Page 87 of Little Wing
They drove back along the road in silence, Gordon aware that his son didn’t quite have a hold on the explanation just then.
‘I can’t go yet,’ Dougie said at length. ‘I’ll get a later plane.’
‘Are you made of money, son?’
‘No – but I know how best to spend what I have.’
Dougie drove into the car park of the hotel and stopped the car. He gave Gordon the keys. ‘Don’t wait,’ he told him. ‘I’ll phone.’
Dougie wondered at himself as he took a table in the restaurant and had his second breakfast. This was not like him. His week in Harris had been about duty and his dad. His return to England, to his life, had been about himself. He ate the sausages, the black-and-white pudding, and gulped at the bitter coffee; he asked for more toast. He’d have to run up An Cliseam twice to work this lot off. What had this morning been about? Why was he still here? And then it struck him that he wasn’t here for himself. He was here for Flora, for all those days he’d played in her studio and romped around her garden. And actually, he was here for Nell too. For the baby she’d been, for the woman she was now. Today, his life felt like it had significance and that was something that his dogged self-sufficiency had precluded for a long, long time.
Nell didn’t see him. She had a little routine now, which played out each morning on autopilot. She did this while she waited, not so much for her breakfast, but for her thoughts to settle and for the aim of the day to transpire. The same table, the same order, the same absent-minded repositioning of the cutlery, nestling the salt and pepper pots right up against each other, leafing through the sachets of condiments, doing brickwork with the individually wrapped butter pats, constructing small towers with the miniature tubs of jam. Her notebook, open at her side, pen lid off, a clean page for a new day.WEDNESDAY.
The waitress brought her a rack of toast and a pot of tea.
‘Oh – but I ordered coffee.’ She’d only ever ordered coffee and she was always served by this Australian girl. She felt a bit affronted.
‘I know,’ said her waitress. ‘But that guy over there asked me to bring you tea. Bit of a low-rent version of sending you a glass of champagne but, you know, whatever.’
Nell looked over to that guy over there, and there was Dougie. Tea; it made her smile.
‘You’realwaysmaking me tea,’ she called over and the only other guests taking breakfast, a pair of elderly sisters, thought this very interesting. They watched the young man leave his table and take his plate over to the young woman’s table. She’d been on her own this last week or so. They’d spent a lot of time wondering about her. But whatever was going on now? They nibbled their toast and sipped at their tea and relished chewing over fanciful thoughts all day long.
‘Aren’t you going to miss your plane?’
‘I’m taking the later flight.’
‘Do you have more memories for me?’
‘I’m sorry – no.’
‘I gave you my number, though, didn’t I – in case you remember anything else?’
‘You did – I have it.’
Dougie and Nell ate thoughtfully, felt the eyes of the sisters upon them.
It was nice to see him.
It was lovely to see her.
They’d shared a lot yesterday.
Dougie tapped his fingers against his cup, took a breath and regarded Nell.
‘It’s just I think I know where you’ll be going to today,’ he said. ‘And I don’t want you to go alone.’
The drive back to Luskentyre was beautiful but the journey itself was full of portent for both Nell and Dougie. Nell dealt with it by concentrating on the road, Dougie by asking questions of Nell that he himself could answer as well. What was her favourite part of Harris so far? Did she go out much at home? No, nor did he. Did she do sport? Well, he was a runner – but it’s different running in London. Was there a husband waiting for her back home? No – he was also single. Did she have pets? He also lived in a flat and yes, someday he’d like a dog as well. Siblings? Another only child. Tell me about Frank. Tell me about Danny. Tell me about Debbie. Tell me about AJ and the coffee machine. What do you do in your spare time? Yeah, that’s funny – he tried not to have any spare time either.
‘Look how calm the sea is,’ said Nell.
‘There’s a saying inGàidhlig: a wave will rise on quiet water.’
‘How bleak is it here, in winter?’
‘Well, it’s wild and it’s wet. Dangerous, sometimes. We had a terrible hurricane this year which was devastating – five from the same family died in South Uist. You have to remember that the Outer Hebrides are like this one-hundred-and-thirty-mile stone windbreak taking the brunt of all that the Atlantic is hurling. There’s less snow these days than when I was a kid – though we can have snow in April and May during lambing, we call itsneachd nan uan, the lamb’s snow. Mostly, though, winter is just dark and sodden – we’ve a saying for that too, that the raindrops are like bull’s bollocks.’ Dougie thought about winter in Harris. ‘It has a wild, terrifying beauty – aye. Sometimes it feels relentless. But it always passes. Turn right here, Nell.’
‘I know – I was going to.’
