Bridge Over the Atlantic (9 page)

Further down the road they had another brief sojourn at the well-known
Green Welly Stop
. It was always part of their journey whenever she and Sam came to
Scotland
. She felt like she was truly on holiday when they pulled into the car park and she glanced up at the cartoon green Wellington boot with its smiley face.

Twenty minutes or so further on and they were past the Bridge of Orchy with its stunning hotel and out into Rannoch Moor. What Mallory could see of Rannoch moor’s fifty square miles of boggy moorland and rocky outcrops was eerily bleak with its muted colour pallet.  It was utterly breath-taking in its vastness and natural beauty; framed by the Black Mount in its severe, snow-capped splendour, reaching towards Glen Coe in the distance. Mallory’s heart leapt.

Almost eight hours after leaving her old life behind she had collected the keys from the solicitors and had finally pulled up outside the white painted cottage. It felt good to be here but she really wished that Sam and she had made the journey in tandem as originally planned.

The heavily laden removals van was going to be another hour or more and so she decided to open the front door into their new haven. The door was stuck and so she had to push it hard, with her shoulder. Once inside she found that the cottage was just how she had remembered it from their visit a few months earlier. It was clean and dry with mainly white-washed walls.
A blank canvas.
Mallory thought to herself. She let Ruby out into the back garden and watched for a few minutes as the little dog explored, picking up new smell after new smell; her little stubby tail wagging frantically.

Mallory busied herself unpacking the few essential items she had prepared for their arrival. She plugged in the kettle and took out the mismatched china mugs in readiness. She made herself a quick cup of tea and went to stand in the front garden to admire the view. Just up the road was the beautiful little stone bridge she had fond feelings for. She remembered her first visit here, when Sam had regaled her with his knowledge of the locale.

“This is the bridge over the Atlantic.” Sam had informed her as they stood huddled together at the mid-point of the pretty little arched stone structure, admiring the view and watching the sun dance upon the water.

“What? It can’t be!” Mallory had been totally befuddled by the fact.

“It’s true. The water down there is the Atlantic Ocean. Over there is mainland and over there is the Isle of Seil. The bridge was built in 1792 by an engineer called Robert Mylne.” She had been very impressed with how much research he had done prior to their holiday and she smiled as she remembered his enthusiasm and eagerness to share with her what he had learned.

As she sat there, cup in hand she mused about how strange things had turned out. A couple of years ago they stood atop the bridge admiring their surroundings and soon, hopefully
very
soon, when their furniture and Sam arrived, they would be living a literal stone’s throw from that very spot.

Later, Mallory decided to go for a wander and so she clipped Ruby’s lead onto her collar and strolled away from the cottage to the main road. She paused for a moment on the bridge to reminisce once again about their conversation and walked a little further. She came to the pub on her right. It was a white washed building with a welcoming orange glow emanating from the windows. She took a breath and decided to go in to say hello. The warmth of the roaring fire was a welcome change from the early evening temperature outside, where it had gotten cooler as the sun had begun to descend.

With Ruby tucked firmly under her arm she strolled over to the bar. A couple sitting in the corner were chatting quietly and eating a rather delicious looking meal. Mallory began to salivate as her senses were bombarded with both savoury and sweet aromas
. No, I’ll wait for Sam
, she chastised herself. An elderly gent sat at the bar drinking a pint of beer and reading a newspaper. Mallory smiled kindly and he returned her smile with a nod.

Eventually the bar tender came through from a back room, drying a glass with a tea towel and holding it up to the light to inspect it before sliding it back onto a shelf above his head. He was a tall man; broad and muscular with fairly long, shaggy hair which was almost black except for a slight smattering of grey. He had a goatee beard which also showed signs of age but this was contradicted by his youthful face. He was ruggedly handsome and tanned. Mallory felt quite taken aback by how appealing this man was to look at.
I’m only looking
; she smiled to herself but then shook her head to rid her mind of such thoughts as the man looked up, hesitated and then came over. He leaned on the bar in front of her and stared right through her with dark brown eyes that almost matched the colour of his hair in the dim lighting of the pub.

“What can I get you?” He almost growled in a strong, Scottish accent. She felt a little as though perhaps her being here was an inconvenience to him, somehow.

“Erm…Can I just have a diet cola please?” She whispered feeling like the request was almost definitely unreasonable judging by this man’s surly demeanour. Who was
she
to order a beverage in a public house for heaven’s sake? He didn’t answer. Turning away from her he walked over and picked up a glass. She noticed his sculpted forearms as he placed the glass under the tap and drew down the dark brown, fizzing liquid, keeping the glass slightly tilted.

He was wearing a fitted grey V-neck T-shirt and black jeans. Around his neck was a tight black cord necklace with a stone pendant which sat close to his throat. The pendant appeared to have some kind of image carved into it but she couldn’t quite make it out. Peeking out from under his sleeve was the jagged edge of a tattoo which looked rather like barbed wire.

He brought the drink back over to her and plonked it on the mat in front of her, spilling some of the contents as he did so. What was his problem?

“One eighty.” He stated. She handed over an English five pound note which seemed to disgruntle him further. He handed her the change and went back to polishing glasses. She sat there perched at the bar whilst Ruby lay patiently at her feet dozing off.

“I-erm-that is
we
…are new here,” she offered. “We’ve bought one of the cottages just by the water.” The bar tender glanced over at her and shrugged as if to say “So? And your point is?...”

She fidgeted with the glass and against her own better judgement she continued; she always talked too much, especially when she was nervous,

“Yeah, me and my fiancé have moved up here from Yorkshire. We might become regulars in here, living so close.” She forced a small laugh.

“Lucky us.” The man snorted and turned his back to her. She felt tears sting her eyes. There was no need for him to be so dismissive and cruel. After all, she was just trying to be polite and make small talk. She hoped that this wasn’t the shape of things to come. She emptied her glass and rose to leave. The elderly man from the other end of the bar rose to leave too and walked over to her.

“Don’t mind, Gregory, he’s a grumpy old fart some of the time but he’s a heart o’ gold, honestly.” The man gave her a friendly, reassuring smile and continued “Aye, he’s had a rough few years, poor man. Doesn’t excuse his rudeness but it does go some way to explain it.”

Mallory was grateful to the man for trying to put her at ease. “And I always thought that bar tenders were supposed to have people skills.” She sniggered.

“Aye, well, I think he was at the back o’ the queue when they were given out.” The old man whispered with a chuckle. “I’m Ron, by the way. I live up in the opposite direction from you.”

“I’m Mallory and my fiancé is Sam. He’s on his way and should be here soon. It was nice to meet you Ron.” She shook his hand.

Ron bent to fuss Ruby and she welcomed the attention. “Well, Mallory, I hope you and Sam will be very happy here. And don’t you worry, we’re not all like him,” he said behind his hand, gesturing toward the bar tender.

“Thank goodness.” Mallory smiled and made her way outside and back down to the cottage.

By nine o’clock the furniture had been unloaded, the contents of several boxes had found their way to their new rightful places and Mallory had discovered that mobile signal was dependent on network provider. Much to her chagrin she had also discovered that her particular network was rubbish. Sam was still AWOL and her failed attempts to contact him via this method had left her with no choice but to go back over to see Mr McHappy at the pub to beseech him for the use of his land-line.
It’d be just bloody typical that Sam will have broken down in a “no signal” area and will be sitting at the side of the road waiting for the RAC to rescue him.
Mallory chuntered to herself, immediately feeling bad when she realised that if he was sitting waiting he could very well be soaked, as the rain was now bouncing down outside.

Ruby was snuggled up asleep on the rug in in front of the fire that Mallory had built about an hour before and was clearly not prepared to go anywhere. Mallory grabbed her water proof coat, pulled on her very fetching Wellington boots and opened the front door. The rain was coming down in torrents. She pulled up her hood and scrunched it around her face holding it tightly closed under her chin and she trudged to the pub in the dark.

When she got to the pub door she rubbed her hands down her face to rid her features of the excess water she had managed to amass on the short walk. The pub was alive with chatter and she could see the man from earlier, Gregory, standing behind the bar with a towel slung over his shoulder. She made her way over to him and he turned to her. His face broke into a wide, mocking grin as he tried not to laugh at her. That was it; the final straw. She snapped.

“Oy! I don’t know what your problem is, Matey, but I tried to be friendly earlier only to receive the least warm reception I have ever had the displeasure to encounter from a ‘bar keep’ and now I walk over here in the pouring rain for you to laugh at me?! Well, I would very much like to borrow your public telephone and then you can get stuffed and I won’t be bothering you again!” The pub had fallen silent making her voice sound very loud and Gregory looked dumbstruck; his smile had disappeared and Mallory thought she noticed his cheeks colour infinitesimally. He frowned and without making further eye contact he made steps toward her.

“Public ‘phone isn’t working. You’ll have to come through to the back and use the private one.” He lifted the hinged area of bar up to allow her through. She followed him reluctantly. “There. And you might want to look in a mirror before you come back through.” He turned sharply and went back through to the bar.

Mallory first tried Sam’s mobile number but had to leave a message when it went straight to voicemail.

“Sam where on earth
are
you? It’s gone nine o’clock and you should’ve been here ages ago. I’m so worried. Please just ring me and let me know where you are. I love you.”

She tried his work number; then Ryan’s number; then his mom in case they had heard from him. She could get no answer at any of them.
Where the heck is he?
She was getting very worried now. She hung up and left a couple of pounds by the ‘phone out of courtesy. As she passed the hallway mirror she glanced at herself.

“Oh great.” The reason for her nemesis having a joke at her expense became clear. She looked like some kind of Kiss tribute band reject, as the streaks of eyeliner and mascara had left tram lines down her pale, wet face. She made her way down the hall to the door with the letters w.c. and closed the door behind her. She proceeded to remove the remnants of Gene Simmons from her face.

When she came out, Gregory was leaning up against the wall waiting. He smiled when he saw that she had cleaned her face.

“So, you’re a
Yorkshire
lass, eh?” He had very smiley brown eyes when he wasn’t being a grumpy-arse.

“That’s what I said.” She wasn’t having any of his attempts to be friendly now. That ship had well and truly sailed.

“I have friends in York,” he offered. She found herself smiling at his rolled “r” when he said that. He smiled too.

“Look, I’m sorry for being an arsehole earlier.” He pushed off the wall and stood in front of her. “I’ve been having a shitty time of it lately but I had no place being like that.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re not friends. You don’t have to explain yourself.” Her words were clipped.

He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it and closed it again. She glared at him expectantly with her arms folded across her damp coat.

“Oh, okay. I get it…that’s fine then. I’ll be getting back to the bar.”

He looked a little hurt at her sharpness.
Serves him right,
Mallory justified as she tried to shake the feeling of guilt. She stormed through the bar and back out into the rain.

She opened the door to the cottage, shivered the excess water from her garments and locked the door behind her. Ruby opened her eyes and her tail gave a little greeting wag but she dozed straight back off again. Mallory paced the floor for the next half an hour. She made more tea but didn’t drink it. It was just something to do.

At five past eleven she awoke with a start and found herself curled up on the rug with Ruby. She had only lain down to cuddle the dog for a minute but must have nodded off. The reason for her rude awakening became clear as she heard tapping on the front door. She jumped to her feet, suddenly feeling very excited. She struggled with the keys but eventually fumbled them into the lock.
Finally! He’s here, he’s here, oh yeah,
and she did a little happy dance in her mind.

She opened the door ready to fling her arms around his neck and cover him in kisses, she’d tell him off later. As she pulled the stiff door free of its sticking frame, she gasped.

“Mallory Westerman?” The police officer asked quietly. Another officer stood silently behind him. Mallory nodded as the colour drained from her face. He reached out to touch her elbow. “May we come in please? I’m afraid we have some bad news.”