Home to Turtle Bay

by Marion Lennox

  Jack looked dumbfounded.

  ‘If I help him with his work …’

  ‘He’ll probably just do more,’ Bridget said seriously. ‘Carrie says he’s driven—but I don’t know what that means.’

  ‘I know what it means,’ I told her. ‘Maybe I’m a bit that way myself. But I can help. I’ll be at your place at eight, like it or not.’

  ‘First things first.’ Jack was tucking Bridget into her chair. ‘Get your own house in order before you bother about mine.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I mean make your peace with Muriel.’

  ‘There’s no war.’

  ‘There is.’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘You can only fight when there’s been a relationship. Muriel and I don’t have a relationship. We don’t believe in them.’

  ‘Apart from Richard?’

  Where had that come from? ‘We’re not talking about Richard.’ ‘Who’s Richard?’ asked Bridget.

  ‘He’s the man I’m going to marry.’

  ‘Do you love him?’ Bridget said, interested. ‘Of course I love him.’

  ‘Is he nice?’

  ‘He’s very nice.’

  ‘As nice as my Uncle Jack?’

  ‘They’re very, very different.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, for a start, Richard wears a suit. All the time.’

  ‘Uncle Jack has a whole wardrobe full of suits. He just never wears them.’

  ‘A whole wardrobe of suits.’ I stared at Jack’s naked chest and boxers in stunned silence. I couldn’t imagine this man in a suit.

  Where would he wear them on this island? Weddings and funerals? From the little I’d seen of the islanders they’d be inappropriate even there.

  ‘They’re going to the welfare shop,’ Jack said, sounding embarrassed. ‘Tomorrow.’

  I met his look head-on. There were so many questions, but they were questions I was dumb to think about, much less voice.

  ‘I need to get Bridge back,’ he said.

  Still our eyes stayed locked. Suits?

  ‘Okay,’ I told him, struggling not to ask. ‘I’ll see you later tonight.’

  ‘I told you. There’s no need.’

  ‘There’s every need. Goodbye, Bridget.’

  And I got up and walked away. Fast. Before any questions could follow.

  13

  caught inside adj. not able to fight through the incoming waves to escape the shallows.

  I walked into Muriel’s ward half an hour later still feeling stunned. For a couple of hours I’d been yanked out of my comfort zone; I felt like Tootsie without her shell.

  I’d agreed to go to Jack’s. Tonight. And it was my stupid idea!

  I needed some of Muriel’s detachment. She’d tell me to butt out of what was none of my business—but it seemed she had problems of her own.

  ‘I’ve been surfing with Grandpa’s boards,’ I told her, but Muriel’s face was turned to the wall.

  How depressed was she? And there I went again. I wasn’t supposed to wonder such things. Muriel had taught me to stay insulated. To break that rule and worry about her was useless. She wouldn’t thank me for it.

  Well, so what, I decided. I’d been pulled so far outside my shell today that a bit further wasn’t going to make much difference. Maybe the sky would fall on my head regardless.

  So I focused on Muriel and let myself worry.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘You haven’t done your hair.’

  ‘Who cares about hair?’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  Pigs might fly. I hesitated and then tried again.

  ‘Does your leg hurt?’

  ‘Only when I laugh and I’m not laughing.’

  ‘Why not?’

  No answer.

  Some families might give misery a hug. Not this family. All I could do was skirt around things that mattered and try to figure it out for myself. I regrouped and tried another direction.

  ‘You know, I might get rather good at surfing in the next few weeks,’ I ventured. ‘Now Jack’s arranged for me to help in his clinic, I might end up busy. Surfing and medicine don’t seem such a bad combination.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to stay.’

  ‘I’m staying.’

  ‘I don’t need you to.’

  ‘I need me to.’

  She turned to me then, her face contorting with pain. ‘Jenny, I never did anything for you,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t do this. It’ll be a disaster. Go home. Leave me here. I want to die.’

  ‘Now that,’ I said carefully, pulling up a chair and choosing my words as if I were sorting fragments of broken glass, ‘is something I don’t understand. You were having a great time until Henry died. The guy you’ve been with for the last couple of years is lovely. Al’s fun. He’s clever. I know he’s rich. Isabella tells me he has millions in old money—billions even. On top of everything else, he seems really nice.’

  ‘You’ve been talking about me to Isabella Clayburgh?’

  ‘No. Isabella talks. I listen. She researched me before she came to see me and you were included in the research.’

  There was a disgusted sniff. ‘Hmph. As if it matters. And now you’ll miss her birth.’

  ‘I’ve arranged for someone else to take care of it.’

  ‘You’re mad.’

  ‘We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about how wealthy and nice Al is.’

  ‘You think I care?’

  ‘Of course you care. You think he’s great.’

  ‘I don’t think anything of the sort.’

  ‘So what’s changed? Your leg? Muriel, it’s going to be fine.’

  ‘I should have stayed.’

  ‘With Henry?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Where was emotional detachment now? I took a deep breath. ‘Grandma, you leaving Henry is history. You can’t let something that happened fifty years ago destroy your life now.’

  ‘Yes, I can. You know nothing about it.’

  ‘You made your decision. You need—’

  ‘I didn’t make any decision at all,’ Muriel hissed. ‘I was stupid. I should have fought harder. Well, I’m fighting now. I’m stuck and I’m staying. I’ll die with Henry.’

  I grabbed her hand and held it in mine. ‘Grandma, Henry’s dead. Whatever you did or didn’t do for him, it’s too late. You need to protect the living. That’s you. Go back to Al. Go back to being the social butterfly you’ve always been.’

  ‘You think I like that?’

  I tilted my head to one side and thought about it. ‘Yes,’ I said at last. ‘Yes, I think you do.’

  Muriel glared. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘You’re telling me you don’t like champagne cocktails and exciting people and Al’s fabulous yacht? You don’t like the fun you have together, and caviar and races and gorgeous clothes?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hmm?’ My gaze didn’t waver. I wasn’t letting her off the hook.

  ‘It is a pretty yacht,’ Muriel conceded. Grudgingly.

  ‘Pretty? Magnificent, more like.’ Richard and I had been formally invited on board Al’s yacht for lunch—just the once, on the occasion of our engagement—and I’d been staggered.

  ‘I liked its guest bathroom,’ I said cautiously and Muriel was hooked.

  ‘Those gorgeous faucets … and the feature waterfall?’ Muriel demanded. ‘Do you like it? I had it specially made. Al thinks it’s divine.’

  I thought about Richard’s reaction to the waterfall and I grinned. ‘Divine’s a good description.’

  ‘But I shouldn’t have been sucked into all that,’ she snapped, visibly discarding gold faucets and imitation waterfalls and replacing them with sackcloth and ashes. ‘I’ve been wicked. You know Henry had us watched? All these years, he’s known every single thing we’ve done. I’ve done.’

  ‘Jack told you?’

/>   ‘Jack knows about me. Probably all this island knows. I demanded he tell me why and he said Henry used an investigator. What does that sound like to you?’

  ‘That Henry was obsessed?’

  ‘Well, maybe he had a right to be. I was his wife. And then there was Sonia. Your mother. Our daughter. He was there when she died. I wasn’t and he was.’

  ‘Now that’s something I don’t understand.’ I’d forgotten to be dispassionate as my interest was solidly caught. ‘Henry was in Nepal with my mother—with both of us—when she died?’

  ‘He must have been watching her, too. I didn’t even know where she was. I didn’t know you existed until he sent you to me. I’d tried to find her but I’d failed. But unbeknownst to me he’d watched her. Even though she’d been awful to him.’

  ‘Tell me about her,’ I said softly and then waited, expecting nothing, but to my amazement she answered.

  ‘Is it dreadful to say I hardly knew her?’ She closed her eyes, as if exhausted. ‘She was … wild. Drugs. Sex. Alcohol. The worst kind of excesses. My parents gave her so much. She hardly came near me. Why should she when they gave her everything? The last time I saw her she screamed at me that it was my fault—how messed up she was—and maybe that was the truth. No, I’m sure it was. If I’d tried harder …’ She shrugged. ‘But she wanted to come here. She said she had a right to meet her father, and it was the one thing my parents wouldn’t pay for. I didn’t know what else to do, so I said fine. Of all the stupid things …’

  ‘Henry did have the right to meet her,’ I said carefully. ‘Maybe he even had the responsibility to help care for her.’

  ‘He didn’t … he couldn’t …’ Muriel’s voice broke on a hiccupping sob. ‘I can’t tell you. Anyway she came and it was the worst thing. He tried to buy her with his surfing. She ended up staying here with more of her so-called friends. He even bought the old hotel—gave them free lodging. That’s the hostel place he left you in his will. But it didn’t work. She sent the occasional postcard to my parents, mostly asking for money. Apparently she and her friends surfed until they tired of the place and then they left. Just like that. She went on to Nepal. My parents kept sending money but the postcards stopped. Finally I had a phone call from Henry. I was in the middle of a charity luncheon. Lots of noise, champagne, laughter. How he’d tracked me down—I guess I know now. I remember the head waiter telling me there was an urgent call, and I had to push through so many people to get to the phone. But there was no hello. Nothing. I guess he still … hated me. He said Sonia was dead. He was sending you to me and I had to write down the flight number. Then he just … hung up.’

  What could I say to that?

  I sat in silence. Stunned. Trying to take it all in. What misery had these two caused each other? What pain? A fairy princess and an ogre and a child in turmoil, with no happy ending in sight.

  ‘What a mess,’ I said at last.

  ‘It is a mess,’ Muriel agreed and a measure of strength returned to her voice. ‘It still is. And it could get worse. That’s what you don’t understand.’ She pushed herself up in her bed, her eyes almost wild. ‘Here you are, getting involved all over again. You’re helping this Jack McLachlan with his medicine. You’re surfing with his little girl. You’re falling for the surf like I did. And you’re falling for him.’

  ‘I’m not!’

  But Muriel wasn’t listening. ‘Have I taught you nothing? You stay apart. If you get close, then your life messes up, and so do the lives of everyone around you. Henry and I messed up so badly that things could never be fixed. And now you … Get back to New York. Back to that man you’re going to marry. Richard’s sensible. He’s successful. He’s focused on what he wants from life.’

  ‘He’s furious with me,’ I said before I could stop myself and Muriel stilled. Her gaze sharpened.

  ‘Because you’re staying here? Because you’re missing the Clayburgh birth? He has a right to be. You’ll be safe with someone like Richard. You’re not safe with me. Go home, Jennifer. Leave me here. I’ll die with Henry and there’ll be an end to it. An end to the whole sorry tale.’

  I didn’t have a clue how to respond.

  Janet saved us. The nurse knocked softly on the door and smiled at me before turning her attention to Muriel. ‘Is there anything you need?’ she asked. ‘Would you like something to help you sleep?’

  ‘That’s a great idea. If you have sleeping pills I’ll have the whole bottle.’

  ‘Muriel.’ I put out a hand as if to touch her. Enough. Muriel’s hand yanked back as if it had been burned. The time for contact was over.

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, stop caring. You don’t worry about me and I won’t worry about you, no matter how stupid you’re being. Get yourself uninvolved. Forget surfing, get off this island and leave me to my past. Now.’

  I drove back to the cottage feeling sick.

  What on earth could I do?

  Should I go back to New York?

  The memory of Jack’s scorn rested heavily. No one had cared for Henry. That was what had caused all this mess, I thought. Not caring.

  I wouldn’t do it. Despite Richard’s anger. Despite Lionel’s lawsuit. I had the rest of my life to conform to the Nurhymer image and claw back whatever I could of my career. For these few short weeks I’d care for Muriel whether she wanted me or not.

  I headed back to the cottage and rifled through the bureau, trying to find a letter I’d read before.

  I found myself a bit distracted with a couple about Drifter. They were in the back half of the pile. Getting towards the end?

  Dear Jenny,

  Let me introduce you to Drifter.

  First, though, maybe a bit of background.You’ll be old enough to understand now.

  I’ve always thought it’d be easy to opt out. I thought about it when Muriel left.They give me enough painkillers. All I need is to stop taking them for a while, stock up, then go for it. And I have stocked up. Just in case. But for some reason it’s always seemed the coward’s way.The easy way.The way I don’t deserve.

  If I hadn’t treated Muriel the way I did then maybe … But I’d watched her face as she left and I knew I’d killed something in her.There’s never seemed an easy way out after that.

  But time wears me down. Getting out of bed in the morning. Feeling the scar tissue tighten. Making my leg move without so many painkillers they make a man’s brain fuzzy. Dragging my bad leg down to the beach and forcing it to do what I want on the waves …

  So last week I’d decided I’d had enough.Three days of storms meant I’d hardly moved my leg which meant the bloody thing had stiffened even more. I couldn’t even stand on the board, much less do anything useful. Finally I let the waves wash me into the shallows. I lay there feeling useless and old and I thought, Enough, bring on the pills.

  And then there was the dog.

  At first I thought it was seaweed.The storm had washed piles of debris onto the beach. Piles of kelp.

  One of the piles seemed to move.

  Even then it was hard to get up, to make the leg move, to get myself up the beach and haul away the muck to see what was underneath. But it was a pup, three quarters grown, all legs and head. Starving. No collar. Barely alive.

  My guess is that some idiot had her on a boat without a tie. She’d gone overboard in the storms and washed up here. Almost done for. She lay in the kelp looking like how I felt. Like she wanted to die.

  But then I ran a finger down her face and she wagged her bloody tail. Just once, it was all she could manage, but it was enough. Maybe enough to save both of us?

  I called her Drifter. Of course. She’s lying on my feet as I write this.

  She’s just looked up at me and that tail’s wagged again.

  I never wanted a dog—you know I never wanted anything— but now I’m stuck with her.

  And you’re stuck with a few more letters.

  The pills will have to wait.

  I thought of Muriel and her pills. Oh, Muriel. Fifty
years of … what? I found another. More on the dog.

  Dear Jenny,

  It’s the dog again.You’d get your inheritance so much earlier if it wasn’t for her.

  Another bad night last night. It’s the small things that get me. Last night some insect bit me behind my arm and I couldn’t reach to scratch.Well, I could but the scar tissue on my shoulder screamed every time I did. After all the things I’ve gone through, it’s the little things that make me want to end it.

  At dawn I hauled myself down to the beach because what else was there to do? But the surf was mush. Useless. I ended up riding to shore on my belly and lying in the shallows. Feeling like death.What’s the point?

  And then along she comes again. One dumb dog.

  She’d been up on the headland chasing rabbits while I tried to surf and hadn’t realised I was coming in. She’s always here to greet me. So down she races, a hundred miles an hour, almost turning herself inside out with dog apology, but full of joy that here I was.

  She licked me, chin to forehead. Bugger it, I let her.

  So here we go again. It’s the little things that make me want to stay alive …

  I sat on the bed and stared at the two letters. Where was Drifter now? With Muriel or with Jack?

  Suddenly I wanted her. She was my dog, wasn’t she?

  Who was I kidding?

  But more than Drifter, I wanted my history. I kept searching until I found the letter I’d been looking for. I’d skimmed it before and shoved it away, fast. It was short, almost brutal, and it had seemed almost a cry from the heart. Now I made myself listen.

  Dear Jenny,

  Hell, I miss your grandmother. I miss her every waking moment and the fact that she hates me … She deserves to hate me …

  It’s my penance.

  Once upon a time I thought I was a god. Rich, good-looking, a flying ace, the guy who had it all. Okay, I strutted and when Muriel agreed to marry me I was cock of the hoop.