But the previous owner had had little spare money for its upkeep, and the window frames were peeling and cracked, draughts blew in everywhere and the thick curtains Saif used to keep the light out during the long summer evenings were heavy with dust. It was cold and spooky, and as Saif looked around he wondered anew how this had never occurred to him before.
This house had only ever been a place to eat and sleep. He left at the crack of dawn, usually to walk the beach, and to hope and wait for his family; then he was busy at the surgery all day and on call most nights. Mrs Laird came in a couple of times a week to do for him, and she would leave him a casserole or a lasagne – he’d got used to her bland cuisine eventually; the children ate quickly and without comment – and then he’d just make some soup or eat at the Seaside Kitchen and have a sandwich in the evening. He barely thought about food at all.
Now, looking around, he realised how bleak the house really was, even with the pathetic stencils he’d bought to try and cheer things up. It had never been a family home, had never felt like one.
He felt even more the idiot. If he hadn’t got so irrationally cross and silly with Lorna, she’d have helped him before to make up nice rooms for the boys – there was plenty of space in the house. All he needed to have done was to buy bright covers and curtains – or whatever it was boys liked. He felt sorry and ashamed.
‘I’m scared, Abba.’
Ash was still clinging to him. He’d had his foot X-rayed and reset in Glasgow, but he was really meant to be walking on it to strengthen it. Instead, he still refused to be put down at all, not even for a moment.
‘That’s okay.’
‘I sleep in your beb?’
Saif really wasn’t in the mood for another night of being kicked in the head by a small boy in a plaster cast. On the other hand, what were his options? He well remembered the first night he’d spent here, freezing, alien, sobbing.
‘Of course,’ he said, putting on the lamps. ‘Bed. It’s pronounced “bed”.’
‘Bib?’
He looked at Ibrahim. ‘Do you want to sleep with us too?’
Ibrahim shrugged. ‘I don’t care.’
Saif nodded. He knew this meant yes. ‘Okay. Well, let’s stay together tonight, okay? I’m sure the storm will have moved on tomorrow.’
He was not remotely sure about this at all.
His phone rang, and he cursed. All out-of-hours calls were still directed to the locum service, surely? Who could want him this late? He glanced down and saw it was Flora MacKenzie. That was strange.
‘Hello?’
‘Saif? It’s Flora … I’m so sorry to bother you.’
‘That’s all right, but … Sorry. Is this medical?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know, I’m on … It’s the on-call doctor …’
‘I know, I know. I’m so sorry, Saif. But …’ She explained the situation.
Saif nodded. ‘That sounds like … It sounds like a nervous breakdown, Flora.’
He could hear her swallow. ‘He shouldn’t stay there?’
‘I don’t know.’ Saif thought about it carefully, even as Ash kept trying to pick his fingers from the phone. ‘I think …’ he said eventually. ‘I think this kind of thing is best treated with care. And peace and quiet.’
‘But can you treat it?’
‘Yes. I can.’
There was a pause.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Joel was always very hazy on what happened next. He dimly remembered Mark asking him lots of questions, but wasn’t too sure exactly how he’d answered them. Colton had organised a plane to bring him home, and Mark sobered him up with a large amount of coffee and a drip – the hotel was not unused to such scenarios.
‘What do you want, Joel?’
And he had found that oddly funny, and then he was so exhausted and Mark’s voice was so kind and soft and he just said, ‘Can I go home?’
And he got on the plane, and that was the last thing he remembered.
Flora didn’t sleep at all. She paced the Endless through the night when it didn’t really get dark, just a kind of twilight at midnight, the sun immediately rising again. Colton and Fintan dozed off together in armchairs, but Flora refused to rest all through the five hours the flight was in the air. It was a light and bright 4 a.m. when the tiny dot appeared in the wide white sky, slowly circling downwards, the only manmade object for miles, above the tin shed that housed the tiny airport. Sheila MacDuff emerged. She would normally be furious to be woken at this time, but was feeling rather pleased this morning because the reason was so big and gossip-worthy. Her husband, Patrick, who worked as air traffic controller and gift shop operator, waved from the little control tower as the plane made a perfect landing in the glimmering dawn.
Colton and Fintan woke up and came out with Flora to greet the flight. Flora leaned her head on Fintan’s shoulder as the door opened on the tarmac and a thin, stooped figure, with Mark by his side, limped down the steps. Everyone watched Flora to see what she was going to do, but she just stepped forward, carefully, worried – as if he were fragile.
Mark’s cheerful New York tones as he scanned the gravel and the windswept fields around the airfield broke the ice.
‘Where the hell is this place? The moon?’
Joel was woozy and quiet in the Land Rover. Flora took his hand and he looked at her. ‘I’m sorry about the fuss.’
She shook her head. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. This is Colton’s fault for working you too hard.’
Colton, in front, was uncharacteristically subdued.
‘Yeah,’ he said, turning round. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry. You can sue me if you like.’ And he smiled weakly.
Joel didn’t take the olive branch. Instead he stared at Colton, his eyes burning. Flora noticed the look, but didn’t understand it. It was like Joel hated him.
‘You need sleep, man.’
They parked up at Joel’s cottage at the Rock. Mark had a room down the hallway. Joel had never been so pleased to see anything in his life.
He walked in by himself. ‘I’m not sick,’ he said and turned around at the door. Colton was looking at him. ‘Thanks,’ Joel muttered. ‘Thanks for getting me home.’
‘You’re welcome, man,’ said Colton, and once again something passed between them. Joel had hardly looked at Flora at all.
She followed him into the bedroom. He looked up at her, and she was deeply troubled by how thin and haunted he appeared. How had she not noticed when she’d seen him? Why hadn’t she questioned the evasiveness, the way he had stopped coming home?
They looked at each other. Then Flora moved into the beautiful bathroom, with its old claw-footed tub, and started running a very hot bath. Joel screwed up his face.
‘Come on,’ she said quietly, unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Get in.’
And carefully, gently, she put him in the bath and climbed in behind him, and tenderly washed him and held him and kissed him gently and every time he started to woozily say something she would hush him and say tell me tomorrow, and he let her. Then he climbed into bed and was instantly asleep. She stood there, gazing at him, wondering what the hell she could do now, until, after five o’clock, she too became overwhelmed with exhaustion, and lay down beside him and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Forty