I shouldn’t be glad someone is dead, but in her case I am. I’m pretty sure Grandma’s hateful attitude to Ma added to her self-loathing, hastening her own death from years of alcohol and hurt. It’s part of why us returning to Mull as a family was never an option. Ailish was here, of course, Niven too – although I don’t remember him much as a kid because we moved away so early. The coincidence of meeting him again over five hundred miles away at university in London felt like a gift of providence. Still does.
We brave a coffee and a bacon roll each and scurry back to the shelter of the ferry terminal.
‘Don’t take the lid off your coffee,’ Niven says when we’re squeezed onto bright-blue rigid plastic chairs in the departure lounge.
‘Why?’
‘It’s not pretty. I didn’t know coffee came in grey.’
‘It’s warm and it’s wet. That’s all I care about.’ I roll my eyes as Niven chokes on his sub-standard coffee. ‘You haven’t changed.’
‘Apart from being AWOL from the Island,’ he says, wiping coffee from his chin.
‘What’s going on there?’
My friend slumps in his unforgiving seat. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘How?’
‘Can’t really explain. My mates at home reckon it’s a premature midlife crisis. It’s just – nothing seems as fulfilling as it did before.’
‘Before Ruth?’ I’m careful not to look at him when I say it.
‘Not just that. Lots of things, really. Ruth was the start of it, I think.’
‘The teaching?’
I see his boots tapping together. A sure sign he feels uncomfortable. It isn’t that he can’t take confrontation, more that he’d rather work it out himself than by committee.
‘I love the kids. I’ll always love working with them. But since Ruth, everything’s come up for renewal. When we were together I was looking to a future where a safe job on the Island was necessary. But now… now I just don’t know.’
When I’ve pictured returning to Mull, Niven in his teaching job was as sure and immovable a feature as Duart Castle or the peak of Ben More. I hadn’t realised how much the break-up could shake him. But that’s the point – I haven’t noticed because I haven’t been involved in my friends’ lives for so long.
This year, I will be a better friend to them all.
* * *
Almost two hours later, our luck takes a turn for the better. Against all odds the leaden skies break and the wind drops. The sunshine that appears is the weakest, weediest excuse for sun, but we’re delighted to see it. Twenty minutes later, an announcement comes over the tannoy to inform the thirty or so of us noble pilgrims who’ve stuck out the wait that a ferry will be heading to the Island in an hour.
It’s almost 4 p.m. when we reach Craignure. I’ve missed several buses and the next one won’t run for another hour and a half. More waiting. I think of transport back in London, how I consider anything over a twenty-minute wait to be unreasonable. This year will teach me patience, if nothing else.
‘Hey, don’t go waiting for a ride to Fionnphort,’ Niven says when I start to head for the bus stop. ‘I’ll drive you over.’
‘I can’t ask you to do that. It’s miles out of your way.’
‘You haven’t asked. I’ve offered. I’ve a friend here who lets me park on his drive when I go to the mainland. I can’t stand the bus. I always meet some ancient local who knows my mum and has embarrassing stories about me they’ll happily share with every other passenger. Come on. Accept a lift from a dodgy local, eh? Start living dangerously.’
It isn’t an offer I’m likely to pass up. ‘Sure, why not? I’ll make sure Ailish pays you in cake.’
‘Deal. And you can buy the first round when we go drinking.’ He grins as we set off. ‘Because we will be drinking many times, Sam.’
* * *
Single-track roads are a feature of the Island and something I’d forgotten the thrill of navigating. I’m usually a dreadful passenger but right now I’m glad Niven’s driving. To take my mind off the scarily narrow road ahead I look out at the landscape, the sight of the sea and moorland, hills and mountains summoning so many memories.
We’ve been driving for a while when I’m struck by the strongest need to be out in the wild, open beauty of my birthplace.
‘Wait – can we stop for a second?’
‘Er, sure, hang on.’ Niven frowns but he doesn’t question my request.
We pull into a small muddy passing place beside a hummock of wild grass, looking out across miles of empty moor. I open the door and jump out, shaking the stiffness from my legs.
Out here the wind blows unabated from sea to land, across dramatic craggy moorland peppered with pink granite, the vivid swathes of green bracken dancing with the first flush of purple heather. I plant my feet on the soft peaty earth, my body braced against the buffeting breeze.
Suddenly, everything returns. The scent of salt and heather on the air, the light from my earliest memories of life, the colours… For a moment, I can’t move; scared it will all vanish if I do. I want to capture everything just as it is now. I’ve forgotten it once: I don’t ever want to do that again.
‘Are you all right, man?’ Niven is standing beside me, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket.
‘Just – breathing it in,’ I say, surprised by the emotion I hear in my own voice.
He nods but doesn’t say anything. I know he understands.
No matter what your experience, where you come from is rooted deep within you. I was happy here as a child, in the way that kids always find joy in life. It was only after we left the Island that all the resulting pain and recriminations moved in which characterised the rest of my growing up. I didn’t know what Ma was living through when we were here – how could I? I was 9 years old. She hid it from us because she loved her kids. Until we were old enough to hear it all.
‘So, you’re going home?’ Phoebe had asked on the day we met. But it’s only now I can truly answer.
Yes, Phoebe. I’m going home.
Beside me, Niven coughs.
‘We should probably be getting on. There won’t be much light left soon.’
I nod, grateful that him driving me to Ailish’s house gave me this moment. The bus wouldn’t have let me stop to find it.
‘You know, you can stay at mine,’ Niven says, as the car bumps along the rutted road. ‘There’s just me knocking around there. You’d be closer to things, too.’
‘That’s kind of you, but I promised Ailish. I think she wants me to stay because of Ma.’
‘Fair enough. Then we’ll do beers, soon. And often. And would you maybe be up for a gig or two? Plenty of room in my band if you’re after a bit of cash while you’re here.’
‘Deal.’ One of the things I’m most looking forward to this year is hanging out with this guy, and if anyone can show me the traditional songs it’ll be Niven. Besides, I want to help him find something else to get his teeth into. Niven not being happy is worrying.