Set Me Free (17 page)

Margherita

I was driving back from Aberdeen after the day out I'd promised Lara, and my head was full of thoughts and doubts and questions. I was still reeling from the success of my catering and from the woman I met, Abby, possibly offering me another gig. And, of course, from dinner with Torcuil.

It was just a dinner. It didn't mean anything.

But I had loved every minute.

And the way he looked at me . . . like I was something precious. Something delicate he held in the palm of his hand and that he would never let break or fall. Thoughts of him followed me through the day with Lara, though I did my best to put them out of my head.

Our day out shopping, just the two of us, had been a success. In the space of a morning she had managed to finally get contact lenses in (“No, I won't get you purple-coloured ones; yes you told me that Ophelia in
Bride of Shadows
has purple eyes, but you're still not getting them), her hair cut (my heart broke with every strand of gold that touched the floor) and a few new items of clothing (“Yes, I know you're not a character from
Little Women
, but that skirt suits you so well . . . No? Okay, let's go for skinny jeans instead . . .”). I was exhausted, like any sane human being would be after shopping with a teenager for three hours, and I needed a cappuccino break, but Lara was set on me buying something for myself.

“Let's go to Next. It's a shop for older people,” she said.

“Right, thanks. I'm thirty-eight, I'd like to remind you.”

“Yes, that's what I mean.”

No point in arguing. Lara was adamant I should buy something to dress up with, but I wasn't sure. I didn't have anything planned, and it seemed wiser to buy some everyday clothes I could get more use out of. But Lara would not be swayed. She was determined to get me some
glad rags
(she got the expression from Nonna). I tried on a few dresses, but I always felt that, being so short, dresses swamped me a bit. Finally, I found a bright-red tunic that reminded me a bit of an Indian sari, and thin, soft black trousers. The red called to me.

Suddenly, I remembered what a surreal experience packing for Scotland had been. I'd slid open the doors of my wardrobe and wondered at the rows of blues and greys and blacks, the same dark-coloured or muted tops reproduced dozens of time, in slight variations – short sleeves, long sleeves, cotton or wool – but fundamentally the same. And a sea of jeans. It was like I'd been wearing a blue and grey uniform for years, like an oversized schoolgirl. In the end, I'd only filled a third of my suitcase – I would have loved to leave all those depressing colours behind.

“Mum. You are stunning,” Lara said when I tried on my tunic.

“Well, I don't know about that . . .”

“You are! You're so . . .
beautiful
.”

Suddenly I remembered when she first told me that. It had been in the first few weeks she'd been with us, when we were curled up together on her bed, reading a story. She'd touched my face with her little hand and said, “You are so beautiful,” and me, still new to motherhood and the emotion it brought, had to stop myself from bursting into happy tears.

Laden with bags, I finally sank into a Costa sofa while Lara ordered us coffee. I gazed at her as she stood in the queue. Thankfully she'd decided to just trim her hair and not do anything too drastic: it sat in an artfully messy bob that framed her delicate face. She had decided to wear her new clothes straight away: an oversized jumper with a wide neckline that showed one of her white shoulders, teal-coloured skinny jeans and silver ballerinas. The outfit fitted her long, slender figure like a glove. But she looked so much older all of a sudden. Like a young woman.

For a moment I longed to see her in her Hello Kitty pyjamas and her blue-rimmed glasses, my little girl once more. But I couldn't stop her from flying, and I didn't want to. I had to embrace this gorgeous young woman, as much as I missed my baby.

“You look so lovely, Lara. You really do,” I said as she sat beside me.

“Do you really think so?” she replied in a quiet voice.

“Of course! Are you okay?”

“Yes, it's just . . . I don't know,” she shrugged. “Today has been perfect. Things are going so well. It's different, here. I get to be myself. Not worry about what people think so much. I'm just . . . happy.”

“But that's a good thing, right?”

“It's just that when things go really well I'm always scared that something will happen.”

I knew exactly what she meant. Someone like Lara, who'd spent her early years treading on thin ice and seen it break many times, found it hard to accept happiness. I could understand her, but I struggled to fully grasp this way of looking at things, because I always had an optimistic outlook and never really dwelled much on possible catastrophes around the corner. Everyone in my family was like that. But then, we hadn't gone through what Lara had endured as a child, when she was still so vulnerable.

“I think that in life something always happens,” I began, trying to choose the words carefully. “Good or bad. Things change, all the time. They never stay the same. It can be unsettling, but it also means that when a situation is disastrous there's always a good chance it will improve.”

She nodded. “Like in
Bride of Shadows
when it looks like Ophelia is the only person who can stop the curse on herself, but she can only stop it by sacrificing herself, and what use is it to have your curse lifted if you're dead? And then it turns out Damien takes the curse on himself and offers to be sacrificed and he is, but he can't die because he's immortal, and so he saves the day?” she said eagerly, and suddenly she was my bookish little girl again.

“Yes, something like that,” I said, my heart overflowing with tenderness. “Lara?”

“Yes?” She looked at me, eyes wide – at her age, so much of her happiness depended on me and my choices, and sometimes the responsibility felt overwhelming.

Would you like to stay in Glen Avich?
The words nearly came out. And then I stopped them.

Yes, my mum and I had spoken about a leap of faith – but this was too much, too soon. I was too scared to take a leap and never reach solid ground again.

I took Lara shopping in Aberdeen today.

Was it good?

It was great. She looks different. Grown up.

A bit shocking but inevitable? Thankfully little Leo is a long way from being a teenager!

Yes. He
's now sleeping with Pingu on one side and a Transformer on the other.

Bless him. Night, Margherita, sweet dreams. PS. It's a long way to Friday.

Night Torcuil. Yes, five days seem very long.

Five days ARE very long. Leave it with me. I'll see what I can do.

Our goodnight texts had evolved.

Lara

Dear Kitty!

I HAVE CONTACT LENSES IN!

I can't believe I made it.

And I took them out and put them back in TWICE! The optician made sure I could do it myself. I can't stop smiling!

Afterwards Mum took me to Topshop to buy clothes and then to Debenhams to buy some make-up. I got shimmery eye shadows, purple, green and blue, and bright-blue nail polish. I was shocked because everything I asked for, Mum said yes. She looked so happy. I think it was because
I
was happy. And then I made her buy a red top and she looked awesome.

I sort of hope Torcuil sees her in it, but I didn't tell her, of course. She would have bitten my head off.

Anyway, we had the
best
time. I love shops, I love the lights and all the pretty things lined up on the shelves. I was looking at dressy clothes when I saw a blonde girl, her hair all nice and done up and make-up on and huge blue eyes. I thought wow, she's pretty.

And then I realised it was my reflection.

I couldn't believe it.

I wish I could show Polly and Tanya. No, actually, I don't. I don't need to show them and I don't care.

The person I really would like to see me like this is Mal.

Then we went for a cappuccino and I felt a bit strange. I was happy. I
am
happy. It's a weird feeling and I'm not used to it. It's just like I feel I never know where the next blow will come from, but there certainly will be one. Mum spoke to me and she knew exactly what to say to calm me down.

Maybe there are no blows coming. Maybe happiness is here to stay.

By the way! Which is not a by the way at all! It's actually very important, but I was sidetracked by the excitement of today. I spent a couple of hours with Inary yesterday – she needs to hand in her new book in two weeks' time and I GOT TO LOOK AT IT! I actually saw a book BEFORE it's published!

I printed some of my Bride of Shadows fan fiction with a nice font, tied it with one of the blue ribbons I had left from the favour bags and gave it to Inary. I can't wait to hear what she thinks, but at the same time I'm a bit nervous! What if she hates it?

I want to write more. I'm thinking of stories that are only mine, not just fan fiction. Maybe they'll have a grey-eyed hero in them.

No, I'm not thinking of Damien.

I'm thinking of Mal.

Margherita

I was making
baci di dama
– ladies' kisses, melt-in-the-mouth little biscuits with chocolate cream in the middle – for the coffee shop when someone knocked at the door. It was Torcuil, and seeing him made my heart sing – I tried to hide it, but my smile gave me away.

“What are you doing here?” I said, pretending I wasn't hoping he was there for me. “Why aren't you at work? Are you skiving?”

“I had stuff to do here,” he laughed. “For the Glen Avich History Association. Are you busy?” he said, looking down at my flour-covered hands.

“No, of course not! I mean, I am now, but I'll be finished in twenty minutes. Come on in.”

“What are you making?”

“Ladies' kisses.”

Awkward silence.

Okay. Say something, anything.

“What are you doing with the History Association?” I said quickly, stepping back into my mum's kitchen.

“Well, there's this soldier from Glen Avich. He died in Ypres in 1916. He was lost for years . . . His nephew asked for our help and we tracked him down. He's buried in Belgium and we're trying to get him back. I'm helping the family with the paperwork.”

“That's so sad. I'm glad you found him. Glad he's coming home.”

“Yes, it's very sad. He was only eighteen. He died of pneumonia.”

“Poor boy,” I said, thinking of his mother, and we were silent for a moment.

“Can I try one?” Torcuil said eventually. “A kiss, I mean?”

Oh God.

“I'll give you a bag of them when they're ready,” I said gruffly, to hide my confusion, and strode to the sink to wash my hands. “Let's go for a walk!” I called, slipping my jacket on.

“But were you not . . .” He gestured to the half-finished biscuits on the table.

“Just need some fresh air. Oh, wait. Do you need to go? To the History Society?”

“No. Actually I don't need to be there until this evening. I came home earlier. To see you.”

“Oh, really?” I said, as if nothing could have been further from my mind.

We kept brushing against one another as we walked down to the loch. We were sitting on the pebbles at the loch shore, in front of the quiet waters, when he finally took my hand.

I was frightened. I don't know why, I just felt something coming.

So frightened I started shaking.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, feeling me tremble.

I could only nod.

“There's something I want to tell you,” he said as we sat watching the waters, my head on his shoulder.

I sat up. “Oh my God. You're secretly married with six children.”

He laughed. It was a joke, but I felt really apprehensive. My heart was pounding. What was he about to say?

“Remember when I told you about my ex-fiancée? The woman I was about to marry?”

I nodded. For a moment, I thought he was about to tell me that she was back in his life. My face must have been a picture of worry and shock, because he took my hands in his. “Hey, no, there's nothing bad. Nothing to worry about. I just want to tell you who she was.”

“Okay.”

“Her name is Isabel, and yes, it's
that
Isabel, my brother's wife.”

My mouth was a perfect circle. Isabel. The woman he'd told me about, but whom I never saw.

So Lara was right – there
was
a woman in the attic, so to speak. A Mrs Rochester.

“Your brother's wife?” I repeated.

“Yes – how's that for a plot?” He smiled a muted smile. “Life can be just like a film or a novel. Minus the happy ending, obviously.”

“Well, sometimes there
is
a happy ending in life, I suppose.”

“Well, there was one. Only it was for them, not for me.”

“She doesn't seem very happy,” I said, and immediately regretted it. I didn't want him to think I was being cruel.

“I suppose. Anyway, she's in the past now. I love her like a sister,” he said, and I studied his face as he said that. I felt sure he was telling the truth; I saw it in his eyes. “But I wanted to tell you.”

For a moment, I debated whether I should not press him for more, if this revelation had been hard enough for him. But he continued of his own accord.

“Back then, I never saw it coming. To be fair, I don't think Angus did either. He had always been my baby brother, you know? Isabel never really noticed him. Then, one Christmas, he came home from a tour – and you know him, he's the glamorous one in the family, he has enough charisma to turn compass needles . . .”

Sure, Angus had a fascinating job. But if you are in love, somebody else's charisma will not work on you. Privately I thought that for Isabel to turn away from Torcuil like that she probably hadn't loved him that intensely in the first place. But I didn't say anything. It wasn't the time to start passing judgement. And anyway, I couldn't be objective.

“It was like Izzy saw him for the first time . . .” – so that had been his nickname for her.
Izzy
. I felt a little bit sick. Sick with jealousy. How absurd, to feel jealousy about his past. To feel jealousy about him at all – “. . . though they'd known each other all their lives. I saw it happening before my eyes, them falling for each other.” He opened his arms and once again I could see how much this hurt him.

“Angus left again at the end of the holidays. He told me that he would not be back, that he couldn't bear to do this to me. That he had told Izzy as much, that he was sorry, that they were sorry. That he wished us all happiness and he hoped we could rebuild what we had. That nothing happened between them. Not physically, anyway.”

But betrayals of the heart were just as bad, I thought. If not worse.

“I knew that things between Izzy and me could never be the same again. I was sure of it. And when I spoke to her . . . Well, I could read it in her eyes. She was in love with him. And I couldn't bear to do this to them. I couldn't keep them apart, could I? They got married a few months later, and they're still together, as you know. Isabel's illness started a couple of years ago.” I noticed how, as he spoke about his brother's wife, he called her Isabel again – she wasn't his Izzy any more. “It's destroying her, and my brother with her. She has now stopped going out of her house entirely, and she can't cope with having anyone over, apart from me and this woman who helps her when Angus is away. Nobody else. My heart breaks for her, and for Angus. I just can't believe it's got as bad as this . . .”

“I'm so sorry, Torcuil. I'm so sorry she hurt you and I'm sorry she's unwell.”

“It's a mystery, isn't it? How the human brain works. I have no idea what's happening to her. She must have a . . . a sort of darkness inside her I never saw.”

“But you were drawn to her.”

“Yes . . .” He looked at me. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you seem to have your own darkness. From what you told me about your mother. Maybe you were drawn to her because she could understand that. Because you were similar. I don't know.” I smiled. “Sorry.”

“No, I think you might be right, actually.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes.

“And you?” he said finally.

“Me, what?”

“Do you have darkness inside you?”

I smiled. “No. Not a speck.”

“Lucky you,” he said, and began studying the ground around us. Shadows were falling on the waters as the day melted into dusk. I sat and contemplated the loveliness of the loch, taking in the silence and the sweet-scented air.

“For you,” Torcuil said finally, and handed me a white pebble from among the many grey ones scattered all around us. “To remember the moment.”

“Thank you,” I said seriously, and slipped the white pebble in my pocket.

I was barely in the cottage when my phone chirped. It was a text from Torcuil.

I was scattered in a million little pieces. You picked them all up again and put them back together. Of all those little pieces
, one I gave to you to keep. A white pebble from the loch shore. Of all the little pieces of me, this one belongs to you, and you only.

I read the text over and over again, quite shocked by the depth and intensity of it. Then another text appeared, and I braced myself – but it simply said:

I forgot to say, Angus is playing in the village hall tomorrow at 8, are you free?

Sure,
I said simply.

I made my way inside and placed the white pebble on my mantelpiece, on top of the business cards Lara had made for me and among the fairy lights.

The words of Torcuil's text went round and round in my mind until I fell asleep, cradled by my son's soft breathing.