Ruth pulled back and looked into her husband’s eyes, wanting him to go on.
‘I gave it to you because you are the best person I ever met, and the most beautiful too. And I know I let you down. I wasn’t the husband I could have been. I thought it was my job to graft and keep you all comfortable.’
‘You did that,’ Ruth insisted. ‘You did.’
‘But we got a bit lost along the way. I forgot that I was supposed to be happy as well as being successful, as well as earning more and impressing more. And I forgot you. I did. Dad told me to do everything youtoldme to and that was supposedly the secret of a happy marriage, but it’s not. I should have done everythingI could think ofto make you happy, by myself, without being told, without being asked, and I should have done more of the things that made me happy too.’
‘What sort of things?’ Ruth sniffed.
‘Well that’s just it. I don’t know. With the boys gone, I don’t want to play golf on my own. I’ve listened to Roger Borthwick talk about his sciatica every Sunday for months now. It’s not the same as when the boys would come to the club. I’ve liked doing new things here – I liked the beach and the willow stripping. I liked the ball. I even liked the shopping and the silversmithing class. I know, I’m as surprised as you are.’ He smiled again, wiping his eyes. ‘I even tried to make you a silver ring, in case I couldn’t find your gold one, but it turned out to be such a sorry looking thing, I couldn’t ever give it to you.’ Mark laughed at this.
Ruth squeezed his hand. ‘I think we’ve both neglected ourselves and that’s made us neglect each other.’
‘I think so.’ Mark picked up the wedding band and held it between finger and thumb, shuffling out from his spot at the table, pulling Ruth to her feet too.
‘What are you doing?’ Ruth’s eyes were shining under the bar lights.
Mark sank to one knee. ‘I know I never asked you properly before, but I’m asking you now. Ruth Jennifer Firth, will you marry me? Can we do it all over again?’
Echo lifted his head at the commotion in the bar as everyone seemed to shriek and cheer at once, and Mrs Mair rushed over with a bottle of bubbly, and Ruth gripped her husband and let him rock her in a swaying hug, the gold wedding band safely back on her ring finger once more.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Comings and Goings
‘Will ye no’ stay, Mutt?’ Atholl charged after him.
‘The painting’s finished.’ Mutt loaded his bag onto his bike at the front of the inn. ‘I’ve nothing to stay for.’
‘At least try to get some sleep before you go, it’s no’ safe. Your mother wouldnae forgive me if anything happened to yi.’
It was true, Mutt had barely slept in the last twenty-four hours. First he’d listened to Polly until gone midnight, then he’d read and re-read the paperwork she’d left him with, cursing himself for promising Polly so much that he wasn’t willing to give her, and then, when he’d sat up alone in the bar for the rest of the night, listening out for Nina setting off for the airport, he’d foolishly fallen asleep and awakened to the sound of her taxi pulling away. It had been too late. She was gone.
He’d spent his final day in Port Willow finishing the last coats of paint on the corridors upstairs, working like fury, wanting to be finished so he could get away from the inn for good. He thought he’d seen the little grey-black shape that was Bear flitting by his feet so many times as he worked, and he’d even reached down to offer him the crust from his sandwich at lunchtime, but he was gone too, with Polly, back to the house they’d all shared until not so long ago, until Mutt become another Port Willow runaway.
He was exhausted now and it showed on his face.
‘At least wait ’til the morning, it’s pouring,’ Atholl shouted from beneath the stone lintel between the pillars at the reception door. ‘And it’s dark. Where will you even go? Are yi heading home?’
Mutt told him he hadn’t thought that far ahead.
He’d stayed close to his phone all day, checking its signal, waiting for Nina’s call. He owed her an apology for getting all bound up in Polly on Nina’s last night here. Polly had a habit of tying him up in knots and he’d found her arguments so binding, he couldn’t fight himself free.
If Nina wasn’t interested in hearing an explanation, however weak, surely she’d want to let him know how her pitch had gone? Yet she hadn’t called, and no matter how often he rang her, her phone was always off, or maybe she was just so far away he couldn’t reach her. She’d be back where she belonged now, forgetting all about him, no doubt.
Even now, straddling his bike and clipping his helmet straps at his throat, he felt glad at the thought of her striding through Manhattan, reinstated in her job, living the life of glamour and excitement she’d missed while in the Highlands. She’d needed to make a triumphant return to New York and he was confident she’d done just that.
‘At least take this week’s pay, Mutt.’ Atholl had tried to give him the roll of notes already, even though he’d not completed the week. Mutt waved the money away and pulled on his black gloves, strapping them across his wrists. ‘You’ve become part of the family here at the inn. It’s no’ right to let you go like this.’
Mutt started the engine. ‘I’m sorry, Atholl. I can’t stay. Thank you for giving me somewhere to be.’ He kicked the bike off its stand and pulled away into the dark night.
He didn’t look out at the water in Port Willow Bay, or at the jetty with its white lightbulbs reflecting in the dark water. He didn’t gaze out at the last train, its two short carriages lit up as it pulled out of the village, snaking its way around the bay. Hedidspot Echo on the street corner by the school, barking and turning in circles all by himself.
Mutt wondered if he should stop and take him back to the inn. He was an old dog for wandering the streets at night now. Mutt pulled in to let the Highland hopper bus go by, and looked in his wing mirror where Echo was framed, still barking and trotting his front paws off the pavement in an agitated dance. Daft dog.
The road cleared and he accelerated hard just as the figure fighting to control three suitcases and a flyaway umbrella stepped into the road in front of him. Mutt had a split second to avoid her.
The woman screamed and the bike’s brakes screeched. Mutt veered out onto the road, ditching the out-of-control bike and sliding along wet tarmac, the side of his helmet bumping and juddering hard off the ground. He didn’t feel the impact as his body met the road, but he was aware his hands were suddenly cold and wet. He wondered how his gloves could have come off. His jacket was split too, all down one arm, and the rain was seeping in as he came to a heavy stop against the kerb. He heard his bike hit a wall somewhere at a distance, and there was a dog barking, but it wasn’t his Bear, he knew that for sure, and he knew there was a woman with clicking heels pounding the tarmac and screaming his name, his real name, before everything in Port Willow turned black and silent like sleep.
