Just Haven't Met You Yet

by Sophie Cousens

  ‘Right, Scrabble. Unusual, but I like a girl with highbrow sexual interests. I think we have a set somewhere,’ he says.

  With his shirt still unbuttoned, Jasper searches the depths of a dusty games chest, and manages to find an old travel Scrabble at the bottom. He sets up the board on the driftwood coffee table.

  I don’t know where I got the idea that playing board games was sexy in any way. In my fantasy, I’d lay down some brilliant word like ‘quixotic’ or ‘oxyphenbutazone’, and the man I’m with would instantly fall in love with my brain as well as my body. In reality, I keep picking out Ps and can’t put down anything more impressive than ‘pop’, ‘pip’ or ‘pap’ (which Jasper says is slang, so I can’t even have it). After the fourth time Jasper asks, ‘Is this turning you on yet?’ I upend the board in faux petulance. He catches my gaze with his, his eyes growing wide, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk, and then he leans in towards me.

  ‘Is this OK?’ he says in a low whisper, our faces inches apart.

  I nod.

  Jasper presses his lips to mine, one hand reaching up to cup my face. His lips are warm and soft; it’s a good kiss, the right balance of assertive but respectful. Would I have movie sex with Jasper, I wonder? There’s something slightly schoolboyish about him: his public-school brand of humour, the brown deck shoes – I’m not sure how wild a man who wears deck shoes would ever be in bed. All of these thoughts run through my mind during our kiss. I cannot believe how well this is all going. He’s making me laugh, he’s got a great body (that wasn’t on my list, but it doesn’t hurt), he’s got impeccable taste in clothes, wine, and pâtés. That salmon and dill one was delicious, I’m definitely going to look that up when I get home.

  ‘Well, you were right about the Scrabble,’ Jasper says, finally pulling away. I make a humming laugh noise and berate myself for thinking about salmon and dill pâté for most of the time I was kissing him.

  Jasper stands up, then helps me up from the rug and leads me over to a small wooden bookshelf built into a corner of the cabin.

  ‘What I love most about coming out here is no TV, no Wi-Fi. My parents used to ban us from bringing phones. We’d just read and eat and swim. I credit this place with why I’ve read most of the classics.’ He pauses. ‘Tell me again about why you love To Kill a Mockingbird so much.’

  The bookshelf is filled with beautiful worn editions of Penguin Classics. Most of the men I’ve dated in the last few years didn’t read much, or if they did, it was crime novels or non-fiction. I bet Ted reads crime novels. I pause at Jasper’s question, unsure how truthful to be, not wanting to upset the fun and flirty tone of the date by talking about anything too serious. But then, I do want to see if there is a deeper side to Jasper; that’s a box that needs ticking, too.

  ‘My dad died when I was three, and my mum kept a box of his favourite books for me, the ones he read again and again,’ I say, running my finger along the spines on the shelf. ‘Reading the books he loved, the stories he valued enough to hold on to – Robinson Crusoe, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Catcher in the Rye – felt like learning something new about him.’

  Jasper nods, encouraging me to keep talking.

  ‘Even though I don’t remember my dad, Scout and Atticus feel like mutual friends. I know that sounds silly.’

  ‘It doesn’t at all,’ says Jasper, pulling a book from the shelf and showing me the cover: P.G. Wodehouse. ‘I lost my father too, several years ago. He was a lot older than my mother.’ My mind jumps to Maude – she is a widow, she’s not cheating on anyone; at least that’s something off my conscience. ‘I remember him reading us Jeeves and Wooster books on car journeys through France. It’s my favourite memory of him: his voice, reading me those stories. I certainly consider Jeeves and Wooster to be friends of the family.’

  He looks across at me and our eyes meet, and for the first time I see a glimpse of the more serious, contemplative side of Jasper, beyond the boyish humour.

  ‘I don’t want to wait as long as he did to have children. I’d like to be a young dad – to have the energy to kick a ball around.’

  He reaches out and starts circling a finger down my back. It tickles slightly, and I arch my spine in response. Then my phone starts ringing, and I immediately look around for my bag.

  It’s Gran.

  ‘Jasper, do you mind if I get this? I’m sorry, my gran’s been trying to get hold of me all weekend, and I just want to check she’s OK.’

  ‘Of course.’ He smiles.

  I answer the phone and ask Gran to give me a second, pressing the phone to my chest.

  ‘I’ll give you some privacy,’ says Jasper, grabbing a towel from a basket by the door. ‘I’m going to go for a swim, join me on the beach when you’re ready.’

  He kisses me on the cheek, then I watch as he bounds away down the cabin steps.

  ‘Sorry about that, Gran, I’m here now,’ I say, putting the phone back to my ear.

  ‘Don’t let me interrupt if you are busy, Laurie,’ Gran says.

  ‘It’s nothing that can’t wait.’

  Sitting down on the green checked sofa, I tell Gran where I am, then I explain about my strange meeting with Great-Aunt Monica yesterday, how confused she was about Mum and Dad’s story.

  Gran makes quiet hmmmming and ahhhhing sounds as I recount the conversation, then eventually she says with a sigh, ‘Laura, I’m afraid she’s not entirely mad – well, not on this topic anyway. I don’t know where the notion about Annie having all these phobias came from, but she’s right about the rest.’ I hear her take a long, deep breath.

  ‘What?’ I’d been expecting Gran to laugh, to agree that Monica’s strange version of events was all nonsense.

  ‘Annie didn’t want me to tell you,’ Gran says, making a tutting sound. ‘But I suppose it will all come out now you’re there, talking to them all. It never sat right with me, you not knowing the truth.’

  ‘What truth?’ I say, standing up to pace the short length of the cabin.

  ‘Your parents were never married, Laura. They had that summer together, and then you were on the way but,’ she pauses, ‘the relationship didn’t last.’

  I rub my fingers across my eyelids, unable to compute what I’m hearing.

  ‘Everything about that summer is as your mother told you,’ Gran continues, ‘but then she came back to Bristol and, well, you being on the way was a bit of a surprise. Alex wasn’t quite ready to settle down. He visited when he could, but they didn’t make a proper go of it, not together as a family.’

  ‘Why would she lie and tell me they got married?’

  My voice sounds strange and high-pitched. There’s a falling sensation in my stomach, as though the floor has dropped away beneath me.

  ‘Annie didn’t want you thinking you’d been – an accident.’ Gran says it cautiously, as though even now, the word might upset me. ‘She was always an idealist, she wanted you to think the best of him. When we lost him in the accident, well, she didn’t see any harm in massaging history a little.’

  My head feels foggy, so I step out onto the deck for some air. My eyes find Jasper doing a confident front crawl across the water between this rocky island and the next.

  ‘So, he was never around? He ditched us, just like Aunt Monica said?’

  ‘He was around, Laura. He visited you when he could – he loved you the second he set eyes on you.’

  ‘Why didn’t it last? If they were so in love that summer, why couldn’t they make it work?’ I bite the inside of my cheek, not wanting Gran to hear me getting upset.

  ‘I don’t know, Laurie,’ she says softly, ‘sometimes things aren’t meant to last the long term – flashes of lightning rather than slow-burning coals.’

  My mind races. Mum’s story of the proposal in the cave; that wasn’t a fudging of the truth or a ‘massaging of history’ – it was a complete fabrication. How many times did I ask Mum to tell me their love story? Did she invent new details with every telling?

>   ‘Laura, you must understand, your mother’s heart was in the right place,’ Gran says, her voice pleading.

  I let the line go silent, unsure what to say, angry at having been lied to for so long. Looking down at my watch – his watch – I wonder if it is Dad who I should be mad at. What must that have been like for Mum, at twenty-five, deciding to raise me all on her own?

  ‘Did you even know him?’ I ask quietly.

  ‘Yes, I did. Look – even though he wasn’t up for being a father straight away, he came around. The proposal and the wedding and all the stuff he left you might not have been real, but he wanted to be a father to you, Laura. Once you were born, he asked for photos constantly – he loved you, there’s no doubt about that. If he hadn’t been in that accident, he would have been a big part of your life.’

  It takes me a moment to register what she’s just said.

  ‘Wait, what do you mean, the stuff he left me?’

  I hear Gran let out a sound, like a tyre being deflated.

  ‘What?’ My voice sounds angry now. ‘The watch, the record collection, the books, none of that was his?’

  ‘Oh Laurie, I’m sorry, I – I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not entirely sure,’ Gran sounds rattled.

  ‘I just want to know what’s real, Gran. Will you just tell me what’s real?’ My vision is getting watery.

  There’s a long sigh on the line, then Gran says, ‘When he died, Annie wanted you to have a way to connect with him. You know how much stock she put on objects as conduits for memory. She didn’t have anything of his, so she collected a few bits that, well, that could have been his.’

  ‘Did he even read To Kill a Mockingbird? Did he even like to read?’

  ‘Yes, well, probably – maybe not that specific book, but he did like to read.’ Gran doesn’t sound at all convinced. ‘Look, you have to understand, when her own father left us, she didn’t have anything from him – not one birthday present, not a single memento, nothing to know him by.’

  ‘Mum bought the LP collection,’ I say, and Gran doesn’t correct me. ‘What about the watch, the one I wear every day?’

  Gran sighs in resignation. She knows there’s no point sugaring what’s left of the pill.

  ‘She bought it in a charity shop.’

  A hand goes to my mouth, but a sob escapes.

  ‘Oh, Laurie, I shouldn’t be telling you any of this over the phone. If I’d known you were going there, to rake all this up—’ Her voice sounds desperate now, ‘– the coin, you still have the coin, that was certainly real.’

  ‘The coin doesn’t mean anything if they didn’t stay together. Look, Gran, I have to go. I appreciate you telling me all this,’ I say, tears rolling down my cheeks now. I try to hide the cracks in my voice, I don’t want her to worry. ‘I’m fine, honestly, I – I just need time to get my head around it.’

  When I’ve said goodbye, I cover my face with my hot palms. Then, looking around the cabin, I realise I don’t want to be here now. My mind jumps to last night, sitting on the floor with Ted, sorting through memories. Of all the places I could be, something inside me yearns to be there, in that cocoon. In that room, with Ted, I didn’t feel I had to hide any cracks, perhaps because he was so open with me, sharing the fractures of his own life. I wonder if he is there now, still going through it all without me.

  Walking down onto the beach, I wave to Jasper. He swims in to shore, walking carefully up the pebbles with bare feet. His smile fades when he sees my face, streaked with tears.

  ‘What’s wrong? What happened?’ he asks. ‘Is your gran OK?’

  ‘Yes, she’s fine, just— Can we go back? Do you mind?’

  Suddenly, I can’t be on a date, can’t handle trying to be fun and flirty and interesting. I can’t filter how I’m feeling and yet I don’t feel ready to share any of this with Jasper.

  ‘Of course. We’ll go back right away.’

  Jasper doesn’t ask any more questions until we’re packed up and back on the boat, steering a course for Jersey.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asks, once we’re out on the open water.

  There’s something comforting in the sound of the engine and the undulating motion of the boat churning across the sea’s swell. I muster a smile.

  ‘My gran just told me something about my family, it’s thrown me, I’m so sorry.’

  Jasper’s face is full of concern. He must sense I don’t want to elaborate, because he simply puts a hand on my shoulder and says, ‘Don’t be sorry, I understand.’

  On the journey home, Jasper tries to cheer me up by singing sea shanties – he’s an excellent singer and commits wholeheartedly to the delivery, so it does, briefly, distract me. When we reach the still water of St Catherine’s, he turns off the engine. It’s so peaceful without the sound of the motor, and my hair whips around my face, buffeted by the wind.

  ‘You know what always cheers my sisters up when they’ve had upsetting news?’ Jasper says, tilting his head to a sympathetic angle and giving me that irresistible dimpled grin. ‘Shopping. Do you want me to take you to St Helier – we could engage in some retail therapy?’ My face must register disapproval, because his tone shifts, losing confidence, ‘I know that’s— Sorry, that might be a stupid suggestion.’

  I set my teeth into a smile; none of this is Jasper’s fault.

  ‘No, it wasn’t at all, but I think I just want to go back to L’Étacq, if that’s OK? I just need a little time on my own to think, maybe a lie-down, I didn’t sleep well. I’m sorry to ruin today,’ I say, feeling genuinely bad about all the effort he has gone to.

  ‘Laura, you couldn’t ruin anything if you tried.’

  Wiping my nose on a sleeve, I look up at him gratefully.

  ‘Well, that’s definitely not true, but thank you. I really did enjoy today.’

  Jasper shifts on the seat. ‘And listen, we’re doing a tea for my mother’s birthday this afternoon. If you’re feeling up to it later, I could come and get you – whatever the question, I usually find cake and champagne is a pretty good answer.’

  I squeeze his hand; a maybe. I can’t fault Jasper; this was a wonderful date. But I want to be fun, carefree, happy Laura around him, not let him see the morose misery guts lurking beneath the surface. I have to force myself to stop dwelling on the conversation with Gran, just to keep myself from crumbling in front of him. Our histories, the stories we’ve been told, feel like static snow globes – we know the patterns of settled snow made by the past. A revelation like this may not seem earth-shattering to anyone else, but for me, it’s like someone shaking the globe, burying me in a snowstorm. And I know, when everything settles, nothing will look the same as it did before, and I will never be able to get back the familiar patterns in the snow.

  RETURNED TO SENDER

  12 November 1991

  Annie,

  Send me the whole coin, or so help me I will come over there and prise it out of your hands. You are angry with me, fine – don’t try to use this as currency. You can’t give the coin back to my grandmother and then take it away again. She is distraught, Annie. She is an eighty-year-old woman. Don’t be cruel.

  Al

  PS If you keep hanging up my calls, I won’t call again. If you send this letter back like the others, I won’t write anymore. That will be it, Annie, you’ll be on your own with this baby. I mean it.

  Chapter 22

  Back at L’Étacq, once I’ve waved Jasper off, I walk straight down the hill, past the fisherman’s cottage towards the sea. The September sun is warm, the clouds high in the sky, and there is no wind on this side of the island. I just need to sit with my toes in the sand and let my thoughts settle. It’s as though someone has stomped through a pond and dredged up all the mud at the bottom, turning the water dark and cloudy.

  On my phone, there’s a text from Dee asking if I want to talk and three from Suki with various work-related questions. Vanya has also messaged asking, ‘Have you found him yet? Was the universe right?�
� I turn off my phone. As I walk towards the shore, I see the unmistakable outline of Ted, standing at the water’s edge. My heartbeat quickens along with my step, as I realise I’d been hoping to see him. The letter; that’s why I’ve been thinking about him – guilt. Before I get to the bottom of the footpath, before he notices me coming, I see Ted draw back his hand and fling something into the sea.

  Coming up to stand beside him, I say, ‘Hey.’

  He turns to see me, and his eyes shift, as though I’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t.

  ‘What did you throw in the sea?’ I ask. Ted rubs one palm with the other, and I know then what it is. ‘Your ring.’

  He sits on the sand, and I drop down next to him.

  ‘Is that not a bit drastic?’ I ask softly. His eyes stay firmly on the water. ‘You could have sold it – it’s a waste to throw it in the sea.’

  He shakes his head. This feels like a symbolic moment for him, some kind of closure, definitely not the time to be presenting him with Belinda’s number.

  ‘I wouldn’t want anyone else wearing it.’

  ‘Did you drop off Gerry at the new place?’

  ‘Yes. He kept making jokes,’ Ted bows his head, a smile at the corner of his lips, ‘about how I was dropping him off at boarding school, and he was entitled to a tuck box.’ I reach across and squeeze his arm. Ted sighs. ‘I just don’t know what he’s going to do there all day. He likes a cold house, and the heating there is full on all year round. The staff are kind, but some residents there are so much worse than him. I’m not sure he’ll like being reminded where he’s headed.’