The Endless Beach Page 15

  “Oh, it’s, ahem, fine,” he said.

  “Must be hard for them.”

  Saif couldn’t say it was hard for all of them. So he simply thanked her profoundly and hung up the phone. Ibrahim was still refusing to speak English and said he didn’t have to go to school—school was for losers, for people who didn’t trust in God to see them through—and Saif had absolutely no idea how he was going to win this one. Ibrahim had always been a sensitive child: curious and questioning. How he used to make them laugh with his complex questions about how the world worked, and his desire to get things figured out.

  Now as he sat, obsessed with the game on his lap, Saif wondered what answers he’d found out there on his own, tossed on the seas of a war.

  * * *

  He had thought the overnight ferry might be a fun treat for them. Once again, of course, he had thought wrong.

  They had said good-bye to Neda, Ash clinging to her and sobbing like his heart would break, which made nobody feel at ease, and Ibrahim shrugging as if he didn’t care, which was equally bad. They both balked at the boat, even though they’d been flown to Britain originally. They were fearful of the way it bucked and rolled; a swell had risen up and the crossing was difficult. Ash was sick sporadically and Saif ended up spending half the night with him bent over the toilet; Ibrahim refused to glance up from his iPad, which Saif made a promise to himself to get rid of as soon as was humanly and psychologically possible; and by the time they finally got in sight of Mure, Saif was incredibly anxious about the days and weeks and months ahead.

  Would they be accepted? How on earth would they learn English? How would he peel Ash off him every day? How would he manage to work too?—and there was absolutely no way he couldn’t work; that was the condition of his visa. How could he mother two motherless boys?

  Saif had felt powerless before: in the war; on his long journey. But he had never felt quite so low as this, and the weather mimicked his mood, black clouds glowering down over the top of Mure. There was a crack of thunder and Ash screamed and hid his face up his father’s sweater. Even Ibrahim notably tightened his grip on the video game.

  “It’s just thunder,” said Saif. “Come on, let’s go up on deck and take a look at your new home.”

  * * *

  Up on deck it was freezing, incredible for April, with winds blowing straight down from the Arctic, screaming across the sea. Bouncing raindrops mixed with the high spray from the huge arching waves; vast seagulls screeched round the port. Ash immediately burst into tears. Ibrahim stared at his feet, sulkily refusing to look at the view.

  “So, this is going to be your new home,” said Saif, trying to put on a cheerful face although he hadn’t slept properly now for weeks. “See the jolly houses on the front? All different colors? And round the harbor there’s a beach that goes on for so long people call it the Endless Beach! And in the summer there’s a festival down on the beach! And all the children come and celebrate the Vikings and . . .”

  But neither was listening. As the CalMac made monstrous noises going into reverse, Ash was sobbing his heart out and Ibrahim simply turned round and reentered the body of the ship, and Saif had to run and get him back before he got lost, even though the boy shook him off as soon as he got there.

  * * *

  The amount of luggage that both the lads had was pitiful, even with the new clothes he’d bought in Glasgow. They were two lost souls, washed up here, and Saif was as scared as he’d ever been in his life as the little, terrified, broken family disembarked from the large boat into the freezing gray morning of Mure.

  Saif was busy trying to carry all the bags and Ash at the same time, and he didn’t look up until they’d fought the wind to the end of the jetty, past the terminal building and toward the car park. Then he did look up and saw them.

  * * *

  Lined up, frozen and wriggling, along with a large number of townspeople—particularly the older ones, who always liked to see anything that was going on—was Lorna, wearing a huge parka, with a group of her schoolchildren. As soon as they saw them, the little ones waved wildly and she ordered them to lift up the sign she’d had made, painstakingly and probably, she thought, only being able to get what she could from the Internet, entirely wrong.

  WELCOME, ASH AND IBRAHIM.

  Saif prodded the boys to look. Ash blinked, and Saif remembered that although he was six, he hadn’t yet been to school or learned to read. It was perfect that there were only two classes in the school here: he could be in with the little ones, starting from the very beginning, even though he would be eighteen months older than many of them. He was, though, about the same height.

  Ibrahim, on the other hand, looked up, and Saif saw the first glint of hope in his eyes since he’d arrived.

  “They speak Arabic?” he asked, his expression desperate. Saif winced.

  “No,” he said. “We speak English now.” He repeated it, as gently as he was able, in English, just as Lorna raised her arms, and the children started to sing the Arabic alphabet song, quite dreadfully.

  At this, Ash lifted his head from his father’s jacket and turned to watch in amazement as they sang a song even he knew.

  Saif tried to smile. He knew—and could see from Lorna’s anxious face—that they were trying the best they possibly could. And when they came to an end, he and the other adults who’d gathered round to watch clapped as hard as they could.

  Lorna looked up at him with a hopeful expression on her face, and Saif immediately forgot their row, or any disagreement they had had. How on earth could he not have realized that it would be far better to tell the people here about this, the hardest challenge of his life? Why did he think they would stand and point? His own people would have welcomed him and helped look after him and his family when things had gone badly wrong. What made him think the people here would be any different?

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “,” said Lorna.

  Saif looked up, surprised. “You speak Arabic now?”

  “,” she replied. “I’m trying to learn.”

  Then she blushed, and did not want to betray how she had done little with her evenings since she’d heard the boys were coming other than studying and being addicted to Babbel, which was better than being addicted to watching Netflix, although it still, she did not like to reflect, left her sitting alone in her late father’s house night after night as her youth slipped away.

  Flora came running down to the jetty as the friendly policeman, Clark, came up and seriously shook Ibrahim’s hand (Ash wouldn’t turn round) and beamed kindly in the absence of having anything to say. Flora had a large care box of food, including as much baklava as she’d been able to put together. And Saif took it and wondered, standing there in the howling gale, overwhelmingly grateful, whether this could possibly, possibly be enough.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The storm had passed in a flash, as weather so often did in the high islands, and a glorious afternoon had arrived from nowhere. Fintan was rushing to the airport. He knew Colton didn’t need picking up—one of his staff could drive him—but he didn’t care.

  He hadn’t seen the same thing at Charlie and Jan’s wedding as Flora had at all. He’d seen happiness and the amazing sight of the entire community there, celebrating together. Since his mother had died, he’d felt so frustrated living on the island, doing the same thing day in and day out. Meeting Colton had changed all that so much; he saw things now through Colton’s eyes. He appreciated more and more the beauty of the landscape, the peace and tranquility they found there, the privacy and peace and quiet of mind. He saw what Colton saw. And he loved his clever, mercurial boyfriend more than ever.

  Colton beamed as he got down from the plane. He looked thin and a bit overtanned. The U.S. always did that to him. “Oh God, I wanna kiss the ground,” he said. “You know, if you ever don’t come and meet me, like one tiny time, I’m going to reckon we’re in real trouble.”

  Fintan kissed him. “Then it’ll
never happen,” he promised. “How was New York?”

  Colton frowned. “I think I have a very depressed lawyer. On the other hand, that makes him a highly overworked and busy lawyer, so in that sense it’s not going so badly.”

  “Ugh,” said Fintan. “Flora is doing nothing but mope around too.”

  “Honestly,” said Colton, with the happy confidence of someone who thinks other people’s emotional problems will never happen to them, “I don’t know why they just don’t figure it out.”

  Fintan smiled happily.

  “Seriously. My sister is a pain in the arse, but she’s not that bad really.”

  Colton sighed. He knew he was partly the cause of Joel’s unhappiness, and that he was about to make a lot of other people unhappy too with what he was proposing. But he wasn’t going to think about that right now. When it came to Joel and Flora . . . well. He had dated a lot of different people down the years, and had come to some conclusions: one, that there was no single person for everyone; and two, if you found someone you were crazy about, who liked you in return, you were the luckiest goddamn son of a bitch in the world. He’d spent plenty of time in love with people who only saw him as a friend, or were in denial about their own sexuality and feelings, or were simply wrong place wrong time.

  Now he was in his midforties, he knew: waiting for what you wanted, waiting for something perfect, was a disaster. It would never work. You had to jump. If you jumped and it went wrong, well, that was that. You could fix it. But if you wouldn’t commit, wouldn’t settle, kept waiting for the next thing, the thing that would take absolutely no effort, that would be incredibly easy. Well. That was not going to happen.

  * * *

  Fintan had made a meal, but Colton shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “I’m not hungry. I think I want to stretch my legs, shake off my jet lag, rebalance my melatonin, you know?”

  Fintan did not know, but he nodded regardless. “Sure,” he said.

  “Let’s walk one of those stray dogs you always have,” said Colton.

  “They’re not strays!” said Fintan. “They’re loyal working dogs! Who happen to have a lot of freedom.”

  This was true. Bramble was in the habit of ambling down the main street to go and visit the Café by the Sea from time to time. Residents and visitors had gotten used to him marching down the street, and Hamish had trained him to pick up the paper and bring it back to the farmhouse, so everyone was happy with the arrangement—except for Bramble, who smelled all sorts of awesome things around Flora, but was never given any of them. All the cuddles he got en route kind of made up for it, but not entirely. However, he was a wise dog, and lived permanently in hope.

  “Whatever,” said Colton. He was just so happy, so pleased to be back on the island again, and it made Fintan happy just to look at him.

  “So, apart from your miserable lawyer, how was New York?”

  “Shithole,” said Colton. “Too hot and sticky and I hated it. Can’t breathe there. L.A. was even worse.”

  “I brought you something.”

  “Is it cheese?”

  “Colton!” said Fintan. “Shut up!”

  “I love your cheese,” said Colton. “I’m just saying.”

  There was a silence as they headed automatically through the town to park up at the Endless.

  “So,” said Colton.

  “It’s not cheese!”

  “Okay, so what is it?”

  “I forgot it,” said Fintan sullenly.

  Colton sniffed in the car.

  “Stop it.”

  “It’s just . . . it smells a bit like . . .”

  “This car always smells like cheese.”

  “Well, that’s true. You could still surprise me. Soft cheese? Blue? Hard?”

  “Shut up!”

  “Because I’ve got something quite hard for you . . .”

  They got out of the car, grinning, and sure enough, there was Bramble, trotting up the main street, the newspaper between his teeth.

  “Good timing,” said Fintan, patting him and retrieving it.

  “He maybe smelled the new cheese,” said Colton.

  “Shut up about cheese!”

  They set out. It was evening, but the sky still looked like a studio set: a blue that faded to white, or rather, to a color you couldn’t quite put your finger on, a little like Flora’s hair, something that faded into itself, that was hard to look at.

  Near the harborside, the beach was busy with brave toddlers paddling in the shallow freezing water, little crab catchers with their nets, and fishermen on the jetty. (There weren’t so many fish close in to shore; it was more of an excuse to get out of the house on a fine evening, and chat to their companions and share a nip or two in friendly silence than a genuine activity.)

  But as they walked on, the weather changed: the sun swept out again and they both took off their shoes, letting their feet sink into the soft, warming sand, the crowds enjoying the beauty of the evening fall behind them, and, sheltered from the wind by the rock behind, they felt the sun on their necks and the soothing noise of the waves and little more.

  After a few hundred yards, Colton stopped, a serious look on his face.

  “Okay,” said Fintan. “Okay, it was cheese. Sorry.”

  Colton shook his head. “I don’t need any gifts from you,” he said, rubbing his graying goatee.

  “I know,” said Fintan stubbornly. “That’s why I wanted to give you something anyway. Nobody ever does. They just assume you have everything.”

  Colton blinked, surprised. It was true. In his life, Fintan was practically the only person who as much as bought him a drink. He was just so used to paying all the bills it hadn’t even occurred to him. He smiled to himself. If he’d had a moment’s doubt, it had just been assuaged.

  He glanced around. Some sea peeries were circling, far out over the waves, and a heron was lifting off from the rocks. Apart from that, they were completely unobserved, at the far end of the Endless Beach. It was a perfect evening. Colton held his breath and it felt for a second that everything except the waves was still—everything in the entire world. Time was not moving on, the world was standing in place and nothing had changed or ever would, which meant that either you could think that nothing was particularly important—or everything was.

  Colton dropped down on one knee.

  Fintan’s mouth dropped open.

  “What . . . what are you doing?” he said, glancing round in case anyone was behind them. Colton suddenly felt a bolt of fear. Had he completely misjudged the situation? Fintan had spoken about men in the past, but nothing remotely serious; he hadn’t even come out until last year. Was it possible that he was just practice for the younger man? Before he moved on? He started to panic. Colton was not traditionally one of life’s panickers.

  Fintan was still staring at him. Then, thank God, to the mournful calling of the peerie above, he bit his lip and tried to stop a smile of pure delight spreading across his face.

  “Fintan MacKenzie,” Colton said slowly. “I have never done this before, and seriously I never want to do it again as I am getting old and my knees can’t really take it, and the sand is actually quite wet when you get down here.”

  Fintan’s hand had flown to his mouth.

  “But I can’t imagine being happier with anyone, anywhere on earth, than I am with you. And your . . .”

  Bramble thought they were playing a game. He came and sat down next to Colton on the sand and was now pawing him, thinking he was going to throw something for him. Colton giggled. “Stop it, Bramble!”

  Bramble threw his paws over his arms.

  “Aw, for goodness’ sake, Bramble. I don’t want to marry you.”

  Fintan gasped audibly.

  “Shit, what did you think I was doing down here?” said Colton.

  There was a pause.

  “Is that it?” said Fintan finally.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My proposal. Is that it? You proposing to a dog inste
ad of me?”

  Bramble was now jumping up and down, licking Colton’s face delightedly.

  “Stop it!” said Colton. “That’s it, I’m getting up. Hang on, I can’t get up until you give me an answer . . .”

  “I haven’t had a question!”

  “This is much more uncomfortable than it looks when people do it in the movies.”

  “Right, fine. Come on, Bramble,” said Fintan.

  “No! Wait. Right. Okay. My darling. Baby. I . . . I adore you. Have done since the first time I met you, all sulky and a bit drunk.”

  “That’s very much me at my best,” said Fintan.

  “And . . . and the rest of my life is going to be here. It is. I’ve decided. I’ve been, hell, everywhere. And nowhere is better than this. Fact. I want to be here, I want to be with you, and time . . . time. Well . . .” He winced. “It’s always later than you think.”

  Fintan smiled down at him. Bramble let his tongue loll out and panted from his exertions. Colton wobbled.

  “FINTAN! FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

  “Okay, okay, okay. Yes! YES!”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  No sleep. Endless work. Nothing from Flora. Nothing from Colton except more work, of the worst kind.

  The hotel was bearing down on him oppressively, and Joel no longer felt he could call Mark ever since both he and Marsha had made such a massive point about how much they adored Flora, of course, and how much they felt this girl was the one for him and how he should settle down and so on and so forth. So he cut himself off from that.

  He exercised relentlessly, which normally worked to quell his restlessness, but pounding the city sidewalks for hours didn’t help; didn’t tire him out enough to sleep; didn’t switch off the endless, clouded panic circling in his brain. He tried more work, but the more he did, the more Colton fed him. He tried drink and realized that in the past he would have gone to a bar and found an incredibly attractive woman and tried to screw it out of himself . . . but he didn’t . . . He didn’t want to do that anymore. There was only one thing he wanted, only one person, and he couldn’t seem to get through to her at all—couldn’t seem to get it right. He was worried that she would want more and more and more, and all sorts of things that weren’t in him to give.