Christmas on the Island Page 21

  ‘Is this the flat you thought we could live in?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Flora. ‘Stupid thought, I know.’

  ‘No,’ said Joel. ‘It wasn’t. It’s nice. It’s lovely. It would have been perfect.’

  He didn’t mention Colton offering them the Manse. It didn’t feel like the right time. Nothing was the right time.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter now,’ said Flora.

  ‘It’s still for rent, isn’t it? I can’t stay at the Rock now anyway; it’s Fintan’s now. I’m just a lodger.’

  ‘So you’ll move in with me because you’re homeless?’

  ‘No,’ said Joel. ‘In fact, I could go literally anywhere in the world. But I don’t want to. I’ve made such a mistake, Flora. Such a mistake. Do you think you can ever forgive me?’

  ‘Joel . . .’ Flora’s voice was trembling. ‘I’m in the middle of losing a baby. I’m in the middle of everything I thought might happen in my life falling apart. It’s pitch-fucking-dark. So would you mind terribly if it’s not all about you, just this once?’

  Joel didn’t say anything after that, just stayed exactly where he was.

  * * *

  Up at the Rock, where Mark and Marsha were getting changed, there was a momentary flicker as the lights went out, then came back on again – the Rock, of course, had an emergency generator for exactly this type of situation. They looked at each other and peered out of the window; the snow swirled and visibility was incredibly poor, but the line of lights down the end of the Endless Beach had popped out, all at once.

  ‘Oh goodness,’ said Marsha. ‘Seriously, what is this place you’ve brought me to?’

  ‘Everything must be down,’ said Mark. ‘Do you think people know the Rock is still working?’

  ‘Maybe they’re used to power cuts,’ mused Marsha. ‘What do you think?’

  She had rather been looking forward to some mussels and a nice glass of wine in the Rock’s lovely restaurant, but Mark had a look on his face she knew meant that whatever it was he had in mind, he was almost certainly going to do it whether she agreed or not.

  ‘I think we should go and help,’ he said. ‘Flora’s vulnerable, for starters.’

  ‘She’ll be at home with those fifty-five brothers of hers you told me about,’ said Marsha.

  Mark frowned at his phone and texted Joel that there was power at the Rock and did they want picked up? A second later came the reply: an enthusiastic yes.

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Mark, smiling. ‘You stay here – stay cosy.’

  Marsha gave him one of her looks.

  ‘You think?’

  Then she pulled on the bright yellow nor’easter jacket she had for Januarys in New York that was a shade too big for her and made her look, to Mark’s eyes, like a teenager (and to everyone else’s, a tiny fisherman) and went to fetch her boots.

  * * *

  It was a bumpy route down; Mark went incredibly slowly. There weren’t even street lights to mark the route; everything had to be done by the high beam of the Land Rover Colton had left at their disposal. It wasn’t until much later that Mark recalled he’d driven on the wrong side of the road the entire time.

  ‘At least they’re together,’ he said comfortingly to Marsha.

  ‘I think we should do it now . . .’ she said, and he nodded, knowing exactly what she meant.

  The two of them never forgot that ride through the dark night, achingly slow, Marsha’s hand over Mark’s as he manoeuvred the unfamiliar gearstick, the crashing dark all around them, snow whirling violently. It felt like the end of the world, a million miles away from their cultured, metropolitan lives.

  A deer bounded out into the road, eyes red in the headlights, and was gone. The air was so thick with swirling snow it was almost impossible to see. It seemed endless: a constant spiral of white, a shock of wind, so that the snow drifted hither and thither across the landscape which in itself seemed to change and shimmer in front of their eyes.

  ‘We’re going to have to collect lots of people,’ said Mark eventually. Marsha nodded. ‘And people will see the lights up there.’

  ‘They will,’ Marsha said, and patted his hand. She could feel his tension.

  ‘I’m sure they’re fine,’ she added.

  Mark sniffed.

  ‘And if they’re not, Marsh? What is that going to do to our boy?’

  Marsha shook her head and looked out of the window, even though there was absolutely nothing to look at. They both knew this was his absolutely best shot – the best way Joel could break the cruel carapace of his childhood. Flora was his only hope. But could he realise it in time? And if he did, could Flora accept it?

  * * *

  It was still warm in the little flat, which was easy to find, but dark as pitch. Flora and Joel were there, Flora lying on the bed. She sat up awkwardly as Mark and Marsha cheerily knocked on the door and announced themselves, and shot Joel a look.

  ‘There’s power up at the Rock,’ he said, illuminating the room with his phone. ‘I thought . . . I thought maybe we should be there. That it would be safer.’

  ‘I’m not supposed to move,’ hissed Flora.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Joel. ‘I know. Sorry. But I thought. Maybe . . . if we carried you . . . if you kept lying down? Then you could be more comfortable? My phone is going to run out of battery soon, and we won’t have anything . . . and you can get tea.’

  ‘But I’m in bed!’ complained Flora.

  ‘Lorna will have to go to bed at some point.’

  Flora sighed at that. It was true: it wasn’t fair to annex her friend’s place, not on such a wild night as this. And she didn’t feel quite as bad as she had earlier. Still sick and wobbly and upset, but not as if she was going to pass out again. She touched her stitch briefly.

  ‘How is it?’ she said.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Joel. ‘I can’t see it. So – gorgeous.’

  Flora almost smiled but winced instead.

  ‘Hang on, what’s going on?’ said Mark, shining the torch.

  But when both of them turned to look at him with such anguished expressions on their faces, Marsha tugged at Mark’s arm. It was a look she knew very well. The devastation. The sadness. They had known it; she would have given anything to spare them.

  ‘Something happened,’ said Flora. ‘I had an accident. I think . . . I think we might have—’

  Marsha interjected.

  ‘Let’s just get them back to the hotel,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s just go.’

  ‘Here.’ Joel leaned down to pick her up with such tenderness Marsha and Mark swapped glances. ‘Wrap the blanket around yourself. I’ll take you out to the car.’

  ‘You can’t lift me!’ said Flora.

  ‘I can bench-press two-eighty,’ said Joel mystifyingly. ‘I don’t think I’m going to find you a problem.’

  And indeed he did lift Flora up into his arms like she weighed nothing, and she pressed her face into his neck and smelled his smell and cursed how weak with love he made her feel and how much better she felt when she was in his arms.

  The Land Rover bumped painfully back up to the Rock, tracing the line of the Endless Beach, but Joel held onto Flora absolutely fiercely the entire way, absorbing every bump into his body in an effort to keep her safe.

  Flora found at one point that they had their foreheads pressed together; she could feel Joel’s tears run down her cheeks.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he kept whispering. ‘I love you. I love you both.’

  And Flora felt it was incredibly unfair of him to do this when she was feeling so weak and so awful, but on the other hand suddenly grateful for the strength of his arms around her, and for his simply being there.

  ‘Shut up,’ she tried to say, but she was tearful too, and found, in the end, as they drove through the storm, that it was all she could to simply hang on.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  In fact, as it turned out, half the population who weren’t cheerfully locked into the Harbour’s Rest ha
d moved up to the Rock, attracted by the lights and wishing to toast Colton one last time. Joel took one look at the crowds and carted Flora straight off to his cottage. There was no one he wanted to speak to right now.

  Mark and Marsha looked at one another.

  ‘Do you think . . . ?’ said Mark.

  ‘I think,’ said Marsha with a sigh. ‘That there might be . . . a better moment.’

  Mark grimaced, still unsure. But Joel turned back to them, the storm roaring outside.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said simply. ‘Thank you for coming to get us. Thank you.’

  And, figuring they might as well get it over with, they decided to follow them to his cottage after they had divested themselves of their outdoor gear in their own room.

  * * *

  As usual, inside it was scrupulously neat and tidy. Typical Joel. There was almost none of his personality in the lovely room at all, but it was so warm and comfortable.

  Joel laid Flora down with infinite tenderness and Flora looked up at him. This – this was the man she had always wanted him to be, longed for him to be. Was it only guilt that was making him behave like this though? Was this the real Joel, or someone feeling punished and pushed around by life?

  So she asked him.

  He pushed up his glasses.

  ‘I think,’ he said slowly, in his serious way, ‘that it took something awful for me to see. To see how I feel. To admit how I feel. Does that make sense?’

  ‘So whenever I need to talk to you I just need to have something . . . something terrible . . .’

  Flora started crying again.

  ‘No,’ said Joel. ‘No, my love. Never again.’

  She looked at him, swallowing hard, ridiculously aware that she must look absolutely terrible.

  ‘What did you just call me?’ she said.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Saif had arrived home an hour before, utterly exhausted – mentally, spiritually, everything. He wanted to see his boys, physically have them crawl all over them. Thank God for Mrs Laird to whom he was planning to give a large chunk of money: she had done everything for them. He’d even got used to her lasagne.

  Oh, he was so tired. And felt so old. And the idea of having to pick up everything and start all over again, in a new place . . . oh, it was so wearying.

  He didn’t bother locking his car – nobody did here, he’d learned, and he had a lockable drug safe in the house – and almost couldn’t manage the walk, nearly getting blown over and then suddenly feeling a wave of tiredness so huge he leaned against it. That’s when he saw the house.

  Ash and Ib were at the front window, obviously having done nothing but wait for him since . . . since whenever he’d been called out the first time, he couldn’t even remember now. They were bouncing up and down in their jim-jams, so gorgeous, the both of them. Through his tiredness, he couldn’t stop smiling.

  But what was that behind them? He squinted. It must be a reflection from the car. It looked glistening.

  His step lightened a little in anticipation of having Ash and Ib’s arms around him, trying to wash away the sadness and stress of the day, and of everything. But as he got there, it was Mrs Laird who met him, with a worried look on her face.

  Oh no, he thought to himself. Please. Please not more problems. Please let there be nothing wrong with her. Please let nothing have happened.

  ‘Yes?’ he said, and it came out more brusquely than he meant it to.

  ‘Oh, Dr Hassan,’ she said. She wouldn’t ever call him anything else. ‘I’m so sorry . . . It was meant just to be a little whip-round. It got a bit out of hand . . .’

  At that point, the boys came charging through, even the normally reticent Ib a streak of pyjamas and scruffy hair.

  ‘ABBA! ABBA!’ and they pulled him into the sitting room.

  The old manse was normally a cheerless place, but tonight it was transformed. A vast tree shimmered in the corner, hung with lights – and underneath were presents, uncountable numbers of presents, all wrapped gaily and tied up with shining ribbons. Saif stared at them in consternation.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Mrs Laird, her voice wavering. ‘I told them you might not like Christmas or it might not be right or lots of things like that. But people just kept bringing things . . .’

  ‘Why? They feel sorry for me?’

  Saif could have bitten his tongue as soon as he’d said it. Mrs Laird looked completely puzzled.

  ‘No, Dr Hassan . . . They like you.’

  * * *

  The boys were in such a high pitch of excitement, Saif let them open a present each – a Tonka truck for Ash, which made him bounce up and down, and a transformer for Ib, which he should probably have been too young for but, in his shy way, he half smiled as he examined it, which meant, Saif could tell, that he loved it.

  Saif sighed and sat back in the chair. Mrs Laird had kindly brought him some tea and supper on a plate.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said again. ‘I have not bought you a present, I am sorry.’

  Mrs Laird was going to her daughter’s tomorrow, once she’d covered Saif’s on call, where she would be swarmed by her grandchildren, her nephews and nieces and many, many Lairds who’d descended en masse just before the storm had hit and closed the tiny airport. She would have more bath salts and pyjamas than she could handle.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ she said. ‘I’m just glad . . . you don’t mind.’

  ‘It’s amazing,’ said Saif, staring at the tree again. ‘I’m a bit overwhelmed.’

  ‘I was worried you might be offended.’

  ‘Well, I’m not,’ said Saif, watching the boys rattle about with their new toys. A sudden burst of energy came from nowhere, and he grabbed the boys and held them tight to his chest and they giggled and squealed. ‘I think it is all right, no? Merry Christmas?’

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ they shouted back as he growled like a bear and knelt down, and they squealed as he tickled them.

  Mrs Laird shook her head.

  ‘We’ll miss you when you go,’ she said. He had mentioned to her that he wouldn’t require her services in the new year.

  Instantly the boys froze.

  ‘What?’ demanded Ib in Arabic.

  ‘We go home to Mama?’ said Ash.

  Mrs Laird jumped to her feet.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t . . . I’m so sorry.’

  She was bright pink with consternation.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Saif, sighing. Oh God, he was tired. He put a hand up. ‘Don’t worry about it. We have to talk about it.’

  The boys’ eyes were huge. It was so late now. He still had to check on Flora and Colton once more. And now this.

  ‘Well . . .’ he began.

  And then the lights went out.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Back at the Rock, there was a knock on the door. Joel answered it, confused. It was Mark and Marsha.

  ‘We just wanted to know how things were going?’ said Marsha.

  ‘Oh well . . .’ said Joel, opening his hands.

  ‘And?’ said Mark, even as Marsha shot him a look.

  They moved into the room.

  ‘There’s something I wanted to say,’ Mark said. ‘Marsha and I have been talking this over . . . We wanted . . . I know this should probably wait. But we can’t . . . I know this will probably not feel like the time. But we thought, it might . . . it might actually be exactly the time. So that you both know . . . so that you both know . . . in case what happened makes either of you think of making rash decisions . . .’

  Marsha stood next to him and took his arm as if to steady him.

  Mark removed his glasses and took a deep breath to steady himself.

  ‘Well,’ said Mark. ‘And I am meant to be the person who advises people to speak up about their feelings.’

  His voice was wobbling.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Marsha.

  ‘Yes please,’ said Mark, rubbing his eyes.


  ‘What is it?’ said Flora from the bed.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Marsha. She turned to face Joel, who looked terrified.

  ‘You need to know that we have been planning this for a long time. We read about it in a book, and we didn’t realise you could do this but . . . but it feels like you two . . . are at a crunch point. And we are so sad to see that, and don’t want to interfere. But if this could tip the scales, or . . . well . . . We figured it’s worth a shot.’

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘A long time ago, we made a mistake. A terrible mistake. We got to know you a little – or Mark did. The boy you were. And we saw the potential you had and how special you were to us and how much you needed someone – a family. And we should have given you a family. We were wrong. So wrong. So it feels like we absolutely do not have the right to ask you what we’re about to ask you.’

  Flora was bamboozled. Joel looked frozen in place.

  ‘We won’t . . .’

  Then it was Marsha’s turn to be unable to speak. She turned to her husband, who was still clutching her hand, his knuckles white, but he nodded and took over, and for the thousandth time Flora loved how simpatico they were – how simply in tune with each other’s ebbs and flows – and dreamed of the day they too would be like that. She looked at Joel. Was it possible? Was it?

  Mark cleared his throat.

  ‘We thought we had managed to get over never becoming parents.’

  Marsha’s mouth twisted a little.

  ‘ . . . but somehow the pain has come back with everything we’ll be missing out on. And so we wondered when we heard about the baby . . . if it was at all possible . . .’

  ‘And Flora, this is up to you too,’ added Marsha.

  ‘But if you would like . . . we wondered if . . . We heard . . . that you can adopt grown-ups. I didn’t know. And we thought we might be able to adopt you . . . and then your children – and we are so, so sorry about the baby. We are so sorry. But one day. One baby. Your children . . . would be our grandchildren and then . . . we could be in their lives the way we always wished we had been in yours. And of course when we die there’ll be certain benefits and so on . . . We’d like to be able to pay for school and all of that . . .’