by kendra Smith
‘Maddie? Maddie? What on earth are you doing here?’
Maddie realised, as she looked straight into his confused toffee-coloured eyes, that the voice belonged to Greg.
*
‘Here you go.’ Greg handed her a steaming latte. She was standing next to a coffee kiosk at the beach with Greg’s dry jacket over her shoulders, shivering uncontrollably. She’d given him some broad brushstrokes about what she’d been doing, the ashes, the blessing, how she’d been left her aunt’s cottage, was having – she coughed – a ‘break’ from her marriage as she said. She felt tears threaten when she said that, she was probably in shock, so she quickly skimmed over the rest of the details.
He was staring at her. ‘Maddie, that’s awful.’
She looked up at him, up at those healthy brown cheeks, the dark hair kissed a shade lighter at the ends from the sun, the sculpted chest under his tight wetsuit, the scar above the eyebrow. She clutched her coffee cup in her hand and felt it burn her palm. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
‘Um,’ she managed. ‘Yes,’ she said and tried to stop her shivering. ‘Actually, no. Thank God you were there.’ She didn’t know what else to say, remembering how off he’d been with her the last time. She quickly took a sip of her coffee, burning her mouth. She winced, reached her hand up to her lips and touched them with her fingertips.
‘I’m freezing.’
He looked conflicted and jerked his head left and right to see where his boat was. ‘I know. Cold water shock. Look, take my jacket, go back to wherever you’re staying and get dry. I’ll come and pick it up later.’ He reached out and pulled up the collar for her.
She nodded. She just wanted to get out of these wet clothes and get her head together. Greg? Here?
‘Where are you staying?’
‘It’s Rose Hotel,’ she managed, her teeth chattering.
He nodded just as his phone went. He looked at the number and frowned. ‘I must take this.’ He walked purposefully up towards the shore, his right hand clamped to the phone by his ear, his left arm waving around as if trying to explain something. Maddie took a sip of her coffee and looked around, shivering again. Just then, Pearl rushed up. ‘Maddie, Martin told me what happened. Are you OK? Let’s get you to the hotel, come on.’
And Maddie walked with her, shaking in the November breeze back to the old Victorian hotel, pulling Greg’s coat around her. She was caught off-guard at the power of the woody scent of him from the coat. She glanced backwards. He was still on his phone, angrily waving his hands to the sides. She’d seen that before. At the reunion. But why was he here? On the Isle of Wight? It didn’t make sense. He ran a windsurfing school in Cornwall with his wife.
She dug her hands in the coat pocket to keep warm as she took a final glimpse of him, then turned and followed Pearl up from the beach.
30
Maddie stood outside a charity shop, holding her ankle boots, her feet bare. She was soaking and freezing, but she couldn’t go to Olive’s reception in wet, ruined clothes. She looked at her new outfit stuffed into a plastic bag: a sky-blue long-sleeved dress with a big silvery shawl. It would do. The woman in there had been very friendly and Pearl had assured her it was ‘splendid’. All she needed now was a hot shower and a stiff drink.
Olive had paid for the ceremony’s arrangements including the rooms for key guests; she’d arranged for Maddie to have one of the best rooms there – it was such an Olive thing to do. Was there anything she hadn’t thought about? Rose Hotel was a small Victorian two-storey building right on the sea front. Outside the main door were two blue ceramic pots with coral-coloured cyclamen and heather.
Maddie and Pearl walked up the steps, opened the large wooden front door and stepped into the warmth of the reception. Maddie pulled her shoulders back and hoped her hair wasn’t dripping too much.
‘Here’s the key, darling.’ Pearl handed Maddie the key to Room 4. ‘It’s their best room, beautiful queen-sized bed,’ she said patting Maddie’s hand. ‘See you later.’
Maddie silently padded up the carpeted stairs in her stockinged feet and went straight to her room. She hung Greg’s coat on a hook on the bathroom door to dry, then started to run a hot shower, but just as she turned back to the bedroom, she noticed an envelope on the dressing table with ‘Maddie’ on the front.
Another letter from Olive.
My darling girl,
I hope that you are reading this and smiling and laughing! And I hope you are about to have a lovely evening… no morbid readings! My parting gift to you. (Do you like the room? Stan and I used to stay here from time to time.) Enjoy life, Maddie. I hope the key to Maris Cottage is also the key to finding some of your heart’s desires.
Love,
Olive x
Afterwards, as she sat at the small dressing table to dry her hair and put on some make-up, Maddie felt a renewed vigour, a new sense of purpose. What was the key to her heart? Well, maybe now was her chance to find out, starting with a new adventure at Maris Cottage.
*
‘Maddie, my darling, are you feeling better? You look…’ Pearl stood slightly back, taking in Maddie’s dress and silver shawl. ‘Lovely. Anyway, my goodness, I just couldn’t believe it when I heard you’d fallen right out of the boat!’ Pearl was holding on to Maddie’s forearm with one hand and clutching a glass of Prosecco with the other. Maddie could see, amplified through Pearl’s glasses, the lines by her eyes, the way her eyeshadow had been applied a little too thick, the clumps of mascara. Pearl smiled at Maddie. ‘But then you rose from the sea, Martin said, like a mermaid and onto that chap’s windsurfer! Bloody good job he was there!’
‘Not quite a mermaid, Pearl, I think more like a drowned funeral guest!’ Maddie laughed with the older woman and took a sip of her drink. ‘No, wait—’
‘It’s not a funeral, it’s a celebration of life,’ they both chorused.
The brandy warmed her throat. Martin, the captain, was at the bar when she went up, and had insisted he buy her one after her shock. He’d said he felt responsible for the accident and kept coming up to her every few minutes to see if she was all right, patting her on the arm and handing her another brandy.
Olive had arranged for the reception to be in one of the private rooms of the hotel. It had a small bar at one end with oak beams and low lights, and a tartan carpet and open fire made it warm and welcoming, the smell of wood smoke and slightly stale alcohol in the air, like any old bar. It was packed with the noise and chatter of about forty people. Maddie didn’t know many of them, though she recognised Clare from the care home, Julian the hairdresser, and a few others.
Next to the bar a buffet had been set up. There were small crust-less sandwiches on silver plates, sausage rolls, sausages on sticks and a cheese board. Maddie could almost hear Olive as she cast her eye over the spread of food. Nothing fussy, nothing worse than chatting whilst your teeth are fighting with a beef sandwich. Keep it simple, that’s what I want!
She wasn’t used to brandy, but it felt good as she took another sip. She could feel the power of it as it as it reached her empty stomach, like a warm blanket radiating heat. She wandered over to the window seat and sank down onto the soft cushions in the bay window and looked out to the coastline, flicking her hair off her shoulders. Her dress was a flimsy chiffon and she pulled the shawl around her, aware that her underwear was rather more on show than normal as the dress wasn’t really her size.
The rain had stopped and a weak, wintry sun had emerged, brightening up the sky. Maddie looked out to the still-choppy waters as her heart did a little somersault. Thank God Greg had been there. She didn’t really want to think about what might have happened otherwise. A rainbow started to shimmer in the distance where the bay swept round the headland. She leant back into the soft cushions and finished her drink, feeling the heat rise up her cheeks.
*
Pearl was giving a speech. Maddie was standing with her back to the fire and had lost count of how many drinks she’d had. She listen
ed to Pearl recalling Olive’s life, mentions of the war, how they’d known each other for a long time in the village, stories about Stan, then Olive’s cottage… Maddie pulled both shoulders up to her ears and stifled a yawn. She wasn’t sure she could take any more to drink and she just wanted her bed.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure by the doorway. He spotted her, raised his eyebrows and slowly started walking over to her. A waiter stopped him and offered him a red wine from the silver tray he was carrying. Greg hesitated then grabbed the drink and carried on walking towards Maddie, fixing her with his stare. You could feel the energy about him, how people moved out of the way. He certainly was the tallest man there. A waitress stood, clutching her tray, and watched him make his way across the bar. For Maddie, it was as if the whole room faded away. His muscly legs were encased in pale blue jeans with a navy-blue fleece. He looked rugged, liked he’d just stepped off a windsurfer – which he had, Maddie realised with a giggle – amongst the suits, smart dresses and shiny shoes.
As he approached her, he stopped, swept his eyes over her body and then back up to her face. She felt a tingle and put her fingers to her mouth to stifle another giggle. How much had she had to drink?
‘Maddie.’ He put his drink on the mantelpiece and nodded at her. ‘You look better.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I am. Thank you, by the way, for um, well, I was a bit out of my depth.’
A smile twisted on his lips. ‘Literally.’
She could feel a blush rising up her chest.
‘You were the last person I thought I’d see,’ he murmured.
‘I could say the same! What are you doing here?’
He took a gulp of wine. ‘Teaching kids to sail and windsurf – and then I saw this pink outline out of the corner of my eye. I heard someone screaming on the boat, tacked and raced over on the windsurfer – hauled you out.’ He winked at her as her chest swelled. He used to do that during their tutorials.
‘Well, I’m very grateful. I was just about to scatter Olive’s ashes – I caught my shoe—’
‘Greg, old chap.’ A man in a dark suit came up behind Greg and clapped him on the back.
‘Eric, good to see you,’ Greg said, shaking his hand.
‘Didn’t know you knew Olive?’ The man took his glasses off, wiped them with a handkerchief, and peered more closely at Greg.
‘No, I don’t, it’s um, this is Maddie.’ Greg placed a hand on Maddie’s shoulder and she felt a jolt of electricity run down her arm. ‘She knew Olive.’
‘Oh, you’re Maddie? She used to talk about you! Very fond of you she was. She was a great girl, old Olive, such a shame, but you know, last time I visited her in that care home, up in Hampshire, she didn’t know who I was. Sad, really. Happens to the best of us.’ He looked at Maddie and touched her sleeve. ‘She never did have kids, did she?’
Maddie shook her head. ‘No, sadly, she didn’t.’
‘Right, well I need to go. Good to see you, Greg. Mind and come and find me about that boat – any day’s good but Wednesday.’
‘Right.’ Greg nodded, then he glanced at his watch. ‘My coat, Maddie, can I get it?’
Maddie let out a breath. The room seemed to swim before her. She wanted to find out more, realising he hadn’t answered her question earlier. ‘What are you doing here, by the way? Why aren’t you in Cornwall?’
‘Things are a bit tricky. We… I… I’m working here now. There’s a water sports centre based along from Brightwater Bay. They needed a temporary manager.’ He shrugged, then drained his glass. ‘Actually I need to get back – I’m mentoring someone this evening.’
Her heart plummeted. Time fades some memories, consigns them to the recesses of the brain. But not all, she thought, feeling a shudder in her chest, as she watched his mouth curl around the glass, and the memory of that first time came rushing into her brain. She had always loved his lips.
They’d been at the Freshers’ Ball. It had been a week since they’d first met. Most of the girls in her corridor at the halls had been boasting about how much sex they’d had that week, but Maddie didn’t want to confess that she’d not had any sex – not just in that week, but at all. The shame of it. They were giddy with excitement.
She and Greg had decided to leave the ball early. He’d been gentle with her. He admitted – after he’d kissed her on the neck, on the shoulder blades in her room, her shivering in front of him, as he slowly peeled off her ball gown and carefully laid it on the chair – that he’d only slept with one girl. She’d stood, terrified, not knowing what to do next, as he led her onto the laughably small bed, knelt on the floor, and lain his head on her lap. It was such a trusting thing to do. She’d stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head, inhaled that male smell, the one she could never get enough of.
‘We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want, Maddie,’ he’d said. But by then, something had kicked in inside her, a deep-seated awakening, and she felt a warm heat travelling up from her groin. She grabbed his face in her hands.
‘I want you,’ she’d whispered. He’d climbed on top of her and the gentle kisses had become more urgent, needy as both of them gave in to their desires and let the weeks of pent-up longing find its place on her bed that night.
‘Maddie?’
She looked up at him now as he tilted his head to one side.
‘My coat?’ And as he stared at her, she imprinted his face back onto her frontal lobe. Those little amber flecks in his eyes, the ever-so-slightly crooked nose from a cricket injury as a kid. She wasn’t sure she could even start to talk about the feelings, the heartache or the questions that needed answering, but maybe they should try?
‘It’s in my room.’
They wandered up the stairs silently. Maddie was aware that every footstep she took was leading her to being alone with Greg. She hadn’t been alone with him since— No.
‘Here we are.’ She stood outside her room and cursed her thumping heart. She could feel the heat rising up her neck and she needed to stay focused. There were over twenty years of empty pages between them that now needed to be filled in: here was her chance.
*
Greg took the coat from her and folded it over his arm, then he sat down slowly on the bed and put his phone on her counterpane. There were turquoise-blue and pink cushions on the bed and he moved one out of the way for her.
‘Maddie.’ He swallowed and she watched his Adam’s apple bob up his throat. ‘I don’t know how to say this, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened, how we lost touch. I just wish things could have been different.’
‘Well,’ she said, folding her arms across her chest as the pain came flooding back, ‘I know you had your reasons, Greg, but you have to know that watching you walk away was, was…’
She remembered the day – the cherry blossoms had been fluttering in the university grounds. She’d been convinced they’d had a future mapped out together, but she also knew in her heart – it was what had let her forgive him all those years ago – that if she’d asked him to stay, if she’d held him close and begged, he would have. But she hadn’t wanted theirs to be a relationship of guilt. She’d wanted to set him free, had wanted him to stay with her because he chose to even though she knew the risk she was taking. She’d known that a love like theirs was the most powerful thing she had ever felt.
‘It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.’ He stared straight at her with those eyes the colour of melted chocolate, searching her face for clues.
She wanted to say, But you didn’t have to, did you, Greg? But this wasn’t the time for blame.
Just then, his phone flashed next to him, with the name ‘Tiggy’ on the screen. Maddie felt an almost physical pain and she sat upright. She knew Tiggy was his wife from her Facebook snooping.
He glanced at his phone, frowned and turned it off.
‘Maddie, I tried, I really wanted it to work, but—’
‘But you walked away.’ And in
to the arms of Tiggy, was what she wanted to say, but she held that hurt tightly inside, a knot of pain.
‘What choice did I have, Maddie? I suppose,’ he said, letting out a sigh, ‘that the decision wasn’t entirely yours, but I understand – your parents, your age, all these years that have gone past—’
Decision? She wasn’t sure what he meant. Decision? And then she realised. Understood what he was saying – what he thought of her – and she looked at his big, beautiful hands, hands that had caressed her, hands that had cupped her breasts, had tenderly held her as she shook against him when he made love to her. She studied his rough fingernails as he held his chin in his hands and stared at her.
‘About not keeping the baby, I mean. I don’t blame you, I really don’t. You…’
Her mouth went dry, and when she opened it to say something her voice was shaky. ‘Is that what you think of me?’
She got up from the bed, clutching one of the cushions to her chest. All the brandy, the exhaustion of the last few weeks, Olive’s service, the shock of falling into the ocean, the years and years of pain she had been harbouring after watching him walk away, trying to understand just how hard it would have been for him, a man with such a free soul, to be tied down, to feel obliged. He had always been like that, like a ship sailing into the seas, looking for adventure. A free spirit. She’d tried to stop wanting him, wanting to know how he felt. Then at last, having the chance and hoping that somehow it all might make sense when she could finally talk to him. Suddenly all the pain came flooding back. ‘Get out,’ she said quietly. ‘And go back to your wife.’
