Annie Stanley, All At Sea

by Sue Teddern

  ‘So it’s a double tragedy, isn’t it, Annie?’ Shell sounds like a therapist. Maybe she is. ‘You lost your father once when he died. And now you’ve lost him again.’

  ‘Because I’m an idiot.’

  ‘Course you’re not. And we’re here to help, aren’t we, SWitchers? Anyone listening who’s from Okehampton, or passing through Okehampton, who might have stopped at Waitrose yesterday? What time was this, Annie?’

  ‘About three. Yes, just after 3 p.m.’

  ‘So that would include afternoon shoppers, late lunchers, parents chauffeuring their kids. Did you see a Star Wars suitcase in Waitrose car park? Did you see someone take it? Annie’s putting on a brave face but we can all tell, can’t we, what a trauma this must be. Come on SWitchers. Let’s reunite her with her dad. While you get dialling, here’s Fleetwood Mac.’

  Shell fades up ‘Rhiannon’, then down again so that we can talk over it, off mic. ‘We had a rambler on last year who dropped his great-uncle’s compass from his back pocket when he took a dump on Bodmin Moor. We only got it back! A dog found it. Wingnut, that was his name. An Airedale called Wingnut. Our listeners voted him Pooch of the Year.’

  The phone lines start going. Milo weeds out the ‘wingnuts’ and puts through any potential leads. These include a Star Wars fanatic who can do impressions of Darth Vader and a woman with a supermarket phobia. Shell dispatches them with tact and charm.

  Then there’s Phil from Saltash, whose wife gave his late nan’s best trifle bowl to a jumble sale; Rosie from Kingsbridge, whose family photo albums were washed away in a flood and June from Highhampton, who can’t find her bus pass. Mostly they want to talk to Shell, whom they view as a virtual friend, a bit of company when they haven’t spoken to anyone for days.

  ‘Let’s not get distracted here,’ Shell reminds her listeners. ‘Our primary mission is to reunite Annie with her father so that they can finish their journey. Lundy next, isn’t it?’

  ‘Lundy, Irish Sea, Malin, Hebrides, Fair Isle. But I’ll give up and go home if I don’t get Dad back.’ I try to cover the quaver in my voice. Returning urn-less to St Albans is too painful to contemplate.

  ‘We’ve got Pauline from Liskeard on the line. All right, my lover? Do you have any good news for Annie?’

  ‘I wish I did, Shell.’ She sounds old and frail. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said about two kinds of loss: losing a person and losing something that’s, you know, them. Like Phil’s nan’s trifle bowl. With Annie, it’s the same thing, isn’t it? Can I speak to her?’

  ‘She’s right here, my lover.’

  ‘Hello, Annie.’

  ‘Hello, Pauline.’

  She pauses for a moment, to find the words. ‘As I see it, even if you get the ashes back, you can’t get your father back. He’s gone. I hope I’m not upsetting you.’

  Surprisingly, she isn’t.

  ‘Is your mother still alive?’ she asks.

  ‘She died a few years ago.’

  ‘So you’re an orphan, Annie.’ We all laugh at her inadvertent pun. ‘My folks died a year apart. 1959 and 1960. I have photos but I can’t remember how they walked or smiled or how many sugars they took. All I know is that they loved me and they wanted me to have a happy life. And I have. I really have. Whatever goodness they passed on, well, it taught me how to find it in Bill, my husband. So I lost something – them – but I gained something too. Oh, listen to me rambling on. I knew I’d make a hash of it.’

  ‘You haven’t, my lover. Has she, Annie?’

  ‘Not at all. My parents wanted me to have a happy life too but I haven’t always managed it.’

  ‘Have you found someone who’ll make you happy, like I did with Bill?’ Pauline asks. ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Simon? Not Rob. It has to be Simon.

  ‘Well, you’d best make it more than maybe. This isn’t a dress rehearsal.’

  Shell waves to Milo; let’s bring this call to a close. ‘Sound advice as ever, Pauline. Thanks for your call.’

  ‘I felt I had to. I hope you find your ashes, Annie. Bye now.’

  I’m fazed by Pauline’s words. Shell bungs on ‘Both Sides Now’ to give me space to get my thoughts ordered.

  ‘Pauline always comes up trumps. We love Pauline. You okay, my lover?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘We can do six more minutes on your suitcase, then I’ll have to cut to the news.’

  So we take a few more calls, some sympathetic, one querying cremation over burial and Gerald from Polperro who lost a fiver and found a tenner.

  I drive back to Fowey, still a little dazed. Simon? Really? Am I over Rob? Really? Has the phone-in clarified my feelings for him? It wasn’t the outcome I expected. To be fair, I had no expectations. I certainly didn’t expect to find meaning in a conversation with a woman called Pauline. So much to process. Losing Dad. Twice. Losing Simon when we were young and selfish and then finding him again. (Maybe.) Treasuring the goodness my parents gave me. Not squandering it in self-pity and self-doubt.

  I may have to adjust to the fact that Dad is gone forever: both the dad who hugged me and loved me and his ashes. But even if I accept that I’ve lost this second version of him, will Kate accept it? Will Bev?

  On the drive back to Fowey, I try to put the suitcase out of my mind because nothing’s changed on that front. Instead I think about my conversation with Josh in the Launceston cafe, what seems like weeks ago. I was grilling him about Fi and what he’d told Maggie, when she grilled him about me.

  He was thirteen when Rob and I got together. Not an easy age and harder, I reckon, on boys. Girls have that network to talk periods and eyebrows and anxiety with. And yet he was prepared to take me on and to tell Maggie I was okay. He could see from the very start that I made his dad happy.

  When my dad told me he’d met a nice woman called Beverley and she made him happy and he hoped I’d accept her into the family, I behaved like a brat. Maybe I had an excuse: Josh still had his mum whereas I’d watched mine fade away. Two entirely different situations. Yet Josh saw his dad’s happiness as the most important thing while I stomped and snarked and sneered at Bev; her cloying niceness, her politics (which I never actually discussed with her); her seat at my family table, the seat previously occupied by my beloved mother.

  Somewhere along the way, I’d blamed Bev for Mum being gone. I don’t think Kate did. Just me. It made sense at the time. Now I feel huge waves of remorse and shame. Bev gave Dad a future, after our collective grief at losing Mum, and that felt so wrong to me.

  Josh is sitting on a bench outside the pub as I park. He looks distracted, excited. He rushes over as I get out of the car.

  ‘Annie, for fuck’s sake, I’ve been ringing you this past hour. Why didn’t you pick up?’

  ‘I was driving. Thinking. I stopped off at Tesco to buy a change of clothing. But see, I’m here now.’

  He takes my hand and leads – no, drags – me into Julie’s little office, behind the kitchen. I know he’s young and impetuous – it’s part of his charm – but this is annoying. What’s so urgent that I can’t have a wee first?

  There, on her desk, is Dad in his urn, looking none the worse for his absence. And parked beside the desk is my suitcase. I have never loved Star Wars so much.

  I don’t cry because I’m too surprised to find any tears. All I can manage is a squeaky: ‘How?’

  ‘Everything’s there, Annie.’ Josh beams. ‘Your clothes, your washbag and stuff. And your dad. You can stop beating yourself up now.’

  He parks me in a quiet corner of the pub garden and fetches me a brandy. He can’t wait to explain what happened.

  ‘We listened to you on the radio in the kitchen, all of us. You were really good, even with some of those nutjobs. Then, about twenty minutes after you finished, Julie got a call from her friend at the radio station. Melissa.’

  ‘Melanie.’

  ‘Melanie. Right. What it is is, a woman rang in after the show but you�
��d already left. Her son and his mate saw your suitcase in the car park yesterday afternoon. And because they’re stupid, thoughtless kids, they just took it. But they didn’t know what to do with it after that. Obviously, there’s nothing of value, apart from your dad and even then, he’s no use to them. So one of the boys hid the case under his bed. His mum found it this morning when she was hoovering, then she heard you on SWitch. Melanie told her where to find you and she drove straight here. She didn’t want to stay and meet you. Too embarrassed. She was like, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. He is so for it.” Her son. Grounded for a month at least. So. Happy fucking ending or what!’

  I take my case up to my room. I put Dad on the window sill to enjoy the view of the estuary. I tell him I’m sorry, but he’s cool about it. I sleep soundly for three hours until I’m awoken by my rumbling tummy. I stumble downstairs, ready to order anything comforting from the pub menu.

  Josh and Rhys are propping up the bar. Judging by their pink cheeks and loud guffaws, they’ve been sampling the local ciders.

  ‘Hey, Miss Stanley.’ Rhys beams. ‘Pull up a stool. What are you drinking?’

  ‘A half of whatever that is please.’

  While he’s getting the drinks, Josh leans over and whispers in my ear, ‘Rhys has fancied you since Year 9. Go on, Miss Stanley, fill yer boots. What happens in Fowey stays in Fowey.’

  Rhys gives a cheery wave. Would I like peanuts?

  Maybe it’s the cider, maybe it’s the sheer bloody relief, but I manage another ten hours straight through, despite the flimsy pillow and squidgy mattress. When I wake, the bed looks totally undisturbed, as if someone has made it around me.

  I didn’t stay with the lads too long last night and I’m sure, if I’d have tried to take Rhys up on his fantasy of one night of passion with Miss Stanley, he’d have run a mile. A couple of lads at Rangewood had the hots for me. Fancying your teacher is all part of growing up. I had crushes on Mr Goldberg and Miss Long when I was at school. Girl crushes are also part of growing up.

  I think about Kate. I’ll give her a ring, whether she wants me to or not.

  After the stress of yesterday, I feel alive and refreshed. Maybe I’ll stay in Fowey for an extra day, if Julie has space, to recharge my batteries. That way, I can also tell Rob that I made sure Josh was properly settled in before I left.

  Simon has texted. ‘How you doing, Stannie? Hoping all well and your dad’s enjoying his adventure. I’ve changed the ending of my play. Now you have a part in it because I’m a sucker for happy ever after. Take care, lovely girl xxx.’

  I wander up Fore Street, buy a little bag of salted caramel fudge and a painted starfish tile for Kate. Yes, Fowey is a bit twee and touristy but then, so am I. It’s also heaving with young people; Josh will have a great summer here.

  I find a bench, looking out onto the estuary, scoff a square of fudge even though I’m not hungry, and dial Kate’s number. It goes straight to voicemail. We haven’t spoken since Brighton . . . after agreeing that we should be closer. But I’m the older sister and I shouldn’t leave it to her to keep us connected.

  ‘Hey, Katkin. I need to debrief about Dorset and Bev and stuff. It was fine actually, apart from me catching Mark phoning his fancy piece. I think he was. Couldn’t be sure. Wouldn’t put it past him. I know you’ll say no, but if you’re kicking your heels, come and join me. I’ll be heading for sea area Lundy in the next day or two. Love you and miss you, little sis. Byee.’

  When I see her, I’ll tell her about losing Dad in Okehampton. Now that I have him back, it can be an anecdote, rather than a crisis. I really want to see Kate and I desperately want to be a better sister.

  I must try harder.

  In the afternoon, I catch up with Josh in the pub garden. He’s back in his usual T-shirt, low-slung cut-offs and a pair of flip-flops so worn and thin, they look like crispbread. His beach-bum get-up is practically a uniform with all the under-twenties in Fowey.

  ‘Where are you camped?’ I ask, belatedly aware of my ‘responsible adult’ duties.

  ‘Just out of town. The tent’s a bit cramped and Rhys snores. But I bloody love this place, so no worries.’

  ‘You’re going to have an amazing summer, Josher.’

  ‘Yeah, no, definitely.’

  I sense that he’s distracted by something behind me. I turn to see a stunning girl with an orange buzz cut and Maori tattoos clearing glasses from a distant table.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Josie. Her folks have a place here. Second home, lucky sods. We got chatting after you went to bed.’

  Josh and Josie. Josie and Josh. Back when I was a kid, people would stick their names on the windscreen strips of their cars to denote coupledom. ‘Josh and Josie’ is just asking to be immortalized in big white letters on a green background.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’ Josh sounds prickly, defensive. As if this is none of my business. Well, of course it isn’t – but even so . . .

  She sees us, gives a broad smile and a friendly wave, then enters the pub with her tray of empties.

  ‘What else did you find out about her?’

  ‘Not much. She plays bass guitar, her sister was on Love Island, she liked my T-shirt, she’s got a tongue stud, she reckons she’s a hundred per cent compatible with Capricorns. And she’s in halls at Exeter.’

  ‘Bummer that you’re not. You did tell her you’re settling for a shoebox off campus, with an Ice Queen landlady?’

  ‘No, yeah. I haven’t decided for definite yet.’

  ‘You should ring Dinah today. To confirm that you still want the room.’

  He grins at me, one of those grins that makes me want to hug him. ‘I don’t think I’ll bother. Anyway, someone’s probably got there ahead of me.’

  He hauls himself to his feet and kisses the top of my head. I’ve always loved that this boy is so giving of affection. Just like his dad. ‘Anyway, I’m running late. What it is is, Josie’s teaching me to surf this afternoon.’

  ‘Take it slowly,’ I tell his retreating back. ‘Don’t show off, protect your knees . . . and wear a condom.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  June 2013

  Eggs Benedict with a side of hash browns and a full-fat latte or . . . an egg-white omelette, raw spinach and a glass of hot water? Annie thought about it for all of five seconds. Yes, obviously, it would be great to shift a few pounds while she was here. But she’d made herself a rule years ago, when Toby first introduced her to eggs Benedict: if they’re on a breakfast menu, you must, repeat must, order them. She couldn’t waver now.

  Mum opted for a boiled egg and Marmite soldiers and Kate said she’d be fine with a black coffee. She didn’t do breakfast at home so why change her habits, just because she was here?

  ‘Oh go on. Push the boat out,’ Mum wheedled. ‘How about smoked salmon and scrambled eggs? You love smoked salmon, Katkin. Or, let’s see, “a freshly-baked muffin”?’

  Kate glared. ‘I’m fine thanks, Mum. I’m here, aren’t I? Even though I’m a premium member of my gym and can do all this at home.’

  Annie’s turn to glare. ‘We know, Kate. Of course, you can do your kettle bell workouts and have your massages and pedicures and sludge smoothies back in St Albans. But not with Mum and me, you can’t.’

  ‘I’ve invited you lots of times, as my guest. Both of you.’

  ‘Hey, hey, we’re meant to be enjoying this,’ Mum said with a sigh. ‘I’m here to de-stress, relax and stop eating biscuits. But I can’t if you’re bickering like a pair of kids.’

  They ordered their breakfasts from Magda, the shy Polish waitress. Kate relented and requested fruit salad and yoghurt. Progress. And Annie decided against the hash browns. So that was progress too. Mum smiled. Maybe this was going to be okay.

  It had been her idea: three days, two nights, at a health spa near Aylesbury. A flyer had come through her door, offering a special deal if you booked by a certain date which turned out to be the following day.
So she made a booking instantly for the three of them and paid up front. No cancellations, no refunds.

  If Kate and Annie couldn’t come, she’d have to ask her best friends, Judy and Moira. And they’d each demand their own room and Judy would keep sneaking off for a crafty ciggie and Moira has a laugh that grates after four hours. So Annie and Kate had to come. Anyway, it was her treat so it would be churlish to turn it down.

  Mum had even managed to book them two rooms linked by a shared bathroom. Hers was small, dominated by a big double bed; Annie and Kate had twin beds with a six-inch strip of floor between them, an unnerving flashback to their childhoods.

  After breakfast, Kate dashed off to her circuit class. Within an hour of arriving, she had booked a busy schedule of classes, power walks and treatments. Annie intended to sleep, eat, sleep and maybe fit in a few lengths of the pool.

  Mum also wanted to keep it simple. If she finished her Ann Cleeves thriller, she could swap it for another from the library of abandoned books. Her only aim was to spend quality time with her busy daughters and if she had to confine them in a luxury country-house spa to do it, so be it.

  After breakfast, Annie put the ‘Do not disturb’ sign on her door knob and went back to bed. It was such a luxury to lie in. Teaching was a different kind of tough to her frenetic job at Canary Wharf. She’d always found she could disassociate herself from stress in the City, despite all the pressures. With teaching, the ‘product’ would be people, small people who expected her to know what she was doing. Just learning how to do that with confidence was exhausting. Maybe it would get easier once she was qualified, employed, actually doing it for real. She bloody hoped so.

  She awoke to retching. It took a second to find her bearings, then to remember the shared bathroom.

  ‘Mum? Are you okay?’

  She heard a faint, faux upbeat ‘Yes, thanks’ from behind the door. She knocked and entered to find Mum perched on the closed seat of the loo, vomiting bile into the sink. Mum’s face was a mix of embarrassment and relief. She hadn’t wanted to be found like this but at least now she could stop the pretence.