Bridge of Hope (2 page)

A breathy moan escaped through her full lips. She closed her eyes as she welcomed me in and slipped her arms around my neck. I kissed her everywhere I could reach, taking each nipple into my mouth slowly and nibbling on the little buds as they tightened. Gasping, she fixed her eyes on mine as I moved deep within her.

Overwhelming emotions ripped through me as I made love to her. My Mairi. I took in every sensation and every look; my heart aching at the thought of being apart from her for so long. As she pulsed around me and her orgasm took her soaring off into the stratosphere, I kept my gaze locked on hers, hoping I was conveying everything through my eyes that I couldn’t put into words, and I followed soon after.

Afterwards, we lay there in each other’s arms for what felt like hours. I was unwilling to let her go, telling myself I’d hold her for a few minutes more. When she eventually withdrew from my embrace, I lay back and fought the fears niggling deep within me.

Stupid fears.

What if she meets someone who’s more her age? What if she meets someone who loves climbing the way she does? What if she doesn’t miss me as much as I miss her? What if she loves it so much out there that she decides to stay? What if? What if? What fucking if?

A couple of hours later we set off to the airport, and for the first part of the journey we both sat in silent contemplation. There were so many things I wanted to say, but the words never came and I cursed myself for being so fucking useless at expressing myself.

Luckily, she knew what I was like. I’d spent the day before looking for songs to express how I felt and I’d made a CD. The silence in the car was deafening and so I reached over and hit play. I made eye contact with her for a few moments as the opening chords to “I Will Remember You” by Ryan Cabrera filled the small space between us. Turning my eyes back to the road, I saw her in my peripheral vision, wiping her eyes as her lip trembled.

At the airport I pulled her into my arms and held her against my chest. I knew she must have felt the rapid pounding of my heart as we stood inside the terminal. Tears threatened. My eyes were desperate to give them up, but I tried so hard not to make the situation more difficult than it already was. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pulled away and gazed into her emerald eyes one last time.

My voice wavered as I told her, “I’m not going to say goodbye because I hate that word and we’ll be back together before you know it anyway. So I’m going to say have a great time and stay safe. And know that I’ll be thinking of you every moment whilst you’re gone.”

Pulling me toward her, she kissed me with a ferocity that took my breath away. I fisted my hands in her hair and returned the kiss with equal passion. When I eventually pulled away, I cupped her face in my hands and stroked the apples of her cheeks with my thumbs. “It’s just a few months, love. Go and show ’em what you’re made of, eh?”

She nodded and gripped my hands where they lay on her skin. Relentless tears spilled from her eyes as she let go and turned to walk away. All my fears bubbled to the surface once again and I couldn’t hold back. “I love you, Mairi. And one day I want to marry you!” I shouted.

As soon as the words left my mouth I clamped it shut.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck!

We’d never discussed marriage before. But I have a tendency to say what’s on my mind without thinking about the consequences, and this was one of those times. I was filled with dread. Had I just given her a ticket to Get-Out-Ville? Again, fuck! My heart hammered like it was trying to do a fucking runner and my mouth went dry.

The people around us stopped and stared.

Mairi halted in her tracks and I froze. She turned to face me, her mouth open in what I can only describe as utter, mind-frying shock. I swallowed hard, my mind racing to find something to say to take the words back. But a beautiful smile appeared on her face. She ran toward me and flung her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist. Everyone around us applauded as I hugged her into my body before letting her go and setting her down again. With one last heart-melting smile she stroked my cheek, turned, and walked away.

Chapter Two

January 2011

I untangled myself from the sheets and stumbled into the bathroom. I hardly recognised the gaunt man staring back at me. The dark circles around my eyes aged me beyond my thirty-seven years.

I turned the shower on and let it run until I was enveloped in a steamy cocoon. Once under the water I closed my eyes and tried to blank out thoughts of Mairi and the times we’d made love in the very same place. As the water tumbled down my tired muscles, I ran through the list of jobs I had planned for the day.

After climbing out of the shower, I dried, dressed, and then called to Angus. The yellow Labrador crossbreed came bounding up to me, and we set out for our morning walk. The air was chilled and my breath vaporised as soon as it left my body, forcing me to pull my zip up as far as it’d go.

Ron, from up the road, was walking toward me, his newspaper tucked under his arm. “Hello there, Gregory. Have you heard the news?”

I stopped in my tracks and waited to hear the latest gossip from the village know-it-all. “What news would that be?”

“James McLaughlan’s old place has sold.”

“Really? He
will
be pleased. Any idea who bought it?”

He scowled and shook his head. “Therein lies the issue, Gregory. Apparently it’s some young executive couple who are using it as a weekend and holiday home.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, great. This place’ll have no bloody locals left at this rate.”

“That’s exactly what I said. The last thing we need is more damned weekend interlopers who don’t contribute to the village.”

“Well, Ron. Not a lot we can do about it really, I suppose. Did you see them?”

“I caught a wee glimpse last week when they were here with the estate agent. He looked all businesslike and she was… well… she was a bonny lass, actually. Lovely long hair and very smiley.” He shook his head as if trying to remind himself how pissed off he was. “Anyway, I’m not happy.”

I huffed out a breath. “Well, let’s just hope they at least spend
some
of their executive pay-cheque money in the pub when they’re here on weekends, eh?”

“Aye, we can hope, young man. We can hope.” He went on his way back home and I smiled to myself and continued walking my dog.

Young man
. When you get to thirty-seven you don’t think of yourself as particularly
young
anymore; but I supposed to someone Ron’s age, however old that might’ve been, I still was.

James McLaughlan was a nice old guy. He’d moved farther north to be with his family, and he’d been heartbroken when he left the wee cottage down by the bridge. Angus and I stopped at the centre of the arched stone structure, and I glanced over to James’s old place. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, getting new blood into the village.

Most of the people here had stayed at Clachan Seil all their lives, and when they passed away or moved on to be with family, tourists had cottoned on to how beautiful it was. I was an interloper myself. I’d only moved to the village after splitting up with my wife and leaving my old life behind. But I’d felt at home right away. Stella at the pub and Ron, bless his heart, had taken me under their wings. Despite my antisocial nature and lack of people skills, Stella had given me a job in the pub and I became one of the locals.

Standing there on the bridge, I remembered back to when Mairi and I used to stand in the same spot, looking out over the Atlantic, and a lump formed in my throat. I’d considered moving away after she was declared dead in August 2010—seeing as there was a memory of her around
every
fucking corner—but I’d never belong anywhere like I did in Clachan.

Never.

And so there I was, five months on and still grieving.

~~~

Later on I made my way down to the pub for the lunchtime shift. Stella was working in the kitchen, thanks to our chef’s leaving to go back to Australia. Well, I say chef. He was a bloody good cook, was Chris, but he wasn’t qualified. He was a young guy with a passion for food, but somehow he’d landed a job as a fucking underwear model. How to make Greg feel inadequate in one easy step. Anyway, he’d gone back to Oz to start working for some modelling agency even though his ultimate dream was to train at some flashy restaurant in Sydney called Alonzo’s. He seemed to think that being back home would improve his chances. Personally I thought that getting experience actually
cooking
for a living was better, but what the hell did I know? I’d attended university only to end up pouring drinks, fixing taps, and taking tourists on boat trips.

Anyway, I digress. So Stella was in the kitchen preparing her famous steak pie for the evening. There was no doubt about it; it was the best pie I’d
ever
bloody tasted. And the smell emanating from the kitchen was making my mouth water so much, I was on the verge of flooding the place. There was a lull in the lunchtime patronage, and so I picked up my guitar and went to sit by the fireplace. I’d been playing a lot since Mairi died; another method of distraction I suppose.

The only problem was that everything I ended up learning to play was melancholy, which didn’t exactly help me achieve the goal of distraction. A glance around the room assured me that I was alone. After taking in a deep breath I began to strum away the chords to “Disarm” by Smashing Pumpkins. Some of the lyrics tugged at my heart and lodged a lump in my throat. My voice cracked as I sat there, eyes closed, pouring my heart into the empty room. When the song came to a close, I heard someone clapping. Horrified that my pain had been heard by someone, I snapped my head up in the direction of the applause.

Stella stood there, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Gregory, that was so beautiful.”

I cleared my throat and wiped the back of my hand across my damp face. “Ahem… oh… I had no idea you were listening. I wouldn’t have—”

“No, no. I’m glad I heard you. I have a proposition for you.”

I scrunched my brow. W
hat the hell could she be talking about?
“Oh?”

She walked toward me as carefully as if I were a horse about to bolt. “I’ve been thinking about getting some live music in. You know… not every night, but maybe once a month or something? Maybe
you
could be it?”

“Me? Play? Here? To
actual
people?”

She laughed. “I’m sure Angus is a great audience, but maybe
actual
people would like to hear you play too.”

“In front of…
people
?” The words weren’t really registering in my brain. Looking back, I know I sounded like a complete tit.

The smile on her face widened as she stood beside me and shook her head. “You really have no clue how talented you are, do you, Greg?”

I frowned and cocked my head to one side. “But I can’t play in front of
actual
,
real people
.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Well I don’t really fancy filling the place up with mannequins. They don’t tend to drink much.”

“But… I don’t know many songs. And the ones I do know make you cry, by the look of it. And me? That’d be a great draw for audiences. C
ome and see the fucking grumpy-arsed Scotsman cry all over his guitar. It’ll be a hoot.
”

She chuckled at me. “Well, perhaps you can think about it, eh? I haven’t seen you smile in the last five months, and it’s a shame. You’ve such a handsome face. Have a go at some other songs that are maybe a bit more… uplifting. It may actually help you, you know.”

She had a point. “Okay. I’ll have a wee think about it. But I’m not promising. And the answer’ll probably be no.”

“Well, like I said, have a think.”

Just then a couple walked in through the door and made their way over to the bar. I stood and carried my beloved Rhiannon around to the back and propped her up against the wall out of the way. By the way, in case you’re wondering, Rhiannon is my guitar. And I don’t really give a shit if you think I’m a fuckwit for naming her. She is what she is. And right then she was the fucking love of my life.

Chapter Three

I arrived home after my lunchtime shift. It was around five in the evening. Not really caring whether it was too early, I opened the latest bottle of single malt and poured two fingers of the amber liquid into a glass. After lighting the fire I sat there a while, watching the flames dance. Mairi and I used to sit for hours just holding each other and staring into the flames. She always said there was something hypnotic about fire, and I think she was right. Sometimes I’d come in from work and she’d be lying asleep on the rug, her head on Angus’s furry body as he slept too. He’d always look up when I walked in and wag his tail a couple of times very gently as if he didn’t want to wake her. He’s a sweet thing for such a big dog.