Annie Stanley, All At Sea

by Sue Teddern

  ‘Even then. You love your dad, I love your dad. All this is for him.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Annie risked a tut. She didn’t need a flipping lecture.

  ‘I’m nearly done here. Bev loves your dad too. Okay, she isn’t your mum but she makes him happy. And that’s fantastic, isn’t it? You didn’t think it possible but Peter’s found happiness. Just like we have.’

  Rob went to pick up the picnic things but now Annie wouldn’t let him. He had to be hugged.

  ‘I won’t be a bitch. I promise.’

  ‘And you’ll thank Bev for organizing everything?’

  ‘Brownies’ Honour.’ Annie even did the salute. ‘I’ll gush once when we get there and once when we leave.’

  ‘Right then. To the picnic?’

  ‘To the picnic.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Fair Isle

  Hilary insists and I accept. She’d booked two seats on the Highlights of Orkney excursion and it’s my turn to have one of them. With Rob – because she’s still tired from the previous trip. The three of us have already had a morning wander around Kirkwall; the museum, St Magnus Cathedral, another pedestrianized street of tastefully touristy shops, another craft centre where I buy a twisted skein of sheep-coloured hand-spun Orkney yarn for the final square of my blanket.

  We sit behind Dawn and Steven on the coach. Steven’s keen to show how much he knows about military history; he applied to Mastermind, with Scapa Flow as his specialist subject, but was sadly unsuccessful. Dawn looks underwhelmed. Our guide, Elizabeth, is a native Orcadian and she’s led this tour over forty times. Fortunately she has sole custody of the microphone so Steven is forced to bow to her superior knowledge.

  The scenery beyond ‘bustling’ Kirkwall is as stark and dramatic as you’d expect so far north, with only the Shetland Islands beyond. Trees are a rarity on Orkney – you soon get used to not seeing them – but their absence is more than made up for by scattered clusters of Neolithic stones.

  Our first stop is the Ring of Brodgar. Another coach has just pulled out of the car park so our little group has the site to ourselves. Elizabeth gives us half an hour to walk around the Stone Age monument, take our photos, take our time, take it in.

  It’s moody and broody, especially with a bank of grey clouds above: twenty-seven stones (originally sixty, says Steven) like worn teeth set in a circle. It’s also quite nippy and I wish I’d brought my fleece. Rob offers me his jacket but why should he freeze so that I don’t?

  ‘Just flipping take it, you wazzock!’ he insists. ‘I’m wearing three layers and I’m boiling.’ I flipping take it and it smells of him: barky, soapy, slightly spicy. He’s worn the same aftershave for as long as I’ve known him. Creature of habit. Maybe Fi will wean him off it.

  I remember Hilary’s comment that Fi and Rob had a row. God, I hope she didn’t find out about The Shag.

  Rob stops and fiddles with his phone to find the camera setting. He’s never been good with technology. Josh thinks it’s hilarious. I watch him. He looks up and focuses his phone on me so I pull a silly face. I’m feeling nervous with him today. I must be over-compensating.

  ‘Hilary would love this,’ we agree as we walk a circuit of the stones, accidentally photo-bombing Steven’s selfie with Dawn. As we pass, she mouths ‘Help’ and puts an imaginary gun to her temple.

  ‘She did her godmother duty and dragged me to the British Museum when I was doing a school project on Ancient Egypt,’ Rob recalls. ‘She went all weepy at the Rosetta Stone. She doesn’t do God but she connects on a spiritual level with ancient stones and bones, bits of old pottery. Then we had afternoon tea in this big grand hotel – can’t remember which one – and she nicked the sugar tongs.’

  ‘We’d better check her suitcase for cutlery before we dock at Liverpool.’

  ‘She is enjoying it, though, isn’t she?’ Rob asks as we pause beside another huge shard of stone. ‘It’s not too much for her?’

  ‘Honestly, she’s loving it. Food, company, scenery, so many people to bitch about. She’d soon let us know if she was unhappy. Plus she’s crossed Frank off her “to-do” list, and emotional housekeeping like that has to be a good thing when you’re her age.’

  ‘He had a lucky escape too, I reckon.’ Rob walks on. ‘Some relationships just aren’t meant to be.’

  Is he still talking about Hilary and Frank or speculating on his future with Fi? I will find out about their argument. But not yet.

  After Brodgar, our coach skims past the Scapa Flow coastline and Elizabeth relates the extraordinary tale of the scuttling of the German Fleet in 1919. Steven nods sagely throughout, with the occasional pained wince when he disagrees with her commentary, the silent version of mansplaining. God forbid that she might know more than he does. Dawn moves to the seat in front, ostensibly so that they each have a clear view of the imposing bay, with Hoy, South Ronaldsay and Burra beyond. No wedding hat for Mim, then.

  Stromness rivals Tobermory for cuteness, minus the brightly coloured cottages. We have free time to explore. Rob buys a tweedy flat cap in a shop that smells of mothballs. I treat us each to a cone of artisan ice cream, Orkney fudge flavour. We sit on a bench in the main square overlooking the harbour, eating them fast before they drip down our arms.

  ‘How’s Fi’s foodie thing going?’ I ask between slurps. ‘Shropshire, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not a clue. We haven’t spoken.’

  ‘Yeah, the phone signal’s been dodgy since we left Greenock.’

  ‘Or texted or messaged.’ He finishes his cone and bins the serviette. ‘I nearly rang her from Mull but I thought better of it.’

  ‘Oh? I bet she’s wondering how you are.’

  Rob’s sigh comes from deep in his chest. ‘We had a row. Our first. Who knows, maybe our last. Better not to talk than get angry all over again.’

  I feel my cheeks redden and it’s not from the Orkney wind. Has Fi found out about us? Did Rob tell her? Why the fuck would he do that?

  ‘Has Fi found out about us? Did you tell her?’

  ‘Why the fuck would I do that? Of course not,’ he replies tetchily. ‘You have nothing to do with this, Annie.’

  ‘That’s all right then.’ My cheeks slowly unflush. ‘Maybe I can help? I was agony aunt to Kate and now she’s blissfully happy. All down to me. Nothing to do with her falling head over heels in love.’

  He looks dubious.

  ‘Only if you want to,’ I say in my best therapist voice.

  We gaze out at a ferry in Stromness harbour while he thinks about it. It’s excruciating, hoping to hear what happened between them. Outwardly I remain the soul of calmness.

  Finally, he speaks. ‘It might help to run it by you, Annie, see what you think.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Okay then, three things really pissed me off. First, she thought I should cancel the cruise too so that I could be an extra pair of hands at the food fair. After Hilary had treated us both. No way could I do that.

  ‘Second, a mate of hers needs someone to refit a shop and she’s told him I’ll do it, without even asking me. I could do it, course I could. But it’s not the sort of work I enjoy and she should have bloody asked.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound very you.’

  ‘Fi says I’m not ambitious enough. I am in my way. All I want to do is a good job, make something that people will appreciate. You have more control over that if you keep things small-scale. I like being my own boss. It suits me. You always got that, didn’t you?’

  ‘You’d hate giving orders to electricians, doing spreadsheets, keeping “the Man” on side. It isn’t who you are. And the third thing?’

  I’m sensing this one’s the biggie.

  ‘She thinks I should have a vasectomy.’

  ‘Wow!’ I didn’t see that coming.

  ‘She doesn’t want kids, which is cool and I respect that. But she assumes I don’t either, so why don’t I have the snip? Logically, I’m with her, totally. But I won’t lie, Annie,
it’s really hacked me off. I’m like: Who made her God of our relationship? Do I have a say in it?’

  ‘That does sound major. I’m sure you can talk it through when you get back, though. If you want to.’

  ‘I do. I really want to. I can’t bear another failed relationship on my CV. Fi and I should be able to meet in the middle, don’t you think?’

  ‘Definitely. And this time apart can’t hurt either.’

  He likes my response. So he doesn’t want to break up with Fi. And I want him to be happy. Of course I do. But as we’re sitting there, it suddenly hits me, even though I’ve known it all along: I want him to be happy with me, not her.

  What have I done?

  Back on the ship, my head is bursting with questions, feelings, possibilities. I avoid the cabin; Hilary will be super-curious and I’m still processing what Rob told me. He’s gone off to do another of his jogs round the deck. After unburdening, he must be wondering if he said too much. Maybe he’s beating himself up for being disloyal to Fi. I know where my loyalties lie and, sorry to be unsisterly, but they’re not with her.

  I toy with treating myself to a massage before dinner. I need to zone out, turn my brain off, stop trying to make sense of all this. But there are no available slots and I’m too ticklish anyway. Eventually I find a big squishy armchair in a hidden corner of the library where I can curl my legs under me, sip a hot chocolate and think.

  Something he said plays on a persistent loop in my head: ‘Our first row. Who knows, maybe our last.’

  Does Rob think Fi intends to dump him when he gets back? Maybe she’s his interim girlfriend and The One is still out there: not long single, needs bookshelves for her new flat, gets his name from a friend. So Rob pops round with his tape measure, their eyes meet across an empty alcove and, wallop, happy ever after.

  Fi doesn’t want children but Rob does? Because he’s had a change of heart now that Josh is about to fly the nest? Or because Fi’s demand is too final and it’s dawned on him that he isn’t ready to have the kiddie option taken away?

  I get that because it’s how I feel. But is what I’m experiencing a genuine ache or a knee-jerk what-if regret because the world is so child-centred? I don’t know.

  When I still had a social life, I could get quite upset if my friends were invited to a party and I wasn’t. Maybe I didn’t want to go to the sodding party but it hurt that I hadn’t even been asked. If I did receive an invitation, the choice was mine: ‘I can go but, guess what? I don’t want to.’ I’m in control again.

  Same with babies? Do I want kids? Really? Okay, I could go it alone but I don’t think I’m grown-up enough. Kate could do single parenthood, no problem, but she has Charlie now. They’d make great parents. Do I only want the chance to have children with the right man? Is that Rob? Was it always Rob?

  I need to let this sit. I might have got it all wrong; his row with Fi is already resolved and he’s booking a vasectomy appointment first thing next week, to prove his commitment to her.

  I must have my eyes closed because I’m suddenly aware of someone slumping into the armchair opposite me.

  I thought I was hidden here but Dawn’s found me. ‘Hiya, how are you doing?’

  ‘Me? Fine. Totally. You?’

  ‘He’s a wanker, isn’t he? Steven. Nice-looking, good job, great arse. But up here –’ she taps her head – ‘one hundred per cent wanker. Mum won’t be told but Dad gets it.’

  ‘They just want you to be happy.’

  ‘Why swap a bastard for a wanker? All that proves is that I’m too scared to be alone.’

  ‘It’s hard. But it’s better than being with the wrong person.’

  ‘Easy for you to say. You’ve got Rob. He’s great.’

  ‘He is great but he isn’t mine.’

  Dawn looks genuinely gobsmacked. ‘Are you serious? You mean I could have chatted him up days ago, instead of lumbering myself with Mr Mastermind?’

  ‘He’s someone else’s, although they had a big bust-up before the cruise.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘And is he in bits without her? Doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting. From where I’m sitting, he’s got feelings for someone else. And I don’t mean Hilary.’

  I laugh. Dawn looks pleased that she’s perked me up. ‘Bloody go for it, Annie!’ she urges. ‘If you don’t, I will, and you can have Steven.’

  While we dress for dinner, Hilary respects my monosyllabic responses and doesn’t press me for gossip. All she does say, as she eases her bunions into her sandals, is: ‘Fi. Daft ruddy name, if you ask me. How would it be if I went around calling myself “Hi”?’

  The six of us are reconvened at our designated table for dinner. We bat around small talk, avoiding politics and Steven, who has returned to his mixed singles group across the restaurant. Barry and Mim went on the wartime history excursion this morning, so that’s conversation covered for most of the meal anyway.

  Dawn gives me a nudge and nods her head Rob’s way as our entrees are served. She still wants me to ‘bloody go for it’. I shoot back a warning glare: bloody leave it.

  We adjourn to the bar for brandies but Rob is restless and wonders if we can see the Scottish coastline on our port side. Barry and Mim nearly join us but Dawn persuades them to stay in the bar with Hilary; they can make up a foursome for the 10 p.m. quiz.

  Rob and I huddle on deck and peer into the distance for twinkling lights. I think of Dad. Would this cruise have suited him? With Mum? With Bev? I doubt it. He hated being over-organized; told what to do, where to go, when to eat. He liked being spontaneous, a free spirit, ideally with a thumping Feelgood soundtrack.

  But this, here, now . . . he’d have taken pleasure in the slap of the waves on the side of the ship, the salty, seaweedy smell of the North Minch, the knowledge that the Black Watch is just one wee link in a chain of ferries, ships, trawlers, tugs and yachts, looped around the British coastline, from Forties to Fitzroy, Bailey to Biscay. Imagining him here on deck, weathered face to the wind, makes me quite emotional.

  I tell Rob I’m nipping back to the cabin for my fleece. I return with Dad’s ashes.

  He’s taken aback. ‘Really? You’re ready to scatter him?’

  That hadn’t even occurred to me. ‘I wanted him to smell sea area Fair Isle. Duncansby Head must be over there somewhere, on the north-east tip of the mainland. And I think Cape Wrath’s on the north-west. Dad would know. Do you think I should scatter him here then?’

  ‘It’s your call, Annie.’

  ‘I had a thought about that, actually.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  It’s getting blowy, so we find a bench, still on deck but protected from the wind. We tuck Dad’s urn between us, just like I did with Simon on Brighton Pier.

  ‘So what’s this thought then?’

  ‘Remember Dad’s sixtieth birthday, when Bev organized that picnic for him?

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘And we all brought food and it was such a lovely day and he looked really happy.’

  ‘And you were in a strop because you burnt your quiche and you had it in for Bev big time.’

  I’m shocked that Rob would misremember what happened. Yes, okay, I did burn the quiche but I’m sure I was perfectly friendly with Bev by then. I’m positive I was.

  ‘Mum and Dad loved that park. When we were kids, they were always making us go for Sunday walks there. And then, at his birthday picnic, Dad looked so, so . . . revived, rebooted. He didn’t have Mum but he had a reason to keep going. Bev.’

  Rob can hear the tremor in my voice as I try to articulate my thoughts.

  ‘We should scatter Dad in Verulamium Park. With everyone. Friends, family, everyone. Shouldn’t we? We could have another picnic. We should scatter him there, Rob.’

  ‘Bev would love that. Good for you, Annie.’

  We sit quietly, feeling the ebb and bob of the current, enjoying the heft of Dad’s urn safely wedged between us. Dawn is right: I sh
ould ‘go for it’. I need to tell Rob that Simon isn’t my future and he was barely a chapter of my past. I need to tell him that he mustn’t get back with Fi or meet someone new because I can’t contemplate anyone else having him.

  I need to tell him that The Shag was a big deal and I’ve been lying to myself every day since it happened. I said it meant nothing; just a no-strings fuck for old times’ sake. Who was I fooling? Not me. Did I fool Rob? Does he believe we’re cool and we’ve moved on?

  But if I say any of this out loud and he shakes his head, all hope is gone. He’ll go back to Fi and I’ll be alone on my stupid sofa with my stupid grief and my pointless longing for a life I sabotaged.

  I need to tell Rob all this but I can’t risk it. My self-created hurt is manageable because I’m used to it. I did something bad but trying to make it better will just make it even worse.

  So we chat about the Ring of Brodgar and the Dawn and Steven saga. We laugh at some of Hilary’s more outrageous moments and how much we’ll miss the massive breakfasts but not the tiny beds. Then I give Rob a kiss goodnight on the top of his head, take Dad’s urn and go to my cabin where, thank God, Hilary is snoring for England and I won’t have to talk to her.

  As I lie there, stone-cold wide awake, I accept that I can’t use Simon as a consolation prize. If we were meant to be, it would have happened that night on Brighton Pier. It didn’t. We’re not. And that makes me sad too.

  ‘Any update on that row?’ Hilary asks from her bed by the porthole. ‘Will Rob and Fi kiss and make up?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Bugger. Double bugger with ruddy great nobs on.’

  We have one full day’s sailing, from Kirkwall back to Liverpool. I treat myself to a massage, then a pedicure and a haircut, mostly to keep out of Rob’s way. I couldn’t bear him asking me for tips on how to win back Fi. And I don’t need Hilary sticking her oar in either. If she was so good at relationships, she’d be with Frank, not having virtual sex with all the other fake profiles on Tinder.

  When she brings up Fi over breakfast, I nearly throw that back at her but I bite my tongue. I mustn’t be spiteful or ungrateful; she helped me to complete my journey with Dad and I’ve become so fond of her, despite the farting and wet towels everywhere.