by kendra Smith
She headed down towards the beach at the next break in the pavement. She had grown to love the smell of the sea, the salt, the feel of the wind whipping her hair. There wasn’t much that couldn’t be shaken off by a walk down by the lapping waves, looking for tiny shells, hearing the crunch of sand underfoot. Would he turn up?
At the beach, she let Taffie off the lead. She gazed at the sea; some surfers were still out on the bay, sitting on their boards. Clad in black wetsuits they straddled their boards, waiting for the best waves. She looked to the right to search for Taffie, then just as she turned back the other way she saw a figure so recognisable to her, shoulders hunched against the wind.
Go on, said a voice, you need to speak to him. Suddenly, she was running, slowly at first, then she picked up pace. She was desperate to see him. Thump, thump, thump – her feet hit the wet sand and she was gaining on him. Maybe she was worried about nothing. Maybe he’d scoop her up and cry with her on the sand. Maybe – no, she didn’t want to think about it.
As she approached him, he frowned, wary.
‘Thank you for coming,’ she panted. ‘We need to talk.’ She put a hand on his arm.
He started to walk. ‘Look,’ he said gruffly, ‘I don’t really want to talk anymore. Ed was furious with me at Christmas. I didn’t deserve all that anger. I have no idea what you said to him—’ his gaze burrowed into hers ‘—and why he thinks so badly of me. It’s beyond teenage mood swings. I didn’t deserve that!’ He marched ahead of her and she ran to catch him up.
They fell in step walking along the edge of the shore. ‘No, no you didn’t.’ She knew the next revelation would cut even deeper, but she had to tell him. Everything. Now. Or she’d lose him forever.
‘Look, Greg,’ she said, holding on to his arm to stop him walking so fast. ‘There’s something you need to know, something that has affected me and will affect you and I’m not proud that I haven’t told you.’ She took a gulp of air. ‘But you have to believe me—’ she could feel the tears ‘—I always thought it was for the best.’ She was trembling. She wrung her hands together and looked in his eyes, hoping for some compassion.
His dark chocolate eyes bored into her. ‘What?’
It was never meant to be like this.
She let out a breath as the wind bit into her face. ‘When my mother told you I’d been bleeding, I had. And I did lose a baby.’
He nodded. ‘You’ve told me this, Maddie. I know you didn’t have an abortion now. I understand it’s what your mother wanted me to believe, I know you lost the baby...’
‘No, there’s more.’ She held his gaze, then she looked at the sand.
‘Go on,’ he said quietly.
She looked out to sea where two gulls were mewing and screeching as her vision misted with tears. It was the calm before the storm. She had to tell him, get it out into the open and face the consequences. She returned her gaze to him and their eyes locked. ‘Well,’ she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, ‘I did lose a baby. One baby. Only it was twins, Greg. The other survived.’
Greg slowly started to rock back, his eyes wide, and Maddie had to reach out and hold on to his arm to stop him falling. There was no pain like it, hurting someone you loved so much.
‘Twins. You mean… All these years, Maddie… Ed? Ed is—’
‘I thought you’d left me, remember, that you didn’t want anything to do with a baby, any baby. I didn’t know what my meddling mother had said. I never knew you’d come back the next day. She didn’t tell me. I was heartbroken, Greg.’ Maddie held on to his sleeve, as a sob left her.
‘But, Maddie, don’t you see?’
‘I’m so sorry, Greg.’
‘Sorry? You’re f-u-c-k-i-n-g sorry!’ He shook her hand off his sleeve. His anger made her recoil ‘Maddie, this changes everything. I never, ever thought you’d lie to me.’ There was the twitch – left eye. She hated herself. ‘That’s the one thing we did have between us that was so special. NO LIES!’ He was shouting, his eyes boring into her soul as she felt the tears trickle down her cheeks.
He stood for a moment with his hands in his pockets, staring at her as her heart thudded wildly in her chest. ‘You lied, Maddie,’ he whispered. Her desire to hold him was overwhelming. She reached out to touch him, but he flinched, moved his arm away quickly and scowled at her. Then he turned abruptly on his heel, and walked away, striding purposefully in the opposite direction, until all that was left of him was his footsteps etched in the wet sand.
The pain she felt as she pulled her coat tightly around her was close to physical. Then, her knees gave way and she fell, sobbing, onto the wet sand as Taffie came up to her and whined. She pulled him close and buried her head in his fur.
It was over.
47
When she got home she sat on the sofa and rocked herself backwards and forwards for the longest time, clutching a cushion, tears streaming down her face, until the daylight made way to a murky darkness. Eventually she got up and found two bottles of wine in the kitchen. She took them through to the lounge, opened them and made her way through them, watching ‘New Year around the world’, tears blurring her vision, Taffie curled up by her side on the sofa. Fireworks, interviews, bright lights and music swam before her in a kaleidoscope of colours and noise as the world cheered in a bright new year whilst Maddie drowned herself a sea of salty tears and wine.
The last thing she remembered from the evening was Ed texting her.
Happy New Year.
She’d burst out crying again when she’d read it. He hadn’t even called.
*
A few days later, she texted Lauren and lied, saying that she had flu. She really couldn’t face going into the café. She stayed in her room, flicking through an old photo album from university days, eyes streaming with tears. Her and Greg by the beach, her with Greg in a Santa hat, bright, shiny eyes full of hunger for the future. Where was that girl? She logged into Facebook and tried to look at Greg’s page. She couldn’t. All she could see was an old profile picture which she stared at for the longest time. He had cut her out of his life. Eventually, hunger got the better of her, and she made her way to the kitchen and started to eat, then watch TV. She sat all day, flicking between channels and eating what was left in the fridge. After three days she realised she stank – and Taffie needed some dog food. She took a shower and then forced herself out for a long walk on the beach with Taffie and home via the shops.
Once she was back at the cottage, sitting on the sofa with the terrier by her feet, she remembered her idea about the café. She leant over to the coffee table and yanked at the sketchpad that was under a pile of magazines. At least it would take her mind off the voices in her head. She grabbed the tin of charcoal pencils Ed had given her and started to make small marks on the paper, tentative at first, then bolder. The charcoal made pleasing noises as she skimmed over the sketchpad, letting her imagination go, finding and building on images in her mind, shading them in, concentrating on detail to rid her mind of anything but the flow between her brain and the drawings in front of her.
She stayed like that for about two hours, hunched over, page after page – trying new shapes out, shading things differently. It all came back to her. And it felt good to be creating something. Eventually, she held both arms above her head and yawned. She strolled to the kitchen, made herself a toasted cheese sandwich and a cup of chamomile tea, and then flipped open her laptop and started to do some research. An hour later she was cold and stiff. She shrugged her shoulders, got up and glanced at her watch. She texted Sue, the café owner, asking her to meet her at the café in a few days. She couldn’t hide in Maris Cottage forever. She felt marginally better; and moreover, she had a plan.
*
‘Sue, I’ve had an idea.’ Maddie leant against the counter. She was wearing a pink polo-neck sweater and she yanked up the sleeves. It was the 9th of January. She’d arrived early, had helped Lauren set up and done the lunch shift but it was quiet now. (Good to see you!
Lauren had said, but you still look like shit, must’ve been bad flu, hon!)
‘Shoot.’ Sue was looking at her.
She took out her sketchbook and showed Sue her drawings and paintings, the ones she’d done by the warmth of the fire at home, or sitting with the pad on her knee over the last few days, looking out to the stretch of silver sand, ribbons of moonlight reflected in the sea, or once, at the beach when the wind hadn’t been too harsh, taking her notebook and paints with her and sketching the lines of the gulls whilst Taffie sniffed along the shoreline and she sat in a sheltered part of the beach by the rocks or captured the colours of the oystercatchers feeding by the water’s edge.
Sue flicked through the book, her eyebrows knitted into a thoughtful frown.
‘These are exquisite, Maddie.’ Sue handed her the sketchbook. ‘It’s not a bad idea.’ Sue’s gaze returned to the empty shelves on the back wall, and then back at Maddie.
‘Would it work on pottery?’
‘Yes. As long as I keep it simple.’
‘How would you do it?’
Maddie started to explain, about buying in bisqueware, painting it, then varnishing it and firing it in the kiln. The small room at the back, she told her, could be put to good use, to house a small kiln and keep the paints.
‘I could come in early or stay late and varnish and fire the pieces. We can use them in the café, too. It’s not expensive to buy the pottery in – especially if you buy in bulk and we can store it in that room. The paints aren’t too expensive either. I’ve looked into it.’ Maddie reached for her phone.
‘Here, have a look at these.’ She swiped her phone and showed Sue and Lauren some examples of the sort of pottery she hoped to paint and sell. Small pieces: egg cups, bowls and plates. She could start with those, and if demand grew, they could order larger pieces. It could be seasonal, too – Easter, Christmas, that kind of thing, she said, eyes wide.
Sue was nodding. ‘Send me some more links of what you’ve been looking at and I’ll sleep on it.’
She left the café buoyed by her ideas. She could make this work. When she got home she took out her sketchbook and paints and, with renewed vigour, she painted late into the evening.
48
By the end of January the little storeroom at the Shore Café had been transformed. There was a small kiln able to fire about eight to ten pieces overnight, pots of paint, shelves of rose-coloured bisqueware – she’d learnt that’s what ‘raw’ pottery was called before it’s glazed and fired – and a row of paintbrushes, some synthetic, a few expensive sable ones. Maddie and Sue had split the cost of the second-hand kiln; it was an investment into both their futures.
Maddie had been coming to the café early in the morning to transfer her ideas from her sketchbook onto the pottery, varnish it and then fire it overnight. It allowed her some much-needed time just to take her mind off her inner turmoil, to do something with her hands and to create something new, staring out at the bay for inspiration.
There had been some disasters: six egg cups that she’d spent hours decorating – she had taken them out of the kiln far too early and they had all cracked.
Next time, she allowed them to cool slowly in the kiln before she removed them.
Today, she had another idea of what to put on the little plates and she wanted to try it out. It was 7 a.m. and Lauren wouldn’t be in till about nine.
She took out her sketchpad and sat down at the stool, getting her paints ready. She looked at her design again on her notepad and then started to flick colours and shapes on the plates. After about half an hour one of her plates was ready to dry. She placed it on its stand and sat back and stretched her arms above her head.
She had managed to capture the birds in flight on several pieces of pottery. No two hummingbirds she painted were the same; each had a small detail that was different, the colours brighter or darker – and of course, when they were glazed and fired, sometimes tiny markings would come out that were a complete surprise, a golden touch here, the blue of the wings amplified there; it all depended on the colours and the thickness of the glaze.
*
It was a blustery day and Maddie was behind the counter slicing some Victoria sponge for the display. The café door clanked open and a man in a grey wool coat approached her; raindrops glistened on the sleeve of his coat.
‘Can I help?’ Maddie wiped her hands on her apron.
‘I hope so. I’m looking for the lady who does the pottery.’ He looked down at his notebook. ‘Maddie?’
‘Oh, that’s me!’
He smiled at her. ‘I’m from the IOW Gazette and I was told we had some local pottery here, made on the Isle of Wight.’
‘Well,’ explained Maddie, ‘it’s painted here – does that count? Let me show you.’
She led him to the back of the café to the shelving unit and showed him her pieces.
‘Would you mind if I took a photo of you and the pottery? We might get it in tomorrow’s paper, just a small piece – my editor’s all for supporting local entrepreneurs.’
‘Sure.’ Maddie smiled. She’d never been called an entrepreneur before. The man took out his camera and snapped a few shots and asked her a couple of questions, picked up one of the plates and studied it.
‘These are lovely.’ He smiled at her, then put it back carefully.
As he was leaving, Lauren came in. She’d been out buying some more milk. ‘Who was that?’ Lauren asked, putting the milk on the counter.
‘The local press!’ said Maddie. ‘No, seriously, he took some photos of the pottery – and me.’
‘Ooh, get you!’ Lauren nudged her in the ribs. ‘No, seriously, that will be great for the café, that kind of publicity. Well done, Maddie.’
Maddie looked over to her work, sitting in rows on the shelf. She was lost in thought.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ Lauren smiled over at Maddie.
Maddie blew a long breath out as if she was exhaling cigarette smoke. ‘Lot on my mind. Ed texted me from Vietnam last night. I think things are getting pretty serious between him and Adity.’ Maddie sat down at the table next to the pottery shelf.
Lauren came over and sat down next to her, her bangles clinking as she and placed two steaming lattes on the table. Maddie glanced around; the shop was empty. It was a rare moment to relax.
‘Well, that’s not such a bad thing, is it?’ Lauren said.
‘I suppose so.’
‘Do you like her?’
‘Well, what I’ve seen, yes, she’s lovely, but it’s been really brief, and at that point I didn’t know how serious it would be. When I first met her in Bali, I thought she was just part of Ed’s “gang”.’ Maddie smiled to herself. ‘But now they seem inseparable.’ She bit her lip, remembering her last phone call with Ed. I love her, Mum.
‘But you must remember first love? Didn’t it happen to you?’
Maddie’s stomach did a funny little flip when Lauren said ‘first love’. Of course it had happened to her. But look at her now.
Lauren looked over at her. ‘For what it’s worth, I think gut reactions are underrated. What was your gut reaction to Adity?’
‘Good. She’s kind. And Ed seems really happy. It’s just that I don’t think he knows her very well. And then there’s the cultural differences – but Ed tells me her parents aren’t super religious, it’s more her grandparents. Ed and Adity kind of hide some of the stuff that they do from them.’ Maddie smiled, stirring her coffee, remembering Ed telling her about how, when he’d met Adity’s parents for the first time at a big family banquet, they had told him not to drink in front of the grandparents, but that Adity’s father had winked at him, saying it was only in front of the grandparents, and not to worry – passed him a small beer, and told him to drink up before they came.
Lauren laughed. ‘Well, ya don’t know someone very well until you let them in, until you are with them, do you?’
She looked over at Lauren with her messy blonde hair, and gold earrings with a colou
rful parrot on each of them and smiled. ‘No, I suppose you’re right.’ And with that she stood up, straightened her apron and decided to be happy for Ed.
49
January blurred into February and by March Maddie had taken comfort in her routine. She was enjoying her time at the Shore Café – it was as if it fed her soul in a way her other job never had. Her pottery was selling well and the place allowed her time to sort through her thoughts. Her painting became therapeutic, a creative womb in which to hide away from the outside world.
First thing in the morning, she would walk Taffie, head to the café, finish her painting on her latest project or varnish a newly dried bowl or plate. Sometimes she’d draw some sketches, if she’d had a new idea about a design. Then she’d go home, let Taffie outside again, before coming back and doing whatever shift was needed at the café, happy to be amongst people by then, especially Lauren. Plus she enjoyed the easy banter of the café and the village folk.
She’d been getting quite a bit of a name for herself with the locals – ‘Maddie’s pottery’ – and she’d felt a swell of pride when she overheard Sue talking about her last week to a customer. (Oh yes, she’s our hidden secret, that Maddie. Very talented. Yes, you’ll find a range of pieces over there.)
It had been a long winter and Maddie had spent many of the evenings by the fire in her lounge with a good book, or sometimes she would take a few small pieces home, a tiny plate, an eggcup and paint them by the fire. The work soothed her, the delicate flick of the brush on the smooth porcelain, a touch of blue, a line of black and it was the suggestion of the screeching gulls; a swirl of red and green and a sailing boat emerged on the surface.
