Page 20 of On The Edge

“I agree, just pure heaven.” Lying back in her seat Cat started to feel a little more comfortable in Patrick’s company. “So what’s your story Patrick? Why did you come to Orkney?” she folded her hands together, imitating a detective from an American TV show.

“Well, Miss… er what’s your surname?”

“It’s MacGregor”

“MacGregor, I like that. It’s a good strong Scottish name.”

“Why thank you, and yours?”

“Flanagan.”

“Well, that is the most Irish name I’ve ever heard!” She clinked her coffee cup with his. “Cheers!”

“You’re a little mad, aren’t you?” he chuckled while Cat took a big gulp of coffee.

“I have no idea what you mean,” she concluded with a pretend-offended air.

He smiled and scratched his stubbly chin again, which Cat found extremely sexy, though she couldn't say why.

“Well as you know, I grew up in Ireland, southern Ireland. Cobh is the name of the town, just outside Cork city.” He smiled to himself. “Me and mum lived right beside the water. I never knew my real dad - he died when I was a baba.”

“How terrible, I’m sorry.” Cat resisted the urge to place her hand on his.

“It’s fine, I never knew him. But I think he was a good man, from the stories she told me.” Patrick looked down at his coffee. “My mother remarried an Orcadian called Luke when I was older, so he's the only father I’ve really known. He worked out in Ireland on the boats, that’s how he and my mother met. He lived with us until after I left for college. I couldn’t wait to go to college, so I left for the student life in Dublin.”

“What did you study?”

“Music. I really wanted to be a composer for films!” He chuckled, reminiscing about his younger desires.

“That sounds like an ideal job. I always thought picking songs for films might be a fun way to make a living. Mainly just watching films and thinking, ‘Oh I know which song should be played during this bar fight, or, as the hero heads off into the horizon on a horse or -”

“Yeah, it doesn’t really work like that, it’s mainly dealing with royalties and probably lots of legal issues.”

“Not watching films, smoking a pipe and drinking bourbon?”

“You have a very rose-tinted idea there, I’d hate to burst your bubble!”

“Well you have!” Cat gave a slight childish pout.

Patrick stirred his frothy coffee. “Anyway, I loved the music degree, but once it was over I wasn’t sure where to go from there on, so I just ended up working in pubs. Making money to pay bills suddenly became kind of important!”

Cat knew that feeling only too well. “Have you ever gone back to music?”

“Well, apart from my acoustic nights and writing my own songs, I play my other instruments from time to time - but nothing more than that.”

“What other instruments do you play?”

“Violin, piano, trumpet, flute, harp... but guitar is the easiest one to play in the pubs. Can you imagine me trying to sing, strum on a harp, then play a quick burst of the trumpet in between? It would sound and look a bit mad!”

“Well I don’t know, it might be kind of cool! Something different, people always like to be surprised.”

He hummed and looked at her with mocking suspicion.

“I’m serious - something to think about! Carry on with your story!” She waved her hand and relaxed into the couch. More people came into the café, shaking their umbrellas and laughing at the crazy storm that was happening outside, to which Cat wasn’t paying too much attention at this point.

Patrick scratched his head then leaned back. “So where was I…yes – well while I was working, my mum and dad moved to Orkney, since my dad was from here. They spent a couple of years here, during which I visited them as often as I could. Then mum got ill. I came over and worked here and spent the time with mum at home and in the hospital. The doctors and nurses were just amazing, couldn’t do enough for mum. Although in the end, the cancer beat her and she passed.” He paused and took a little breath.

Cat still resisted the urge to touch him.

“Anyway, I decided to stay here, I had made friends, and the place felt like home.”

Cat didn’t know how to react; she couldn’t help but feel incredibly sorry for Patrick. But hadn’t she gone through this same thing too with her mother? Her throat dried and she swallowed, dismissing the familiar sorrow that started to creep in. “Do you see your stepdad much?”

“Oh all the time, maybe twice a week we’ll have a drink or he’ll make us dinner,” he grinned. “Cooking is not my talent, so I leave it to others!”

“Oh don’t say that, you’re just giving in without trying. Practice makes perfect, or so I have been told!” Cat gave a gentle nod.

“OK OK, maybe you’re right.” he took a drink of coffee and watched Cat for a moment. “So shall we take a deco at this list then?”

Cat eagerly brought out the scrap piece of paper and smoothed it out on the table.

The car was unpacked and all the borrowed tools from Patrick were safely in the kitchen waiting for tomorrow’s epic day of DIY. She stood there in the quiet by herself as the sound of Patrick’s van drifted away in the distance. It had only just occurred to her that she had spent most of the day with him. Cat smiled thinking of the fits of laughter she had been in as they packed the car. She certainly liked Patrick, but since she had only just split up from Dave, it was maybe best to just have Patrick as a friend. Cat looked around the house seeing pink light streaming through the window. The sun was beginning to set, making the sky a deep dreamy rose that crept softly into the house. As Cat locked up, and was about to go through the gate she paused for a moment, and noticed lying forgotten on the ground a wooden sign with the very faded words: Bramble cottage. Cat turned around to peer up at the house and said to the previous owner, wherever she might be: “I’ll look after your house Marge. Thank you.” She took a deep breath and sent her wishes to the old lady she had never met, hoping she was in the kind of heaven where an Abba tribute band was performing just for her.