The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

  So she went home, put her pyjamas back on, and was back in bed by ten thirty. When things get tricky, she thought as she lay down, there’s always bed. And chocolate. Some comforts can be relied on.

  Some time later, from her refuge under the covers, she slowly became aware of voices in the flat. She struggled up from the depths of sleep, surfacing into that muddled after-nap state. Her mother’s laugh floated down the passage again, over the low rumble of a man’s voice. Still half asleep, she threw back the covers, a mixture of angry and fed up and indignant. She got up and stomped out to the living room, hair on end. Who had she brought home this time?

  In the doorway, surprise glued her to the spot. For a second or two she couldn’t quite process what she was seeing. There was her mother, laughing on the sofa in the arms of a tall, dark-haired man. The tall, dark-haired man was…her father.

  “Oh!”

  They sprang apart like guilty teenagers at the sound of her voice, then laughed at themselves. Her dad took her mum’s hand, smiling. “Hello.”

  Their obvious pleasure made Livi even more mad. She didn’t know why. “What are you doing here?”

  “We didn’t mean to wake you, sweetheart,” her mother said, obviously trying to soothe the savage beast in pink flannel pyjamas. She came over and put her arms around Livi, attempting to hug her into a better frame of mind. “Come on, let’s go and make a cuppa and we can chat.” She herded them into the kitchen, got them arranged at the table, and put the kettle on, a fix for any problem.

  “Now, tea, sweetheart, or coffee?”

  “Tea, please,” Livi and her dad replied, at exactly the same time.

  They looked at each other, and there was a glimmer of laughter in his eyes. She didn’t feel inclined to see the joke. How could he make them wait so long and then just stroll in, casual as you like, expecting it to all be lovely jubbly, fine and dandy?

  “Coffee, please,” she said firmly.

  Evelyn paused, a tea bag hovering over the mugs. “But you don’t drink coffee.”

  Livi sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Tea. Please.”

  She knew she sounded like that three-year-old again, but her parents let it slide.

  While Evelyn bustled, and Livi frowned, her father attempted to make conversation, asking about work, and her friends. She wasn’t up for small talk, though—she wanted him, and her mum, to explain what was going on. But before she could ask, he looked at his watch.

  “Actually, Ev, thinking about it, now that we’ve seen Livi we could get that train after all. But we don’t have much time.”

  “Oh, yes! I’ll just get organised, and leave you two together for a bit.” She gave them a thoroughly meaningful look before abandoning the hot drink project and disappearing back into the living room.

  Livi couldn’t stand it any longer. “Where have you been?”

  He smiled, the lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “I had to give her a chance to miss me. But it hasn’t been that long.”

  “It’s felt like it. Although, in one way, I’m surprised you came at all, when she was the one to leave.”

  Her swirl of emotions made her hard-hearted, but he was patient. “I didn’t want her to be embarrassed,” he said simply.

  That was an unexpected answer. “Some people might expect you to be the embarrassed one.” She couldn’t resist.

  “Well, I wasn’t happy about it, of course. But someone has to be the first one to reach out. Like they say, do you want to be right, or do you want to be happy? Your mum is going to a lot of trouble to avoid thinking about it, but the truth is, we are both knocking on a bit.” He leaned forward. “We’ve been through a lot together. We have history. She’s my past, and I want her to be my future too—for as long as we have.”

  Tears began to shine in Livi’s eyes as she listened, and he reached across the table and took her hand.

  “I don’t want to spend my old age miserable and alone, just because I was too proud to come and get her. And I wouldn’t wish that on her, either.”

  Her dad was the proverbial man of few words, and this straightforward wisdom was possibly the most insightful speech she’d ever heard him make. She couldn’t remember talking to him about matters of the heart before—during the Rob drama he said very little, though she knew what he was thinking. Now she was impressed that he could see things so clearly. Once propelled by necessity out of the La-Z-Boy, he’d turned out to be capable of meaningful action. Finally, she felt her heart shift and soften.

  “How did you know she was here?”

  “Of course she would be here. Who else would she turn to? You’re the most important person in her life.”

  “Really?” She found this hard to believe. “Me? Not you?”

  “She chose me, of course. But she made you. Nothing compares. It’s okay, fathers know that.”

  He smiled again. The years in his face were accentuated by the stark light flooding through the window and reflecting off the shiny kitchen surfaces, and she could see the grey in his dark hair. She was suddenly overwhelmed with relief that he was here, ready to make things better. The unpalatable truth, that her parents really were knocking on a bit, was made easier by knowing that her family would be all right after all.

  Evelyn came back into the kitchen. “I’m ready. I just threw everything in, I’ll be crumpled all over Europe.”

  “Europe?” Livi was having trouble keeping up with events.

  “We have places to go,” her dad said, standing up. “And things to think about while we’re there.”

  “What about your job, though?” she asked Evelyn.

  “June said she’ll take the tours I was rostered for, so that we can go. It was only week by week anyway.”

  “But won’t you spend some time in London?” Now that they were back together, so unexpectedly in her faraway flat, she didn’t want to see them go.

  “Not yet.” Evelyn looked up at her husband, and tucked her arm into his. “First we’re going to have some time together, just the two of us. Some proper time, without conveyancing or tax returns or wills or trusts or dishes or laundry or weeding or anything.”

  Her face was light and open and clear, reminding Livi of the old photos in their family albums, images of a young woman and her family in a new country, with a new life and everything in front of her. She wondered what it felt like. For the first time in her life, she realised she was envious of her mother.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she confessed, as she said goodbye to them at the gate.

  Her mum hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry I put you through so much upset. But don’t worry, we’ll see you again soon, sweetheart,” she promised, as she got into the waiting minicab.

  As he squeezed her in a bear hug, her dad whispered something in her ear. “We’ll be travelling for a while, but I don’t think you’ll be by yourself for too long.”

  “Really…why?”

  But he just shook his head, the glimmer in his eyes again. “You’ll see.”

  She stood at the gate, still in pink flannel, and watched the minicab swing around the corner and disappear. They were off to write the next chapter of their history. Her own story, she felt, was yet to begin.

  * * *

  It wasn’t long before she found out what her dad meant. As she was tipping out the swampy, over-brewed tea, the phone rang. Assuming it would be Cass, she took her time answering it, tossing the depleted tea bags into the bin before going out to the passage.

  She picked up the phone and casually said, “Hiya.”

  “Hi,” said a male voice.

  One word was enough to tell her that the caller wasn’t English. That one small syllable, uttered by a very familiar voice, held the sweet sound of a home found and lost.

  Twenty-One

  “Cam?”

  “That’s right,” he said matter-of-factly. “How are you?”

  “Surprised!” And surprised at just how happy she was to hear his voice. The departure of her parents re
ally must have got the better of her. “How are you? Why are you calling? Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine. But I was wondering if you were busy today.”

  “Um, no.” This conversation was starting to seem a bit odd. “Mum and Dad were here, but they just left.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been talking to your dad. He said he was going to see you. Well, would you like to get together?”

  “What…are you here too?” She pressed a hand to the top of her head, which was spinning.

  “I’m at Peach. I was going to surprise you.”

  “Well, you did that,” she said. “And now I know why you didn’t email me back.”

  He laughed. “So, are you free?”

  “Yes, and I can’t leave you at the mercy of that lot. Shall I come in and meet you somewhere?”

  “Meet me at the National Gallery,” he said, and her heart leapt a little. Not an ending after all.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said. “At the café?”

  “I’ll order your hot chocolate.”

  * * *

  By the time she got herself out of pyjamas again, and put on her makeup and sorted her hair, she figured Cam would already be nearly there. The walk to the tube station felt extra long, and the ride in seemed to go twice as slowly, and have double the usual number of stops. As she travelled, she debated which stop would be closest and where to change, running her eyes along the coloured lines of the tube map above the window. Eventually, she decided to change at Warren Street and get off at Charing Cross. She burst out of the station, crossed the Strand and scooted across to Trafalgar Square. No time today to stop and commune with the magnificent lion statues, her favourites. By the time she scurried up the gallery’s wide steps, dodging tourists, she had begun to worry that he’d given up and left. Though where he’d go instead, she couldn’t say.

  She flew up to the information desk. “Café?” she managed, hand pressed to her chest to steady her breathing.

  She must have looked in the flap she felt, because the woman behind the desk swung briskly around in her black swivel chair and pointed, laughing. “Right that way love, through the shop, not far.”

  In the shop, she paused for a moment amongst the fridge magnets and calendars and toy pigeons to get herself together. But when she went into the café and looked around, there was no sign of him. She checked her watch, more deflated than surprised. How long had it taken to get there?

  For a good minute she stood to one side, checking the faces of the people sitting on the long red bench seats and bentwood chairs, pondering cake or croissant at the self-service, and queuing patiently to pay at the counter. No one was wearing a motorbike jacket.

  Then it struck her that, as he hadn’t arrived by bike, he wouldn’t necessarily be wearing one. She sighed and began scanning the crowded room again.

  A waitress came past bearing a tower of carefully balanced plates and cutlery. “Do you need any help?” she asked.

  “I was meeting a friend here for coffee, but I can’t see him.”

  “Well, maybe you could try the espresso bar.”

  “Oh! Of course, thank you.”

  She made her way there and saw him straight away, wearing the jacket, engrossed in a computer screen. She hovered for a moment by the nearest pillar. Although her pounding heart had settled after her rush to get there, it did a little jig at the sight of his familiar profile. Counted in days and months, it hadn’t been all that long since she last saw him at the art gallery in Auckland, and told him about her engagement. But it felt like a lifetime ago. In a way, she supposed, it was a life ago. Suddenly she felt shy. She put a hand on the pillar. Hello, this was Cam. He could probably still do a wicked armpit fart. She shook her head clear, and went and stood next to him.

  On the screen was a painting she knew well. A young woman was wearing a richly draped orange dress over a white garment, with a gold-lined blue cloak over one shoulder. There were fresh flowers in her hair, above a clear forehead. She held a palm frond in one hand, and her sweetly beautiful face was strengthened by a determined set to her chin. An angel stood guard at her left shoulder as she looked at something, or someone, just out of view. Waiting, perhaps. Had she known what was coming?

  “Saint Cecilia,” she said aloud. “She looks so delicate, but she was tough.”

  “I thought you would remember.” He stood up. “Wow, you look different.”

  She’d forgotten how much her hair had changed since Cass took charge of it. And she was better with makeup, since she’d been forced to glam up every day for work. But maybe she’d put on too much…she put a hand to her face.

  “Great different, I mean.”

  He grinned, and she breathed out and went into the hug he offered. His jacket creaked a little as his arms went around her, and the warm leather smell was just as she remembered. She wanted to stay there, soaking up the feeling of home and safety…and of him. Pressed against him, she suddenly felt a frisson as her body reacted to him in a new, unexpected way. But before she could fully register the feeling, he let her go and stood back. She looked up at him—tall, clever and, yes, flat-out handsome—and remembered what Gemma and Bex had said. It’s just Cam, she reminded herself. Seeing her mum and dad had probably sparked a bit of homesickness, and now here was home, and her past, right in front of her.

  “You look different too,” she said, gathering herself together. “How long have you had those?”

  He quickly took off the narrow-rimmed glasses and put them on the table, suddenly self-conscious. “Too many years cross-eyed over textbooks and papers. But they’re only for reading.”

  “Well, they suit you.” And they really did make him look different—in a good way. “Very grown-up. You old fossil.”

  He grinned again. “Okay, slick chick, enough of that cheek. If you still want your hot chocolate.”

  And they were back in the swing, their old selves. All the emails of the past months had smoothed over the awkwardness of their last meeting. As she sat down, she saw his backpack leaning against the rectangular seat.

  “When did you arrive?” she asked.

  “Oh, this morning,” he said casually. “Early.”

  And she realised, again, that seeing her was the first thing he’d done.

  “Are you holidaying? How long are you staying?”

  He shrugged. “No, not holidaying. I have some things to do. A few people to see. Nothing exciting. Nothing in concrete.”

  She was intrigued, but he wouldn’t elaborate. “No. Very dull. Now look. You might remember the lovely Cecilia, but what about this one?”

  He pointed to a particularly overwrought battle scene on the screen, and she gave in, knowing that she mightn’t be able to get it out of him now, but eventually it would be obvious. All in good time.

  Twenty-Two

  Later they walked to Covent Garden to meet up with the Peach crowd. In the narrow street outside the Lamb and Flag, they found Cass, Aidan, and Will amongst the clusters of people standing around with after-work drinks. They all squeezed through the door, Cam struggling with his backpack. He marvelled at the old interior, with its low beams and dark wood panelling, but Aidan hustled them through the crowd and up the creaking stairs.

  Cass made impressed faces at Livi as they followed the men up. “Very nice,” she mouthed, but Livi shushed her and waved her on.

  They managed to find a place to sit just as some others were leaving, and Cam squished the backpack out of the way as much as he could. “Great place.”

  “Ah yes, the old Bucket of Blood,” Will said. “Seen a bit of action in its time.”

  “Oh, really?” Aidan enquired, eyebrow raised, but Will gave him a squashing look.

  “Not that kind of action, as you well know. Could we please keep it seemly this evening?”

  He was chastened for only the briefest moment. “Well, I’ll get the first round then, and we’ll see how seemly it stays. Things go downhill all too quickly wit
h this crowd.” He leaned confidingly towards Cam. “I hope you are of sturdy disposition.”

  While he was at the bar there was a surprise arrival—Steve, neat as a new pin, looking nervous and hopeful in equal measure. When she saw him Cass went a little pink, and stood up, then sat down, then stood up again.

  “So, everyone, this is Steve…” She sat down again abruptly, leaving Steve to manage his own introductions to the men.

  Livi took her chance. “Quick, tell,” she whispered to Cass.

  “He phoned me at the salon today,” she whispered back. “I forgot I’d told him where we work. And I thought, he could just come along tonight.”

  “Wow, he’s brave. But poor Steve, talk about baptism by fire.”

  Just then Aidan came back with their wine. Steve’s obvious nerves made him too soft a target, and Aidan couldn’t resist.

  “Does this mean I have to go back again?” he sighed, on being introduced. “I’m practically wearing a ditch in the floor here.” He swept a dramatic arm towards the bar.

  Steve looked aghast. “Sorry mate, sorry.” He fumbled for his wallet. “I’ll go, don’t you worry.”

  But Cass stood up again, firmly this time. “Aidan! Leave him alone! Steve, just ignore him. Honestly, he can’t help himself.”

  “Ah, Cass, that’s okay, I’m just fooling around.” Aidan gave Steve a slap on the back. “Come on, give me a hand with the pints. I’ve heard you’re a bit of a hero.” And they went for the rest of the drinks, Steve relieved but clearly not entirely convinced.

  “Poor Steve is right,” Cass said to Livi. “But did you notice his fingernails? They look completely unbitten.” She watched approvingly as he seemed to manage Aidan’s banter at the bar.