Sunrise Over Pebble Bay

by Della Galton

  ‘It’s medicinal,’ Phil said, pouring them another.

  ‘Yeah… Yeah.’ She said it twice for good measure, although she noticed that they had actually slowed down a bit. Which was probably sensible, even though she planned to stay at his and neither of them had to get up hugely early the following day. She didn’t cope as well with drinking too much as she once had, and she was slightly out of practice.

  They ate some cheese and biscuits she’d brought with her in an effort to soak up some of the alcohol. And to a certain degree it worked.

  Olivia considered confiding in Phil about Ruby’s unplanned pregnancy, but loyalty stopped her. Not even their own family knew yet and it certainly wasn’t her secret to share. Instead, she leaned across and kissed him. ‘Thanks, Phil. I know that was probably really childish, but I feel so much better now.’

  ‘Good.’ His gorgeous dark eyes held hers and she felt a rush of warmth for him.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘I love you.’ But she stopped herself just in time. She didn’t want to say it when she was three sheets to the wind. He’d think it was the drink talking.

  There was a drawn-out moment when neither of them spoke. He blinked. His eyelashes were too long for a guy’s. Suddenly all she wanted was to be in his bed with his arms around her.

  ‘We should have an early night,’ she said.

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Then, because she felt so unravelled, so unguarded and definitely slightly drunk, she said on impulse. ‘Phil, can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Do you want to have kids?’

  He blinked a couple more times and then brought up his cupped hand to his mouth. It was a gesture she knew so well. It was what he did when he was uncertain and trying to think of an answer.

  Oh my God. So he didn’t. And he must know she did and he was trying to think of a way to say he didn’t without letting her down. She shouldn’t have said that. She shouldn’t have asked him when she didn’t want to know the answer – not if it was no, anyway. The thin knife of reality pierced the rosy haze of her inebriation.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘Forget I said that. That was a mistake.’ She scrambled to her feet. ‘I should really get going. I…’ She swayed slightly.

  ‘What?’ Phil said, looking up at her in bemusement. He was still sprawled on the settee.

  ‘Maybe I should go home.’

  ‘You can’t drive. You’re way too drunk.’

  That was true.

  ‘I thought we were going to bed.’ He looked puzzled, as well he might. ‘Have I missed something.’

  ‘I need the loo.’ She could feel her face burning as she fled.

  Upstairs in his bathroom, she locked the door, splashed water on her face, which didn’t make her feel any less drunk or light-headed or embarrassed, and sat on the closed lid of the loo seat.

  Why had she asked him about kids? Yes, it was a discussion they should have, but not when they were both half-cut. Still, at least she knew now, didn’t she? If he’d been on the same wavelength as she was, he’d have said something like, ‘Sure, I’d love them.’ Or even, ‘Sure, someday I’d love them.’ Or maybe even a joke, such as, ‘Shall we start now?’ But he hadn’t said any of these things. He’d just put his hand over his mouth and looked like a cornered rat.

  Olivia cleaned her teeth with the toothbrush she kept at his and then she flushed the chain and went out onto the landing.

  Phil was coming up the stairs now. His tall figure blocking out the landing light. He looked concerned. ‘Hey, honey. Are you OK?’

  Deciding that this was an occasion when it was least said soonest mended, she went into his arms. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I felt a bit sick. I feel better now.’

  He studied her face. And she knew he wasn’t sure whether to believe her. But then he obviously thought better of pursuing it. ‘That’s good. Are you ready for bed?’

  ‘I am. Absolutely.’

  Neither of them said anything else about what had happened downstairs. They snuggled up in his warm bed and he spooned against her, but neither of them instigated lovemaking and the last thought Olivia had as she fell asleep was that maybe he was worried that she might have had plans to start a family without his consent.

  That night, she had strange tangled dreams in which Phil was the father of Ruby’s baby and instead of adoption they had put the baby for sale on eBay, but there was no reserve and however high she bid, she couldn’t win because the price just kept going up and up.

  It was a relief to wake up and find that it was just a dream.

  The other half of the bed was empty and then she heard the sound of feet on the stairs and Phil came in bearing two mugs of tea, one of which he put on her bedside table.

  ‘Good morning, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?’

  She sat up in bed. ‘Not exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed but better than I probably deserve.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘How about you?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks.’ Phil rarely got hangovers and he looked exactly the same as he did every other morning.

  ‘What time is it?’ she said, suddenly panicking. ‘I’ve got a cake to make.’

  ‘Relax, it’s not eight yet.’ He took his mug around to the other side of the bed. ‘That tequila is strong stuff – the end of last night is a blur.’

  ‘Yeah, same,’ she said, wondering whether that was true or if he’d just said that to shut down the conversation about children. Either way, they didn’t mention it again. They slipped into their morning routines, Olivia cleaned her teeth, took two paracetamols to ward off the beginning of a headache, but she had a vague feeling of disappointment that they had unfinished business between them, and the relaxed camaraderie of the previous evening was gone.

  Phil was working at The Bluebell the coming weekend. He’d also had some voiceover work that had come in. He had a loose agreement with an agency who contacted him periodically when they had a client he could work with – they were usually radio adverts, which Phil liked because he was great at accents and the money was good.

  Occasionally, he got asked to do audiobooks too. This involved him going up to a recording studio in Bristol. Narrating books can be more stressful than people realise. Olivia had never done it, but Phil had explained that it involved sitting in a cubicle with a headset on, sipping orange juice to stop your mouth clicking and reading from a screen while an editor was in the room next door. If you made a mistake – or if they deemed you’d made a mistake – you had to go back to the beginning of the line. It required a lot of concentration and it could be slow. Even a short book could take two or three days. But it was very well paid, so Phil didn’t turn them down.

  Olivia was relieved they wouldn’t see each other much for the next few days. She wanted some time to regroup and to think things through. His reaction to the having kids question had rocked her even more, perhaps, than she’d expected it to.

  Aunt Dawn was lovely about her failed audition. She didn’t offer tequila, for which Olivia was grateful. She gave Olivia a hug when she called by to tell her the news and said, ‘I’m sure it’s no reflection on you, darling. As your agent said, there will be something better out there, waiting for you.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Olivia said.

  Aunt Dawn had also given her two boxes of eggs. ‘The girls are laying well. It must be the warm spring we’re having.’

  Olivia had gone home feeling happier. Every time she had seriously thought about packing in acting, something else had come up. And Aunt Dawn was right. There might well be something better around the corner.

  The one advantage of being an older woman – thirty-nine was ancient in the acting business – was that directors tended to want you for your acting skills, not the way you looked. She’d had loads of call-backs in the past year. One or two of them had come off. Her CV was slowly building. She might not have had her big break yet but she was certainly learning
a lot, she told herself.

  Hannah was lovely and sympathetic too, although she’d had better news. The publisher had asked for some rewrites, which was a big step in the right direction, but there was still a tough road ahead. Nothing was ever certain in the publishing industry.

  In typical Hannah fashion, she was probably playing it down, Olivia decided, as she wished her luck.

  Her parents sent a text which said:

  Commiserations, darling. We’re coming back at Easter. Let’s have a big family knees-up then.

  They sent the same text to Ruby, minus the commiserations.

  Ruby was equally sympathetic about the audition when they spoke on the phone. ‘It sounds as though it was a very close thing,’ she said. ‘But I am sorry. I know how much you wanted it.’

  ‘There will be other opportunities,’ Olivia replied, as stoically as she could. She was starting to believe that too. The only other option was to give up, but she had no intention of doing that. Not yet. The trouble with this business was that there was always a glimmer of hope.

  ‘Stay positive,’ Ruby said.

  ‘Talking of staying positive, how are you doing?’ Olivia asked.

  ‘I’m OK. I’ve been looking into things regarding adoption. I’ve found out that my first port of call is social services. I’ve decided not to contact them until I’ve had my first scan.’

  ‘When is that?’

  ‘They can do it between twelve and fourteen weeks. I’m pretty sure I got pregnant the first week of January, so that takes us into the week after Easter.’

  ‘Would you like me to come with you?’

  ‘Yes please.’ She hesitated. ‘I have a dilemma. Should I say anything to Mum and Dad when they come back for Easter. Or should I wait until after the first scan? I don’t know what to do, Liv.’

  She sounded vulnerable and Olivia wished they weren’t having this conversation on the phone so she could give her a hug.

  ‘I don’t know. But we’ve got another three weeks before Good Friday. So you don’t have to decide just yet.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She paused. ‘I know it’s really selfish, but in some ways, I’m relieved you’re not dashing off to Cardiff. I don’t think I could do this without you.’

  Olivia felt warmed. It would have been brilliant to get that role but maybe things did happen for a reason. She felt closer to her sister than she’d done for years. Every cloud has a silver lining.

  13

  The three weeks before Easter, which was at the beginning of April this year, flashed by in a blur of cake baking, visits to Auntie Dawn and snatched phone conversations with Phil. These were usually at night, when they were both in bed, exchanging trivia about their day and – it seemed to Olivia – carefully avoiding any references to either their future or the subject of whether or not they wanted a family. He hadn’t mentioned it and she wasn’t going to, not until she’d had time to totally think everything through.

  Olivia fitted in as many runs as she could. She loved this time of year. She went early in the morning or after she’d finished for the day, depending on her workload. Sometimes she ran by the sea. Or sometimes along footpaths, lined with bright yellow celandine that looked for all the world like small yellow stars growing on either side of the path. Daffodils grew in clumps alongside them and golden forsythia flecked the hedges, so it didn’t matter if it was dusk, because it felt as though she was running through a corridor of sunshine.

  Olivia was beginning to think that Ruby had been right. Would she really have been able to be there as much for her sister if she’d been driving off to Cardiff three days a week? She suspected she’d have fitted it in somehow, but it was nice to have the time for leisurely chats on the phone and not to feel that she should have been somewhere else learning a script. There was always a bright side.

  The Outer Hebrides dig wasn’t finished. Their parents were coming back the day before Good Friday and heading back again to the dig on the following Tuesday. Their house was still rented out, so they were staying with Ruby who had the most room.

  The plan was that they would all get together for a roast dinner at Ruby’s late afternoon on Good Friday. The get-together included Aunt Dawn, and Phil too, as he’d got daytime on Good Friday off.

  For the rest of the Easter weekend, there were no set arrangements. Their parents might be obsessed and meticulous when it came to archaeology, but when it came to their spare time neither of them was big on plans.

  ‘We know you’ll want to see your Phil in between his shifts,’ her mother had said. ‘So don’t worry too much about us. No doubt your sister won’t want to stop working too long either – so we don’t expect you to drop everything to accommodate us.’

  Phil was working most of Easter at The Bluebell – they had some big musical gathering, which involved two choirs and an orchestra who were practising for a Britain’s Got Talent audition.

  ‘Hopefully they’ll have some talent,’ Phil had joked to Olivia. ‘It’s going to be noisy. Good job we’re up on a cliff and haven’t got any neighbours.’

  Ruby had asked Olivia if she’d go over on the Thursday evening to give her some moral support.

  ‘I’m a bit scared that Mum’s going to take one look at me and then guess I’m pregnant,’ she’d confided.

  Indeed, the first thing Ruby did when Olivia arrived was lift up her top to bare her tummy.

  ‘Do I look pregnant?’ She turned sideways on. ‘I mean, I know I’m not showing really yet. But do you think she’ll be able to tell – you know, with a mother’s instinct?’ She winced and touched her abdomen.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Olivia frowned. ‘Are you in pain?’

  Ruby shook her head. ‘Not pain exactly, but I have been getting the odd little niggle. I think that’s normal. I asked Dr Google and then I ended up on this post on Mumsnet. As far as I can see, practically anything is normal in early pregnancy. As long as it’s not full-on agony or bleeding. I’m probably imagining it.

  Olivia didn’t think her sister looked that well, but she insisted she was fine.

  ‘I’m just stressed,’ she replied. ‘And I’m still throwing up. It’s not surprising I look crap. Anyone looks crap when they’re throwing up all the time. How women can look blooming is beyond me.’

  ‘I expect the blooming comes later,’ Olivia said.

  ‘Hope so. At least I’m nearly done with the first trimester. Apparently, the sickness gets better after that.’

  Half an hour later, they’d finished peeling potatoes and topping and tailing sprouts and slicing carrots for the Good Friday dinner and were sitting in Ruby’s kitchen at the breakfast island.

  ‘So have you decided what to do about telling them?’ Olivia glanced at the clock. It was seven thirty. There was only an hour or so before their parents were due to arrive.

  ‘I don’t know. But I’m not telling them tonight. I don’t think it would be fair to spring it on them when they’re both tired.

  ‘Good point.’

  They would definitely be tired. It was quite a journey however you did it, involving a ferry, a flight and a train. They had also refused an offer to be collected from Weymouth train station, insisting they would get a taxi as they didn’t know exactly what time they’d be back.

  ‘I’ve got all weekend to tell them,’ Ruby said, waving a hand casually, which didn’t fool Olivia for an instant. Her sister looked as though she might snap under the slightest pressure. ‘I think I might just wait until the time feels right.’

  ‘Good idea. I’ll leave it to you, honey. But I’m in your corner. However it pans out.’

  As it turned out, their parents didn’t arrive until just before ten – there had been a few delays. They looked tired but really pleased to be there.

  ‘So sorry we’re later than we thought,’ Mum said, coming into the house in a flurry of long white mac and carrier bags and fresh night air mixed with the Lancôme scent she always wore.

  Dad followed more slowly, carrying a bulk
y overnight bag. ‘You girls haven’t waited up especially, I hope?’

  ‘It’s ten o’clock, not midnight, Dad,’ Ruby pointed out. ‘So, no, we haven’t.’

  His eyes crinkled up in warmth. ‘I forget you’re all grown up now.’

  ‘With our own houses and cars and everything,’ Olivia joined in with the banter. ‘Sorry it was a tricky journey. You should have let one of us pick you up.’

  ‘And do some poor Uber driver out of a job?’ He shot her an indignant look. ‘Not a chance, Bean.’ Bean was the nickname her parents had given Olivia even before she had a name. It had filled the gap before they’d settled on Olivia and it had stuck.

  They retired to the lounge and sat on the two sofas, Ruby and their mother on one and Olivia and their father on another. There were hugs and hot drinks, which included hot chocolate for Marie and a swift whisky nightcap for James – he only ever drank alcohol as a nightcap. Ruby and Olivia had chamomile tea.

  ‘I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,’ Marie said, shaking her head. ‘It always smells like hay to me.’

  Then ensued a discussion about the best thing to drink before bed and the eventual conclusion that it was probably nothing if you didn’t want to get up in the middle of the night.

  The carrier bags her mother had been carrying contained gifts, which turned out to be a Highland cow chopping board for Olivia and some Highland shortbread for Ruby, as well as Highland themed handmade Easter eggs for everyone. ‘We got a set of Highland place mats for your aunt too,’ she told them, her eyes eager. ‘They’re nice, aren’t they?’

  ‘I see a theme emerging,’ Ruby said. ‘I didn’t think you liked gift shops.’

  ‘It was attached to the Taigh Chearsabhagh Museum and Arts Centre. Your father fancied a visit.’

  ‘Fabulous place,’ Dad said. ‘Over a thousand artefacts. I’d tell you about them, but your mother’s made me promise not to talk shop. At least not for the first hour.’