Caspian’s tie reduced to ribbons and knots on the kitchen floor.
The first thing I did was put some clothes on. It was amazing how much worse things seemed when bits of you were flopping in the breeze. I checked my second phone and this time—oh this time—there was a message. I guess I’d missed its initial arrival because I’d been too busy trying to unself-bondage myself with the kitchenware.
I moved my thumb over the little envelope. This better be good. Better than good. It had better be fucking spectacular.
But all it said was, Working late.
I stared at it like it was the enigma code.
I was so done.
Pulling out my phone, I booked a last-minute ticket on the Sleeper. Unfortunately, I’d already missed the one that would get me all the way to Inverness, but Edinburgh was better than nothing.
And possessed the major advantage of not being here.
Which was absolutely what I needed.
I finished packing, which took less than five minutes, left the magazine, the second phone, and the remains of Caspian’s tie on the table with the spoiled and spoiling sushi, and left.
* * *
I was on the train a good twenty minutes before it pulled out of Euston. There’d been a few berths still available but they were expensive and, while they were a nice idea in principle, I’d always found them a little claustrophobic. The seats were fairly comfortable—about as comfortable as first class on a nonsleeper—so I took off my shoes and curled up under my coat.
Rested my head against the window.
Watched the darkness and the light slipping past.
It was seven hours to Edinburgh. I must have slept for some of it. The important thing was that I didn’t cry.
We were over the border when the sun rose. Misty gold and rumpled sky and Scotland’s indecorous beauty. So different from England’s neat patchwork.
Knife-twist in my battered heart: this longing for home.
We arrived pretty much on time, and even though you were allowed half an hour to collect yourself, I grabbed my bag and dashed across the platform in order to catch the 7:44 to Inverness. Four hours later, I was on another train, this time bound for Lairg, and then a bus to Kinlochbervie.
I was travel-numbed, rattled, and weary.
But hey. It kept my mind off things.
Off—
Nononono. Don’t even think his name.
I sent a text to Hazel, letting her know I was coming. It was easier that way round because Mum had these spidey senses when it came to my mood and would probably have worried.
The bus finally arrived at the harbor and I limped out. Stared across the rough gray water toward the rough gray hills. The light was already fading. Seeping away in shades of silver.
Fuck. I’d been traveling for nearly eighteen hours. My body was one big ache. I should probably have asked Hazel to come get me in the car, but it was only a half hour walk.
We didn’t actually live in Kinlochbervie itself. We lived out in the wilds, near Oldshoremore Beg, in this converted crofter’s cottage called Oran na Mara. That meant Song of the Sea, which was a poetic way of saying wet and stormy. But as I’d promised Caspian, there was a great view.
I was trudging along the single track, wrapped in the deep silence of far-flung places, when I met Hazel coming the other way.
“Just thought you might want some company, love.” She threw an arm over my shoulders and pulled me in for a quick squeeze. Duration of squeeze was no marker of affection. She was the type of the person who did everything quickly: this rapid-fire woman, all flying hair and hands. “How’s things?”
“Fine.”
I wasn’t sure if I was glad to see her or not. Well, obviously I was. She was my mother’s girlfriend and I loved her. But I’d also been counting on having the next twenty minutes or so to plan my story. I had to come up with something between the truth and a massive, massive lie, since the truth included dispatches about my sex life from the frontline of adulthood no parent wanted to hear. Except I was a crappy liar at the best of times. And, honestly, right now, when even smiling seemed slightly beyond the scope of my physical and emotional energy, I wasn’t sure how convincing my happy face would be. Pathetic. I was pathetic
