Page 96 of Little Wing
And Wendy put her hand on Nell’s head and kept it there.
‘What a beauty!’ said Wendy.
‘Thank you,’ said Nell.
‘I mean it!’ said Wendy, stroking Nell’s hair, tucking a lock behind her ear. ‘Look at you!’
‘I meant –thank you,’ said Nell with her eyes closed, able to rest her face against her mother’s steady hand for the first time in however long. ‘For being my mum. Thank you from Florence. Thank you from me.’
There they stayed, recognizing the moment long enough to make peace with the past.
‘I didn’t really know what to do with a baby,’ Wendy said, forlorn. ‘But I loved trying. I really loved it. And I really tried. I know that I did.’
There they stayed until the Rembrandts struck up ‘I’ll Be There For You’ as another episode ofFriendsaired.
‘Who’s your favourite Friend?’ Nell, eyes still closed, asked Wendy.
‘Rachel,’ said Wendy. ‘No – Chandler.’ She tutted at herself. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Youare. You’re my favourite.’
When Nell opened her eyes she saw that Wendy wasn’t engrossed in the television screen, she was gazing intently at her and a tear was slipping its way down her cheek.
‘Oh, Mum,’ Nell said, and she took the tissue peeping out from the corner of Wendy’s cardigan sleeve and gently dabbed her mother’s eyes.
Nell had always thought of the building asholdingher mother, as if it was holding her in, keeping her captive, holding her against her will. But as she left that evening, she realized that it wasn’t like that at all. Itheldher mother, held her compassionately and safely in its own embrace. And when Nell returned to her car and began to drive home, she gazed back at the building keeping her mum safe, its dull red bricks now suffused with warm toffee tones by the evening light. Finally, she could identify the infiltrating emotion.
It was gratitude.
* * *
Two weeks. Two weeks Dougie had been back from Harris and though a steady stream of work kept him occupied, the general dullness of the jobs gave his mind time to wander. It chanced upon no old memories and that meant there was no reason, therefore, to contact Nell. For Dougie, however, Nell was herself the subject of new memories and these flowed across his mind’s eye unbidden. Each time one surfaced, he stayed with it for a while before telling himselffor God’s sake!and turned away from it. He told himself to pop Harris back in its distant bubble. He reminded himself of the blueprint he’d painstakingly designed for his life, one that avoided complication, challenge or complexity. He was the architect of his own steel structure, clad with one-way glass; he had not configured room for changes and he was reluctant to tinker with the efficacy of the design.
However, his week back in Harris, where so much was familiar and so much was new, had created a distinction between what had been before and what could be now. It had served like an umpire in the ring, keeping two boxers apart. Nevertheless, there had been a gentle shift in Dougie since his return. He was debating with himself more. And so, when the phone rang and clicked through to the answering machine and his father cleared his voice to begin an awkward ramble, Dougie picked up.
‘Hey, Dad.’
‘You’re there? That’s you? Douglas – hello?’
‘Aye, Da – it’s me. How are you? How was your day?’
What Gordon hated most about phone calls was that the bloody handset seemed to suck away anything to say. But on that night, it was as if Màiri was at his side with her pad of paper. She used to do that when they spoke to their boy after he’d first moved away aged seventeen. She’d scribble little suggestions for questions Gordon could ask, anecdotes he could recount.
Ask him how work is.
‘Work? Oh – it’s busy. A catering industry catalogue this week and then medical gadgetry all next week, near Chelmsford.’
‘Chelmsford, eh?’
‘Yes.’
Ask him if he’s been in touch with Nell.
‘You’ve been on your runs, Dougie?’
‘Only in the gym, on the treadmill.’
Gordon laughed. ‘Why on earth would someone want to run for all they were worth but get nowhere?’
Ask him if he’s been in touch with Nell.
