by Penny Parkes
‘It’s hardly a bother – you know me, travel light,’ Anna cut in.
‘I know, I know. But the thing that worries me, us actually, is that you seem to travel light emotionally as well. You’re never in one place long enough to put down roots, make friends. Maybe date a little.’
‘But that’s why old friends are the best,’ Anna reminded her quietly, the words hitting painfully close to home. Even amongst the decadent luxury of The Cove, it took an enormous strength of will not to feel a little bit lonely. Even with Chewie snoring loudly beside her.
‘Sarah was so impressed with you by the way,’ Kate said, taking another about-turn. ‘I mean, you and I both know you were being all weird and evasive about your writing, like usual, but she just put it down to “creative reticence”. So, you know, you could pick up the phone any time and she’d take your call. Called you intriguing.’
‘Ah well, that’s me: a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.’ Levity had long since become Anna’s default setting when emotions overcame her.
‘Alright, Churchill,’ Kate laughed. ‘But I think it was more that she felt you probably had something to say. Something special actually. She thinks you might have a unique voice – I mean, she has a point, you’ve seen life from all angles, right?’
‘Are we calling my misbegotten youth research now, then?’ Anna said, deeply touched, but nevertheless uncomfortable.
‘You’re fascinating—’ Kate began earnestly.
‘All the boys say so,’ Anna cut in, smoky voice and attitude drowning out the prickling feelings of discomfort.
‘Don’t be flippant with me – I know your wily ways, Anna Wilson.’ Kate was taking no nonsense. And that was probably another reason why old friends were the best friends: they knew your shit and called you on it.
‘So, where to next then, while I’m stuck suffering on Love Island?’ Kate said, the irony heavy in her voice.
Anna laughed. ‘You poor soul. Maybe have a massage to deal with the stress?’
‘Don’t dodge the question. Somebody needs to know where you are.’
Still reeling from Sarah’s beautiful comments, Kate’s warm compassion was nearly Anna’s undoing. ‘Look, this month is a little out of the ordinary. It’s all ad hoc, and kind of disconcerting, if I’m honest,’ Anna replied.
‘So, while it looks like chaos normally, it’s actually planned chaos?’
‘Something like that…’ Anna managed, her hand pressed firmly to her heart, breathing slowly out to allay a sudden urge to overshare. ‘So tell me about the honeymoon suite? Is it terribly romantic waking up to the sounds of the ocean?’
Kate laughed. ‘Mate, I have to tell you, this romance business is hard work – I’m still picking rose petals out of my—’
Anna winced and tried not to listen.
Oversharing was not an issue that Kate worried about. Apparently.
Chapter 17
Dittisham, 2019
Buoyed by her wonderful chat with Kate, Anna felt almost renewed, singing along to the radio as she prepared her supper, uninhibited by her inability to hold a note or indeed accurately identify a lyric. Leia burbled happily from her aviary, but Anna could have sworn she saw Chewie roll his eyes in disbelief.
‘Hey, buster, your yowling is hardly in tune, you know,’ Anna pointed out, waving the weighty chef’s knife in her hand for emphasis.
It was amazing how cathartic a bit of slicing and dicing had been, and now the kitchen counter was adorned by a veritable rainbow of stir-fry ingredients, all julienned and ready to go. Quick, easy suppers for the rest of the week.
It was almost a shame though, Anna realised, to apply her usual whistle-stop efficiency to catering when she had this amazing kitchen at her disposal. Chances are, it cost more than any flat Anna herself could even contemplate affording, but rather than being ostentatious, it felt professional, sleek and entirely enjoyable.
Sipping a chilled Seedlip from the glass-fronted fridge dedicated entirely to an array of drinks, both soft and vintage, she looked around, leaning back against the marble countertops and surveying her domain. Well, her domain-of-the-day, she smiled.
She imagined the long beechwood table laid up for a casual kitchen supper, her own friends clustered around, crystal flutes in hand… Well, maybe not crystal for a casual supper, but there didn’t seem to be much call for IKEA’s finest tumblers in Liza’s kitchen. She imagined huge platters of rocket and parmesan, drizzled with the treacly balsamic vinegar she’d found in the larder. Maybe a crackling rolled loin of pork with crispy sage? Or more realistically a vast lasagne – wasn’t the company more important than the menu after all?
And here Anna would be, relaxed, at home – the perfect hostess. In her sleek, professional kitchen…
Answerable to no one.
It was a thought that had been bubbling in her subconscious for days now since she’d fled from Gravesend Manor. Yet, in all honesty, Anna could no longer deny that, with each layer of her entrenched defences that was sloughed away, she felt not only more raw, but also more alive than she had in years. As though she had nothing to lose by making the difficult decisions. As though she had options beyond a nomadic call to evasion.
She’d even plucked up the courage to venture onto Rightmove earlier, to click on the lozenge that said ‘To Rent’, stymied only by the pop-up message innocently asking for a location or postcode to search. A little more thought was clearly required.
‘Dare to dream,’ she murmured to Chewie, who was lying at her feet determined to catch anything interesting that fell to the floor. But, really, how realistic was the dream anyway – and not simply because this house wasn’t hers, but because Liza’s kitchen table seated at least sixteen people.
Anna wasn’t sure that she knew sixteen people.
Possibly, if one called in fleeting friendships and acquaintances, she could make it to a round dozen.
Still, it was hardly a pressing issue: she had always counted quality over quantity when it came to friends. And her hit-and-run approach to the people she met on her travels was hardly conducive to lasting friendships either.
That didn’t stop the longing for a kitchen table supper though and – Anna cranked up the radio – she could allow herself a little fun pretending.
Singing into the spatula as she tossed tenderstem broccoli and ribbons of red and yellow peppers together, Anna danced around the kitchen, around the dog, around the sixteen Perspex chairs. Her talent for self-sufficiency may have begun as a salve to her childhood of uncertainty, but as an adult it was a gift. She could find happiness anywhere; all she needed was a good book, a cheesy song on the radio and a little peace of mind. And it was no coincidence that her peace of mind had dramatically improved since her phone ran out of juice, and for as long as it took to recharge next door, then she would make the most of it. No call to duty. No temptation to check her Home Network bookings. Or her ratings.
Her time was her own.
A knock on the front door lurched her out of her improvised homage to Madonna and brought a flush to her cheeks, as she glanced around to check whether she’d been caught in the act. ‘Fat lot of good you are,’ she said to Chewie, who apparently couldn’t give two fucks who was knocking on the door, his focus still welded to the strips of chicken sizzling in the wok.
‘It’s only me!’ called Henry from outside.
Wiping her hands on a linen tea-towel – far too nice to be a tea-towel – to avoid any oil stains on the brass door handle, Anna jogged through to the hallway. ‘This is a nice surprise,’ she said, watching his face light up.
‘Oh well – even better.’ He smiled. ‘I thought you might enjoy a little barbeque on the beach? There’s a bunch of us getting together and you’d get to meet everyone.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, you don’t have to meet everyone, but I thought we might have fun?’
There was a hint of flirtation in his invitation. A hint that he quickly smothered. ‘My grandparents might come down too – it�
�s the more the merrier really.’
‘Sounds lovely,’ Anna said, surprised by how genuinely she meant it. ‘I just need to get myself sorted. I was just making a stir-fry.’
‘Cool,’ said Henry. ‘I can help you eat it if you like – it’ll be hours ’til the hog roast is done and I’m starving.’
And just like that, he walked through to the kitchen and picked up the spatula.
Like they were, well, friends or something.
Anna eyed the table as she followed him through. Sixteen empty chairs looked back.
* * *
Hair plastered to her forehead, plastic beaker of cider in her hand and the flickering flames of the bonfire lighting up the laughter and conversation on the beach in the darkness, Anna danced like nobody was watching. All around her, bodies moved to the beat, caught up in themselves and the music. The sand was damp and cold, squishy between her bare toes, but she hadn’t felt so warm, or so alive, in months.
Sure, it was no Full Moon party in Thailand, but the food and the company eclipsed the chill in the air now the sun had long since set.
This was what freedom felt like. This was the joy she remembered.
A timely reminder as to why she lived the way she did: dancing on the beach was her office, she thought to herself with a hiccupping laugh, carefree and happy.
The cider sloshed over her wrist and she discreetly tipped the rest away. She was having too much fun to explain herself tonight.
The first sip she’d taken to be polite, slipping down like apple juice.
And then, well, then she wasn’t really sure how many times her cup had been refilled because of the dancing, the banter, the general merriment. But that didn’t mean she had to drink it to have a good time.
Sometimes, it was just easier that way.
She looked around her, trying to fix this moment in her memory. This feeling.
The last few years everything had run like clockwork – country by country, continent by continent – and yet all those months of unimpeded travel now blurred together. The experiences somehow melded into an indistinguishable litany of glorious bedrooms and heart-stopping vistas that, in hindsight, all seemed somehow beige.
But, now, after these last few days, where seemingly everything had been destined to go wrong, challenges thrown up at every corner? When the logical response would be to take a hint from the universe, maybe even heed Kate’s advice that it was time to move on from moving on?
On the contrary, these last few days had been the first time in a long time that Anna had actually felt fully present. For better and worse, it had been full technicolour living.
It was as though that night at Gravesend Manor had shocked her out of her stupor – perhaps it had been the fear, or the memories? Or simply enough adrenaline to charge her system and restart her heart.
She twirled to the music, arms swaying, her body alive to every sensation.
Closing her eyes, she smiled, grateful to Henry for this invitation. Grateful to her own body for remembering why she lived the way she did. There was nothing wrong with a little pleasure-seeking when you were young – quite literally footloose and fancy-free.
‘Anna! Anna! Come and say hi to my grandparents.’ Henry strode across the sand towards her, jolting her from her reverie, his shoulders somehow broader and more powerful in the firelight.
‘Sure,’ said Anna, sweeping her hair back from her face and looking up at him with a smile. One of the very few perks of being this short was the ability to look up at a man; one of the ongoing challenges of her life was finding a man worth looking up to.
‘I’m so glad you’re down here with the young folk,’ said Henry’s gran, introducing herself by pulling Anna into an enormous, lung-emptying hug. ‘I’m Ruth. And I’ll wager you could use a night off.’ She gave Anna a knowing look, as though she knew all too well how demanding the Lyndells could be. ‘And my Henry said you saw the peregrine hunt? Now, isn’t that something special?’
‘Ah nonsense, the lass travels all over the world, Ruthie. One little falcon getting himself some dinner isn’t going to rate much.’ Fisherman’s jumper, white beard, twinkling eyes that were one part Henry, one part mischief.
‘And you must be Arthur,’ Anna replied. ‘And at the risk of disagreeing with you within moments of meeting, I have to tell you that you’re quite, quite wrong.’
Arthur guffawed, clapping her on the shoulder so hard her teeth rattled. ‘Oh Henry, my lad, I can see why you like this one.’
Henry stared firmly down at the sand, unwilling to meet Anna’s inquisitive look. ‘I am so, so sorry,’ he murmured, the humour and resignation obvious in his voice.
Anna grinned. ‘He’s been brilliant actually, showing me round and helping me settle in.’ She paused. ‘It’s nice to have some local knowledge.’
Ruth nodded. ‘Well, he had some making up to do, after scaring you half to death that first night.’ She tucked her arm through Anna’s, her face turning instinctively to the warmth of the bonfire. ‘But does he have it right, love? Are you constantly on the move, looking after people’s houses and pets and whatnot?’
Anna nodded. ‘It’s not for everyone, but it works for me.’ She shrugged, honesty prevailing. ‘Well, most of the time.’
‘And do you not ever get homesick? Long for a little continuity over glamour?’ Ruth persisted. ‘A nice relationship maybe?’
‘Well, it’s not all glamour, I can tell you,’ Anna hedged, a prescient whisper of where this conversation was heading cooling the back of her neck. ‘Once you’ve wrangled alpacas out of your bed, or given a Maine Coon his medicine twice a day, you remember it’s a job not a holiday.’
Ruth’s face softened. ‘Oh love, I’m not saying you don’t earn your keep. I was just wondering how you manage for a social life. Nights like tonight? With your friends? Or your young man?’ This time there was no escaping the fact that Ruth was sounding her out. ‘Henry’s a lovely boy, but he’s had enough heartache in his life, Anna,’ she said gently, giving her arm a squeeze.
Anna nodded. ‘No heartache on the agenda, I promise,’ she said.
‘And with Oscar as well, he—’
‘Now who’s for a dance?’ Arthur interrupted them, giving Ruth a firm pat on the backside. ‘We’ve still got it, haven’t we, Ruthie? Show these youngsters a thing or two?’ He dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. ‘Happily married for forty years now, Anna,’ he said proudly.
Ruth swatted at him with a laugh. ‘Now if that isn’t an oxymoron, I don’t know what is.’
‘Who are you calling a moron, woman?’ he said, pulling her into his arms.
They bickered even as they danced, Anna noticed, but the love between them was so real as to be almost tangible.
‘They’re lovely,’ Anna said to Henry, who stood close beside her, watching them dance.
‘They’re embarrassing as all hell, but yeah, they’re pretty cool actually. And they’ve just always been there for me, no matter how many times I’ve made life harder for them. They’ve been really supportive about all my choices. No matter how left-field.’
He stepped fractionally closer until Anna could feel his warm breath on her shoulder. ‘When my mum was ill they showed me what parenting really means – they literally nursed her right to the end.’ His voice cracked a little, the grief still visibly raw. ‘I want that one day.’
Anna turned to look up at him again, her hand instinctively reaching out for his, touched by a sense that his trust, his confidences, bonded them together somehow. More than virtual strangers hand in hand on a beach.
‘Not the dying young part, obviously.’ He gave a strangled laugh.
‘Obviously,’ Anna replied.
‘Just, you know, the absolute devotion…’ he said quietly. ‘Bickering and all.’
From where Anna was standing, warm and safe beside him, she could see his point. To be anchored, both literally and metaphorically, in a place like this with family around you? What could be be
tter – even in the toughest of times?
Chapter 18
Dittisham, 2019
The next morning, Anna blew her hair from her forehead, her skin already warm and tight with salty air, the day ahead promising to be every bit as hot and humid as the soporific weatherman had promised the night before.
Hence the early walk.
And a chance to gather her thoughts before the crowds descended for a day at the beach, driven by some primal urge to capitalise on a few hours of sunshine before the British summer could revert to type.
Chewie looped the beach without his usual enthusiasm, tongue lolling, as he half-heartedly chased the seagulls staking claim on the treasure left by the ebbing tide. The haze of the early-morning sun cast faint ethereal shadows on the sand, as it climbed beyond the headland to the east, and Anna breathed out slowly, the nightmares of her interrupted sleep finally receding little by little in tandem with the waves.
It was Henry’s fault really, she reasoned: his awe for that doubtless beautiful, but equally murderous peregrine; his grief over his mother’s death somehow assuaged by a gentle acceptance of life and death; and his thoughtful, affectionate touch on the beach last night. And throughout it all, decency. So many questions in his young life were seemingly without answers, but the big ones – the ones that shaped a childhood, a personality – were apparently absolute. He had been loved. He was loved. And here, in ‘Ditsum’, he would always have a place to call home.
The guilt from a lingering, callous thought lay heavy on Anna’s conscience. For how many times in her life had she wondered – dare she say it? wished – that her own life would have been so much improved had her mother died rather than simply abandoned her?
Too many.
But sometimes the truth was uncomfortable, right?
Somehow, by her very absence, Anna’s mother had created greater ripples than her presence might ever have done.
