‘Thank God. Thank God. Thank God,’ he says into their hair. ‘If anything had happened to you—’
‘We’re fine. We’re fine,’ they both say into his chest, although he detects a distinctive wobble to their voices. Eventually, they pull away, and his eyes lock with Heather’s. A hundred messages seem to pass between them in that glance. It slows his heart rate and stabilises his racing thoughts.
Yet, despite that, the shift comes without warning. It’s as though a switch flicks inside his head. Because his love and gratitude and relief soon morph into analysis and anger and questions and an overriding, unsilenceable:What the actual fuck??
‘You were driving?’ He directs his first question to Brianna. ‘What the hell did I say to you about driving?’
Of all today’s affronts, Brianna being behind the wheel of a car is the worst of them all. Everyone knew his views on the matter.
Brianna’s eyes, initially soft and vulnerable, become steely, hard and defiant.
‘I’m learning to drive, Dad. I’m financing it myself. So, there’s not exactly anything you can do about it.’ Then she takes a moment to power up for her most ludicrous statement of all: ‘Besides, I’m more than capable.’
The guffaw springs from his lips completely unbidden. How can he convey to her the utter terror he was feeling mere moments ago? It comes out not as words of tenderness, but in a conflict-inducing attack.
‘You’re more than capable, are you?’
He gestures to the mayhem behind him.
‘It was just a second—’
‘One second’s all it takes, Brianna.’ He lifts one finger in the air. ‘One single second and—’ He clicks his fingers then makes a gesture with both hands to indicate a puff of smoke and complete annihilation. All three of them: Brianna, Heather and Lorraine, wince.
‘And you …’ The pulse in his temple is throbbing when he turns to his sister-in-law, who stands beside them on the grass verge.
‘You colluded with her to visit him? When you knew my feelings about it.’
Lorraine makes the mistake of taking a step towards him and trying to place a hand on his arm.
‘Don’t you fucking touch me!’
He jerks his hand backwards to escape her calming embrace and hits his fist against a metal fence post. The fire coursing through his knuckle is an almost welcome distraction from the angst and pain that engulfs his mind. He brings his hand up and touches the damaged fingers to his lips.
‘And you,’ he turns to Heather, ‘I trusted you. You know how I feel about her driving. And you let her. Worse. You came along and encouraged her.’
‘No, Scott. I—’
His raised hand might be an attempt to silence Heather, but it seems to have the opposite effect. Heather’s eyes blaze, and her skin, which was deathly pale when he first arrived, now takes on an indignant glow.
‘What the hell do you mean by this?’
She mimics the raised hand gesture. ‘Don’t you dare try to silence me when all I’ve done - all I’ve ever done this year - is try to do right by you and your daughter. Don’t forget, Scott,’ her pointed finger is directed towards his face, ‘that you left me, with virtually no notice, to look after your daughter. You said you trusted her, and me, to do the right things in your absence.Well, we tried. We all tried. We made the best decisions we could, given you were halfway around the world in a remote area – doing your thing – escaping from the world – cutting us all off in your supposed quest for gritty adventure. Well, I’ll tell you where the gritty, intractable stuff has been recently. It’s been here, at home. Where you’re too terrified to stay whenever your feelings venture unchecked or – perish the thought – require a bit of self- acknowledgement.’
A police officer, brandishing a clipboard, edges towards them and asks for a word alone with Brianna and Heather. Rather than be alone with Lorraine, Scott storms down the road for a hundred metres or so before the build up of cars in the opposite direction begins to queue. Heather’s words are hammering in his ears. Is this what she thinks of him? A terrified, inadequate parent constantly looking for a distraction from the realities of life? He was coming home, hoping for reconciliation with her, but this – it’s all too much. He sees the signs to Stratford in the distance. Two miles. By the time he’s returned to the site, he’s decided.
‘I think it’s best if you go,’ he says to Heather. ‘It’s a twenty-minute walk to the train station from here. You’ll be able to get to Edinburgh in a couple of changes.’
Heather’s head recoils at the harshness of his tone and message.
‘So that’s your response? I challenge you, and you send me packing?’
‘Look. Just go, okay? This has nothing to do with you.’
He knows it’s unfair. He knows it’s untrue, but before he can take his words back, Heather has checked the police no longer need her this afternoon and, within five minutes, she is gone.
‘Where’s Heather?’
Brianna’s full of questions once the crash site is cleared and they’ve arranged for the car to be towed away. Lorraine has already left.
