Category:
Action/Thriller
Central London gets Kate and Greg Bailey down. The skills of a hair stylist and a health club manager seem transferable to the Scottish Isle of Arran. But the move turns out to be a disaster for them both. As their relationship tears apart, Kate must survive traumatic events. Can she turn her world around on her own? Can she possibly find contentment in her life as the wild sea churns over and the fresh sea breezes blow in her direction?
Chapter 2
A Pittshanger lane park bench was where they sat watching couples pass by, later that lazy Sunday. The noise of playful children rang in their ears and two spaniels barked while a pair of Bernese Mountain dogs walked stately alongside their owners, dribbling saliva as that breed are prone to do. The gentle sound of tennis balls pinged back and forth on the nearby courts, made Greg count the rallies. Some were odd, others even.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ asked Kate.
Greg smiled and peered over his sunglasses. ‘Nothing really. Well, counting tennis balls, I suppose.’
Kate laughed. She turned to look at her husband of six years. ‘I asked you last night about our future. Remember?’
‘Yea, our future. In ten years? I have no idea. There’s no point seeing that far into the future. You can’t do anything about it, I mean, can you?’
Kate stood up, turned round and took Greg’s hand. ‘Come, let’s walk around the park.’
They joined the impromptu procession wheeling prams and dogs around the path.
‘Well, I don’t see myself here in ten years,’ she said.
‘Okay, where will you be?’
‘Somewhere quieter. Wilder perhaps. Where life is slower and people talk to one another.’
‘It’s all in an ideal world isn’t it? I mean yes, we’d all like to live on a deserted island ....with nine gramophone records...a book....a luxury item ...’
‘Not nine. You’d only get a choice of eight records.’
Greg nodded acknowledging his error. ‘So you are on your own? Where am I?’
‘It’s more than a dream. I’m talking reality. I can always style hair and you can still run a fitness club. Our work is transferable. We could go anywhere.’
Greg did not answer. He did not want to sound too optimistic and anyway he was distracted by a girl in a bikini on the grass. An upheaval was being proposed, with no real plan. It was a non-starter in his mind. Change was something this Londoner did not take kindly. Kate did not continue the conversation but followed Greg’s eyes.
‘You men are all the same,’ she said digging her fist into his ribs.
‘It’s the way we’re made. Eyes seem to have to see such delights.’
‘You won’t see so many if we settle on an island, somewhere remote,’ suggested Kate.
‘You mean, like the Isle of Wight?’
‘Remote I said, perhaps somewhere Scottish.’
Greg folded his arms. He seemed to be looking over the trees, in a deep thought. ‘Isle of Wight’s not too far away from London.’
Kate sighed. ‘The Isle of Wight is not far enough away. You can see the south coast clearly from the island. It’s busy. The ferry is non-stop. I mean somewhere away from the south east. It’s sinking with millions of people. It’s not where to bring up a family,’ she said biting her lower lip.
Greg looked at Kate straight in her eyes. ‘What about Lundy Island?’
‘Lundy? You serious? How could we survive a week let alone a winter? It’s practically uninhabited. There can only be a couple of dozen people on the island and they won’t need a haircut very often and none of them would want a fitness regime. Keeping alive would be the fitness task on their minds.’
‘Well it was only a thought. No need to raise your voice. Lundy was at least quieter than the Isle of Wight,’ said Greg kicking a pebble off the path.
The following Tuesday Kate was shampooing a Middle Eastern customer. Amal Zaidi was Egyptian and her hair was rich black and long. Kate found her a pleasure to work with and she told her so.
‘In my country, mother’s cut their daughter’s hair. Daughters cut their grandmother’s hair and so everyone has their hair cut. There are Barber’s shops where the men go to have their hair, moustaches and beards trimmed but women are not allowed in.’
‘Your English is very good, Amal.’
She smiled at Kate. She tapped her on her wrist. ‘It should be. I was schooled in London and my husband has been here for the past fifty-four years.’
‘I don’t think I could work in the city for the next ten years,’ she said to her new audience.
‘My dear, then I’d miss you.’
‘Oh, there are some very good hair stylists around. I’d soon be replaced,’ Kate said with a whalebone brush in her hand.
‘You are being serious. Where were you thinking of going?’
‘We haven’t decided yet. I thought an island. Not too big but not too small, somewhere in Britain.’
‘Would you consider Scotland?’ Amal asked looking in the mirror to asses her response.
‘Well yes, I suppose so, but the weather..err..’
‘God provides rain because the land and its people need water. But you might be surprised; some islands like Arran have wonderful summers and pleasant mild winters. You should consider Arran.’
‘Arran is that not an Irish Island?’
Amal laughed. ‘Forgive me laughing. Aran with one ‘r’ is in Ireland but Arran with two is in the Firth of Clyde.’
‘I’ll have to investigate that one,’ she replied thinking Amal knew the country better than she did and it sounded ideal. A Scottish island not too far north in Scotland.
‘Well I can tell you it has a population of four and a half thousand residents with just as many visiting throughout the year.’
A puzzled expression took hold of Kate’s face. ‘But how do you know such facts about Arran?’
‘My husband owned a holiday cottage with a trout beat on the island until two years ago. We sold it.’
‘Why sell it? Were you unhappy?’
Amal laughed once more. ‘Do you know how old I am?’
Kate shook her head with a puzzled look.
‘I will be seventy-six next year and my husband is eighty three. It was time to sell. He is no longer fishing or walking so much. But yes, I’m sure you would like Arran. Do give it some thought. Go visit it first. It will be a significant decision but I’m sure you will love it.’
Kate smiled at her. ‘Your hair is dry, let me remove the dryer.’
‘Thank you. You must have hope, as I do,’ she giggled.
Kate smiled as she brushed any lingering hair from Madame’s shoulders.
‘My name is Amal, as you know. It means “to have hope”. And you must have hope too.’
Greg returned home that night as the rice in the pan was being drained. Two dinner plates prepared to receive the curry. He entered the kitchen and pecked his wife on her cheek. ‘An atlas in the kitchen?’ he approached the open book and lifted it.
‘Bloody Scotland,’ he said in a voice loud enough to be heard, then closed the atlas.
The next Friday night it was Greg and Kate’s turn to invite her sister Lizzie and her husband, Alan, over for an evening meal. Once a month they would have an evening turnabout to host each other. A month seemed the right time-lapse to catch up on their lives. That night during the second course of chicken Korma with poppadoms, the subject of Arran came up.
‘Sounds great to me. That is if you have thought it through,’ said the practical if not pedantic Alan.
‘So, a new holiday venue for you too then Alan? I see where you are coming from,’ Greg said without a smile.
‘Bit harsh there Greg,’ said his wife giving him a sharp look.
‘Quite a change it would be. Starting all over again. New friends, new home, lost old friends...’ said Alan.
‘Not these days, Zoom, Skype, we’ll keep in touch. No problem. Go with your gut feelings,’ said Lizzie joining in the debate.
Kate gathered the plates. ‘I guess I’m keener than Greg,’ she said as she made her way to the kitchen, with plates piled high.
‘You have transferrable skills. You guys are lucky in that respect,’ said Alan.
Greg nodded. ‘Probably easier for Kate. Experienced hairstylist, she’d soon get her clients. She’s good at her job.’
‘Costed it out?’ asked Alan as Greg filled up the glasses with Beaujolais.
‘Yea Alan, I’ll sell this house and my business. Cheaper houses on sale on Arran, I’m sure, enough to get Kate set up. It would take me longer to take over a barn or something like that for a fitness studio,’ he said unenthusiastically.
Kate arrived from the kitchen with a peach flambé then returned with a cartoon of ice cream.
‘Mmm....this looks good,’ said Lizzie.
‘It will be plain eating on Arran. No baked Alaska I bet,’ said Greg.
‘Oh come on dear, it’s not Timbuktu, surely? Five thousand people won’t be eating spam every night.’
‘Every other night, fish on the others,’ said Greg smiling sarcastically.
Alan and Lizzie laughed somewhat nervously. They detected considerable reservation in what Greg was saying.
When Alan entered his home after their night out, he turned around and faced his wife.
‘I can’t see them going to Arran. Can you?’
Lizzie threw the car keys to him. ‘Kate is up for it. Not sure about Greg.’
In bed that night Greg was tired. Kate was wide awake, sitting up.
‘Then there’s only one solution. Let’s have a weekend on Arran, or perhaps a week, get a feel for the place and then decide. Agreed?’ She looked at Greg. He seemed to be considering her suggestion. But she was wrong. Greg rolled over and began to snore.
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