Page 23 of Take Me Away

‘No, you’re fine, thank you for being so…’ I can’t think of the right word.

Jude helps by cutting in with ‘angry’, under a cough. Nina glares daggers at him, but there’s humour in the shape of her mouth, love, respect. Small-town camaraderie. For a moment I get this deep twist in the pit of my stomach. If I’d stayed here, these people would have protected me.

Kit still hasn’t said a word. But he’s watching – the odd flash of vibrant blue flutters my way.

‘So,’ Maisie says, apparently oblivious to the tension crackling around us. ‘Can you come sit with us? Please?’

I hesitate, glancing at Kit. ‘I don’t think⁠—’

‘Actually,’ a familiar voice cuts in from behind me, ‘Miss Quinn promised to have a drink with me and Bill first. Didn’t you, love?’

Frankie Tiller appears at my elbow, winking conspiratorially, all AmDram Queen. ‘Old times’ sake and all that.’

‘Right,’ I say. Thank fuck. ‘I did promise, didn’t I.’

Disappointment colours Maisie’s expression and I can’t bear it. I’m so weak when it comes to letting people down, especially cute kids, it seems. ‘Maybe after?’ she asks hopefully.

‘Maybe,’ I agree, though I’m not sure if I’ll chickenshit it out of here by then. ‘I definitely want to see that dragon-mermaid.’

With a last glance at Kit, who’s embroiled in a stare-down with his pint, I allow Frankie to lead me over to their corner table.

Kit clearly hates me. I mean, I know we haven’t spoken properly in years, but to actively avoid talking to me? What is that?

‘Thought you could use a rescue,’ Frankie mutters as loud as a foghorn as we weave through the crowd.

‘That obvious, huh?’

‘Like the lighthouse, when it was working, on a clear night.’ He pulls out a chair for me at their small table, where Bill is already clearing away empty glasses.

‘Got yourself caught in a Harding triangle,’ Bill observes as I sit down. ‘Those are tricky waters to navigate.’

‘I wasn’t expecting them all to be here,’ I admit.

‘It’s their Friday tradition,’ Frankie explains. ‘Ever since Jessica died. Kit brings Maisie for sausage and chips, then they play darts or cards until eight, then home for her bedtime.’

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. It’s one thing to hear about Kit’s wife dying, but seeing the reality of it – Kit and Maisie’s altered life, their new routines built around their loss – makes it hit differently. I think of the postcard I found. Kit’s wife is very ill. He could use a friend. How different might things have been if I’d got that message. For a brief but burning bright moment, I hate Marcus Vale more than ever before. For more than what he physically and mentally did to me. For what else he stole.

All of this.

‘He’s different now,’ Frankie adds, voice softer. ‘Kit. Since losing her. More like his dad. Closed off, you know? Except with Maisie.’

I nod, stealing another glance across the pub. Kit is saying something to Maisie, who’s looking disappointed. Probably telling her to leave me alone.

‘Anyway,’ Bill says, clearly sensing my discomfort, ‘tell us about this Hollywood business. Is it true what they’re saying about this manager of yours?’

‘Producer,’ I correct automatically. ‘He was the producer of my first three movies. The money, the brains, the “blue sky vision”.’ I quote that last bit with my fingers. That was one of Marcus’s favourite expressions. Trust me, Isla. All I see is Blue Sky and your name written across it. It’s warm in the pub, but I shiver anyway before lifting my gaze back to the downturned grimace on Bill’s face. ‘And yes, most of it’s true.’ I take a sip of my cider but I’m swallowing down acid.

‘Bastard,’ Frankie spits, but his skin is pale and he’s trying to read my face. ‘I’m sorry, Isla. He should be locked up.’ There’s a heavy pause. ‘But he didn’t actually do to you what he did to that other actress, did he? You just corroborated as a witness, right?’

My pulse thuds in my throat. ‘I just expressed what I saw. But it’s complicated. He has huge studios attached to his name. And there are some who don’t think he’s done anything wrong. I was given a golden handshake deal for three movies, and I should be grateful.’ Another mouthful of acid slips down.

‘Don’t seem complicated to me,’ Bill shrugs. ‘Right’s right and wrong’s wrong.’

If only it were that simple. But I don’t argue. I duck my head, tuck my hair behind my ear and really hope that the glowering fisherman the other side of the bar can’t hear. It’s one thing for Frankie and Bill to see the damage of corruption that I wear like jewellery. For Kit to see it… It would be like running naked down to the sea.

Instead, I let them steer the conversation to safer waters – how fishing’s been this season, the new council restrictions, the scandalous price of parking at the beach, the fact that Tom the vet is thinking of expanding his practice to include a shelter for abandoned pets. That’s cute. I’ve always wanted a cat.

The pub buzzes around us, and gradually, I relax. This, at least, hasn’t changed – the warm glow of the lights, the easy laughter, the sense of community that wraps around you like a well-worn blanket.