Chapter 21 Kate 
ALNWICK, ENGLAND | EARLY DECEMBER 2010
I can’t believe they eliminated the lemon cupcakes,” Audrey says. They’ve just witnessed the finale of The Great British Bake Off.
“Neither can I,” Ian says, throwing his hands in the air next to Kate on the couch. “A travesty.”
Audrey chuckles, holds her coffee mug aloft. “Which one of you would like to go get me a refill?” Kate leans forward but Ian pushes himself off the couch first to oblige. “Thank you, dear,” Audrey says, and he disappears down the hall. “So the two of you are headed to the Christmas market tomorrow, then?” she says with a small smile. “Sounds lovely.”
“Yeah,” Kate says. She’s a little unsure of the trip, but truth be told she could use a breather from Audrey’s weighty recollections, and she’s trying to lean into Ian’s suggestion that the only real way to face this holiday is to push straight on through it. She’s felt better lately, despite the occasional nightmare. But she’s having fewer of them than she did back in London, so she takes that as a sign of progress. “I’ve never been. Have you?”
“Once or twice, years ago now. I love Edinburgh though, used to go there often when I was younger and my legs didn’t creak like rotting branches. It’s a bit too hilly for me nowadays. The train ride was sometimes my favourite part. You get quite close to the sea along the way.” She shakes her head. “It’s funny. I’ve lived landlocked my whole life, despite how much I like being by the water.”
“It’s not too late, you know,” Kate says gently.
“Yes, it is,” Audrey replies, her expression soft. “But thank you.”
Ian returns with her refill. “I gave it a little jolt of whiskey. Your baking horse lost. This is for the sorrow.”
“Cheers.” Audrey winks at him. When she takes the mug, a little sloshes over the side, and Ian guides it down to the cork coaster on the side table for her.
“You okay?” he mutters.
“Yes, thank you, dear.”
“I’ll get a cloth.”
Ian’s solicitousness sparks a warmth in Kate, but she watches Audrey with concern. She’s been unsteady on her feet recently. Kate can tell she’s truly struggling because she’s accepting—or grudgingly asking for—Kate’s help with basic tasks, and getting up and down the stairs. Audrey is unlikely to accept anyone’s help unless the need is dire. Her past is evidence enough.
Her story has been playing over and over in Kate’s mind like a film for the past several days. Vogt’s attack and Müller’s shocking duplicity. Her feelings for Ilse. Joining the resistance and rescuing the baby. As much as age may have diminished Audrey on the outside, the core of this woman is made of seriously tough shit. No wonder she reacted so negatively to Kate’s arrival—after holding it together for so long, she wasn’t prepared to admit she wasn’t coping on her own anymore. Kate’s respect for her has grown by the day.
“You’re sure you don’t mind me going out for the whole day tomorrow?” Kate asks her now as Ian disappears again to fetch the cloth.
Audrey waves her hand. “I shall be fine. If I need anything, I’ll call Sue. But I suspect being rid of the pair of you for twelve hours will do wonders for my health and sanity.”
The three of them pass another pleasant half hour in conversation before Audrey announces she’s heading to bed. Ian gives Audrey a peck, then moves toward Kate and loops his arm around her as he kisses her cheek. “I’ll be back at eight to pick you up,” he says.
She almost pulls him back, but lets him go, her face warm, the feel of his lips still lingering on her skin.
After Ian leaves, she turns to Audrey, who is watching her, a little grin playing around her mouth. “Do you want your peppermint tea?” Kate asks. Audrey has a cup every night for her digestion, and Kate has taken to preparing it for her.
“Yes, thank you. But I think I’ll take it upstairs tonight. I’m quite tired.”
When Kate returns with the tea a few minutes later, Audrey hasn’t moved from her chair, clearly waiting for help with the stairs.
“Thank you, Kate,” she says, standing slowly and reaching for the cup.
“No, I’ll carry it.”
“Oh, just give me the damn tea,” Audrey snaps. “I can manage perfectly well on my own.”
They exchange glares.
“It’s hot water, and you need to hold the handrail,” Kate says firmly. “I don’t want you scalded on my watch.”
“On your watch? I’m not your charge, you know. You’re not here to babysit.”
“No, but I am your roommate and I’m about sixty years younger than you, so I’ll carry the tea.”
Audrey scowls and heads up the stairs, gripping the railing tightly. “I don’t know what came over me, bringing a nag into my home. I didn’t marry all these years to retain my independence, and now I’ll be spending my final days under the dictatorial thumb of a bossy ginger know-it-all.”
Kate stops in her tracks. “Final days? What are you talking about?”
Audrey halts briefly, then flaps the comment away. “I don’t mean that literally. But I am ninety-one years old, and, you know… it’s a figure of speech. The point is, you’re an insufferable nag.”
Kate smirks. “Fine then, I’ll leave. Bye.”
“Oh, shut it.”
The train journey from Alnwick to Edinburgh wasn’t quite as idyllic as Audrey had described. Kate and Ian spent most of the trip squashed into a corner near the toilet. The train had oversold the tickets and the cars were stuffed with noisy families. Kate hadn’t even caught a glimpse of the North Sea as it sped past the window.
“I promise it’ll be worth it,” Ian had muttered as they were shunted aside by a large tourist carting three even larger hot pink suitcases and complaining loudly about the British rail system. “But still, I think we’ll just drive next time, yeah?”
They finally disembark onto the busy platform around eleven o’clock. A brilliantly lit Ferris wheel soars above them amid a sea of Christmas lights. Ian squeezes her hand, and they make their way through the throng to street level. Beyond the bridge and the rail lines, the market stretches on for ages, a dazzling holiday exhibition that winds up and down park paths lined with red carpets.
They weave through the horde on Princes Street, past the dozens of stalls offering everything from cuckoo clocks and mulled wine to giant pretzels and tree ornaments. Ian gives her a cursory tour of the New Town, never letting go of her hand. An hour later, they end up at an Indian place for lunch, ravenous. They didn’t eat much breakfast before their journey.
“This might be the best sag aloo I’ve ever had,” Kate says. It’s loaded with oil and countless calories, but she finds she doesn’t care as much as she would have before. The need to control her diet seems to have waned.
Ian nods fervently, mouth full of food.
Kate spears a chunk of potato, and a question comes to mind. “Do you know why Audrey doesn’t eat potatoes?”
“No. I hadn’t noticed.”
“She hates them, apparently. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who hates potatoes. There’s just so much to love,” Kate says, chuckling. “I should ask her.”
“She’s gotten more particular as she’s gotten older though,” Ian says, taking a long draught of his beer. “I guess a lot of people do. Why put up with anything you don’t like? I doubt I’ll eat broccoli for about the last decade of my life.”
“I could never get my ex to eat any vegetables aside from potatoes,” she says. “He was like a toddler that way.” The words are out before she has a chance to consider them. She chews her food, racking her brain for a change of subject.
He looks up. “Your ex?”
She hadn’t wanted to talk about Adam yet. There was no greater buzzkill for budding romance than to conjure the ghosts of relationships past.
“Yeah,” she says. “A while ago now.”
The last she’d heard from Adam, he was sorting out the divorce with a solicitor and would be in touch when it was ready to be finalized. Kate doesn’t want to have to explain what happened with Adam to Ian—she wishes she could tell him she’s already divorced—until she knows where this is headed. She likes the comfortable familiarity of Ian, hopes their connection will progress, but her guard is still up. He doesn’t need to know the ugly details yet.
Ian studies her face but doesn’t press for more. “I had the opposite problem. My ex was a vegetarian and was always trying to convert me.”
“What happened to her?”
Ian takes another drink. “I asked her to marry me, and she up and left for Manchester with another bloke.”
Kate sets down her water. “Wow. Shit.”
“Thanks. That’s about the same face I made when I found out she’d been cheating on me,” he says, with a half smile that lightens the moment. “But hey, it’s led to this, right? I get to be here with you.”
He keeps talking, moving on from his ex, but Kate watches him, takes in the laugh lines around his mouth. Despite the hardships of his life, he’s still nearly always smiling. He’s somehow managed to maintain his positivity. She wishes she could be more like him, wonders if she has it in her. She fingers the condensation on her water glass, notices that the ice has split. Most of it is floating, but two pieces are joined together and stuck to the bottom. Variations in ice density determine whether a piece sinks or floats. The ones at the bottom are under more pressure. But give the glass a little swirl, a gentle agitation of encouragement, and the chunks at the bottom will eventually rise to the surface.
Revived and full, they explore the neighbourhood a little. After wandering the narrow, pedestrian-only Rose Street, they come to a busy thoroughfare blocked off with a wall of police barricades.
“Sniper?” Kate asks at the same moment Ian says, “Parade?”
They glance at each other. Ian’s face splits into a grin and Kate begins to laugh. It feels good, as though one of the weights on her shoulders has tumbled off. Ian has that effect on her. He’s looking at her now, still smiling, but there’s a tenderness in his eyes.
He leans down and kisses her, right there on the crowded sidewalk. Kate responds with enthusiasm, her body warm and tingling despite the cold.
“Should have seen that coming, I guess,” she says when they break apart.
His nose brushes her cheek. “You can’t predict everything in life.”
They circle back to the Christmas Market in the midafternoon, hand in hand. The air smells like baked goods, beer, and hickory. Kate used to love these sorts of artisan markets, buying whimsical gifts for her girlfriends and parents. There was a time she would have left this one with bags full of scarves, ornaments, and kitschy mugs, but as she sets a scented candle back down on the vendor’s table, it hits her—she has no one to buy for this year besides Audrey and Ian. She thinks of her few girlfriends back in London, all married with children now. In the wake of her trauma, Kate had curled into herself, then written off their lack of attention with valid excuses: they were simply too busy, too tired out by their own young families, too emotionally taxed to spare much energy for her. But now she wonders whether she should have asked more of them—that they stick by her, check in with her, even on the days where her bed felt like the only answer to the impossible riddle she’d been tasked with solving.
“See anything worthwhile?” Ian asks, jostling Kate’s wandering mind back to the present.
“Nothing I’ve really decided on.”
“How about a drink?”
“Sure.”
Ian leads her down the red carpeted path to a stall offering mulled wine, hot toddies, and apple cider. They carry their drinks out of the crowd and find a place to sit on the edge of a low stone wall. Kate sips her cider, letting the spicy scent waft over her face as the unpleasant memories float away on the chilly wind.
Ian inhales the steam from his toddy and looks sideways at her paper cup. “You don’t drink much, eh?”
“No. Not for a while now.”
“Mind if I ask why?”
She blows on the surface of the cider, watches a woman hold up a red knitted baby cardigan at the stall across from them, and turns away, huddling into Ian.
“My dad drank too much sometimes,” she says. “And it kind of turned me off it.”
“Ah,” Ian says, resting his free hand on her thigh. “I think people sort of go one of two ways with that, don’t they?” he says gently.
“What do you mean?”
“When I was at uni here, I used to tend bar on weekends at a pub just off the Royal Mile.” He gestures across the rail lines to the Old Town. “There was this old bloke, Archie, with no front teeth and this yellowing moustache who used to spend hours at the bar every Friday and Saturday night. He was always one of the last to leave. After all the students and the band had cleared off, he’d stagger the two blocks to his flat. We all knew where he lived. Sometimes we had to walk him to his door; he could hardly stand.” A ripple of pity passes over Ian’s features. “This one night he was more shattered than I’d ever seen him. Even after we cut him off, he just stayed there at the bar. I don’t think he wanted to leave. Not sure he had anyone, you know? I ended up walking him home that night, and he stopped at the door to his flat and said it was the anniversary of the day his old man beat his dog to death in a drunken rage. When Archie tried to stop him, the bastard kicked his teeth in.” Kate gasps. “He said he drank more than his dad ever did, pickled himself so hard that he couldn’t have thrown a fist at anyone if he’d wanted to.” Ian pauses. “Do you know why your dad drank?” Tinny music from the nearby Ferris wheel sings out in the background, just audible over the constant murmur of the crowd.
Kate shakes her head. “He had depression, I know that much. Not always. It came and went. And I’ve wondered how much the drinking contributed to it. He was open about a lot of things, but very private about others. I’m still trying to figure him out, to be honest. My mum was a lot more transparent. But she was too tolerant of his drinking. Or, I don’t know… maybe she’d just given up trying.” She clears her throat with a sip of cider. “Do we ever really know our parents? Like, really? Did you feel like you knew your dad?”
Ian opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by shouting over near the main road. They twist around, looking for the source of the commotion, and see a cluster of people bent over a middle-aged man with greying hair lying prone on the pavement.
“He just dropped!” they hear a woman wail.
“Whoa,” Ian mutters.
An ambulance blares down the street, lights flashing. They’re so close that the sirens shred the air. Kate sets her drink down on the stone beside her and covers her ears, eyes still on the ambulance as a pair of paramedics exit with a slamming of doors.
“He collapsed,” the woman cries out again. “He was talking one moment, and the next—”
“Okay, ma’am, step aside, please.”
Kate trips down into her own memory, falling through the rain. The paramedic is pointing something at her face as her eyes flutter open.
Miss? Miss? Can you see this light? What’s your name?
And later, the glaring overhead halogens of the hospital room.
What happened, Kate?
She squeezes her eyes shut, but all she sees is the dark, wet road. Her parents’ faces. The blood. The flashing lights are there no matter how much she blinks.
“Kate?” Ian’s voice is at her ear. “Are you okay? Kate?”
Her eyes flash open, but she can’t breathe. She turns away from the emergency lights and Ian’s concerned face, pushes through the crushing, chattering crowd.
“Kate!” Ian calls.
She breaks into a run, trying to get as far away from the scene as possible.
Ian catches up to her at the gates to the Princes Street Gardens. She hurries down the stone steps, panting as she comes to a stop near a border hedge. It’s darker, quieter here. The castle is lit now, glowing orange on the rocky cliff behind her.
Ian grasps her shoulders, breathing hard too. He ducks down to look at her properly. “What’s going on? What is it?”
He lifts her chin and in his eyes, she sees the lights of the castle that has stood on that overlook for a thousand years, stalwart and secure and reliable. A constant amid the tumult.
She clutches Ian’s wrists, feeling her legs giving way. “I killed them,” she whispers. “I killed them. It was all my fault.”
Ian steadies her. “Who?”
“My parents.”
“How is the accident your fault?”
Kate shakes her head in despair. “Because I was the one driving,” she says weakly. “It was me. It was raining, and… and…” She takes a breath, tries to tell him the whole truth, but the words won’t come.
Ian pulls her in to his chest, where she buries her head in his scarf as the wind chills the tear tracks on her face. “It’s still not your fault, Kate,” he mutters. “Any one of you could have been driving, and the same thing would have happened. The roads still would have been wet. You can’t blame yourself for this.”
Oh, but she can.
“Do you think your parents would, if they were alive to hear you say this? Jesus. Would they not just be grateful you survived? Come on, Kate. You have to forgive yourself. You have to.”
Kate tilts her chin up. He kisses her gently and pulls her in for another hug. Over his shoulder, the Ferris wheel is fully illuminated now. Each car is a different colour, and she watches as the red one drops down behind some trees, out of her view. It slows down a little with time, disappears for a while as the other cars take their turn at the fore. You would think the red car was gone. But then it rises back up, almost camouflaged in all the sparkling, twinkling lights, but not quite. It’s always there, whether you want to see it or not.