‘Thank you,’ I nod, clasping my mug with both hands.
‘Despite all the upset, I never had a word to say against your mother. I thought she was a ray of sunshine – Alex was a fool to let her go.’ Monica shakes her head, lost in recollection. ‘And then to waste his last years on this earth arguing.’
‘What do you mean, let her go?’ I ask, shuffling forward in my chair and putting the tepid milk down on a side table.
‘Well, he should have made a go of it, shouldn’t he? I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he was a prize chump, my nephew, bounded about from woman to woman, didn’t have the sense to see when he should stop dilly-dallying and settle down – especially with you on the way.’
‘But—’ I feel myself squinting in confusion. Aunt Monica must be mistaken or thinking of someone else. ‘They did settle down. They got married.’
Monica makes a face, then laughs.
‘They … they got engaged on the beach down there …’ I trail off, thrusting my arm in the direction of the sea. Monica clasps her hands together, resting them against her chin.
‘Who told you this, then?’ she asks.
‘Mum did.’ I feel myself frown.
‘Laura, your parents never married and if they were engaged then your father certainly never told any of us. I’m sure they had a merry time of it that summer while it lasted, but – I don’t know why she would have told you that.’ She pauses, picking up a hedgehog pin cushion from the side and starting to redistribute the pins more evenly. ‘Maybe Annie was old-fashioned, didn’t want you to feel “illegitimate”.’ Monica whispers the word. ‘Though I thought nobody worried about that kind of thing these days.’
‘Of course they got married,’ I say, standing up and pacing the room. ‘Why would Mum make up something like that?’
Monica shrugs and carries on rearranging pins.
‘The way I saw it, they had a gorgeous fling, got their story in the paper, then Alex got the jitters and broke it off. He’d never had a girl last more than a few months before. I’m not sure he knew how to be in love, especially with all the attention, and they were both so young. Annie flew back to Bristol and found out you were on the way,’ Monica sighs. ‘In my day, they’d have been hauled up the aisle before the bump got too big.’
I sit down again and cross and recross my legs, then clasp my hands on my lap, unable to compute what she’s telling me. None of this makes any sense.
‘Of course all your mother’s phobias didn’t make life easy for anyone. Not that Al wasn’t sympathetic, but I’m sure that took its toll.’
‘What phobias? Mum didn’t have phobias!’ Clearly Monica has no idea who or what she’s talking about.
‘Oh, she was terrified of the dark, of storms, of seagulls. I remember Alex saying they had to sleep with the lights on – quite exhausting.’
‘She didn’t have anything like that.’
‘Really?’ Monica taps her lip thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure it was her who had a whole catalogue of phobias.’
The telephone rings, and Monica springs across the room to answer it.
‘Yes, Hedgehog Rescue … Yes. You think it’s alive? Don’t get too close, you’ll scare her. Address? … Don’t try to pick her up. I’ll be there with a box in a jiffy.’
She scribbles a note on a pad and then hurries to put her coat on.
‘Sorry, Laura, duty calls. Prickler in distress.’ She pulls a pair of pink washing-up gloves from an inside coat pocket. ‘Look, I’m sure your mother thought it was for the best. Such a shame she fell out with everyone, though, I always liked her, and of course we all wanted to know you. Now, you must come for tea when I’m not on call. I’ve got photos to show you – your father as a boy – and I want to hear all about your life, about this website you write for. Do you have pets? Any health conditions? What day starts the week for you? It’s a Wednesday for me, which I know is unusual.’ She starts bustling me out of the door and picks up a purple flat cap to match her galoshes. Then she pauses for a moment, holding both my hands with her pink gloves, ‘You know, it’s rather disconcerting to see his good looks on a woman.’
‘That’s kind, Aunt. I’ll try and come back; it’s just I’ve got a lot to fit in before I head home on Sunday.’ I try to hide the disappointment in my voice. Clearly Mad Aunt Monica is not going to be a reliable source for my article.
We walk together down her drive, and Monica climbs into a heavily dented green Škoda. As she’s about to drive off, she rolls down the window and asks, ‘Do you need a lift anywhere?’
‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’
‘I’m visiting my sister, Sue, your grandmother, tomorrow. All that unpleasantness between her and Annie was a long time ago. Now that you’re here, I’m sure she’d want to see you, patch things up.’
Patch things up, with Bad Granny? Mum told me they fell out over Dad’s will. I found a letter from her saying as much when I packed up Mum’s house. I wonder if the Jersey family convinced themselves Mum and Dad were never married, so they could rationalise cutting Mum off.
‘I’ve got your number now – you wrote it in the card – we’ll make a plan for Sunday,’ Monica shouts as she reverses down the drive. ‘I’ll make us a Swiss log, everyone likes Swiss log – except for psychopaths. You’re not a psychopath, are you, Laura?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Excellent.’
Then the green Škoda, hedgehog stickers lining the rear window, shoots off up the road. The whole encounter leaves me feeling completely bemused. I don’t know what I’d expected Aunt Monica to be like, what I’d expected her to say, but it wasn’t that. I’m not having much success on any fronts today. There’s still no word from J. Le Maistre, and Maude hasn’t called me back.
I check my phone again, hopeful for a message, but the screen is blank, the battery gone. Oh no, what if they’ve tried to call? My watch says it’s five past two – and I realise I’m now late to meet Ted. Running back down the road to the car park, I see his cab, but he’s not inside. I rush down to the Plémont beach café, looking to see if he’s waiting for me, but there’s no sign of him. Maybe he nipped to the loo, he can’t have gone far. While I’m waiting for him to appear, I walk around the café to the top of the steep steps that lead down onto the beach. The stairs look as though they’ve been rebuilt many times over the years, a constant battle to stave off the destructive power of the sea. I can see why Ted warned me about the tides now – the waves are lapping against the bottom of the steps and they are the only way off this beach.
As I’m watching the shallow water dance against the rocks, a figure emerges from the sea and strides up the small strip of sand that’s still accessible. As I blink in confusion at what this sea creature might be, I realise it is a fully dressed Ted. What on earth? Has he gone for a spontaneous swim in his clothes? He looks like some kind of plane crash survivor, with his wild hair and wet clothes clinging to him, his dark blue jeans and maroon T-shirt slick against his body. He looks up and sees me at the top of the steps, and I wave – his face looks relieved to see me and then furious.
‘Where have you been?’ he shouts up to me.
‘Here! Sorry, I got caught up visiting my great-aunt,’ I yell back down.
He charges up the rest of the stairs and is breathing heavily by the time he gets to me.
‘I was worried you’d stayed too long in the cave – that you’d got stuck,’ he says, glaring down at me.
I slap a hand over my mouth.
‘Oh no, you didn’t go in the sea looking for me?’
‘I thought you might have hurt yourself, or you couldn’t get back.’
He closes his eyes. I’m touched he was so concerned about me, but I was only fifteen minutes late – it feels like a slight overreaction.
‘I didn’t even make it to the cave in the end.’
‘And I tried calling you.’
‘My phone died. Ted, I—’ I can’t help laughing. I know I shouldn’t, but I
can’t get over the image of him leaping in the sea to look for me like some kind of primordial David Hasselhoff.
When he sees me laughing, he charges past me, back to the car, and I hurry after him. ‘Ted, I’m sorry, but I was only fifteen minutes late. I didn’t know you’d launch a one-man, fully clothed rescue mission.’
He doesn’t turn around until we get to the car. Wordlessly, he opens the boot and pulls off his sopping wet shirt. I can’t help but look at his bare chest as he wraps a towel around himself – he has an incredible physique for a middle-aged man. He’s got these defined pectoral muscles and a slim, toned stomach, tanned with a light smattering of brown hair. He catches me looking at his body, and I quickly avert my eyes. I was only staring because I’m surprised he looks like that – I didn’t have Beardy McCastaway down as the gym bod type.
‘You don’t mess around with the tides here, Laura,’ Ted says tersely. ‘People get into trouble on this beach all the time. You have to respect the sea.’
‘I do, I do respect the sea,’ I say, composing my face. ‘Do you want to borrow some dry clothes from the suitcase?’
‘I do not want to wear your stolen clothes. Besides, you seem to be wearing half of them already.’ His voice is now a quiet growl.
He walks around to the driver’s seat, takes the towel from around his shoulders, and folds it into a square to sit on. Now he’s sitting there topless, his hair still dripping wet and his jeans clinging tightly to his firm thigh muscles.
‘I’ll need to go back to my place to get some clothes.’
‘Is your dad alright?’ I ask gently, willing him not to be cross with me.
He blinks his eyes closed, exhaling slowly.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry that I was late, Ted.’
‘It’s fine. You just have no idea how fast the tide comes in here – I wouldn’t want to be responsible for anything happening to you.’ His voice has a serious, earnest quality.
‘I really appreciate you looking out for me,’ I say, reaching out to touch his arm. His skin is surprisingly warm considering he’s been in the cold water. He looks down at my fingers, and I take back my hand – conscious the gesture feels overly familiar when the man is sitting there half-naked. My eyes drop to his hand, to his wedding ring.
‘Your wife will be wondering why you’re flinging yourself in the sea after strange women.’ I say it with wide eyes. I mean it as a joke, something to break the tension, but Ted doesn’t smile.
‘No, she won’t,’ he says flatly. I feel stupid then, as though I’ve implied there’s something between us and he’s telling me, in no uncertain terms, that there is not.
Chapter 12
We drive in silence. The tips of Ted’s ears have turned red, and then I hear myself start to babble, ‘Ted, hope you don’t think I was being inappropriate back there – I wasn’t trying to – I mean, obviously, even if you weren’t married, you wouldn’t be—’ I swallow nervously, apparently unable to finish a single sentence. ‘Just so long as it’s clear, that – well—’
Ted rescues me from tying myself in verbal knots.
‘Laura, it’s fine. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.’ He exhales again. ‘My wife and I are separated. I haven’t seen her in two years. That’s why I said she wouldn’t care.’
‘Oh,’ I say, genuinely surprised. Then without thinking, ‘What happened?’ When Ted doesn’t answer immediately, I add, ‘You don’t have to tell me. Sorry, I’m being nosy.’
‘It’s fine,’ he says, clearing his throat. ‘I don’t mind telling you. She just left the house one day, said she was going to get her hair cut. When I went downstairs, I found a note, her wedding ring, and her mobile phone on the kitchen table.’
He goes quiet again, but I wait, trying not to fill the space, to allow Ted room to say more, the art of the apple peel. ‘She took a suitcase of clothes and that was it. Left me with the house, all our stuff from nine years together, all our friends to explain it to.’
‘Just like that?’ I can’t keep the surprise from my voice.
‘Just like that,’ he says.
‘What did her note say?’ I ask.
Ted flexes his hands on the steering wheel.
‘It was complicated, we didn’t want the same things in the end.’
He doesn’t want to tell me the details, but I’m beginning to understand his Castaway vibe.
‘Did you look for her?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ Ted’s eyes have turned glassy, ‘but she cut off all contact. Her note said she was going to Nebraska, it was this joke between us. When one of us had a bad day at work, the other would say, “What are you gonna do, move to Nebraska?” It was from some show we’d watched, about Nebraska being in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t a particularly funny joke.’ Ted bites his lip, rubbing his jaw with one hand.
‘So, you’ve got no way of getting in touch with her, you don’t even know what country she’s in? That’s nuts.’
Ted flexes his fingers on the wheel.
‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry; I asked.’ I pause, watching his face. ‘Besides, you know all about my crazy suitcase chase. Rule of the cab – it’s a safe space.’
He smiles at me then. There must be something about sitting next to someone, both your eyes on the road, that allows you to express what you might not say face to face.
I find myself hoping we don’t arrive at our destination too quickly; I want to hear more.
‘You know, two years on, I still wear my ring, even though she left hers behind.’
I can’t believe someone would just walk out of their life like that. How could you do that to someone you had loved?
‘Do you miss her?’ I ask, then clench my jaw, worrying it’s too personal a question.
‘She was a part of me,’ he says softly, the pain palpable in his voice. ‘When you are with someone for a long time, you grow into each other, like adjoining trees with tangled roots. It’s hard to extricate yourself and find the part that’s left – who you were before.’
‘Especially when she hacks her tree down and runs off with it,’ I say, indignant on his behalf. This makes him smile. His shoulders fall, and he rubs his neck with the heel of his palm as though releasing tension.
I pull the fisherman’s jumper, that’s too big for me, down over my hands. Then I find myself pressing the soft wool to my nose and breathing in the smell. I wonder if the owner of this jumper really is the person my tree roots might grow into like that.
‘I haven’t talked about it much with anyone,’ he says, looking sideways at me without turning his head.
‘Well, people do say I’m very easy to talk to,’ I say, in a sing-song, jokey voice.
‘You are,’ he says, earnestly, and I feel the warmth of the compliment fill the car.
Ted turns down an avenue lined with trees and pink and purple hydrangea bushes. As we emerge from the tunnel of foliage, the sea comes into view again, and I have the sensation of being at the top of a rollercoaster. This must be the west coast; there’s a huge sweep of golden sand, miles long, almost the length of the island.
‘Is this St Ouen’s?’ I ask.
‘Yes, it’s pronounced St Ones, Jersey has some strange spelling,’ Ted says. ‘My dad’s place is just around the corner. I’ll grab some clothes and then we’ll head to the next place in your album. You won’t be able to go back to the cave until low tide now.’
As we drive down towards the sea, the road fenced in by steep fields and a few old granite houses, I think about what Ted has told me, about his runaway wife. I can’t imagine what that would feel like, to have found your person and then have them abandon you. I think of Mum losing Dad when I was only three, how hard that must have been for her. Then I think about the strange version of events Monica told me and wonder again how she could have it so wrong. What would I do if someone left me the way Ted’s wife did? I don’t think I would be able to move on
until I knew where they had gone.
Ted pulls the car into a driveway signposted ‘Sans Ennui’ in the middle of a line of houses all facing the sea. It’s a detached granite house with a forked roof. It has a modern-looking porch at the side, but otherwise looks as if it’s been here for hundreds of years. There’s a sloped garden running down to a tiny white cottage, not much bigger than a garden shed, then a ploughed field, before the beach and the wild expanse of sea beyond. To our left, the rocky escarpment of L’Étacq headland rises up, as though standing sentry over the long bay. There’s something timeless about the scene – neither the view nor the houses here can have changed much in centuries.
‘What a place to live,’ I sigh.
‘Do you want to come in?’ Ted says. ‘Have you eaten?’
His whole demeanour has changed. He pulls his back straight, perhaps aware he’s been hunching over the wheel, and gives me a bright-eyed grin. It’s as though he’s turned the page on our conversation about his wife and wants to get back to more cheerful ground.
‘You don’t need to feed me as well as everything else you’re doing.’
I follow him past the yellow skip in the driveway, in through the porch. The place is a mess of boxes and belongings; I see marks on the floor where furniture must have stood, a bureau and a chest of drawers in the middle of the room and labelled plastic boxes stacked high against the walls. I ask Ted if I can charge my phone, and as I’m plugging it in, a small, wiry white dog darts in and jumps up at my dress.
‘Oh, hello little guy!’ I say, bending down to pet him.
‘Scamp, down. Sorry,’ says Ted. ‘He’s a bit feral.’
‘Hi, Scamp.’
Scamp is a terrier cross of some kind, with one ear in the air and the other flopping over his friendly little face. I notice he’s left dirty little paw prints on my dress. Someone calls Ted’s name from the garden, and we walk through the narrow, box-cluttered kitchen out of some French windows onto a gravel terrace overlooking the steep garden and the sea beyond. A woman in her early forties with a cheerful, round face and short peroxide hair is sitting at a table with a whippet-thin, elderly man who is nursing a bandaged arm.
Just Haven't Met You Yet Page 10
