Bridge Over the Atlantic (11 page)

He stroked her hair as she let more of the raw emotion spill out onto his denim jacket. He sat there comforting her for what felt like hours, just letting her cry, holding her tightly and fighting back his own tears of grief that had bubbled to the surface.

Finally, she raised her head as her tears subsided. He looked into her red, puffy eyes and saw the raw pain she was feeling. He reached up and almost touched her face to express his empathy, but he thought better of it and placed his hand on the steering wheel.

“C’mon, we’d better get ye home. They’ll all be wondering where you’ve got to.”

Greg put the vehicle into gear and released the handbrake. It was a gutsy vehicle. She noticed the
Land Rover
badge on the steering wheel.
That figures
she thought. Looking at his left hand she noticed the indentation where a wedding ring had once been. She wanted to ask him about his family and his wife, but decided to save those questions. She wasn’t sure she could digest any more information at the moment.

They pulled up outside the cottage and the front door opened immediately. Brad, Renee and Josie came running out. They shouted out in unison, some unable to hold their feelings.

“Mallory, thank fucking goodness!” Josie clapped her hands over her mouth when she received a disapproving glance from Renee.

“Oh thank, God, Mallory!” Renee exclaimed “We’ve been worried sick!” She pulled her cardigan around her shoulders to guard against the chill wind.

Greg appeared at the passenger side and opened the door. Mallory tried to get out of the vehicle.

“Whoa there lassie, you’ve nothin’ on your feet.” He scooped her up with ease and began to walk toward the door. Brad did not appear happy about this gallant action and quickly followed him inside.

“Who are you, pal?” He asked in a rather threatening manner, his broad
Yorkshire
accent becoming more evident in anger. “Why does she look like she’s been dragged through an ‘edge?” Brad clenched his fists at his sides.

Greg’s jaw clenched at the insinuations as he placed Mallory on the sofa.

“I found her on the beach sobbing her heart out, if you must know. She’s nothing on her feet and no coat. Have you any idea how cold it gets out there,
pal?”
Greg fronted up to Brad.

Mallory panicked at the sudden confrontation. “Whoa, hey! Knock it off, please!” She implored. “Brad…Greg came to my rescue when I went a bit crazy tonight, and Greg…Brad wasn’t responsible for my lack of appropriate clothing. I went out like this of my own accord. So can you please just back up and shake hands?”

It was the most she had spoken in a while. They all stared at her, open mouthed, as if a miracle had just occurred.

Greg nodded to the two ladies and held out his hand to Brad. “I’ll be going, now that I know you’re okay.”

Brad grasped his hand and shook it. “Look mate, why don’t you stay for a coffee or summat? Warm you up a bit? And thanks for helping Mal. She’s like my little sister and I would never forgive myself if she got hurt.”

Greg looked to Mallory for her consent. Mallory shrugged.

Greg sat beside Mallory on the sofa. The others busied themselves sorting coffee and Renee went to call Ryan to let him know Mallory had returned.

Greg nudged Mallory’s shoulder with his own, “See, you
have
people who care. Don’t go scaring ‘em like that again, okay?”

“When we were in your car, you said it gets easier…how do you know that? How can anyone say that?” She pleaded.

“Well, only those who’ve experienced loss and grief and have come out the other side can really know, I suppose.” He frowned, staring into the flames of the fire.

“You’ve been through this?” She asked gingerly.

“Aye,” he continued staring. His voice was clipped.

“Your wife?” she asked, remembering the indentation of the wedding band.

“Na. My…” He inhaled deeply. He rubbed his brow as if it hurt to think about it. She wanted to ask more; to find out whom he had lost. For her own sake admittedly, which was selfish, but she wanted to know how he had got through it, so she could at least start to try. But she didn’t. “Look, it’s late, I’d better go, I’ve got an early start the morrow. Got to pick Rhiannon up and I can’t be late. Tell your family I’m grateful for the offer of a drink, but I really should be off.” His voice cracked as he briskly walked to the door, pulled it open with ease and left.

Mallory stared at the door, a little bemused as to why he had gone in such a hurry. She had no clue who Rhiannon was, but she was clearly very demanding. Josie and Brad returned to the lounge with a tray and glanced around the room.

“Where’s Cutie McHunky gone?” Josie tried to lighten the mood. Brad elbowed her. “Ow!”

“I think I upset him,” Mallory admitted. “He said he’d been through this situation and so I asked about it,” Mallory’s bottom lip began to quiver, “then he left and I feel so awful.” The tears sprang from her eyes as guilt washed over her.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, don’t worry about him, you don’t even know him from Adam,” Josie soothed, “it’s you that you need to be concentrating on now.”

Mallory nodded, but deep down she knew there was more to what had just happened. He had been so caring; it was as if things were still raw for him. She regretted questioning him. She would have to apologise.

May 2011

In the few days that followed the cremation and her mini breakdown, new neighbours made themselves known to her. Her tragic circumstances had spread around the village like a wild fire. She was touched by their condolences, offers of kind, reassuring words and help.

Colin and Christine, the proprietors at the village shop, stopped by with homemade carrot cake; Colin’s specialty they had told her. Ron from the pub came by to walk Ruby several times and the lady from a couple of doors down, who had lost her husband a year ago, called by with flowers, a card and an understanding hug. Mallory had shed tears at how wonderful these, to all intents and purposes, strangers were being. She felt sad that her welcome had been under such sad and painful circumstances. But they had welcomed her nonetheless.

Friday evening came around and Josie and Brad felt that Mallory really should get out of the cottage. They decided that a nice walk in the fresh air and then a couple of drinks at the pub was in order. Mallory took some convincing, but eventually she conceded and readied herself. Renee had agreed that Ruby should stay home and she was happy to doggy-sit.

Mallory pulled on a baggy sweater, jeans and a fleece. She scraped her hair into a low pony tail and slid her spectacles up her nose. When she examined her appearance in the bathroom mirror she was shocked at just how pale and drawn she had become. She lifted her glasses and dabbed on some under eye concealer to rid herself of the dark circles and rubbed a tinted lip balm onto her lips.

The walk was short, but helped clear some of the fuzz that had taken up residence in her head. They stopped at the midpoint of the bridge on their journey toward the pub. Mallory inhaled the cool sea air into her lungs and fought the tears that once again stung her eyes. Would she forever be plagued by this sinking feeling whenever she stood here, she wondered. Josie and Brad, who flanked her, enveloped her in a group hug. It felt good.

“C’mon guys,” she squeezed her friends’ shoulders. “To coin a well-known Josie Gardiner phrase…‘
let’s go get rat arsed!
’” this brought giggles and overly enthusiastic grins to her friends’ faces. They made their way toward the lights of the pub and its warm welcome.

Mallory stopped when she saw Greg leaning on the bar at one end; pint in hand. He wasn’t in his usual spot, grumpily serving the locals and visitors. He looked fidgety and rather nervous. He was wearing a dark blue shirt which had little pale blue flowers on it. It suited him, Mallory mused. He looked smart.
Probably on a date,
she deduced.

The three friends sat by the fireplace with their drinks and chatted. Josie and Brad doing their best to keep the conversation light hearted. Mallory began to enjoy a relaxed feeling brought on by the alcohol she imbibed.

They had just begun their third round of drinks when someone began to speak over a PA system. They turned to the direction of the voice. Much to their mutual surprise, Greg sat on a stool in front of a mic stand, clutching an acoustic guitar.

“Ahem…evening all,” he coughed. “Good to see you. Ahh…for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of being served intoxicating liquor by my good self…I’d better introduce myself, eh?” He fidgeted nervously again. “My name is Greg McBradden and I’m the local handyman, bartender and all round grumpy arse.” He looked directly at Mallory who cringed and felt rather guilty considering he’d come to her rescue on the beach so readily. He laughed to himself at her obvious recoiling. “Anyways, I’m going to do my best to add ‘
entertainer
’ to my list of talents. Thanks to Stella, the owner here, she seems to have a disliking for all you locals as she’s agreed to let me sing to you.” The pub customers roared with laughter; some heckled and some booed.

Lifting his guitar aloft he went on, “Anyways…I’d like to introduce you to Rhiannon…my guitar…named after a Fleetwood Mac song that got me into playing in the first place…so you can blame them if you don’t like ma playing.” A rumble of laughter travelled the room. “She has just been repaired at the guitar hospital…also known as a music shop for you heathens…so she sounds grand…If any of you’s get up and leave, don’t forget I know where most of you live.” Greg chuckled.

“Right, well, seeing as this is my first night I’m not going to scare you away with my own compositions. This first one, you should all know, but don’t bloody sing along. I hate that,” he laughed. “It’s a little number that I like to call ‘
Trouble
’…because…erm, that’s its name.” Another rumble of laughter. “It’s by a guy called Ray LaMontagne and I’d like anyone who knows him or follows him on Twitter to tell him I’m sorry.” The customers laughed again.

Greg began to strum the opening chords and closed his eyes as he did so. Mallory, Brad and Josie exchanged looks which pretty much meant
Crikey! I should cocoa!
They laughed together at their mutual shock. An amazed silence blanketed the room as everyone listened, mesmerised by the voice of this erstwhile loner who had appeared to have come out of his shell right before their very eyes.
He named his guitar? Bit odd
…It did, however, explain who Rhiannon actually was. Mallory pondered, letting the bizarre nugget of information sink in.

Song after song had everyone swaying and, contrary to Greg’s insistence, singing along. It was wonderful to hear someone with such a soulful voice doing justice to some of the best songs from last decade.

Mallory and her friends drank and drank. But Mallory, feeling relaxed, was surprisingly sober. She sang along and felt as if all her sorrows had melted away for that brief period of time. Without giving his next song any introduction, Greg took a quick gulp of his beer and began to play a series of singular notes. Shock gripped Mallory and she felt frozen to the spot. Her heart began to pound and she felt the minimal colour she currently had drain from her face as Greg began to sing. Mallory’s eyes widened as her friends exchanged worried looks.

“Oh shit, Brad, it’s bloody ‘
Chasing Cars’
!” Josie growled at her boyfriend whose mouth had just fallen open in realisation.

Before she could stop herself, and before Greg pierced her heart with the chorus, Mallory rose and dodging the people at the tables nearest to her, bolted for the exit, closely followed by Josie and Brad.

Mallory burst into the evening air and gulped as if she had just come to the surface of a very deep lake. She was struggling to breathe. Her heart was making its most earnest attempts to escape its bony cage as Mallory ran. She collapsed to her knees in the middle of the bridge where she began to sob uncontrollably. When Josie and Brad reached her, Josie dropped to her side and encircled her in her arms.

“He’s gone, Josie!” Mallory sobbed, “he’s gone and I can’t bear it. I don’t know what to do. I’ll never hold him again.” Her body convulsed as emotion wracked her, “he’s gone.” Brad too crouched to join the girls and stroked Mallory’s hair. The same sorry words fell, over and over, from her lips, as if she was determined to make them sink in. “He’s gone…he’s gone and he’s never coming back.”

Carefully Brad lifted Mallory into his arms and the friends made their way back to the cottage. Eventually, Mallory’s sobs subsided and Brad carried her upstairs to her bedroom under the concerned gaze of Renee who stood, hands clasped over her mouth and tears caressing her cheeks. Josie helped her friend undress and tucked her into bed. She cried herself to sleep, this time with gentle, pain filled silent tears.

~~~~~

Mallory awoke and glanced over at her clock; ten forty-five. She sat and felt the most horrendous pounding in her head, which forced her to lie back down. Sunlight streamed in through the curtains. The same silly, tissue thin, curtains that she and Sam had endured at the cottage in
Yorkshire
. They never got around to buying new ones. It had been on their ‘to do’ list. She heard a knock at the front door and managed to scramble over to peek out of her room to see who it was. She had no intention of answering it herself. Josie had opened the door, “Oh, hi. What are you doing here?”

On hearing Josie’s somewhat hostile greeting Mallory cranked her neck so that she could see who it was without being seen herself. Greg stood there looking like a rabbit in headlights.

“I came to check up on Mallory.” He fiddled with his car keys as he spoke, “I saw her run out last night and was worried she was sick or something.” He ran his hand through his hair.

“Oh, yes, of course. Thanks.” Josie took a deep breath and shifted from one foot to the other. “You played ‘
Chasing Cars’
. That was the song that was played at her engagement. It meant a lot to her and Sam…It was their song.”