The Endless Beach Read online

  The men knew immediately where it was for. Fintan jumped up, grinning and pink. Colton didn’t move for a little bit, and when she glanced back up at him—this guy who had received honors and prizes his entire life, who had done little but win acclaim and awards wherever he’d been—she saw tears in his eyes, and suddenly, for the first time, he looked his age.

  Fintan held it up.

  “This is beautiful,” he said wonderingly. “Geoffrey, was this you?”

  The old man, who rarely said more than was strictly necessary at any given moment, nodded shyly.

  “We’ll treasure it,” said Fintan. “Outside the Rock, don’t you think? On all those freezing evenings! We can swing on it to keep warm.”

  Colton did his best to smile, but still didn’t seem quite able to trust his voice.

  Fintan embraced Flora. “Thanks, sis,” he said, and she hugged him back.

  “I’m so glad you came home,” he added under his breath, and Flora grinned.

  “That’s not what you said at the time.”

  “I’m an older, wiser man now.” He grinned back.

  “No, you have an older, wiser man,” corrected Flora, and watched as Fintan put the swing down—very, very carefully—and went back to embrace Colton, who still hadn’t moved. He seemed very overcome by emotion, she thought.

  Everyone else was clapping and turning back to their drinks and the fiddles were starting up again, and as she stood there she realized that everyone had turned away. And she was still there, alone, her brothers engulfed.

  “That was a nice idea, lass,” came a voice, and she realized her father was by her elbow, surrounded, of course, by the omnipresent dogs. “Very nice.”

  He clasped her arm. She could never quite get used to being taller than him.

  “That chap of yours?”

  Flora winced. How could she say it? Joel had let her down. Or she hadn’t been enough. Either way . . . There was to be no excusing it. No understanding it, even. If even her father had noticed . . .

  She just shrugged.

  “He’s over there,” her dad said.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Joel stood, looking awkward, holding a small boy by the hand.

  “Uh, hi,” he said.

  “You came!” said Flora, unable to conceal her delight. He looked so much better: much, much healthier than he had a few weeks ago, stumbling off the plane. Then her eyes traveled to the little mite next to him.

  “Hello,” she said kindly. “Who are you?”

  But then the entire party traipsed up behind them, and she clocked the entire band of boys, with a smug-looking Jan and an oblivious-looking Charlie bringing up the rear.

  “HELLO, FLORA,” shouted Jan loudly. “So lovely to have your ex working for us now! He’s just wonderful; I can’t believe you let him go.”

  Flora blinked twice and turned round and headed straight into the house.

  * * *

  This was her home—the place she had lived most of her life, in happy times and sad. But there was nothing here for her tonight. Her hands scraped the corridor wall, covered in old pictures of her and the boys: riding ponies; blowing out candles. Her parents, getting married in black and white, nervously beaming at each other, looking like children dressed up in wedding clothes. Rosettes from long-forgotten dancing shows; small trophies here and there. The detritus of a long family life in an old family home.

  She picked over the various people having loud, slightly drunken but very intent conversations in the kitchen, and glanced again out of the window at happy couples dancing in the golden early evening light, including Innes and Lorna.

  Even if you took away the fact that Innes was her stupid big brother, you couldn’t deny they made a good-looking pair: his hair blond in the sun, hers a shimmering red-gold glinting in the light; both laughing; dancing with practiced ease, Innes from many nights seducing girls on and off the island and Lorna because she had to teach all the little ones for the Christmas party. They were lovely together, and Flora felt a mixture of happiness and sadness all at once. She caught a glimpse of Saif suddenly, sitting to the side sipping a beer while getting his ear bent by Mrs. Kennedy, who thought that her medical woes were of interest to everyone, and probably took this even further with the doctor. But his eyes were watching the dancers too, and his face was sad.

  Flora slipped out of the side door and walked down the hill, not even turning to say good-bye to her father, who was now happily ensconced in an old chair they’d pulled outside, chatting to his cronies. She wouldn’t be missed, and even if she was, she certainly didn’t want to draw attention to herself leaving, or spoil anyone else’s fun.

  The harbor was uncharacteristically quiet. The campers had obviously retired, finding that Sunday trading laws were still very strict on Mure, and that there really was nothing open, particularly in the afternoon. They’d all be on the Endless Beach, Flora assumed, making the most of the glorious day. Or, if local, it seemed that everyone on the entire island was up at her house.

  She stared out to sea, desperately looking for the narwhal dancing—anything to lift her spirits. She wondered briefly why Colton had been so emotional. It was sweet really; he’d never seemed like a terribly emotional man.

  But seeing Joel again. That’s what had really set her off. When he hadn’t even come to see her.

  The realization was like a wave breaking over her head. He was getting better—it was obvious. And still he didn’t want her. And she couldn’t keep kneeling at the edge of the table for crumbs. She couldn’t survive off closed minds and turned backs and things—so many things—left unsaid. It was like trying to love a rock. No, she thought bitterly to herself. At least rocks were solid and stayed put. Joel was a law unto himself. She felt horrible deep down in her stomach.

  The tide was high, lapping against the harbor wall. The Endless Beach had disappeared almost completely; it must be a lee tide, that rare mystical confluence of moon and water that made the world feel entirely enslaved to the gentle deep blue.

  She knew now. The Café by the Sea was leaking, but summer was coming on strong. She could do it. They were going to make it up, she knew they were. She could keep it together. She could make it on her own, after all these years of yearning so much for Joel. She was still here. And the tide would still come in and go out, and the sun would still rise—well, until the clocks went back, at any rate—and she would persevere. And sustain. She could.

  “Flora!”

  She squeezed her eyes tight. She didn’t want to talk to anyone and she certainly didn’t want to talk to him, not here, not now.

  “FLORA!”

  Joel couldn’t get her to turn round. She was walking away from him. How many other people had he seen walking away? He couldn’t bear it. He ran ahead of her across the walkway to the harbor, as she kept walking, head down, not looking at him.

  “Go away, Joel,” she hissed. He dived up in front of her on the wall, and she blindly put her arms out to move him out of the way. He stumbled, surprised for a moment, as Flora looked up, also surprised, and without warning he found himself off balance and slowly, and entirely without ceremony, he fell sideways off the harbor wall into the water.

  * * *

  “JOEL!”

  Flora’s face was a picture as she peered over. The water was shallow but utterly freezing, about knee deep, and he immediately tripped in the rip. He had managed to hurl himself into a forward roll as he fell—and landed rather beautifully, Flora was unsurprised to note—but he was choking and coughing and utterly drenched, and completely shocked by the sheer temperature. He stood up, his brown hair dripping and curling more now it was wet, falling over his glasses.

  Flora couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.

  “Why do we live in the Arctic?!” shouted Joel, and Flora couldn’t help noticing the “we.” But she was too helpless to respond. His trousers were utterly ruined.

  “Thank you for your sympathy and kind help,” said Joel. �
��Oh my God, I’m going to die of hypothermia.”

  “It’s only up to your knees,” pointed out Flora. “Also . . .”

  She pointed to the far end of the Endless, where the sand backed into the dunes and the tide never took over completely. You could just see a family playing there, the children in swimming costumes splashing in the water.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” said Joel. “Okay, I get it; you’re all Nanook of the North.”

  He waded toward the wall and tried to scale it, but without success. Flora watched him but didn’t follow him, as he waded round to the slip. Her heart was beating incredibly fast.

  “Please,” he said, hands out as he approached, dripping all the way. “Can we talk?”

  “I don’t know,” said Flora. “Can you?”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Feeling distinctly hazy, Lorna clocked somewhere that Saif had left—without saying good-bye; without speaking to her at all. Fine. If that was what he wanted, Innes was looking handsomer and handsomer in the bright early evening; the noise was growing louder and everyone was having an absolute ball; Colton and Fintan were dancing together, completely wrapped up in each other; a few midges were circling, but lazily, as if even they didn’t want to ruin the perfection of the day.

  Innes checked that Agot was busy—she was, climbing up Hamish, who happily pretended not to notice she was using him as a climbing frame. Or, possibly, he hadn’t actually noticed . . .

  “Come for a walk?” he said to Lorna. Lorna, giggling and none too steady in her heels, agreed and Innes pinched a bottle of fizz from the big bin full of ice and two plastic glasses, and they set off.

  Saif had not gone; he had been rounding up the children, amazed that they appeared to have had a good time. He just caught sight of Lorna, still laughing, her gauzy dress floating behind her, following that handsome brother of Flora’s. He shouldn’t feel anything, he knew.

  He felt a lot. He refused to admit it to himself, pressed it down. This was ridiculous. He was a married man. He was.

  Innes and Lorna headed off, by mutual consent, not down toward the town and the Endless, where partygoers were staggering up and down, but behind the farm, climbing up the stony hill. Lorna abandoned her shoes, which they both decided was quite hilarious, and they clambered up over the grass and the moss, as the view expanded in front of them.

  Finally, they came to a rock with an outlook over the top of the farm, tiny below them now, sheep dotted about like cotton buds. You could see for miles, right across, Lorna felt, the top of the world. Innes passed her the bottle and she drank, and they laughed nervously, and then Lorna giggled some more and then Innes laughed too, both of them conscious that they had known each other since childhood. He moved over and tentatively put a hand around her shoulders and she flushed.

  “So,” said Innes, who, Lorna knew already, was incredibly practiced at this kind of thing. She, on the other hand, was definitely a bit rusty.

  Innes moved closer.

  “You look pretty in that dress,” he said.

  Lorna realized that he was about to come in for a kiss. And simultaneously she realized that she was sitting here, feeling the pleasant weight of a man’s arm around her and pretending—desperately fantasizing, even, as they sat out on a hillside overlooking the most beautiful bay in the world—that he was somebody else. Oh, to hear those words—but from Saif. Innes was great, but . . .

  He moved closer again. She told herself, just go for it. For goodness’ sake, she was a living, breathing woman, wasn’t she? She liked sex, didn’t she? It was a beautiful summer night and there was a handsome man sitting right next to her and she had absolutely no other prospects on the horizon of anyone quite so nice, and she should enjoy it. She should . . .

  Then she turned, and realized again it was Flora’s brother—Flora’s brother, of all people—and she realized she was laughing again and it wasn’t polite and Innes was actually looking a bit wounded.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “Oh God. Sorry. Innes, I’m sorry. I’m just remembering that time you came home from Cub camp and you’d gotten into a fight defending Hamish because he’d eaten all the sausages . . .”

  Innes smiled at that too. “Well, he did eat all the sausages. But the other kids weren’t very understanding about it.”

  “You had this bloodied nose and you were so furious!”

  Innes smiled. “Maybe I’m the patron saint of lost causes.”

  He passed over the bottle.

  Lorna smiled back and took it. “You were cute.”

  “Cute.” Innes’s brow furrowed. “Not a word any man ever wants to hear, if I can be totally honest with you.”

  Lorna leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “I know. But now we’re here . . . I mean, it’s ridiculous. I remember you eating that slug.”

  “Hamish ate one first!”

  “Yeah, and he liked it.”

  They both smiled.

  “I remember when you got all those spots on the end of your nose and locked yourself in Flora’s room for the evening,” said Innes.

  “Yes, and none of you were remotely helpful,” said Lorna, screwing up her face in mortification.

  “Oh, come on, you were my wee sister’s annoying friend! Of course we weren’t.”

  “But did you have to make up a song about me?” She smiled at the recollection. “Except for Fintan. He lent me his tea-tree oil. Where did he even get tea-tree oil?”

  “How did we never suspect?” said Innes, shaking his head.

  “I think what I’m saying is . . .”

  “We’re family,” said Innes. He nodded his head. Then he looked at her.

  “You do look good in that dress though. Compared to, you know. Spotty Muldoon face.”

  “Thank you.”

  Innes frowned. “Flora totally told me you had the hots for me.”

  “She told me the same thing!”

  “Oh my God! Let’s kill her!”

  “She was trying to promote incest!”

  “No,” said Innes. “Let’s pretend we had a massive outdoor session.”

  “Abso-bloody-lutely not!” said Lorna. “There are parents down there!”

  “Come on, I have to tell them something. Tops?”

  “Tell them we really appreciated Colton’s champagne. Or don’t tell them anything!”

  “I’m sure everyone’s too pissed to notice we’ve even left.”

  “That,” said Lorna, watching the remains of the barbecue waltzing crazily around the farmyard far below, “is absolutely right.”

  And they toasted each other with the little plastic glasses and smiled—at an accident averted and a friendship renewed—and everyone went to bed alone, although some felt more alone than others.

  * * *

  Back at the Manse, Fintan was still shaking his head.

  “Quite a gift, eh? And you thought the pitchfork-wielding locals would set us on fire.”

  Colton scratched his neck. “I don’t remember putting it quite like that.”

  “Remember when you arrived . . . ? Ooh, I’m in Mure to keep private . . . I can’t speak to any locals or hire them . . .”

  Colton smiled. “Well, that’s before I got to know you.”

  “You sound so dodgy. Come here.”

  Colton smiled sadly as Fintan widened his arms, and came in for a reluctant hug. Fintan started kissing him.

  “Ah, babe, I’m exhausted.”

  Fintan blinked. “Are you sure? I thought it was after the wedding you were meant to start going off me.”

  “It’s not that,” said Colton. His painkillers were in the locked cupboard behind the bathroom door. He needed to get to them and quickly. How many weeks to the wedding? He calculated. Could he hang on until everything was signed and done?

  Well. He had to.

  “I’m just exhausted. It’s been a great day. I love you.”

  “Are you sure?” said Fintan suspiciously. He started to kiss
up Colton’s neck.

  “No, baby, honestly.”

  “Fine,” said Fintan, slightly insulted, but too good-natured to take it personally. “Hey, did you taste that new cheese?”

  “I did,” said Colton, relieved to be back on safe ground. “You’ve done a terrible thing to cheese.”

  “It’s Mrs. Laird who pickled the onions. All I did was put them into cheese.”

  “A terrible, terrible thing.”

  Colton’s hand shook as he opened the cabinet. He couldn’t bear, couldn’t deal with the idea of the fuss and upset that would be unleashed if what Saif had unearthed—and Joel already knew—got out. It would be horrendous.

  All that pity, and people thinking Fintan was only marrying him because he felt sorry for him, or worse, because he wanted his money, and all those hospitals, and tests, and being forced into shit he didn’t want.

  If he could just make it through the wedding then Fintan would be his next of kin—without being suspected of being in cahoots with him—and they could make the right choices. Together. That was all he had to do. In Colton’s life, he’d always done what he needed to do. Normally by just working harder than other people. By gritting his teeth and getting on with it. He was going to grit his teeth and get on with it for as long as he was able.

  “Are you still taking all those vitamins? You’re going to rattle, you big Californian freakbag,” came Fintan’s voice from the other room.

  Colton washed them down, wincing.

  “Yeah,” he shouted back. “On the other hand, they might also make me more in the mood . . .”

  “Yeah, baby!”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Back at the Rock and somewhat drier, Joel wanted to drag Flora to bed immediately. He felt, for the first time in so long, good and positive and suddenly—as soon as he’d seen her face—so much more sure. About everything.

  Flora was having none of it.

  “You have to talk to me.”

  “About what?”