‘Yes, yes,’ said Jake, feeling a lot less confident than he sounded but impatient to get going, to find Martha’s son, and to leave Scotland.
He did have the urge to return the car and leave with Marcus, but there was something he had to do before he left which had nothing to do with Arnold or Martha or the business with finding her son.
Marcus slammed the car door shut and disappeared around the back of the car. Jake watched in his rear-view mirror as Marcus opened the boot. He reappeared at the side of the carwith his case and tapped on Jake’s window.
Jake pressed the button to release the electric window as Marcus squatted down beside the car, resting an elbow on the window ledge. ‘You’re going to need ice for that.’ Marcus lifted a finger and pointed at Jake.
Jake touched his temple near his right eye. It felt very tender. He winced. He was just thankful that Marcus hadn’t broken the skin; he didn’t need another bandage, courtesy of Marcus.
‘Look, about that …’ Marcus began.
Jake could tell Marcus was building up to a monumentally unnecessary apology, but feeling absurdly fragile all of a sudden, and just a little sorry for himself, Jake let him continue.
‘I am so sorry. I really don’t know what came over me.’
‘I do.’ Jake stared out of the front window. ‘I’ve been a real jerk.’ He turned to look at Marcus. ‘I just wish you’d smacked me one months ago, before … before I put up that stupid …’ He didn’t have to say any more; the expression on Marcus’s face said it all – he understood. And that was what he had to stay behind and do; put an end to this insanity so he could face her – finally. The memorial stone in the garden of The Lake House had to come down.
‘You will come back to London – won’t you?’ Marcus searched his face.
Jake clasped a reassuring hand on Marcus’s forearm. ‘You know I will. I’ll drive you there myself. Once you’re settled in, I’m sure everything …’
‘Jake.’
Something in Marcus’s tone stopped him short.
‘Jake, I’m not talking about the rehab clinic.’
‘Oh.’ Jake shifted nervously in his seat.
Marcus repeated the question. ‘You will come with me to see Eleanor, won’t you?’
Jake looked at him for a long moment. It wasn’t that he didn’thave the answer to that question. He could answer him in a heartbeat. He just couldn’t quite believe he had come this far, made it to this point where he could even recognise the question for what it was – that Eleanor was still alive – let alone give an affirmative.
‘Yes,’ said Jake in answer to his question. ‘As soon as I’ve cleared up things here, I’ll fly down to London – you can count on me. Just check yourself into the clinic – when you are ready. I will cover for you at work as promised.’
Marcus smiled. ‘I know you will. And I’ll do something for you. I’m going to phone Faye, speak to her.’
Jake creased his brow. ‘Why?’
‘Look, I know it’s none of my business, and I hope it’s not because of me, but I get the feeling Faye is a bit … well … cheesed off with you.’
Jake wasn’t in the mood to go into that. ‘Yeah, she won’t answer my calls.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out.’
‘Will you?’ Jake wondered what Marcus could possibly say to her to make Faye phone him back.
‘Of course. What are best friends for?’ Marcus squeezed his forearm affectionately and got up.
Jake realised, as he watched Marcus walking across the car park in the direction of the airport terminal, that he needed Marcus just as much as Marcus needed him. Neither could go and see Eleanor alone, yet had been denied any possibility of going together – Jake had made sure of that. They had each been locked in internal battles with their consciences, and in an external battle with each other; it was a hell hole of their own making which they had both been desperate to escape. They needed to free themselves from this burden of guilt of surviving the accident intact where she had not. Only then, perhaps, would they be able to move along the road to some semblanceof normality, always careful to avoid those backward glances to what might have been.
Chapter 49
Jake manoeuvred the car out of the car park, anticipating an altogether less eventful ride back from the airport than the one there. He was right. The journey was only enlivened by the occasional pothole in the road, which sent sharp darts of pain whipping through his temples and exploding behind his eyes. They only served to remind him, once again, what an idiot he’d been.
Shortly before the turn-off for Aviemore, Jake heard his mobile bleep with a text message. Jake raised his eyebrows. His heart leapt. Was it Faye?
He continued until he reached a lay-by and then pulled over. Jake was disappointed to discover it wasn’t Faye. The text was from Lawrence at the care home, asking him to give him a call. Jake hoped to goodness it wasn’t bad news; that Lawrence was going to tell him that Martha had passed away before he’d been able to find her long-lost son.
