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Regret and failure
(Blakely)
He pushed the folder toward me and took another bite of steak. I opened to see what the damage was.
The top layer of the folder was a list of phone numbers in a clear plastic sleeve that had a piece of paper with the scrawled name, May, and a phone number, with the words Dad’s Wife written beside it circled over and over. Under that it stated: Dad - hospice. There was a hospital record and some bills. Then a death certificate.
I scanned it fast, glancing at Liam as he ran his hand through his hair, dismayed.
I flipped to a few pages of lawyer letters and forms and a contract, then two more with suppliers. Under that, a loose, haphazard pile of receipts. Then bank statements, which were shocking. I didn’t know they gave out bank statements on paper anymore. And a check book.
Then there were some forms for selling the pub and an appraisal on the hotel. I could barely contemplate the numbers, the excavation of it was most of the work this round, but it was easy to see that the numbers were not adding up.
Also, that from the top layer of the folder to the bottom layer was a deepening desperation: The plastic sleeves at the top. The haphazard receipts in the middle. The last few pages were bills marked ‘due’.
He said, “Ye ken, Woodshee, the business is failing and it is difficult tae watch it fail havin’ had a hand in it. I just... I regret I couldna fix it. I couldna pull it back from the edge, and tae hae regret inna a good way tae begin a dream.”
I carved another bite of steak and chewed it, gesturing with my fork. “And this word, regret, exactly what do you mean by it?”
“I daena ken, it’s—”
“Because you said yourself, it was your father’s dream, why would you regret that it wasn’t a success? You are by all rights able to sell it, take the money, settle the debts and run. Not one person would blame you for it—”
“Nae one blames me, per se, everyone feels verra sorry for me, and there is the problem of it, Woodshee. I was goin’ tae be a rugby star for most of m’young life and then an injury changed m’course. Then I was helpin’ m’sister go tae school, being a proper eldest brother dealt a shite hand by a deadbeat dad and that was derailed by the father’s death. And aye, I grumble and moan about having tae do what I dinna plan tae do, but the worst part is that I am failin’ and everyone can see.”
“That’s really tough.”
“Aye, it has been verra public that I am nae able tae turn m’father’s business around. I hae been a failure, m’father was a failure, and as I told ye today, we come from a long line of failures, the Campbells of Breadalbane — the title layin’ dormant because of lack of descendants. We couldna even make children well enough. Yet my line lived in the shadows of the castle, sold tae the highest bidder. Tis an odd thing, Woodshee, tae live on the outside of the walls of a castle that yer grandfather would tell ye, with a mist in his eye, ’Twas mine, but tis gone.’ It’s like every man in my family has failed and everyone kens it. I wonder if we’re cursed.”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe in curses—”
“Me neither, nae really.” He took a sip of wine.
“What I hear you saying, in all of this, is that you don’t want to keep failing, that you want some success.”
“Aye, but when ye say failing, Woodshee, it hurts m’feelings, ye need tae soften the blow.”
“You want some success.”
“Aye, I need a win. I would also like tae honor m’father and give him a win as well. I was verra angry with him, but I kind of think I hae been too harsh, perhaps he was just wantin’ tae try tae do something successful, maybe he dinna want tae live in the shadow of the castle anymore... I daena ken, I canna excuse leavin’ yer family, he’s still an arse — maybe honor is too strong a word—”
“Maybe you want to honor your family name.”
“Aye, and that is simple now I think about it. What I would really like tae do is get everyone at the hotel and pub their jobs back, and tae hae the people who are working for me and who worked for m’father see that we are capable of doin’ it.”
I gave him a sad smile. “That’s darn close to a dream, my love. I like that it involves making things right for other people.”
He shrugged. “It was a hard thing when I had tae let them go.”
I flipped the last page and in the back pocket of the binder were some folded magazine pages. I unfolded them. There were photos of the inside of a pub, a really hip pub from somewhere in Scotland.
“What’s this?”
“The night I got the call from m’dad’s wife, May, I went down tae the shop for a drink and there was a magazine with a story about Scotland’s best pub, I bought it and tore out the photos. I thought they would inspire me for m’new role.”
I blinked. “So when you came you thought you were going to redecorate? You did have a dream?” My voice trembled, I kind of thought I would cry.
He grinned, sheepishly. “I suppose I did. I at least wanted tae make the hotel a place people would want tae stay, tae be simple, and tae polish the pub a bit.” He pulled the photos from my hand and looked down on them, then he folded them back in half and stuffed them in the pocket. He closed the binder and ran a hand through his hair again.
