Bridge of Hope (8 page)

Her eyes told me that she knew that’s
exactly
what I was going to do. I had to think fast to change her train of thought. “Oh, erm… hey. How about Friday? For me to play, I mean?”

Her face lit up. “Really? Oh, Gregory, that would be wonderful!”

“Fine. Getting Rhiannon back tomorrow, so I’ll be fine by Friday.”

“Great. Thanks, Greg.” She squeezed my arm. “It
will
be okay, you know.”

I couldn’t decide whether she meant the gig or my life in general. Maybe she meant both. I smiled tightly and nodded once. She released me and I left the pub. Shit, I’d fucking gone and confirmed it. I was
definitely
a fucking idiot.

~~~

By Friday I’d worked myself up into a frenzy about the gig. What the fuck had I suggested it for? I liked to play, obviously, but I liked to play melancholy songs about heartbreak in the privacy of my own home. The thought of singing in front of people scared me shitless. My stomach churned and I pulled almost every shirt I owned out of the fucking wardrobe. W
hat should I wear? Shirt? T-shirt? Do I need to look a particular way? Fuuuuuck!

After a great deal of to-ing and fro-ing, I settled on my navy button-up shirt with pale blue flowers on it. I grabbed Rhiannon and made my way to the pub. It was already busy and my heart leapt as I walked over to the bar. Stella was wearing a proud grin. Bless her. She really did care.

When it was time to perform, she gave me a warm smile of encouragement. The knots in my stomach tightened and my mouth went dry. Glancing around the pub, I spotted a fair few familiar local faces. My gaze landed on a head of long, dark, wavy hair.
Mallory. Oh, great
. I took my place behind the mic stand and cleared my throat.

“Ahem… evening all.” I coughed. “Good to see you. Ahh… for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of being served intoxicating liquor by my good self, I’d better introduce myself, eh?” Trying to get comfy on my seat, I wriggled about a bit. “My name is Greg McBradden and I’m the local handyman, bartender, and all-round grumpy arse.” I glanced straight over in Mallory’s direction and she cringed. I couldn’t help sniggering a little at her reaction. “Anyways, I’m going to do my best to add
entertainer
to my list of talents. Thanks to Stella, the owner here—she seems to have a disliking for all you locals, as she’s agreed to let me sing to you.”

The place erupted in laughter and I smiled. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. The locals heckled and booed me, which made me laugh.
Bloody mad lot.

I looked over at Mallory again, but her head was down and she was picking at her jeans. I wondered if maybe I’d overstepped the mark
…
again. Holding my guitar aloft, I carried on talking shite.

“Anyways… I’d like to introduce you to Rhiannon, my guitar, named after a Fleetwood Mac song that got me into playing in the first place. So you can blame them if you don’t like ma playing.” Everyone laughed again and I relaxed a little more. “She’s just been repaired at the guitar hospital, also known as a music shop for you heathens, so she sounds grand. If any of youse get up and leave, don’t forget I know where most of you live.” I chuckled along with the crowd. They were lapping it up, and the tension in my body continued to ebb away.

“Right, well, seeing as this is my first night, I’m not going to scare you away with my own compositions. This first one, you should all know, but don’t bloody sing along. I hate that.” I laughed, but I’d said it in all seriousness. There’s nothing worse than hearing that inane bloody mumbling that people make when they try to sing along with something they don’t really know. It’s ridiculous and highly embarrassing; cringe-worthy, even. Plus the fact that if there’s someone on a stage performing, it’s
his
job. So shut the fuck up, I say!

“It’s a little number I like to call ‘Trouble’… because that’s its name.” Another rumble of laughter, but this time I felt like a dick. S
tupid fucking thing to say
. “It’s by a guy called Ray LaMontagne, and I’d like anyone who knows him or follows him on Twitter to tell him I’m sorry.” The place roared with laughter yet again. Fuck me. I was quite funny really. A smile took up residence on my ugly mug and I felt just a tiny bit happy.

Chapter Ten

The night was going swimmingly. Being applauded sent shivers of excitement down my spine and I decided then and there that I’d be doing it again. I took a long gulp of my beer as I scanned the room. After placing my glass back down, I began to play the introduction to one of my all-time favourite songs. The singular notes played in a staccato rhythm rang out through the room as people fell silent. Clearly it wasn’t just me that liked it.

I sang the opening line of “Chasing Cars”
by Snow Patrol. The hush that had fallen on the room was broken by the scraping of a chair and fumbling noises. I glanced up in the direction of the noise just as Mallory shoved her way through the crowd and made a dash for the door.
What the fuck?
Maybe the long-haired beauty had drunk a little too much. I couldn’t blame her. It’s not like I’d been sober since Mairi’s death.

As I sang, her friends dashed out after her. Concern etched on their faces as they flung open the door and ran out of the pub. S
hit. Maybe she’s sick
. I carried on playing but an uneasy knot returned to my stomach. Maybe she wasn’t used to the alcohol and it’d affected her badly. I vowed I would go over tomorrow and check up on her.

At the end of the night the crowd congratulated me and shook my hand. The compliments were flying. Y
ou should have been playing here for ages, Greg… You’re a natural, Greg… You have the sexiest voice, Greg.
It was quite an ego boost. But it was all overshadowed by a niggling in my gut. Was Mallory okay? Why did I care so much? Okay, so we shared something in common, grief. But I didn’t know her and she didn’t like me. It was stupid to feel so concerned about someone I’d only just met. But for some reason I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I arrived home and made myself a cup of coffee. Probably not the best idea, since caffeine so late at night was bound to exacerbate my sleeping issues. But I wasn’t tired anyway. Images of Mallory crying came to mind; the way her limp body huddled into me as I carried her to the car; the way she sobbed silently when we shared those few words of conversation; her running out of the pub without looking back. There must’ve been a valid reason for her speedy retreat from the pub tonight, and I needed to know that she was alright. That got to me though. I didn’t simply
want
to know. I
needed
to know.

At around two in the morning I said goodnight to Angus and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. After stripping free of my clothes, I climbed into bed. I should’ve showered first, but I figured the sooner I got to bed the sooner I could get up and go around to check on the Yorkshire lassie.

Just as I’d anticipated, sleep didn’t grant me the pleasure of its company for quite a while. Instead I tossed and turned. Churning the possibilities around in my mind for Mallory’s earlier quick exit, I narrowed it down to five:

1) She was sick

2) She hated my singing

3) She was drunk

4) She was drunk
and
sick

5) She was drunk, sick
and my singing made it
worse
.

Fuuuuck!
I slammed my fists back into the mattress. When I did eventually fall into a fitful sleep, I was plagued by the image of Mallory on her knees on the beach again. My heart broke as I ran toward her, pain-filled sobs ringing in the silent night air.

I awoke with a start.

~~~

Once I’d showered and dressed, I jumped in the Landy with Angus and drove down to the village. I parked across from the pub and dropped Angus in with Stella. She took him out the back and gave him some leftover steak. His tail wagged frantically and no bloody wonder. He was better fed than I was.

“I’ve just… erm… got something to do, okay? Be back soon,” I informed her. Leaving the pub, I paused and took in a deep breath with my head back, letting the morning sunlight warm my face. C
ourage, McBradden. Just walk over, knock on the door, ask how she is, and then leave. Simple. M
y feet began to move and before I knew it I was knocking on Mallory’s front door with a pounding heart and sweating palms.

The door opened and there stood the petite blonde friend who was called Josie or Jodie or something like that.

She frowned. “Oh, hi. What are you doing here?”

I twisted the Landy keys in my hand. “I came to check up on Mallory. I saw her run out last night and was worried she was sick or something.” I nervously ran my hand through my hair as the moths in my stomach set about beating their wings.

“Oh, yes, of course. Thanks.” Her expression saddened a little. “You played ‘Chasing Cars’. That was the song that was played at her engagement. It meant a lot to her and Sam… It was their
song.”

As if I were on the world’s biggest roller coaster, my stomach fell and my heart tripped over itself. “Oh my God. No fuckin’ wonder she ran out.” I felt like utter shit. The poor wee girl. I covered my face with my free hand and exhaled all the air from my lungs. Words suddenly escaped me and I found myself floundering in front of this total stranger. “Please… fuck, oh I’m sorry to swear, but fuck. Please tell her I’m so, so sorry. Fuck. What a fucking idiot!”

She held out her hands toward me in reassurance. A wasted gesture. “Hey, Greg, you weren’t to know. Honestly, don’t beat yourself up, eh?”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Oh, God sorry, my language.” I covered my mouth as if doing so would stop my verbal diarrhoea.

A voice travelled through from somewhere inside the house. “Don’t worry, mate, Josie has said much worse.”

Brad’s attempt at putting me at ease didn’t help any either. I shook my head. “Every time I see that girl, I put ma fuckin’ size ten in my mouth. I’m going to go before I do any more damage to the poor wee girl. As if she hasn’t been through enough, eh?” I turned to go but looked back over my shoulder to see pity in the blonde’s eyes. “Seriously, please tell her I’m so sorry. I’ll be keepin’ out of her way, I reckon.”

“That won’t be necessary, Greg, honestly. You weren’t to know.” Her eyes told me she genuinely didn’t blame me. But
I
did. As I walked away swearing at myself, I decided that I really needed to just lay off and stay away from her. Not only had I been a shit to her that first day, but I’d upset her friends
and
broken her heart with a fucking song. Not bad going for a few weeks’ work.
Better not walk under any fucking ladders, McBradden. Karma is a bitch.

Chapter Eleven

Thinking about Karma got me thinking back to Alice. I suppose now would be a good time to tell you that fucking twisted story, eh? I met Alice at college. It was 1993.

Alice Gibb was sex on legs. Long blonde hair, killer curves, big brown eyes, lush breasts… don’t judge me, I am a man after all. Anyway, I was only nineteen and she was every teenage bloke’s wet dream. Sorry for my crude turn of phrase but… aww, who the fuck am I kidding? You’ve already figured out what I’m like, eh?

I keep digressing… sorry.

So, I was attracted to her instantly, but so was every other guy at college. I thought I was uber cool with my long hair and my grunge attire. I absolutely idolised Eddie Vedder from Pearl Jam, Dave Grohl from Nirvana, and Chris Cornell from Soundgarden. I was a real grunger. Checked lumberjack shirts, band tees, and combat boots. I used to walk around campus with my headphones on as some American rock, indie, or suchlike screeched out of my CD Walkman. Fuck, showing my age now, eh?

We were taking completely different subjects. I was music, she was textiles. She was going to be the next Vivienne Westwood and I was going to be the next Jimmy Page. To say we both had delusions of grandeur would be an understatement. I got chatting to her one lunchtime…

1993

“Can you pass me a can of Diet Coke, please?” came a sweet voice from beside me. I looked to my right and met the big brown eyes of the girl I’d been staring at for the past few months. She was even fucking hotter up close. Long blonde waves that fell past her shoulders. Large, perky breasts and big hips. She wasn’t fat. Far from it. She was luscious in that Marilyn Monroe way. Every guy in college had been ogling her from day one and I was no different.