Bridge Over the Atlantic (25 page)

“Oh, Sam. I’m so glad we didn’t know the future on that first day we stood here. It breaks my heart to think that this is how things ended up. But you loved it here so very much. And now a part of you will be part of this beautiful landscape.” She reached into the urn and took half of the remaining ashes. Holding them aloft she released her hold of them over the bridge and let them fly. One more location to go and that would mean a trip to
Yorkshire.

~~~~~

She arranged to visit Brad and Josie the following weekend. The urn was packed away in her bag. Ruby sat in the foot well of the passenger side fast asleep as they drove the long journey back to
Yorkshire
. After she had arrived and dropped her bag in her room, she and Josie drove into the centre of
Leeds
. It was nearing ten at night. Josie hung back to give Mallory some space.

Mallory walked up the precinct to the place where she had first fallen into Sam’s arms. “Who would have thought that after such a chance meeting we would fall in love?” she said as the memory of Sam wrapped its arms around her as she stood. This place had been the start of such an important time in her life. A time that had moulded her into the much more confident person she was right then. She removed a handful of ashes from the pot and let them drift away in the slight breeze that wafted around in the sheltered precinct.

Finally she walked up to the coffee shop which was closed for the evening. She looked through the window where she could just about make out the table she had shared with Sam. Her palms pressed against the window, as did her forehead, almost searching for some connection to the past. She remembered how he looked at her and listened intently as she waffled on about rubbish. He had made her feel worth listening to. He made her feel sexy and attractive; things she hadn’t felt before him.

“I owe you so much Sam. I will never forget you.” She released the last of the ashes and said her final goodbye.

August 2011

Back in
Scotland
a few days later, Mallory arrived at the pub for her shift, fully expecting to recount the day’s events with Greg as usual, but he was nowhere to be seen. Stella had no clue where he was either. There had been no phone call or text to say he wouldn’t be in, which was strange.

By ten that night Mallory was beginning to worry. They had been spending so much time together lately that she felt sure he would have mentioned if he was going to be elsewhere.

Admittedly, he had been rather quiet throughout the day, unlike normal when he would just turn up and take her for lunch or call and ask if she fancied a trip out on the boat.

When there was a lull in customers she decided to give him a call. His answering machine kicked in. She looked at her watch and suddenly noticed the date. August twentieth. Suddenly she was filled with horror. Greg was somewhere, alone, on the anniversary of Mairi’s death.

She explained to Stella that she needed to go find him and why. Stella whole heartedly agreed that it was a good idea for her to go.

Mallory ran over to her house and grabbed her car keys, slamming and locking the door behind her. Ruby had looked dazed but didn’t get up.

She set off for Greg’s but on arrival found the house in darkness. She banged on the windows but there was no answer. She tried the front door. It wasn’t locked. Filled with dread she entered and ran around the house looking in every room, closely followed by Angus who didn’t understand what was going on. She called Greg’s name. No reply.

She slumped on his sofa and noticed a pile of photos on the table, glistening in the moonlight that streamed in through the window.

She switched on a lamp and picked up the photos. Mairi and Greg at the beach; Mairi and Greg at a friend’s wedding; Mairi and Greg kissing; Mairi and Greg out walking; every photo showed happy, smiling faces in loving embraces. They looked so in love. How could he have doubted her love for him?

The last photo was one she picked up from the floor. Shivers went down her spine when she remembered Greg’s words from a few months before.

Every so often I take off up to The Buckle near Glen Etiv, where I met Mairi…there’s a little rock…I just sit there. I take my sleeping bag and sleep under the bridge…I feel her there.

“Oh my God, Greg.” She sprang to her feet and went over to the front door where Greg kept his keys on a hook. His house keys were there but the
Land Rover
keys were not. Her worst fears realised, she fussed Angus and told him to stay then she ran out to her car slamming Greg’s front door behind her.

She scrambled into the driver’s seat of her own car and started the engine, fumbling with the handbrake. “More haste, less speed!” she shouted at herself. She vaguely remembered how to get to
Glen Etiv
and knew it’d take her around two hours to get there. She just hoped he was okay.

It was very late when she set off to find Greg and Mallory was relieved to find the roads were fairly clear. She drove at the maximum speed limit the whole journey.

“What the fuck am I doing?” she asked aloud as she drove through the dark, “I must be fucking mad.” She hated herself for swearing, something she didn’t do often, but she was nervous and scared as to what she may find if and when she eventually found Greg.

It was well past midnight when she eventually found a small road that was signposted to
Glen Etiv
. She figured it must be the one Greg talked about as the moon highlighted the Buckle looming in the distance. She pulled onto the road and drove. Sure enough she crossed a small bridge.

Her eyes were wide open as her headlights fell on Greg’s
Land Rover
. She screeched to a halt nearby, jumped out of her car and ran over to the vehicle. There was no sign of him. But there was a hold-all scrunched up in the back seat.

“GREG!!” she shouted as loud as she could. No reply. She walked toward the bridge, “GREEEEEG!!” She tried again. Her voice echoed in the night air and her heart was thumping in her chest.

It was uncomfortably dark, apart from the crescent moon shining down and casting eerie shadows on her unfamiliar surroundings. There was a haunting stillness to the place. The only clearly, audible sound as she walked was the sound of the water crashing around under the bridge, breaking the otherwise silent night.

She decided to follow a narrow path which veered away from the road to the underside of the bridge. She remembered Greg saying he sometimes slept there. It was pitch black. She grabbed her phone from her pocket and switched on its torch.

“Bloody typical. Can’t get a sodding signal anywhere, but I pay twenty five quid a month for an effing torch,” she chuntered loudly as she walked.

There was a sleeping bag right where she had anticipated; but no Greg. She clambered back up to the road and aimed back toward Greg’s car. Tears of sheer anxiety stung at her eyes. Suddenly, the torch glinted on something, making her jump and stop dead in her tracks. It was a man. She shined the torch directly onto him. The figure raised an arm to shield his eyes from the glare of the light. It was Greg. She marched toward where he sat, on his little rock facing the Buckle.

She exhaled a huge sigh of relief as she reached him. He had hung his head.

“Greg. Are you okay?” No response. She tilted his chin up. His eyes were closed and his face was wet. She tapped his face with her free hand. “Greg, it’s me, Mallory.” Slowly his eyes opened partially.

“Mallory?” He looked confused for a moment. “Oh aye, Mallory, my bestest friend in the world, Mallory, Mallory.” His words slurred. Mallory noticed a large, half empty whiskey bottle clutched in his right hand.

“Oh, Greg, you silly, silly sod. What have you done?” She wrestled the bottle from his hand.

“Ahhhhad a wee drinky. In memory of my wee lassie.” He smiled, “She’s dead, you know.”

She sighed. “Yes Greg, I know. Come one, let’s get you home. We’ll collect your car tomorrow, eh?”

“Fuck off!” He swiped her hand away as she tried to take his arm. “You just fuck the fuck away, am stayin’ here with my Mairi.” He was not a pleasant drunk.

Annoyance washing over her, she snapped. “Oy, don’t swear at me.” She grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her neck and struggled to get him to a standing position. “You can’t stay here, not in this state.”

“Am shorry, Mallilly. I don’t mean to swear at you. You’re my best friend you know that?” He swayed.

“Yes, Greg, so you said. Now come on. You are going to feel like shit in the morning and I need to get you home. You’ve had me worried sick,” she scolded him.

“Whoops, you swore.” He chuckled, “you said
Shit
.” His accent had become stronger in his drunken state. If this situation wasn’t so sad Mallory would’ve been amused by drunken Greg.

Stifling a giggle she said, “Sorry for swearing, Greg, now come on. You can’t stay here. It’s a car park not a camp site.” They wobbled and swayed toward the car. Suddenly Greg stopped and looked back at the moonlit mountain.

“I met her there on that wee path. I’d been out walking and I was on my way back to the car. She dropped her map and tripped over her lace trying to pick it up…I caught her.” Greg was now seemingly lucid and Mallory was struck as to the similarities between his story of meeting Mairi and hers of meeting Sam. They stood in silence.

Greg looked down at Mallory. “She was so beautiful, Mally, so beautiful. Long red hair, green eyes.” A single tear rolled down his unshaven cheek. “I miss her so much. I don’t want to be alone. I hate it.” He brought his hand up to cover his eyes as he was taken over by his emotions.

His lower lip trembled and his body shook much the same as hers had that night on the beach when he had rescued her. It was her turn to rescue him now. She hugged him and let him cry.

Eventually he wiped his face on his T-shirt, took a deep breath and looked down at her again. She felt sad too. She gazed up at this broken man, knowing exactly how he felt. Then suddenly she froze as he lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her softly but it was not the simple kiss of one friend to another. He tasted of whiskey.

Her mind snapped back into action. “Greg, no! What are you doing?” She stepped back from him glaring.

He wobbled a little. “Shit. I’m sorry, Mallory, I-I don’t know why I did that.” He touched his lips as he stumbled backward.

“No, neither do I…Let’s just forget about it. Come on. You need to get home to bed.” She knew he was drunk. She knew he was grieving, but boy was she going to have to work on forgiving him for that latest development.

She helped fold him into her car which wasn’t really built for huge hulking men. Fastened his seat belt and slammed the door almost off its hinges.

When she had climbed into the driver’s seat he was looking at her.

“You’re mad with me; please don’t be mad with me.” He pleaded, “I couldn’t help myself, I really couldn’t. I’m sorry. I know you don’t see me that way.”

She huffed. “You don’t see me that way either when you’re sober, Greg. You probably won’t even remember this in the morning so let’s not worry, eh?”

“Mallory?”

“Yes, Greg, what is it?” she snapped.

“It is morning.”

Chapter Nine

Over two hours later Mallory helped Greg upstairs into his bedroom. She figured that undressing him was probably inappropriate in light of recent events and settled for pulling off his boots and pulling the duvet over him.

“Mallory?” Greg whispered as Mallory put his boots together under his bed.

Mallory sat beside him on the bed. “Yes?”

“I’m not sorry,” Greg mumbled.

“Not sorry about what?” He had a lot to be sorry for this evening, but clearly he disagreed.

“For kissing you.”

Mallory shook her head as she stood and walked toward the door. She switched off the light and without speaking, left him to sleep off his alcohol fuelled stupor.

She had set her alarm so that she could get up and go to Greg’s house early to check up on him. Once awake, she showered and pulled on her dark blue jeans and a lilac T-shirt with an image of the
Eiffel Tower
on the front. It was slightly off shoulder and rested just on her hips. She gave Ruby a cuddle and set off for Greg’s.

Greg lived a ten minute drive away in a detached white painted cottage at the end of a secluded track. There were other houses on there, but Greg’s was more isolated than the others.

Most of the rooms were on the ground floor, but there was an en-suite bedroom upstairs where Greg slept. He had simple taste and most of his furniture came from junk shops giving it a very eclectic feel. There was an old fashioned juke box in one corner which he had repaired and converted to play CD’s. It was full of his favourite bands. Mallory was quite amazed at the variety of music he owned. From Dougie MacLean to Tool, Queens of The Stoneage and A Perfect Circle.

She opened Greg’s front door and called his name. He didn’t answer. She went up the stairs to his room. He was laid; spread eagled, face down on the bed, butt naked. He must have got up after she left and removed his clothes. His buttocks were shapely and muscular, she noticed. His back was defined, almost sculpted. To save his dignity, she pulled the covers over his lower half. She stroked his hair to try and wake him. He opened his eyes slowly and when he realised it was Mallory he sat bolt upright exposing a little more of his nakedness. Mallory gasped and averted her gaze.

He grabbed the sheet and pulled it over his manhood.

“Shit-fuck, Mallory!” He was rather shocked to say the least. Wincing and closing his eyes briefly, he held his hand up to rub his head. Feeling uneasy yet sorry for him she asked, “Are you okay? I was so worried when you took off. You were in a state when I found you.”

“I’m okay; I think…sorry to worry you. I don’t know what happened.” He shook his head, “I remember bits of it…did I…did I…kiss you?” He cringed.

“You did,” she said plainly.

“Oh God, Mallory, I am so sorry.”