‘Ah, sorry, you got Scamped before I could tie him up,’ says the woman, jumping up and trying to catch the dog. Then she notices Ted is topless. ‘Why are you half-naked, man?’
‘Long story. I’m going to get changed. Dad, Sandy, this is Laura, Laura – Sandy and my dad, Gerry. Do you like crab, Laura?’
I hold up a hand in greeting to Gerry and Sandy.
‘I adore crab,’ I say, grinning at Ted as he retreats inside. I turn to catch Sandy’s eyes shifting between us. Her gaze settles back on me, and she enthusiastically offers me a chair.
‘Sit, sit! Oh no, look, Scamp ruined your lovely dress!’ Sandy covers her mouth in horror.
‘Oh, don’t worry, it was already ruined.’
The sun is beating down on the patio, and I’m now too hot in Hot Suitcase Man’s jumper, so I take it off and hang it on the back of my chair. ‘Look,’ I say, pointing to the chocolate stain with a smile, ‘testament to a disastrous day.’ I turn to Ted’s dad. ‘I’m sorry to intrude like this, Gerry. Ted went in the sea looking for me, so it’s my fault he got soaked.’
‘You’re this Laura then,’ says Gerry. His voice is quiet, lacking resonance. I can see a shadow of Ted about his features, but Gerry’s face is softer, less expressive. Both his hands shake with an obvious tremor. ‘I’m pleased you persuaded him to take you around the island and have a break from all these boxes.’
Looking at the state of the house, and Gerry’s fragile frame, I feel guilty for persuading Ted to drive me around today.
‘He’s been an excellent tour guide. I only hope I haven’t deprived you of his help.’
‘Good for him to get out. Terrible job, having to babysit your old dad and do his packing for him,’ Gerry says with a warm smile. ‘Though one benefit of my vision going is that I can’t see what he’s throwing away. “Make sure you keep the good china”, “Yes, Dad, sure, Dad, that breaking sound? Oh no, that was the stuff you didn’t like.”’ He chuckles.
We chat away; Gerry and Sandy ask me lots of questions about my visit. They are both so friendly, I feel myself relax, basking in the warmth of their easy company. When Ted reappears in a clean blue linen shirt and dark jeans, holding two plates of crab salad, Sandy says, ‘Ted, why don’t we let Laura stay in the cottage for a few nights? I’ve no bookings in this week, and it will be nicer than staying in town.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I’m fine where I am,’ I say, embarrassed to have Ted put on the spot. ‘This crab looks wonderful, you really didn’t have to feed me.’
‘Always looking after everyone but himself,’ says Sandy. Then she points to the tiny white cottage, just before the garden wall. ‘Laura, wouldn’t you rather wake up to this view? Best spot on the island – it might be small, but it sure is cosy. I’ve taken over the running of the place for Gerry. You can stay for free in exchange for a five-star review,’ she says with a wink.
I imagine that the stark beauty of this wild bay, with rocks jutting out from the sea and the long sweep of sand stretching for miles down the coast, is exactly the kind of scene Love Life subscribers would like to see.
‘It is a stunning view, you’re so lucky to live here, Gerry.’ I realise too late what I’ve said and feel the skin on my neck prickle with embarrassment. ‘I mean, to have lived here. Sorry.’
Gerry gives me a reassuring smile, then reaches out to briefly press a shaking hand over mine.
‘Best view in the world. I was born in this house, so it’s etched on my eyeballs – though, with the changing tide and sky, it never looks the same one hour to the next.’
‘So, what do you say, Laura?’ Sandy asks. ‘Get some sea air into those London lungs? It’s a shame to have it there sitting empty.’
Looking down at the little cottage, I’m suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to stay here. This place, this beach, this view all feel much closer to the Jersey my mother described than the glass office blocks of St Helier. I glance up at Ted, anxious that it isn’t him who’s inviting me to stay in his garden. I can’t read his expression as he hands me cutlery.
‘It is tempting, I’ve never slept so close to the sea before.’
‘Yes!’ Sandy claps her hands together.
‘But I insist on paying. I’m on a work trip, so they’ll cover the cost.’
Sandy flaps a hand in the air at me, as though to say, ‘We’ll work all that out later.’
‘Then you can come to my party this evening,’ says Gerry, ‘we’ll give you a proper Jersey welcome. I’m having a bit of a do on the beach later. Though I’ll have to start walking down there early, it takes me so long to get anywhere these days. In fact, if the party starts in four hours, I might start walking now.’ He opens his mouth into a wide, silent laugh.
‘Oh, Gerry, what nonsense; you’re faster than me, you old goose,’ says Sandy.
I tell them I wouldn’t want to gatecrash but Gerry insists. Sandy says I can meet the locals and quiz them on stories about the island for my article. Ted stays quiet, removed from the conversation.
‘I would love to stay, as long as Ted doesn’t mind me invading his life like this?’
Sandy gives Ted a long look, but he won’t meet her eyes.
‘Oh, I think Ted’s probably very happy about you invading his life.’
A blush creeps up my neck, embarrassed that they might have got the wrong idea.
‘Tell Sandy all about your suitcase man, Laura,’ says Ted abruptly. ‘It’s her kind of story.’
Sandy frowns, then looks at me expectantly. I explain about the suitcase, about the objects inside and the clues we’ve been following. As I talk, I see her face take on an expression of disbelief. When I first told Ted about the case, I thought I was having an anonymous conversation with a driver whose name I’d never know and who’d never know mine – I didn’t care what he thought of me. Now, looking across the table at Sandy and Gerry, I find I do care what they think, very much.
‘Of course, it only makes sense if you believe in fate and serendipity,’ I say, flustered by Sandy’s sceptical expression. ‘Ted thinks it’s a wild goose chase.’
Sandy looks to Ted for a reaction, but he is intent on his food.
‘Well, even more reason to hang around then, Laura,’ says Gerry brightly. ‘You can invite your mystery man to my party too if you track him down before tonight.’
‘Well, I don’t know if I’ve bought enough sausages to feed the entire island,’ says Sandy.
‘What are you talking about, woman? I’ve never seen a fridge so stuffed full of food,’ says Gerry.
‘Ted, this really is delicious, thank you,’ I say, keen to change the subject, then lean in to quietly add, ‘Would you mind me staying? I wouldn’t want to intrude.’
‘I don’t mind at all,’ he says, while inspecting a knot of wood in the table. I notice the tips of his ears have turned red again.
‘You’ll stay, it’s settled,’ says Sandy. ‘I’m going to go and get you the key and open the windows, let some air in.’
Sandy gets up and moves to hug Gerry around his shoulders before she leaves, then she glances sideways into the house.
‘Oh no!’ she cries, running through the French windows. ‘Scamp, bad dog! Oh Scamp, you haven’t – Laura, I’m so sorry.’
She comes out holding the tangled remains of the fisherman’s jumper in her hands. One arm looks to have been ripped to pieces and the bottom is starting to unravel. I clasp both hands to my mouth.
‘I don’t know what’s got into him! Gerry, he’s just pinched Laura’s jumper and taken it off to maul it to pieces. He’s a wild animal!’ cries Sandy.
‘Sorry, Laura, he wouldn’t usually do that, especially not to a woman,’ says Gerry.
‘Look, Ilídio’s going to change his mind about taking this dog on,’ says Sandy, still inspecting the damp lump of wool in her hands.
I look up at Ted, who is trying not to laugh.
‘It’s not funny, Ted,’ I say, my hands clenched onto the edge of the table.
<
br /> ‘It’s not Laura’s jumper,’ Ted explains, unable to stifle his mirth. ‘She borrowed it from her mystery suitcase man.’
‘That explains it,’ says Gerry. ‘Scamp probably smelt a rival male in the house, loyal little bugger he is.’
‘Scamp is Dad’s dog,’ Ted says, ‘but Sandy and her husband, Ilídio, are taking him in once Dad moves.’
‘No dogs allowed in Alcatraz,’ Gerry says, in a voice of mock horror.
‘Dad, it’s assisted living, not Alcatraz.’ Ted gives his father a disapproving look.
‘We’re going to need to go back to puppy school,’ Sandy says, shaking a finger at Scamp’s nose.
I don’t want to make a fuss and make Sandy feel worse than she already does, but that’s now two things in the case I’ve lost or damaged, and I can’t help but feel my good mood punctured. What am I going to say to J. Le Maistre when I find him? ‘Hi, I think you’re my soulmate, sorry I destroyed all your possessions.’ I take the mauled jumper back from Sandy and lament the tragic end of my Ryan Gosling sweater fantasy.
‘I’m going to lock him in our kitchen, it’s the only way he’ll learn,’ says Sandy, picking up Scamp and carrying him over the low garden wall with her.
‘He can sense change in the air, I’m afraid,’ says Gerry, pressing a shaking hand onto his bandaged arm.
‘Please don’t give it another thought,’ I say, trying to compose my face so that no one but me feels bad about this.
‘Laura, if I take you back to town to check out of your hotel, we could go via Maude Le Maistre’s place,’ Ted suggests. ‘I looked up where she lives, it’s on the way.’
‘Ted, I would never have asked you to ferry me around all day if I’d known you had so much going on here. I’ll happily find a bus—’
‘Oh, let him drive you, Laura, maybe some of your sparkle will rub off on that dour face of his,’ Gerry says, looking as though he’s struggling to get up from his seat. ‘He’s been so—’
Ted cuts Gerry off before he can say any more. ‘Dad, let me help you, do you need to go inside?’ He takes Gerry’s arm and helps him to his feet.
‘I’m not totally decrepit yet,’ Gerry says to me, ‘it’s just chairs I can’t get on with, or out of.’
Sandy returns with the key to the cottage and takes me for a tour of the pocket-sized house. Inside it has the feel of a well-kept ship’s cabin. There’s one main room, with a window looking out to sea, a tiny en-suite and a kitchenette with a washer dryer. The place has been decorated beautifully, with nautical curtains and sky-blue bed linen.
‘You could wash your dress here, get the Scamp out of it,’ says Sandy, pointing to the washer dryer. ‘I’m so sorry again, about the jumper.’
I wave away her apology, then open the suitcase on the bed to see if there is anything else that I can borrow, just while I put my dress through a quick spin cycle. It crosses my mind I could ask Sandy for a change of clothes, but I have only just met her, it feels too much to ask. There’s the white work shirt and belt in the bag – I could probably fashion that into a dress, just to take me to town and back. Sandy has positioned herself on the bed, and I’m not sure I know her well enough to strip down to my underwear in front of her, so I nip through to the bathroom to change.
‘Lucky you climbed into Ted’s cab then, hey?’ she says through the door.
‘He’s been so helpful. I didn’t realise he wasn’t a proper cab driver – well, not that he’s not proper – just that he only does it here and there.’ I’m babbling.
Looking at my makeshift shirtdress in the narrow mirror, I’m pleasantly surprised – it looks good. I don’t feel too guilty about borrowing it; he’s the one holding my case and all my clothes hostage. Though I do feel guilty about the trainer and the jumper.
‘Did he tell you, he’s a doctor in his other life?’ Sandy asks, interrupting my thoughts about clothes.
‘A doctor? Who?’ I come out of the bathroom and do a little twirl.
‘Nice. I like what you’ve done with it. Jeez, if I had legs like those, I’d just walk around in my pants all day,’ Sandy says with a sigh.
I laugh, surprised by the compliment.
‘Well, I might be forced to walk around in my pants if I don’t get my suitcase back soon.’
Sandy draws her eyes back to my face and blinks, ‘What were we talking about before your ridiculously long legs? Ah yes, Ted being a doctor. He’s training to be a surgeon, you know.’ Her voice lilts into a sigh. ‘He’s had a bit of an unusual career path, worked in conservation in his twenties, travelled all over; he was a right hippy. Then he had this epiphany about being a doctor, cut his long hair and enrolled in medical school. I have a lot of respect for anyone who goes back to studying in their thirties.’
A surgeon, wow. I feel strangely indignant Ted hasn’t told me any of this himself. But then I don’t know why he should have. Plus we’ve covered quite a lot of other topics in the short time we’ve known each other. With his calm demeanour, I can see him as a doctor, but in another sense, I can’t – not with that beard.
As though reading my mind, Sandy says, ‘He hasn’t always been that scruffy. He’s just having a little’ – she pauses, searching for the right word – ‘time-out. Trust me, underneath it all, Ted’s a real looker. Once upon a time, every girl in Jersey was in love with Ted Palmerston.’ She watches my face for a reaction.
‘Not you, though?’ I ask, looking into the small mirror, shaped like a ship’s porthole, and pulling my hair up into a scruffy bun.
‘Nah, he’s like a brother to me. You can’t fancy someone when you’ve seen them play air guitar with their winkle at the age of eight.’
I choke on my laugh and Sandy stands up to pat me on the back.
‘Well, he’s clearly a man of many talents,’ I say, keen to steer the tilt of this conversation elsewhere. ‘He’s been very helpful in the search for my lost suitcase.’
Sandy shakes her head and sits back on the bed. ‘I’m not convinced by this tale of yours, about the suitcase man.’
‘You don’t believe in serendipity?’ I hold a kirby grip in my mouth, before using it to pin down some flyaway strands of hair. ‘How did you meet your partner?’
Sandy gives a slow smile as she conjures up the memory. I know that face, the face of someone who has a tale to tell, so I sit back down beside her to listen.
‘It’s a silly story,’ she says. ‘There was a mix-up at the numberplate office – Ilídio had been sent mine, and I’d been sent his, along with all the wrong paperwork. It had his phone number printed on it, so I called him up and rather than send them both back, we met up to swap ’em over. Nothing’s far in Jersey.’
I clap my hands in excitement, ‘And then?’
Sandy nudges me with her shoulder.
‘And then, a few days later he asked me out. It’s hardly Romeo and bleedin’ Juliet.’
‘Oh no, but it is! It’s a great story. The universe sent you the wrong plates, just like it sent me the wrong suitcase. My story could turn out just like yours.’
‘It wasn’t the universe; it was some lass called Sheila on her first day in the job,’ Sandy says, scrunching up her nose. ‘First thing I noticed about him when we met up were these huge white teeth he has. He’s just one big smile, Ilídio is.’ She grins fondly. ‘If he’d been bog ugly, I would have told the universe to bugger off.’ I laugh, and Sandy prods my shoulder with a finger. ‘Your suitcase man could have a face like curdled custard for all you know.’
‘Love is blind,’ I say dreamily, a palm to my chest.
‘It isn’t, and people aren’t akin to their possessions. If they are, God help me, because I’ve just adopted that devil dog.’
When we head back outside, I see the trace of a smirk on Ted’s face when he sees what I’m wearing.
‘You don’t think I can pull off a shirtdress?’ I ask as I wave goodbye to the others and climb back into Ted’s car.
‘I didn’t say anything,’ says T
ed.
‘It’s just for an hour while I put my dress through the wash. I don’t have anything else.’
‘I didn’t say anything,’ Ted repeats, his eyes growing wide in mock offence, but there’s the hint of a smile. ‘How are you going to explain the jumper, then?’
I raise an eyebrow at him. ‘I will blame you, of course. You went mad and threw his shoe off a cliff and set your dog on his jumper.’
Ted laughs, that deep, chesty laugh that makes his whole body move. I like seeing it; it’s like watching a drawing of a person come to life right in front of you.
‘Scamp’s not my dog.’ He turns his eyes to meet mine, a flicker of mischief in them.
‘I found something in the house,’ he says, reaching into his bag and handing me a CD – Phil Collins’ … Hits. ‘From my mum’s old collection.’
I open the case to slot the CD into the car’s dated music system.
‘Do all your passengers get a curated playlist?’
‘Just you. Mum clearly shared your terrible taste in music.’ He pauses, his mouth twitching. ‘While Scamp shares your terrible taste in men’s jumpers.’
‘Funny.’ I reach out my hand, playfully hitting his thigh with the base of my fist.
Am I flirting with Ted? Is Ted flirting with me? No, I shake off the thought. That would be weird. We just know each other a little better now, well enough to make jokes.
But my hand feels hot where I’ve touched his thigh. I look up into his face, and he catches my embarrassment before I whip my head back around to face the window, hugging the tingling skin on my fist into my other palm.
Chapter 13
While we are driving, listening to Phil Collins, Ted pretending to wince at every new song that comes on, I text Suki:
It’s coming together well. I’m moving to the beach to get a more local angle on the travel article. It’s stunning here, our followers will love it!
Then I send her a picture of the view from Gerry’s patio.
She sends back a photo of a skinny Frappuccino, I assume referring to the fact that I am still on thin ice. The Love Life Instagram account has hundreds of notifications, and I open it to see photos of people at the community fete who have tagged #LoveLife, #ShopLocal, and #GenuineJersey. There’s a beaming photo of Jenny behind an empty trestle table.
Just Haven't Met You Yet Page 11
