Page 70 of Take Me Away

‘Night,’ I manage.

I watch her weave through the crowd, stopping briefly to speak with Nina at the bar before slipping out into the night. Only once she’s gone do I sink into the seat she’s vacated, where the warmth of her still lingers.

‘Dad?’ Maisie’s voice breaks through my thoughts. ‘Are you okay? You’re making your worried face.’

I smooth my expression. ‘Just tired, love. Big storm out there.’

‘Isla said the storm was your adventure for the day, and the rest of the day should be quiet.’ She tilts her head. ‘She says adventures should be balanced with quiet.’

Something about that – Isla giving my daughter life philosophy, Isla understanding the rhythm of emergency and aftermath – makes my chest tight.

‘Wise of her,’ I say, reaching for Maisie’s abandoned chips.

‘She’s nice, Dad. I like her.’

And there it is. The very thing I’m afraid of.

Chapter Sixteen

ISLA

The ankle’s feeling better. I can put my weight on it now, it’s just stiff and bruised, a bit like my ego, because Kit Harding kissed me yesterday and then seemed to forget all about it.

My mental stability is, well, wobbly. I’m pretty sure the walls are closing in. I’m Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

I did think that’s what I could do. I could binge movies, ones I haven’t had a chance to watch. But there’s a couple of issues with the plan.

Maggie only has a VHS.

There is a television, with the smart device I sent to her one Christmas, but Maggie never did get WiFi.

So that’s out.

I’m trying to think of what I would be doing in New York during downtime, but I’ve come to the scary realisation that I don’t think I’ve ever had downtime, not really. Not just me. Alone. With my thoughts.

Why are there so many thoughts in my head?

Memories.

Conversations. Both real and imagined.

The stack of newspaper clippings on the mantel call to me, a bit like flicking through my own greatest hits. Me, young and golden, innocent. Me, not so young, not so innocent, still golden. I hold one press cutting from five years ago, when I officially parted ways with Vale. I hold it up to the light bulb hanging within a faded purple tasselled shade. I search the face of the woman staring back at me, seeking a glimpse of relief. Is my smile a little wider? Are my eyes a little brighter?

The thin paper trembles in my fingers.

Was I happy?

Was I complicit?

Did I give my consent?

Nausea floods my throat and I hobble to the kitchen and gag over the sink. Skin prickling, eyes watering, I stare down the plughole. A universal sign for the state of my life. Go figure.

‘Isla?’ A gentle touch sweeps the hair from the back of my neck to the side. I jerk forward, away. ‘Isla, it’s me.’

I might not have felt his touch in over a decade, but my body remembers the calloused pads of his fingers.

‘What’s wrong?’ His hand slides down my shoulder and then he tilts my face up to his. ‘Christ, what’s happened?’ His blue gaze flashes.