As they watched, more and more stars emerged until it seemed that they lay under a blanket of black velvet that had captured a million sparkling dewdrops in its folds. And as those stars wheeled above them, describing a vast whirlpool of light across the night sky, they drew even closer until there was no distance at all between the beating of their hearts, and they melted together to become one.
Lexie, 1978
Daisy’s in her bed, tucked up under her shell-pattern blanket, and Davy and I are sitting on the steps in front of Keeper’s Cottage finishing off the bottle of wine we’ve shared over supper. I lean my head on his shoulder and watch the stars materialise as the autumn night draws its own blanket of darkness over the loch.
There’s a comfortable sense of companionship between us, as if we’ve always known one another. Which, in a way, we have. It’s a new sensation for me, this feeling of contentment, and I realise that I have never felt at home like this before.
‘Tell me the names of the stars,’ I say.
He points out the Plough. ‘Everyone knows that, and it’s a good one when you’re out at sea. It always points to the Pole Star, one of the few fixed points in the night sky. Once you know where true north is, you can navigate more easily.’
‘What’s that one?’ I ask, tracing a zigzagging line in the sky above us.
‘The one shaped like a W? That’s Cassiopeia’s Chair. It’s usually easy to spot with those five bright stars. And that one over there is Sirius, the dog star. It’s the brightest one in the sky. If you spot anything brighter, it’s probably a planet.’
He leans forward to look towards the south. ‘At this time of year, you can just see my favourite constellation on clear nights. Aquila, the eagle. It’s harder to make out, but that brighter star just on the edge of the Milky Way is Altair and that’s the eagle’s head. Its wings spread out in a V shape from Altair, see?’ His hand describes the sweep of the eagle’s wings, sketching the shape in the darkness. ‘One night, when it’s flat calm like this, I’ll take you out on the boat. Out on the water, away from the lights of the cottages, you can see the stars even more clearly.’
I imagine being out there, picturing the deep, black water beneath the boat that swallows the light of the moon and the stars. The thought makes me shiver a little.
‘Come on,’ says Davy, ‘you’re getting chilled. Time to go in.’
I shake my head, resisting, not wanting to break the spell of our closeness by moving.
He stands anyway. ‘Well, at least let me bring out a rug.’
The warmth of him evaporates from my skin and now I realise I do feel chilled. He begins to move away and, out of nowhere, a memory of the rejection I felt in London surges over me. It’s absurd, I know. He’s not leaving me, he’s just being thoughtful. But the wounds of Piers’s abandonment must go deeper than I’d recognised.
‘There you go again, still trying to look after everyone.’ I mean it lightly but it comes out wrong, sounding petulant and accusing.
‘And there you go again, frightened of letting anyone take care of you in case they hurt you,’ he replies. There’s an edge of irritation to his words that makes me draw back, trying to read his expression. But the shadows obscure his face and he turns away to go inside.
I sigh and stand, too, before he can return with a blanket. The thought of it makes me feel claustrophobic and his words have stung me. It’s too late now; the spell has been well and truly broken. I go in and switch on the light, start clearing the supper things into the sink, running the taps, wiping the countertop.
Davy stands in the doorway, the plaid rug in his hands no longer needed. He folds it carefully over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, smoothing the creases.
‘I’ll be going then,’ he says.
I nod, busily scrubbing a saucepan, not meeting his eyes.
He comes over and gently removes the scouring pad from my hand, then wraps me in a hug.
I don’t know where this evening went wrong. Perhaps we’ve both got too used to living on our own. Perhaps we’re just too different. Or perhaps the wall I’ve built around my feelings over the years is simply too much for anyone – even him – to dismantle. It all seems so complicated suddenly, letting someone else in, having to work at a relationship, and I long for the simplicity of my solitary life with Daisy, even though I know how lonely it can be.
‘Sorry,’ I say, burying my face against his shirt. ‘But don’t try and rescue me, just like you try to rescue everyone else because you couldn’t rescue your mum and your brother.’