Chapter Text
Shifting into the soft leather seat in First Class, Lena swirled the amber scotch around in her glass, staring down at the mesmerising whirlpool as the plane hummed beneath her. They’d been in the air for three hours already, the air crisp with the pressurised oxygen running through the cabin, and she was pale and rigid in her seat, slender fingers tightly gripping the plastic cup as they raced past puffy white clouds with such unhurried gentleness that one could almost mistake the breakneck speed for drifting slowly with the breeze.
Outside, the sky was crystalline blue and she stared through the small oval, finding castles and spires in the marshmallow clouds, wondering what it would be like to sink through them, to fall through the freezing vapour and tumble down to the emptiness below. They were already flying over the North Atlantic Ocean, and she could imagine the wreathing grey mass beneath her. It would hurt, falling from so high. Not that she’d survive the fall, but it was almost a peaceful thought, to imagine falling uncontrollably until heaving white-capped waves gently took her into the arms of the ocean. Lena imagined the freezing cold of the sea would feel much like the numbness pinning her to her seat at that moment.
And she was so numb that she could hardly feel a thing. The only thing that registered to her was the searing heat of the scotch as she drained two within the first hour, after the customary glass of champagne that came with the luxury of her seat. She’d barely even heard the flight attendant when she’d spoken to her, had senselessly mumbled something in reply before requesting her scotch, and had been frozen to her seat ever since. She didn’t even realise she was shivering, her teeth chattering through numb, parted lips as she stared at the blank screen of the complementary TV, the soft cotton blanket provided going ignored.
Instead, Lena was utterly and completely consumed by the yawning blackness that had opened up inside her chest. She felt completely hollow. Completely empty. It was like she’d been drained of any feeling with just a few short words and a broken heart, the capacity to process it having been snatched away from her as she was assaulted by unimaginable pain. Never in her life had she thought it was possible for something to hurt so much.
It had hurt more than anything had any right to, so she’d done the only thing that she could do and driven straight to the airport and booked the next flight leaving Metropolis. It was bound for Inverness, a city up in the Scottish Highlands, the northernmost city in the UK. There was a short layover in London along the way, which would’ve been a more practical choice under normal circumstances, but she’d been looking for an escape. Somewhere far away from anything that could cause her any modicum of pain, and Inverness had seemed like a great idea as she’d handed over her passport with a shaky hand and bought a First Class ticket with British Airways.
She had no luggage to check. Nothing but her purse, a broken Cartier Tank wristwatch, one of the early models, and a folded photograph stuffed into the pocket of her suit jacket. With her plane ticket gripped tightly in her hand, she made her way through security and to the nearest airport bar, sat down at a stool and ordered a drink. Three drinks later, in rapid succession, her flight was being called and she made her way to her gate.
Two hours into the first leg of her trip, and she could barely fathom a thought. All she knew was that she hurt, and the more she drank, the less it hurt. She filled that hollowness inside her with alcohol and it burned her up from the inside, but not nearly enough to take away the impenetrable coldness that had settled in her heart. Lena didn’t think she’d ever feel warm again.
At some point, she drifted off. Not quite to sleep, but no longer entirely conscious of her surroundings. Her vision came in and out of focus, sounds whispered in the background, and she held on tightly to the empty plastic cup, her fingers stiff and her fingernails slightly purple from her poor circulation ten thousand feet in the air. It wasn’t until the captain announced their descent into London that she stirred, blinking herself back to wakefulness as her wandering mind tethered itself back to her body.
She was off the plane first, no luggage to collect and her second ticket clamped tightly in her left hand as her heels clicked on the tiled floors of the airport. In the airport lounge, she passed the time by staring at the snacks in the vending machine, standing there for nearly forty minutes before someone cleared their throat behind her and she pressed the code for a Kit Kat. Collecting her chocolate from the tray, she walked over to a cracked vinyl seat in the lounge and unwrapped it, taking a bite and forcing herself to swallow. It tasted of nothing and it got stuck in her throat.
In the end, she ordered a pint of Guinness at the bar and nursed the dark beer until her flight was called to their gate. Grimacing as she forced down the bitter stout, she wandered through the small airport and gathered outside the gate, where a smattering of people were waiting to board the plane. It was marginally smaller than the first one, and she found herself back in another seat, with more to drink at her beck and call. She didn’t touch the food.
Eleven hours after taking off, she found herself walking onto the tarmac as she climbed down the rickety stairs positioned outside the door of the plane. The airport was small, the building itself a low, white, nondescript structure, and she was through it within minutes, hands in the pockets of the suit pants she was wearing, shivering in the late winter coldness as she walked back out into the frigid night of the Scottish Highlands. In hindsight, she realised she should’ve planned her trip better, but she hadn’t been in the right state of mind to do anything more than remember her passport at the time.
Walking to the taxi rank, she waited in line until it was her turn to climb into the next waiting car, almost weak with relief as she bent her frozen body and ducked into the car, shivering violently against the worn fabric of the dusty, grey seats. The driver was blasting the heat and she managed to stammer out that she wanted to go to the city centre, before falling into silence, punctuated by the occasional rattling sound of her teeth chattering together.
It wasn’t a long drive to the city, and Lena watched as a small city, hemmed in between the rugged wilderness surrounding it, came into view. It was beautiful, even in the early evening, with delicate spires jutting up against a dark sky, old brown bricked buildings from a different era giving the city an old feeling as they were lit up yellow in the blackness. They passed over the River Ness, a calm, inky snake winding through the city, and she was dropped off on the High Street.
Her breath plumed before her as she wandered aimlessly in the dark, the night air freezing her to the bone, and she felt lost and so alone that a piece of her broke. At the sight of the first welcoming lights of a pub, she felt her body go slack, aching everywhere from the tension that had turned her body rigid. Stepping into the brown bricked pub with the wooden picnic tables outside and raucous noise spilling out into the quiet night was like stepping into a warm bath, and she felt the air rush out of her lungs as she stiffly moved towards the bar.
It wasn’t packed, but it was full of noise as people spoke in their thick Scottish burr, drinking locally brewed beer and laughing as they watched the rugby. She found an empty stool and clambered up onto it, running a hand through her windswept hair as her rosy cheeks prickled from the heat. As warm as the room was, it didn’t even touch the ice inside her, and she clenched her hands into fists as she swallowed the rising emotions inside her, leaving half-moons gouged into her skin.
It was a Saturday night, and the place steadily filled around her, while she sat oblivious to it. Nursing her drink, she wallowed in her misery, a confused look of pain etched into the lines of her face as she tried to understand. Reaching up, she clumsily groped at a thin gold chain hanging around her neck, with the tiny swallow pendant hanging from it. Feeling choked up as she gripped it tightly, she felt her heart fracture just a little bit more. It was a terrible betrayal. Lena had never felt so abandoned before. Not even when her father had died. Or her brother. This was something else. This was raw pain, true heartbreak, and she didn’t think it was something that she’d ever come back from. She’d been foolish to ever even think that Sam had loved her enough to stay with her. Instead, she’d been tossed aside and left devastated, and Lena didn’t think she’d ever heal from it.
This was the only escape for her now. The middle of nowhere, with whisky and cold weather that matched her mood. With only herself for company, because there was no one left for her now. No one but herself. And she hated herself. At that moment, she was filled with such self-loathing that she couldn’t even bear the thought of being stuck inside her own head. All she could think of doing now was drinking herself into a stupor and praying that it took away the pain and left her senseless.
“You alright, lass?”
She startled at the voice beside her, just loud enough to be heard over the noise. Looking up from her sweating glass of whisky, Lena turned to face the middle-aged man standing beside her at the bar. His ginger hair was starting to grey at the temples and a beard covered the lower half of his face. His blue eyes were wary as he leant against the scarred wood, waiting for the bartender to serve him, and Lena felt her cheeks grow warm as she met his stare. She looked awful, the grief of her heartbreak written in the lines of her face and the defeated slump of her shoulders. Ducking her head back down, dark hair forming a curtain between them as she hunched her shoulders and gripped her glass tighter.
“Fine.”
“You look upset.”
Swallowing thickly, her body tensed even further, shoulders taut beneath the black suit jacket as she nervously bounced her foot against the footrest of her stool. “No.”
“Right. Well, I know when I’m upset, a nice walk always helps to clear my head.”
“I’ll need to go on a long walk,” Lena said, letting out a short, bitter laugh.
“Then it’s a good thing it’s a beautiful country. Here, another drink on me,” the man said as the bartender approached, handing over a folded note and gesturing to her glass. His voice was a soft, deep rumble as he gave her a friendly smile when she glanced up at him.
Before she could protest, he walked off, taking a seat at a nearby booth, where a young man was shuffling a deck of cards. Lena watched them for a moment, coming to the conclusion that it was most likely his son before she turned back around in her seat and watched as the bartender topped up her whisky.
Melting ice cubes clinked in the bottom of her glass as she tipped the glass from side to side, watching as the golden liquid sloshed back and forth like the sea. Haltingly bringing the glass to her lips, she tipped it back and drained it, a fire tracing its way down her throat as she swallowed and set her glass back down on the worn bar with a stiff, precise movement, before pushing her stool back with the grating sound of the legs dragging across the wooden floor, and she gestured for the bartender to fetch the man a drink on her. Paying her bill, she wrapped her arms around herself and shouldered her way back out into the cold.
It was impossibly colder and she was nearly bowled over by the shock of it, her whole body wracked with tremors as she hunched her shoulders and braced herself, walking back along the street, feeling the burning iciness trace its way down her throat. Her eyes were prickling with tiredness, lights bursting into blurry rays as her vision swam and her mind was enveloped in hazy disorientation.
The night was growing late, the moon hanging heavily in the sky like a silver coin, a dusting of stars shining brightly, and she somehow managed to stumble upon a hotel a few streets away. The Royal Highland Hotel was a three-story building with dark wooden panelling, tartan furnishings and antique furniture that she didn’t have the time to study before she’d promptly booked herself a room at the desk, walked up the carpeted staircase, took a left on the landing and up to the second floor, and passed out on her bed the moment she collapsed onto it.
It was midday by the time she woke, uncomfortable and smelling strongly of alcohol as she lay bundled up beneath the heavy blankets, wearing yesterday’s clothes. Blinking back the bleariness in her eyes, she stretched out her stiff muscles and closed her eyes to the pounding headache at her temples. Her throat felt sore and scratchy and she gulped down a glass of water before stripping off her clothes and shivering as she waited for the water sputtering from the showerhead to turn hot.
Standing beneath the downpour, she let it scald her pale skin, running in rivulets down her body as she stood dejectedly beneath it, unable to bring herself to move. It seeped into her, relaxing her stiff muscles and washing away the smell of whisky that clung to her like a cloud, and she had to force herself to go through the motions after ten minutes of standing lifelessly beneath the torrent of water. Scrubbing herself with the small bar of soap, until her skin was prickling from the hard pressure of her scouring, and then washing her hair until it hung in black ropes, plastered to her wet skin, soap suds coursing down her in the stream of water and swirling down the drain, she eventually shut off the water.
Dressed in yesterday’s clothes, Lena sat at the foot of her unmade bed, hair drying in damp tangles, and she stared down at the photograph she’d pulled from the front pocket of her suit jacket. It was of Sam. And Ruby. Lena felt a painful stab in her heart and folded the photo in half, before shoving it back into her pocket and letting out a shaky breath.
She ate breakfast at the hotel, sitting by herself and drinking strong coffee to clear her head, the bacon and eggs helping to settle her roiling stomach, and as soon as she’d finished, she stepped out onto the streets of Inverness. It was bitterly cold and wet, the pavements shining with the elusive colours of a rainbow from where it had rained all morning, and she buried her hands in the pockets of her pants and tried to stop her lips from trembling as she walked the streets. It occurred to Lena that she should probably buy some clothes.
Finding a small clothing store, packed with puffy coats and waterproof jackets, she stepped into the small space, nodded a greeting to the man stocking backpacks on hooks, and wandered through the narrow aisles. She came upon a stand of books near the back, with maps of the Highlands and Lowlands, hiking advice and about nature. Picking up one of the flimsy paper maps, she unfolded it and took in the sprawling mass of Scotland. She was as north as one could get in a city there, and she imagined it only got colder and lonelier the further north one went, but there was so much to the south too. National parks and towns and cities, right up to the border of England.
Glancing around at the items stocked in the shop, she hesitated, softly biting her bottom lip as she looked at one of the monstrous backpacks that looked like it would dwarf her. As she took in the walking poles and tanned hiking boots, the bobble hats and thermal gloves, she recalled the man from the pub the night before. Walking was a good way to clear her head, and she had a lot to forget. But it was a long walk to England.
The more she thought about it, the more that it seemed like a good idea. She had nowhere to be, no one that cared to find out where she was. That much was very clear to her. Staring down at the map, she gently touched her fingertip to Inverness typed in small black letters, and traced her way down the green spots on the map, past the names of towns and cities, blue puddles indicating massive lochs, or the winding lines of rivers. It would be a long walk, but that was just what Lena needed. People went on walking holidays all the time. They even had guided tours for it. But Lena wasn’t in the mood for company and was stubborn enough to relish the challenge of hiking cross-country. She’d never so much as been camping before, but how hard could it be, living in the wilderness for a few weeks?
Picking up a khaki parka, she tried it on and zipped herself into the cosiness of it, smiling faintly to herself as she walked around the store with a purpose. By the end of it, she’d deposited a small mountain on items on the counter, in front of the bemused man, and gave him a slight smile as she handed over her credit card.
“Going hiking?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
He nodded, smiling slightly as he started punching in the price of all of her items. There were tan waterproof walking boots, a brown hiking backpack with too many pockets and straps for her to count, a thermos and water bottle, thick socks, a thermal sleeping bag, a torch and some changes of clothes. She’d found a thick pine green sweater made from Shetland wool, flecked with cream and black, and couldn’t resist it, as well as a few t-shirts and a pair of waterproof trousers. Tossing in a scarf and a knitted hat, she felt determined as she watched the man add up the total cost, brimming slightly with anticipated and willful stubbornness to see this through.
Leaden down with bags of belongings, she thanked the man and left, making a quick stop at a supermarket and tossing in an abundance of light snacks, before walking back towards the hotel with long strides, eagerness creeping up on her as she tried to stamp down the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. She had a purpose now. She wasn’t going to just sit in a hotel in the north of Scotland, moping about and dwelling on her pain, she was going to walk. Walk until her feet bled and she passed out from exhaustion until she achieved some sort of absolution and rewarding feeling that could fill the void inside her. With a stubborn set to her jaw, she told herself that if she did this, she’d be good enough for Sam. Good enough for anyone who thought that they could toss her aside so easily, leave her broken and numb, while they picked someone else instead of her. That’s what had made it sting so much more, that there had been someone else. Someone that was good enough for Sam, and it hadn’t been Lena.
Anger slowly burned to life as Lena felt a stab of betrayal in her heart, and she quickened her pace, breezing into the hotel and up to her room with flushed, wind-bitten cheeks turned red, and eyes bright with pain and firm purpose. In a frenzy, she tore the bags apart, leaving her new belongings strewn everywhere as she ripped labels off and removed wrappers before she lost some of her vengeance. Feeling tired, cold and miserable, she came to a sudden stop on the carpeted floor of the room, kneeling amongst her things, and found that she was breathing raggedly, her hands shaking as she folded t-shirts and put batteries into her new torch.
Letting out a shaky breath, she tried to calm herself down, closing her eyes and breathing slowly. With each inhale, she found the tension inside her unwind slightly, the knot in her stomach loosening as she clenched her fingers into fists and tried to stop the tremors that wracked her body. As hard as she was trying to convince herself that she was okay, that she could do this, and it would make her hurt less inside, she knew that it was a lie that she was feeding herself. She just wanted to hear Sam’s voice. Lena wanted to hear that warmth that laced her words when she spoke to her, the way that it made her insides burn with desire, made her feel special until they hadn’t. But she wanted to hear her voice anyway.
Making the sudden decision to call her, Lena quickly rose to her feet and rushed across the room, snatching the phone up off the nightstand and jostling the mattress of the unmade bed as she sat down. Taking a deep breath, she reached out, hand trembling, and punched in the familiar numbers of Sam’s phone. Closing her eyes, her lips moved in quiet prayer, and she felt the tautness of her body go slack as the phone rang and rang and rang. And there was Sam’s voice as it went to voicemail, soft and sweet and making Lena hurt so much that she almost thought she could cry. She hadn’t cried in years.
“Hi, you’ve reached Sam. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
There was a small beep and Lena found herself floundering for a moment, considering hanging up. And then she found the words tumbling out of her, the pain almost unbearable as she felt her heart break just a little bit more, while hope foolishly flared to life in her chest. Perhaps she’d answer, or at least return the call. That would be something.
“Hey, it’s me,” she said, her voice cracking slightly as she pressed the plastic hotel phone to her ear, “I know you’re not going to pick up, I just- I wanted to tell you that I was sorry. I know I was mad at you, but … it hurt. It hurts so much.”
She fell silent as she let out a shuddering breath, closing her eyes as she swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. Twisting the telephone cord around her finger, she drew her knees up to her chest as she perched on the edge of the bed, trying to stoke a warmth inside her, although she couldn’t help but shiver. The sky was grey outside, miserable and damp, with dark clouds looming heavily over the small city, and it was so uninspiring that Lena thought it would be near impossible for her to feel anything but cold.
“I’m in Scotland right now,” she suddenly confessed, aware that her time was running out. “You always said I should travel more, so … I’m here. You always said you’d take me to Paris. I think I’m going to go there. I was … I thought that- I know you didn’t pick me. I know we left things .... badly, but I- I’m going to Paris, and I’ll wait there for you. If you want to come.”
Pressing her lips together as the words fell from her lips, the quiet plea hesitantly making itself known as a plan formed in her mind, Lena paused for a moment.
“I have to go now. I’ll see you soon … maybe.”
Slamming the phone back down on the hook, she uncurled from her ball and rose fluidly to her feet, running a hand through her hair as she looked around the small hotel room, littered with her new belongings. Her intention had been to run away, to hide and nurse her wounded heart and let go of her anger, but she had a plan now. Paris. It was a place she’d been to before, but always for work. She’d been practical with her travelling, meeting with antiquities buyers and sellers, lugging old lamps and statues with her, bringing back silver powder boxes and tiny golden pocket watches. Sam had travelled. Everywhere and anywhere, not to look at dusty antiques, but to immerse herself in the culture, and she’d regaled Lena with stories of her travels while she’d hung onto every word. Paris had been her favourite place in the world; she always said she was going to take Lena there one day.
Lena would go there herself. She needed time to clear her head, and the man’s suggestion about a walk was a good idea, and by the time she caught a ferry across the English Channel and into France, she imagined she’d have had a lot of time to reflect on everything. Hopefully, when she got there, Sam would be there too.
Packing all of her belongings, she left out a change of clothes and went to shower. The hot water rejuvenated her, brought a prickling heat to her stiff muscles, and she dressed in warm clothes after she’d dried herself off, smelling freshly of soap and feeling a little more human. Wearing her new sweater over a thermal shirt, she put on her waterproof pants, shoved her feet into her thick socks and walking boots, and zipped her coat up. Shouldering her backpack, she groaned beneath the weight of it, before straightening up and squaring her shoulders.
She could do this. She had to.