Set Me Free (15 page)

“It's not for everyone, but I loved being at home with them. Now . . . well, now things have changed for me. I'm ready to open up to the world again. You see, I thought I could juggle a part-time job around my children, but Lara has always been . . .” I hesitated. Usually I was reluctant to share the details of Lara's story with people. I didn't want her to be labelled
the one who was adopted
, as if her past defined the whole of her – it didn't. I always let people assume she was my biological daughter, and if she felt like talking about it then she would make that decision for herself. But with Torcuil, it felt different. He seemed so . . . kind. And steadfast. Like someone you could speak to, who wouldn't betray your confidence. Someone who wouldn't spread harsh, thoughtless words around later, behind your back, like seeds of unrest.

“Lara was adopted when she was six. She always needed me. A lot. So that's why I left my job.”

Torcuil nodded, while I waited with some apprehension to see what he'd say next. “It seems to me that there's something special about Lara. She is very bright and imaginative. And very clever.”

I smiled. He'd said the right thing.

“She is. She is very talented. She's taking extra classes in school . . . English and creative writing. I'm so proud of her.”

“I can see that. Your eyes light up when you talk about her.”

“We waited for a long time for Lara. She was . . . a gift. My family means everything to me,” I said, looking into my soup. Those were intimate words, and difficult to say out loud. “Things aren't working out exactly like I'd planned . . .”

Torcuil nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.”

I debated for a moment whether or not to ask. “Have you ever been married?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, no, never.”

“Oh, sorry. Just when you said you knew what I meant . . .”

“As in, I know what it's like when things don't work out the way you planned.”

Sadness shadowed his face for a moment; it was time to change subject. “Well, I have my eye on one of those . . .” I said, gesturing to the array of cakes on display.

“Do you think they'll be as good as yours, or your mum's?”

“Never. But they'll do this time,” I laughed.

I chose a slice of apple and cinnamon cake, while Torcuil ordered another coffee. An older couple sat at the table beside us, all wrapped up in heavy jackets, though it wasn't that cold. I identified them immediately as tourists. The woman looked towards me.

“
Guarda che bella signora scozzese . . .
” she said to her husband.

I giggled.

Torcuil smiled. “What's funny?”

“The couple beside us,” I whispered, leaning over towards him so they wouldn't hear me. “They are Italian. They just said I'm a beautiful Scottish woman!” I giggled again. “They got it all wrong.”

Torcuil looked straight into his coffee, like there was something very, very interesting inside his cup. “Well, not all of it. The Scottish bit is wrong.”

I had no answer to that.

As I was driving back, I found myself wishing that Friday would come soon, so that I could see him again – and immediately an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame drowned me for a million different reasons.

But it had been so lovely. It had been so good to just sit there and chat and laugh and be listened to. Like what I said mattered. Like my company brought joy and pleasure. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt that way, and now that bit of my heart had been opened again, I knew it would be hard to close.

Thank you for today. Night. T.

His goodnight text, simple as ever, came that evening.

Thank you. I hope I'll see you sometime before next Friday. I mean, there isn'
t much time left before the end of the summer and we go back, and I had such a good time today . . .
I began typing.

And then I deleted it.

Thank you for your company. Goodnight. M.

It was all I allowed myself to say.

Lara

Dear Kitty,

I spent hours printing and cutting out little labels for my mum, and I loved it. I think the favours are going to look amazing and I'm so excited to go to a real book launch. Inary is coming too, so that's going to be perfect.

When I finished, I went wandering. Not that I went looking for Mal, obviously, I was just strolling and it was a lucky coincidence I happened to bump into him. He was beside the loch again. He was standing still and looking at the waters. His face lit up when he saw me, and so did mine. Obviously I didn't see myself, but I felt it. Like a lamp going off in my head and making everything bright.

“Hello,” I said, and just then a gust of wind glued my hair to my lipgloss.

Awkward, awkward, awkward.

But he didn't seem to notice as I unstuck the strands from my lips.

“Hello again. How are you, Lara?” He lifted his head on one side, in that way he has. Like he's really listening, like he's really interested in your reply, not just asking for the sake of it. You know, like the kind of people who actually mean,
Hello, how am I?

“I'm good. I was doing some work for my mum, and then I came out. Just for a walk, you know. No reason in particular. You?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know what?”

“I don't know how I am.”

“You're here. With me,” I said. I rubbed off a smudge of mud from his cheek and I took his hand; the look of confusion seemed to disappear from his face.

“Never mind,” he said, and squeezed my hand. “Come. I want to show you something.”

“What?” I asked.

“You're going to have to wait and see,” he said with a smile.

He led me along the shore all the way past Ramsay Hall, and nearly to the other side of the loch. We walked in silence, the sound of my breathing echoing. I noticed how quiet his step was, how he moved on the grass and on the pebbled shore barely making a sound.

Suddenly, he stopped and put a finger to my lips. It felt strange, for him to touch my lips, and I think I must have blushed, because my heart leapt a little and my cheeks felt warm. I nodded.

He took my hand again, and we stepped so close to the shore we were nearly in the water. It looked like he was leading me inside the loch, and I suppose I should have been a bit nervous at that point, but I wasn't.

For some reason, I trusted him.

He squeezed my hand and pointed along the reeds.

And there, in a soft nest made of weeds and grass, lay an otter curled up and asleep. Nestled against her body there was a little pup, its fur wet and glistening and its tiny nose baby pink. I sucked in my breath in wonder and smiled silently. I could feel Mal's joy in seeing my reaction, and for a moment we were inside one another – if that makes sense. I can't think of a better way to describe it – but it was like we were one.

And I was happy, but very cold. Very, very cold all of a sudden. I'm not sure why. A shiver ran through me.

Suddenly the spell was broken – the otter mum woke up and began to stir. I glanced at Mal in alarm, but he shook his head and squeezed my hand again, as if to say,
It's okay
.

The otter slid into the water so smoothly she barely made ripples, and her pup was left alone in the nest. It made a high-pitched sound, calling for her – and my heart was ready to break when its mummy emerged from the loch and gave it a little nuzzle. I think she was saying,
It's okay, I'll be back soon
, and the pup must have got the message because it curled itself up again into a little ball and didn't call again.

Mal pulled my hand softly, and we stepped away.

“They make their nest there year after year,” he whispered. “I go say hello once in a while.”

I opened my mouth to say something – anything – about how cute the baby otter was, but something else came out. “You know what?” I looked down. I was probably scarlet at this point, but I didn't care.

“What?”

“I was hoping you'd be there. I sort of came looking for you.”

“You know what?” he said.

I kept looking down, but I heard a smile in his voice.

“What?”

“I was there because I was hoping to see you.”

He took a strand of my hair and tucked it behind my ear. And then he stroked my cheek.

Nobody has ever done that to me before.

I mean, no boy has ever done that to me.

I thought I'd melt.

He took my hands in his – they were freezing, and I held them tight, trying to warm them a little – and he folded me into him. It was perfect.

Until I felt him shivering, a shiver so violent it jolted him.

“Lara. I think I need to go, now. I'm sorry,” he said, just like that, without warning. Another one of his sudden exits.

“Oh. That's okay,” I said. But I was
crushed
.

“It's just that I'm very tired now.”

Tired? Was he ill or something?

“It's okay, really. I'll just . . .” I threw a hand behind me, to say I would just get back by myself.

“So will I see you again soon?” He was nearly pleading, and I felt sorry for him, though I didn't even know why.

“Yes, of course.”

“Promise? Because
everybody else is gone
.”

“Of course. It's a promise . . .” I said, but before I could take the next breath he was gone already, away and into the trees in that silent way of moving he has. His dark hair and jacket melted into the darkness of the woods, until they were one.

And that was it, Kitty.

I made my way back alone, and I'm already counting the hours till I see him again.

I'm just happy he exists, you know?

I'm just happy he's in this world.

Margherita

Lara and I were baking from Nonna Ghita's notebook, trying different recipes to decide what would make the cut for Carlotta's launch. The results of our labour were lined on the kitchen table, cooling, wafting off a wonderful scent – little cakes and biscuits, mini-pizzas of different flavours and
salatini
made with puff pastry. Lara was standing across from me and sieving icing sugar on our new creation – we'd tried our hand at
tortine di mele
, apple tarts, and they had come out lush and light. We'd also made
paste di meliga
, a traditional Piedmontese biscuit I hadn't made in a long time.

“The
tortine
can't be used for the favours, they're too moist, but we can serve them at the launch anyway. Don't you think?”

No reply. She'd been at Inary's earlier, and her mind was somewhere else; she was lost in thought. I glanced at her, and once again I considered how beautiful she was, though she was so completely unaware of it, so convinced she wasn't. Her wavy hair, to her, was frizzy; her light-blue eyes, as blue as the summer sky, to her were common; her long limbs were too skinny; the near-invisible freckles that dotted her nose in a way that I found irresistible, to her, were just plain ugly. She couldn't see what everyone else, not just me, saw: beauty blooming slowly, until the day she'd grow into herself. In fact, I had a theory: that Lara's looks were one of the reasons for Polly's and Tanya's – and their cronies' – cruelty. They reminded her constantly of how much more attractive they believed they were in case she got ideas above her station. I was so glad that Lara was away from them, at least for a while.

When I told her this, she didn't believe it. After all, what teenager believes her own mother when she tells her she's beautiful?

“Lara?”

“Yes? Sorry, what did you say?”

“Just that the
tortine de mele
are too moist for the favour bags.”

“Oh, yes. That's true,” she replied, like that was the last thing on her mind. What was troubling her?

“So, will you see her again soon?”

“
Her?
”

“Inary, I mean.” Who else could I be referring to?

“Yes.” She smiled, a genuine smile, and gently wiped off some icing sugar from the side of one of the plates. “We're going shopping in Aberdeen together.”

“That's great,” I said, but a little sting of jealousy nipped me.
I
wanted to go shopping with Lara. And then I silenced the little jealous voice in my head; it was unfair to think like that, and Lara needed new friends. Inary was so much older than her, but to me they seemed like kindred spirits.

“That sounds good. So when do you think you'll do that?”

“Well, I was hoping to go to Aberdeen with you first, Mum. After the launch, I mean.”

I smiled inwardly. As petty as it was, I was happy that my daughter wanted to go shopping with me first.

“I'd like to give contact lenses another try.” Lara had been dreaming of contact lenses for a couple of years now and we'd visited the optician twice, but both times it hadn't worked out. She said that putting something in her eyes
creeped her out
.

“Sure. Why not? I'll find a Boots in Aberdeen and sort an appointment.”

“Thanks . . . I hope they don't touch my eyeballs this time.”

“Well, you sort of have to touch your eyeballs in a way if you want to put lenses in.”

“Urgh . . .”

“Hey, you'll be fine. You know your
zia
Anna wears lenses and she loves them. This time it'll work out, I'm sure.”

“I hope so. And also . . .”

“What?”

“I'd like to have my hair cut,” she said, ruffling her soft, wavy locks and leaving a trace of icing sugar in them. I'd always thought her hair was the colour of ancient gold, like the frame of an old painting.

I was crushed.

“Oh.”

“Mum, I'm not a child any more and my hair is like a ball of straw!”

“It's not! Your hair is lovely!”

“Mum. I've made my decision.”

I sighed. “Right. It's your hair . . .” I said, feeling my own heavy, dark mane that I wouldn't have cut for the world.

“It is,” she said mutinously.

“But it's so gorgeous . . .” I tried again.

“Mum!”

“Okay, okay.” I put my hands up.

I had to admit to myself it was hard to see Lara growing, turning into a young woman, but there was no point in resisting the change. Also, I suspected that this makeover thing she'd asked for had something to do with the mysterious Mal. She'd mentioned him in passing one day when we were baking goodies for La Piazza.

“So, is this Mal a new friend of yours?” I'd said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Yes,” Lara had said briefly. Just like that, without elaborating.

“Right. Is he a nice boy?”

“Yes, of course he is! I wouldn't be friends with someone nasty, would I?” she'd snapped.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Just maybe it'd be nice to meet him . . .”

“Mum!”

And that had been the end of the conversation. I'd looked at her pleadingly one last time, but she glared at me, so I left it.

With the intention of keeping an eye on this new friend of hers, it goes without saying.

“I'm sure Lara will introduce him to us when she gets the chance,” my mum had said diplomatically when I'd brought it up with her. I thought back at the grief my sisters and I had invariably got from my dad every time we mentioned a boy, and I didn't want to be as possessive as my dad had been, although he'd always been loving with it. It was sort of endearing, looking back. But I had to try to let Lara have her own experiences.

Within reason.

“Listen, Lara, why don't we make a day of it? We can go and have contact lenses fitted and your hair cut, and do some shopping to round off your new look?”

“I'd love that! This weekend maybe?”

“I'll ask Nonna if she's okay to look after Leo. If she says yes . . .”

“She always says yes,” Lara said without a hint of jealousy. She was more confident than I'd seen her for a long time, and revelled in her relationship with my mum and Michael.

“That's true, yes. And now let's see how these
tortine
turned out,” I said, taking a bite.