The Firebird

I finally asked, ‘What is it that you’re seeing?’

He glanced up one more time before admitting that he didn’t know. ‘It’s fuzzy, like. But I’m not at my best.’ He fought a yawn. ‘We should try to go and see it the morn, though, if we have the time.’

His use of the conditional reminded me Rob’s time was not entirely his own. I didn’t work weekends, but Rob, between police work and the lifeboat crew, might not have that same luxury.

‘I’ve the day off,’ he told me, before I could ask, ‘but unless you’ll be taking the sleeper to London, the last train from Edinburgh leaves around suppertime, and we’ll be four hours, at least, on the road going down.’

Which meant we’d only really have the morning here to tour around. And if we were to have another early start, I thought, we ought to have an early night. I caught the waitress’s eye again, but when I asked for the bill she said, ‘Nae bother. I’ll put it to your room. Which room is yours?’

‘Room 4,’ I said.

‘Oh, aye. You’ll see the castle from your window when the sun comes out.’

Rob didn’t need the sun to see the castle.

Upstairs, he wandered over to the window once again, already wearing that distracted gaze that meant his mind had drifted far away. He seemed well rooted there when I went to take the first turn in the bathroom, but when I came out I discovered he’d shifted my things to the larger bed, and was now stretched out full-length on the single one, eyes closed and quietly breathing.

I’d never been in this position with him; never watched him sleeping in a bed. We hadn’t reached that stage in our relationship before I’d run away from it, so even though I tried hard not to stare I couldn’t help it. He was even better looking when he slept. My brother looked more boyish to my eyes when he was sleeping, and more vulnerable, but Rob looked every inch a man. The relaxation of his features only emphasised their strength. And when I tugged a blanket from my own bed so that I could cover him, I knew that I was doing it as much in self-defence as from concern he might get cold. It would be easier to sleep, I knew, if I weren’t forced to watch the steady rise and fall of Rob’s broad chest, or see his hands linked carelessly across the muscled leanness of his stomach.

As it was, I had to turn my back completely when I got in bed myself, and face away from him. But even then, I still could hear the rhythm of his breathing, slow and deep and reassuring, like the waves I knew were rolling to the shore beyond our window, and at length I let them carry me to sleep.

I woke alone in the hotel room.

From the angle of the sunlight spearing in from the east-facing window, it was fairly early in the morning still, but Rob had neatly made his bed, and when I turned in mine I found the blanket that I’d covered him with tucked round my own shoulders.

He’d been down to breakfast, too, it seemed. He’d left some kind of scone and a banana for me on the bedside table. And a note.

Good morning, read the bold slash of his handwriting. Come find me when you’re ready.

It sounded more a challenge than an invitation when I read it through the first time, and in some ways I supposed it was, but there was something oddly comforting as well in knowing I could find him anytime I wanted. First, though, there were other practicalities, like eating what he’d left for me, and showering, and going down to settle our account with the hotel.

The same waitress who’d served us last night was on breakfast room duty. She greeted me brightly. ‘Good morning. Ye’ve got a fair day for your walk. Have a seat by the window, I won’t be a moment,’ she said. ‘Will you have tea, or coffee?’

‘I’m not having breakfast,’ I told her, ‘but thank you. I just need to pay for the room.’

‘Nae bother, he’s already done that. Your man,’ she said helpfully, as though it needed explaining. ‘He paid at the front desk afore he went out, said you wanted an early start.’

‘Yes. Yes, we did.’ I couldn’t honestly be irritated with him, and I should have known he’d be too much a gentleman to let me pay. I smiled and asked her, ‘Can I change my mind about the coffee?’

When I stepped outside the hotel I had two hot steaming takeaway cups, one of coffee, one of tea – a welcome insulation for my hands against the morning chill. I paused a moment on the gravel, turned my face towards the breeze and closed my eyes, and sent my thoughts out. Rob?

The answer came back clearly. Here.

I saw the play of white-ridged waves against a wide deserted crescent curve of sand, and gave a nod, not caring that he couldn’t see me. He was on the beach.

I likely could have walked across the golf course, but despite the early hour I could already hear the crisp metallic chink of clubs and balls and didn’t fancy getting knocked unconscious first thing in the morning by a drive gone wide, and so instead I walked the long way round, along the road and down the gently sloping street of terraced shops and houses, with a rushing stream that chased beside the pavement I was walking on the whole way down to where a white wood footbridge crossed above it to the broad, fawn-coloured beach.

I had to round a ridge of sand dunes that rose high like proper hills, with tufted marram grass that flattened when the wind blew. Rob was sitting halfway up one, with his crossed arms resting on his upraised knees, his steady gaze directed not towards the endless sea and the horizon, but the nearer line of waves that rolled to shore and foamed to nothing on the sand.