she said meekly.

Their embrace, after so long, too long apart, contained neither passion nor desire. It was infused wholly with tenderness, and they stood still, locked and close in each other's arms. Richard rested his face against the top of her head, Sally buried hers deep into his chest, lost in his heartbeat.

Celia found them thus when she ventured back from the garden, her arms laden with daffodils. These she promptly thrust between them while hastily brushing a tear from her eye as if it was not there at all.

R
ichard eased a sock over Sally's plaster cast.

‘Richard,' she said softly, ‘I cannot believe you're here.'

‘I can,' he replied.

Taking her arm over his shoulder, he helped her hobble out to the Mini. Celia waved expansively from the doorstep. ‘Have fun, my lovelies. Looks like the day will be fine.'

True
, thought Sally.

I hope so
, thought Richard.

Fine indeed
, thought Celia. Watching them drive away, she turned back to her cottage and chatted to the photograph of Robbie and Angus.

I'm sure all will be fine. When two inherently good people come together, there is so much room for happiness and unity. Our Sal may have been a silly girl but she's worked very hard to redeem herself and though I feel she is restored to me, all that's left for her is to do the same to Richard. Now, there's a man who breathes courage and maturity. It can't have been easy for him, this journey into unknown territory of every kind, but he is here and I love him. I see you in him, my Angus. And Robbie, you're living on in your daughter – she is so very full a person. I do believe a happy ending may be in sight.

‘So, which way now, Sal?' Richard asks, looking as settled behind the wheel of her Mini as he does behind that of his Alfa Romeo.

‘Which way now, Richie?' smiles Sally, ridiculously pleased that she's Sal once again. ‘Why, forward, forward, forward!'

They take the coast road and tootle along at a relaxed pace to take full advantage of the magnificent views. At Loch na Keal, they stop but the rain starts, soon to swallow the view. Sally tries not to take this to heart. As the engine dies away, she takes a deep breath and holds it.

I've got to do it. I must tell him now. Say ‘sorry'. Tell him ‘yes'.

Do it, Sal.

In a minute, but I can't hold my breath any longer.

‘My, that's a big sigh,' teases Richard. Sally looks shyly at her hands.

Why is he here? Did he want to come? Did Aunt Celia ask him to, to taxi me back to Highgate?

‘Richard,' she asks, making a tangential start, ‘did you ever read Rudyard Kipling?'

‘Avidly,' he replies, batting not an eyelid at her incongruous enquiry.

‘
The Just-So Stories
?' she furthers.

‘Cover to cover,' he declares. They sit in silence which is neither awkward nor heavy. Frowning a little, Sally ventures her hand to his.

‘Do you remember the Leopard?' she says softly, her eyes downcast.

‘'Course I do,' he replies.

What is the girl getting at? Is this some big build-up to a let-down? Is she still toying with my emotions?

‘It was one of my favourite stories, as a child. My dad and Uncle Angus used to read it to me over and over. We'd chat about it afterwards, reasoning away – I can only have been eight or nine.'

Richard nods as she curls her fingers around his. He tips his head and his eyes say, Go on, Sal, go on.

Come on, Sal, come on. It's time.

Yes, it's time.

‘Remember how the story starts, how the leopard has no spots and how the stripy zebra and patchy giraffe have one up on him?' Richard's nod encourages her to continue. ‘Well, I suppose I felt a little like the naked leopard. You know, somewhat powerless in the face of Mother, of Jamie.' She looks at Richard with large open eyes. ‘When you came along, I decided I'd create my
own
spots – moreover, that I'd be a spotless vixen rather than a leopard!' She laughs sadly. ‘But I should've known.' Her voice trails away. ‘We all have our spots, it's just that sometimes we can't see them.' They sit quietly and watch the light rain drizzle disjointed snakes down the windscreen.