S
Laura,
We all like your ‘Then and Now’ photos as an angle for the coin story. Keep them coming on social today. Do you have photos of your great-grandparents? Would be good to include images of the original wartime love story.
This is exactly the kind of in-depth, well-researched feature that puts LL above the purely tabloid content. Good work, Laura – confident you can pull something together that has it all; romance, history, and a personal angle.
S
Suki is the queen of this carrot/stick management technique, where she beats you around the head with a large carrot and then compliments you on how good the carrot-shaped bruise looks. I wonder if it is normal to have your anxiety levels so dictated by the mood of your employer. My mind jumps to an image of Ilídio, so calm and at ease on his own in the workshop. What must it be like to be your own master, to not be plagued by a sense of dread every time your phone vibrates?
I have a text from Monica, asking if I’ll come over for coffee ‘with us’ tomorrow at ten. I wonder who she means by ‘us’. Has she convinced Bad Granny to meet with me, or does the ‘us’ allude to another one of her kitchen appliances? Either way, I reply saying I’d love to come. Monica is one of the few family members I have left, I would like to get to know her better. Besides, even if she doesn’t remember my parents’ story correctly, she did say she had photos I could see.
After replying to Monica, I flick through the photos I took on my phone yesterday, pausing on the one of Ted. His eyes shine out from the screen, as sparkling as the jewels in his beard. He really is surprisingly photogenic, considering how little of his face is visible beneath all that hair. I shake my head, flicking the screen closed. Ted’s sparkly eyes are not relevant to any of this; I need to focus on what’s important.
Looking at all those emails, at how much work I need to do, it feels irresponsible that I’ve agreed to spend the day with Jasper, on a boat of all places – I’m about as sea smart as a camel. I shall just have to make this trip count – take lots of photos of the Écréhous and pick Jasper’s brain for my article on the way. After all, if the universe goes to the trouble of presenting you with your soulmate, you don’t tell the universe that you’re busy and you have to work. That said, I do quickly reply to a few of Suki’s more pressing emails – the hierarchy of authority in my life goes: Suki, the universe, then all other worldly concerns.
When I’m finally ready to go, and I open the cottage door, I hear a voice call down from Sans Ennui. ‘Laura, morning!’
I turn around to see someone bounding down the slope towards me. It takes me a second to realise who it is: it’s Ted, but he looks totally different – he’s shaved off his beard.
‘Hey, how are you feeling, how’s the cut on your leg?’ he says, his face dancing with energy.
I stare at him, my mouth agape – wow. It turns out, beneath the Castaway beard, Ted is incredibly attractive. I don’t mean good-looking, in a ‘clean-shaven suits him’ kind of way; I mean he’s the real-life love child of Brad Pitt and James Dean. He has a chiselled jaw, a dimpled smile, and those dark expressive eyes stand out all the more from a cleaner canvas. He’s also far younger than I assumed him to be. When I first got in the cab, I thought he must be nearly twice my age, but now I see he’s definitely only late thirties. He’s the real-life Benjamin Button, getting younger and younger every time I see him. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll be a teenager, heading off to the sea for a surf before school.
‘Ted, you— Your—’
My mouth can’t find the words, so I finally resort to pointing at his face.
‘I thought it was time to de-fuzz,’ he says, stroking his jaw and then running a hand through his hair, which I swear looks styled somehow. It had been a shapeless mess on Thursday night and now it looks textured, as though he’s run some wax through it. Whatever it is, it’s hair you want to grab and— whoa, what? Where did that thought come from?
‘You look different,’ I say, biting my lip in case any of the thoughts in my head accidentally fall out of my mouth.
‘Different good?’ he asks, holding eye contact with me until I have to look away because it feels as though someone is flipping pancakes in my belly. I have a flashback to last night, to the feeling I had as he walked me to my door. His lips look so much more accessible now. Why am I thinking about Ted’s lips? Gift from the Universe Jasper is going to be here any minute.
‘How – how old are you, Ted?’ I ask with a frown.
Ted laughs at the question.
‘Thirty-seven, why?’
‘It’s just, well, you had a grey beard – it’s confusing for people.’
‘Well, I apologise that the follicles on my face grow a different colour to the ones on my head.’ Ted looks bemused.
With a silent nod, I shift my gaze out to the safety of the sea. My heart seems to be pounding unnecessarily loudly in my chest.
‘Thank you for your help last night, Laura. With your system in place, the whole task feels a lot more manageable this morning.’
Words come to my throat, but I swallow them before they can emerge as sentences. Beardy McCastaway might have been easier to talk to than Hotty McFace here. Really? That’s the best nickname I can come up with?
‘No problem.’
‘Listen, I know we hardly got to any of the places you wanted to visit yesterday. How about we head out now, and I can take you to the southern beaches. There’s a great spot for brunch, this little café right on the beach where—’
The gravel on the drive crunches, and we both turn around to see Jasper’s red sports car drive in.
‘I can’t today,’ I say, feeling my face tighten into a wince. ‘Jasper is taking me to the Écréhous.’
Ted pulls a hand through his hair and nods, his brow briefly knitting, before ironing out into a smile. His face is so much more expressive now that there is more of it to see – a pulsing muscle in his jaw and these dimpled smile lines around his mouth.
‘I see, good.’ Good? ‘If you have a tour guide sorted, you don’t need me.’
‘It’s kind of you to offer, Ted,’ I say. ‘It’s just Jasper invited me on this boat trip, and—’ I glance up at the drive, where Jasper has climbed out of the car and is waving at me. He’s dressed in chino shorts with a cricket jumper around his neck; he looks like the Great Gatsby on holiday.
‘I’m glad it’s all working out as you hoped.’ Ted nods, turning to walk back up to the house.
The letter, I need to give him the letter! I was going to give it to him as soon as I saw him, but then I got distracted by his new face and— Well, I can’t just hand it over now, with Jasper standing there waving; I’d need a moment to explain why I have it.
‘Ted—’ I begin, not sure what I’m going to say.
He swings around, hands in his pockets, nods his head towards Jasper, and gives me a wink.
‘Enjoy yourself, kiddo.’
RETURNED TO SENDER
4 November 1991
Annie,
Don’t be childish and send my letters back. If you won’t take my calls, how am I supposed to get through to you? You can’t just say you’re pregnant, and then not speak to me about it. Did you think this would change how things stood between us? You can’t blame me for not believing you right away.
I will send money whatever you decide, but I want you to consider all the options. We’re too young to be parents, Annie! I love my life as it is, you can’t ask me to give that up for something we didn’t plan. What about your dancing? What about auditioning for shows again, your dance school idea? You can’t do any of that if you’ve got a baby, Annie.
Al
PS I still haven’t received the coin. Can you confirm you sent it?
Chapter 20
‘There you are,’ Jasper says with a grin.
He is just as attractive in the light of day, like a lovely box-fresh Ken doll. No! Ken dolls aren’t sexy, Ken dolls don’t even have genitalia. Do not start thin
king of Jasper as a Ken doll.
‘Who’s that then?’ Jasper asks, nodding towards Ted.
‘My, er – my landlord, Ted. I’m renting his cottage down there. So, tell me more about the place we’re going to today,’ I say, clapping my hands together, keen for us to leave as quickly as possible.
Jasper opens the car door for me. ‘You are going to love the Écréhous. They are tiny islands between here and France, well, rocks, essentially, that don’t get covered by the rising tide. The fishermen’s huts there have been handed down through the generations, just made a little less basic over the years. It’s like camping at sea, that’s the best way I can describe it.’
As we drive across the island, Jasper tells me all about his family, about his father’s love of fishing. He says being at sea was one of the few times he got to be with his father alone, as none of his sisters were interested in learning how to fish. As he’s talking, I sink back into the pages of Jasper’s story. I have to remind myself that this is a story I want to be part of, the fairy-tale ending written for me. Ted’s new face is not relevant to the plot.
Gran tries to call me while we’re driving, but I silence the call and text instead.
Laura: Sorry Gran, just heading out on a boat trip! Can we speak this afternoon? BTW did you know my surname is pronounced Le Cane, not Ques-ne???
Gran: You are having a busy time of it – keen to have a chat when you have time. Le Cane does ring a bell now you mention it.
Me:??!??!
Gran: I think all the mums at your school kept pronouncing Ques-ne, and in the end, Annie couldn’t be doing with correcting people all the time. You know, I’d quite forgotten it was Le Cane until you said that – how funny!
How funny? How funny? I don’t think it’s particularly funny that I’ve been pronouncing my own name wrong my entire life.
‘Everything OK?’ Jasper asks, as he sees me frown at my phone.
‘Fine, just work stuff,’ I lie, putting my phone away. I don’t need another person laughing at my identity crisis.
Jasper’s boat is moored at St Catherine’s Breakwater, a long, man-made promontory stretching half a mile out to sea at the eastern end of the island. Jasper tells me they started building a harbour in the mid-nineteenth century, but the project was abandoned as the bay turned out to be too shallow. The long breakwater wall is now used by fishermen and boats mooring in the sheltered water.
Jasper rows a dinghy out to fetch his motorboat from a mooring, then drives back to pick me up. Once we’re out on the open water, I look at Jasper steering the boat, the wind in his hair and the sun on his skin. He looks so at home at the helm, and I try to adopt the stance of someone who is comfortable on a vessel this small and unstable.
‘Is this cabin we’re going to the one you had keys for in your suitcase?’
‘Yes,’ Jasper says, looking over the top of his sunglasses at me.
‘I only looked through your things to search for a name or contact number,’ I quickly add.
‘It’s fine.’ He smiles. ‘I must have taken the keys to London by mistake. Now, be warned, it’s pretty rustic.’
‘You know, I’ve always had a bit of a fantasy about remote cabins,’ I say, moving into the seat next to him, hoping the boat might get steadier the closer you are to the steering wheel.
‘Tell me everything,’ Jasper says huskily, his eyebrows dancing up and down above his sunglasses.
I laugh, ‘Not like that.’ It is like that, but I don’t think it would be appropriate to tell him all the graphic details of my Ryan Gosling/log fire/sheepskin rug fantasy on a first date. ‘No, I just mean somewhere to get away from it all, off grid – it sounds romantic.’
‘Well, I hope our little cabin lives up to expectations,’ he says, taking a hand off the wheel and laying it on my thigh. He seems more confident today, more at home in this boat than he was in his living room. I like this version even more.
It’s a twenty-minute boat-ride out to the small group of rocky islands. As we get close, I see several houses protruding from the water. It’s a bizarre sight, like finding a village in the middle of the sea, each rudimentary cabin built on inhospitable-looking rocks, jutting out of the water. Jasper says, ‘Laura, look, there,’ he points to the left of the boat, where two seals are basking on rocks in the sunshine.
‘Oh, look at them,’ I cry. ‘Look at their funny little faces.’
Jasper ties the boat to a buoy, then we get back into the dinghy and row to shore with the cool box and a bag of supplies. On the pebble beach, we leave the dinghy and the bags, and Jasper leads me up into a rabbit warren of huts, all built on top of each other in a little enclave at the far end of the spit. A few other boats are moored nearby, and Jasper waves to a family sitting out on their deck. This place feels like a different planet, a watery moonscape, miles from civilisation, and I catch myself wondering how the hell I came to be here. Only a few days ago I was sitting in the airless meeting room at Love Life eating a Pret sandwich.
‘Look,’ Jasper says, stopping to point out a particular cabin. It’s the one my mother was standing in front of in one of her photos. He remembered. He helps me replicate the shot, giving instructions for how I should stand, wanting to get it just right. When he’s satisfied, I snap a few photos of him pretending to be a model, staring off into the middle distance and giving me his best ‘blue steel’.
Back at the dinghy, Jasper effortlessly lifts the cool box up onto his shoulder, and we walk further up the pebble-covered spit, where larger cabins stand alone.
‘This is us,’ he says, pointing towards the one at the far end.
The cabin is built on stilts, so we have to climb up stairs to get to the front door. There’s a basic wooden balcony overlooking the sea, and a driftwood sign propped against the door that reads: ‘Écréhous Rules: Take only photos, leave only footprints.’ Jasper shows me around inside; there’s one main room with a gas-powered stove and fridge, a small kitchen table, and two green checked sofas around a driftwood coffee table. Upstairs in the eaves are two small bedrooms. There’s no log fire, but there is a wood burner. It’s rustic and charming, and I fall instantly in love with the place.
‘No running water or flushing loos, just a compost toilet around the back,’ Jasper says.
OK, maybe I’m not entirely in love with it. The words ‘compost’ and ‘toilet’ are not great first date words.
‘My grandfather built this place from scratch,’ Jasper explains. ‘Everything you see had to be brought out on a boat.’
‘I can see why you love it,’ I say.
‘Worth the effort of getting here then?’ he says with a wink.
‘Definitely.’
Jasper opens the cool box, unpacking all sorts of posh pâtés, sourdough biscuits in a rainbow of rustic hues, and a bottle of rosé. I’m impressed Jasper knows how to put together a decent picnic. I once went on a picnic date in Hyde Park and the guy brought a multi-pack of Monster Munch and six cans of lager.
Jasper opens a bag of truffle crisps and offers some to me. As I reach my hand in, he pretends to snap the bag shut, like a crocodile. I jump in surprise and then laugh. We look at each other and grin. I feel a glow of contentment. I’m genuinely enjoying myself, and I haven’t thought about Ted’s newly shaven face for at least five minutes.
I don’t even know why I’m thinking about Ted’s face at all. I mean, sure, he’s super-hot now, and he’s really lovely, and he isn’t fifty as I’d first assumed, but that shouldn’t make a difference. He’s still too old for me, still technically married, his life sounds immensely complicated, and he doesn’t even like Phil Collins. Plus, he made it pretty clear last night that he still loves his wife and he’s not in the market for anything like that. Then I have to stop thinking about not thinking about Ted, because it’s reminding me of the letter from Belinda sitting guiltily in my handbag. Why am I even having to rationalise this to myself? It’s ridiculous; I’m on a date with Jasper, perfect Jasper who ticks all
the boxes.
Jasper pulls two sun loungers out onto the deck of the cabin and on a table between us lays out all the food he’s brought.
‘So, do you bring all your dates out here?’ I ask.
‘Hardly,’ Jasper says, wrinkling his nose. ‘I rarely meet anyone I want to meet for a drink, let alone bring to my favourite place.’
‘Well, aren’t I the lucky one,’ I say, and part of me feels like I’m reading lines from some flirtatious play.
‘A lot of people our age move away from the island,’ Jasper says. ‘Of the girls who are left, I went to school with most of them, and the rest I’m related to. Small pond.’
‘And you’re a big fish, are you?’ I say, pushing my tongue into my cheek.
Jasper reaches out to take my hand in his.
‘Well, I’m not a small fish,’ he says, raising his eyebrows up and down suggestively, and I can’t help but laugh. ‘Right, Laura, are you going to confess what this real cabin fantasy of yours is, or am I going to have to wrestle it out of you?’
4 November ’91
Alex
It is over then, is it? Done with. Finished. Everything you said to me this summer, forgotten? I loved you with every particle of my soul, Al, as you did me, and now you try to dismiss it as a short-term thing? Where is the man I loved? He would not be so cavalier with another’s heart. Enjoy the Greek islands; I hope your boat sinks.
I am keeping the baby.
Annie
PS I enclose your half of the coin. The other half is mine, I found it and I paid for it. You wouldn’t have known this piece still existed if it wasn’t for me. It is now as much a part of my family history as it is yours, so I am keeping it for our child. Nice to know you care more about holding on to a piece of metal than a living, breathing human.
Chapter 21
I end up telling Jasper about the Scrabble game and the wood chopping. He’s flirting with me, the sun is shining and the rosé tastes delicious. Somehow sharing my childish fantasy feels part of the script for this ideal date we’re on. Jasper claps his hands together, as though accepting the challenge to make my fantasy a reality. There is only pre-chopped wood for the cabin’s log burner and no axe, so he ends up trying to hack at pieces of kindling with a bread knife, all whilst shirtless and trying to flex his abs in my direction. His performance makes me cry with laughter, though it is the least erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
Just Haven't Met You Yet Page 19
