The Endless Beach Read online

  But this was something she was worried she wasn’t fully equipped to cope with. She’d read as much as she could online about dealing with post-trauma in children and infants. Much of it was reassuring—as she kept telling herself, as long as babies were loved and looked after, they possessed so much resilience. She reminded herself that her grandparents’ generation had lived through evacuation and war. But this was a challenge she was desperate not to get wrong, for Saif, and for the boys themselves.

  “Just do your best.” Neda had been cool, clear, and reassuring on the phone. “Nobody’s going to expect perfection. Just keep to what they can do, and don’t worry too much about their English—basically to get that they need to do the opposite of what we recommend for most children, and watch about six hours of TV a day. Just try and make sure the other children are as nice as possible, and let them draw lots of pictures. Did you know children’s drawing is universal?”

  Lorna did.

  “Well. Appreciate that. Every neurotypical child has a way of building up the world through their hands. Let them do it and they’ll slot right in with the rest of the class. And keep your Google Translate on.”

  Lorna stood. She’d chosen a long skirt, hoping in some odd sense that she might look more like women they were used to seeing, although she didn’t really know much about that at all, and she plastered another big smile on as she saw Saif arrive.

  He greeted her, trying his best to smile in return. He looked exhausted. Lorna thought it suited him.

  “I am so sorry,” he said. “I had an emergency last night. They haven’t had much sleep.”

  Indeed, Ash was sleeping on his shoulder, having not quite woken up in the car. Ibrahim was trailing sullenly behind, the sleeves of his blazer hanging down past his fists, kicking the fronts of his new black shoes against the gravel.

  “Hope it was okay,” said Lorna, and Saif figured he would leave her to find out for herself; he was on his way to the Rock now anyway.

  He shook Ash awake, who instantly started to cry, then held both the boys close.

  “It’s just school,” he said firmly. “Ash, you’ll like it. They have lots of toys to play with and things to draw. Ibrahim, there’ll be other boys to play with.”

  Ibrahim shrugged.

  “And I’ll be back at lunchtime.”

  They were starting with some half days. If they had to come back to the practice with him, they just would.

  Ash set up his shrill, one-note yell again, and Saif tried not to let his irritation show too much.

  “,” said Lorna. “Come in and welcome.”

  Saif looked at her. “One year here and there was a fluent Arabic speaker all along,” he said with a half smile.

  She flushed. “I’m terrible!”

  “Your effort,” he said, “is the biggest compliment and kindness anyone could do me . . . I am sorry I ever . . .”

  She shook her head. No apology was needed between them. He nodded.

  Then he indicated Ash, whom he had to peel off himself again.

  “No, I really am sorry,” he said.

  “Happens all the time,” said Lorna with a smile, and looking in Lorna’s pretty freckled face, the warmth of her reassuring, slightly nervous smile, Saif felt his world stop spinning, just a little. He was not alone.

  “ Toys,” she said to Ash, who stopped screaming for a second, then shook his head and started again. “Well, we have toys.”

  And, holding him to her as if he were a much younger child, and in direct contravention of about forty health and safety regulations, she took him inside, Ibrahim glancing sullenly at Saif before reluctantly trailing after her. Saif stood and stared in amazement that it had been, in the end, easier than he’d been expecting.

  * * *

  Flora awoke to an empty bed and a knock on the door. She blinked as it all came rushing back, and sat up. Jesus. What time was it? Where was he?

  Where was he?

  There was another knock on the door, and she jumped, startled. As she looked around, Joel appeared at the French windows that led to the garden, thin as a wraith, frightening her even more. He passed through the room without looking at her and opened the door to Saif.

  “Excuse me!” said Flora, pulling up the covers.

  She was horrified. Saif looked equally disconcerted. “Ah,” he said. Flora rolled her eyes.

  “Sorry,” said Joel.

  “Shall I come back?”

  “No, it’s . . .” started Joel.

  “Actually, could you give us five minutes?” said Flora. “You can get a coffee at the lodge?”

  Saif nodded and beat a hasty retreat. Flora felt her heart in her mouth as Joel turned round.

  “Um.” She cleared her throat. “Hello.”

  “Hey,” he said.

  “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “A hell of a lot better than I felt last night.”

  She yawned and got out of bed and went toward him. “What happened?”

  Joel shrugged. “I spoke to Mark. He says stress and panic attacks. Brought on from overwork.”

  “Is that all?” She looked up at him.

  “He doesn’t think so.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think you look absolutely ravishing and we should tell Saif to stay away for a bit . . .”

  Flora shook her head. “That doesn’t solve things.”

  “It solves some . . .”

  “JOEL!” shouted Flora. “This is not the way! You were blind drunk and falling apart. Why? Okay,” she said. “I think I’m going to have to hand this over to Saif and Mark. I’m here for you, Joel. But I’m not helping you. I’m not making you better. I’m making you exactly the same. I hoped . . . I hoped I’d be able to help, to do something for you. To be with you. But I can’t.”

  Joel stared, gutted, helpless, unable to move.

  “I am here for you. But I am not doing you any good, Joel. And you are not doing me any good either. All I think about is you, and it’s torpedoing my business and torpedoing my life and I can’t . . . I can’t do this to myself either . . .”

  She found herself choking up.

  “I’ll be at the farmhouse. But I am here for you whenever you want me. Not for sex. Not just for sex. I am here when you are ready to be here with me. If you want me. Not Mure, not a home, not an island, not some dream of a sea creature. Me. Just me.”

  “Flora, this is ridiculous. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

  “One doctor is standing outside this door with heavy medication and another doctor is waiting for you in the lodge,” said Flora. “That is nobody’s definition of fine. If it wasn’t for Colton, you could have woken up this morning in a damn hospital.”

  “If it wasn’t for Colton, I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

  “He didn’t make you work with a gun to your head.”

  “He might as well have done.”

  Flora walked up to him and gently stroked his face. “I love you,” she said, quietly. She had never said this before, not to him, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever get a chance to say it again. She needed to know that she’d done it. Even if nothing happened from now on. Even if this really was it.

  There it was. It hung in the air. The very last card she had to play.

  He looked at her, stricken, unable to answer, his head desperately trying to make sense of the situation. She couldn’t love him just because she felt sorry for him; he couldn’t bear it. “It’s . . . This is just a misunderstanding,” he said.

  There was a very long silence after that.

  “It is,” said Flora. “It is, Joel. And the person who has misunderstood it is you.”

  And she kissed him and turned to go. She picked her top up off the pillows where she’d left it the night before.

  The pillow under her hand was soaking wet. Someone had been crying into it. She turned around and walked away, a pale ghost down the paths of the beautiful gardens of the Rock.
/>   Chapter Forty-Two

  Saif came back in again, having taken the opportunity to call the school and check on the boys, but Lorna had had her hands full and hadn’t answered, so he was full of trepidation.

  He blinked again at Joel being up and about. It wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. He hadn’t had much experience in mental health issues, and not as much time as he’d have liked that morning to catch up on the reading, but he wasn’t expecting someone greeting him courteously and asking if he’d like more coffee. He focused on Joel’s right hand. It was trembling, even as he put his other hand on it to try and make it stop.

  “Do you know where you are?” said Saif gently.

  “Does anyone?” said Joel, then shook his head. “I’m fine. Sorry. I got very overstressed and . . . combusted. It was good of Colton to fly me home.”

  “Now there are several options suggested in this case . . . I think we should start you off on benzodiazepine and see how you react to that . . .”

  Joel held up his hands. “Wait . . . wait. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with me. I had a bad night, that’s all. Overworked.”

  “That’s right,” said Saif. “You were also dehydrated and you’re underweight. This doesn’t seem to be a new issue for you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Saif blinked. Usually he was trying to keep people off antidepressants. This wasn’t one of those cases.

  “Joel, there is no shame in asking for help if you need it. It’s just an illness.”

  “It’s not,” said Joel. “It’s a natural response to an intolerable situation. Dammit.” He looked around the room. “What else would you recommend if you weren’t prescribing?”

  Saif shrugged. “Rest. A good diet. Peace and quiet. Gentle exercise.”

  “Well, I’ll get peace and quiet,” said Joel. “Nobody’s speaking to me.”

  Saif nodded.

  “And the food here is pretty good. If I can get my hands on some.”

  “And you need to keep talking,” said Saif. “Find someone to talk to.”

  “Oh God,” said Joel.

  There was another knock at the door. It was Mark.

  “Jesus Christ, man, this place is stone-cold awesome,” he said. “Have you even drunk the water? It doesn’t taste like any water you’ve ever tasted. I don’t think it is water. It’s like drinking cold light. And that air! It’s like you get a detox just by walking around! Right. Let’s get you fixed up.”

  He shook Saif’s hand. “Did you get him to take anything?”

  Saif shook his head.

  “Me neither.” Mark rolled his eyes. “Ornery bastard. Thanks for trying, Doc. And you and I,” he went on, pointing to Joel, “we have work to do. Like, a lot.”

  “Good luck,” said Saif, and slipped out. He hadn’t even started morning office hours yet, and he had the boys to pick up later. This was turning into a very challenging day.

  * * *

  Saif was late up the hill to the little school at lunchtime, which wasn’t strictly speaking Mrs. MacCreed’s fault. In the normal scheme of things, he didn’t mind at all when she rambled on about her blisters. She came as often as their appointment system would allow, told him cheery stories about her grandchildren and how well they were doing, brought him a pie, and beamed at him as he gave her foot a cursory examination. Then he reissued her prescription. He’d told her it could be done automatically either at reception, or, even more simply, delivered straight to the pharmacy, but she had gotten a very hurt look on her face and he realized that he was simply part of Mrs. MacCreed’s social rounds. Her children were on the mainland and her husband was long in the ground—the men worked themselves to death; the women, small and wide and wiry, somehow carried on, bent into the wind, for an incredible length of time—and she was lonely, and he hadn’t mentioned it again. Today the pie was venison. There was meant to be an official cull on the deer but it was best not to ask where it had come from. Saif had been astounded deer were on the island at all, until he was informed the Vikings had imported them a thousand years ago. He felt sometimes like he was walking through a world of long ago. This pleased him.

  But there really was no hurrying Mrs. MacCreed.

  His long legs stretched out as he sprinted the last few yards up the hill. It didn’t occur to him to drive; he very rarely drove on the island, only to night calls, and it wasn’t until he was halfway up that he thought he should probably have brought the car so he wouldn’t be carrying Ash down the hill, but it was too late.

  Lorna watched him, standing with a silent, trembling Ash by her side and a sullen Ibrahim, fists balled, a little farther away. They were going to have to talk, but first she had to squeeze out of her head the sight of Saif’s strong powerful body in motion. For many, many nights she had lain, pondering whether his chest was smooth or hairy; wanting to trace the dark hairs on the back of his hand up through his cuffs; wondering about his golden skin and how it would contrast so strongly with her pale . . .

  She shook herself. This was completely pointless and entirely inappropriate, particularly so considering she was holding one of his offspring by the hand. She flushed bright red. Saif, looking up, thought she was angry.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m genuinely so sorry. I got held . . .”

  She shook her head, feeling obscurely that she should be apologizing to him for the disgusting pictures of him she’d plastered all over the inside of her head while standing next to his children. They didn’t warn you about this in teacher training college.

  “No, no, it doesn’t matter. It’s only lunchtime. You’re not late.”

  Saif bent down and opened his arms. Ash flew to him, dragging his bad foot behind him. Ibrahim stayed exactly where he was.

  “So, uh, how did it go?” Saif asked desperately. It was a parental look Lorna recognized very well, although here it was slightly more important than usual. She bit her lip.

  “Don’t forget, it’s just the start,” she said. “Nobody expects this to be smooth straightaway.” She didn’t know how to put it so she started with the positive. “Ash mostly stayed very close to me.”

  He hadn’t unpeeled his fingers from her all morning. There were eleven children in the class; she still had to attempt to work with all of them. She had called in Seonaid MacPherson from the other class, who was eleven and big for her age, and she had managed to get Ash sat on her knee. Seonaid had very kindly gone through a baby book Lorna had dug up, pointing out “cat,” “dog,” “ball,” and so on and trying to get Ash to repeat the words. He hadn’t repeated any of the words, but it was a start.

  Ibrahim, on the other hand . . . She’d encouraged him to go play shinty with the other boys at playtime, and to her delight he had joined in, the boys making room for him willingly.

  That had been until one of them, little Sandy Fairbairn, had tackled him, fairly gently, to take the ball, whereupon Ibrahim had leaped on top of him and started punching him hard in the face while screeching at him.

  She had separated them immediately—shamefully, given her lack of Arabic, only able to yell, “Stop, stop!” at Ibrahim—and comforted Sandy, who was more shocked than seriously hurt. She was dreading confronting his mother at home time. There was understanding and then there were cuts and bruises. And she wasn’t enjoying this either.

  Ibrahim was staring at the ground, refusing to meet his father’s eyes.

  “There was . . . an incident,” she began, glancing at him. He looked up. He might not understand the words, but he knew she was telling on him, that much was clear, and his eyes burned with hatred.

  Saif’s face fell. Ibrahim looked frightened. Saif and Lorna shared a thought neither could voice. When they had been looked after by soldiers, how had that worked, exactly? What had the boys seen? Ibrahim had been two years in a world of war and violence and still didn’t want to open up. Saif flashed back to Joel earlier that morning, all buttoned up. The boy became the man.

  “I’ll talk to the other c
hild’s mother,” said Lorna. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to make it clear . . .”

  She was worried she was sounding too teacher-like.

  “Please,” she said. “Please make it clear. They are both very welcome here. So welcome. But there are some things that could make it difficult, and violence is one of those things.”

  Saif nodded. “I understand. What they have been through . . .”

  “I know,” said Lorna. “I realize that. Everyone does, I promise. But they can’t hurt other children.”

  Saif nodded again. “I know. I know. I am sorry.”

  * * *

  Saif ended up taking the afternoon off—much to Jeannie’s smirking lack of surprise, as she’d raised four kids and knew exactly what was going to happen—and he tried to bring lunch out into the garden, but the boys refused to eat the food and complained that it was too cold, even though the sun was shining. The boys were shivering and Saif realized in amazement how he’d gotten used to the weather. He ended up admitting defeat and opening the packs of fig rolls he’d stockpiled, which they ate silently. There had been three casseroles left on the doorstep, but he couldn’t imagine them eating any of them. There was also a mystery package of stuffed animals that was postmarked somewhere in England. Not a clue as to the sender, Saif had been entirely puzzled and considered throwing them away in case they were from racists or someone who wished them harm. However, Ash had caught sight of the parcel and had grabbed the small bear and was refusing to let it go, so he just had to apply Occam’s razor and assume nobody had actually stuffed a bear with anthrax and sent it to a refugee child.

  They sat back down inside.

  “So,” he said tentatively. “What do you think of school?”

  “I stay with you, Abba,” said Ash decisively, from his place on Saif’s knee. He was licking out the figs and discarding the biscuit. Saif wasn’t sure this was as successful a weight-putting-on strategy as it might be.

  “But you’re a big boy now who goes to school!”

  Ash shook his head.