“Where is home?”
Conor twisted his lips as if to say, isn't it obvious.
She grinned, a déjà vu popping up of her tormenting Mitch. “I mean what part of Ireland. I can just about tell you're from the South but that's the end of my linguistic skills.”
“Cork, I'm from Cork. Left when I was young, parents sent me to school over here. Thought I'd have a better chance in life without the accent and the parochial tarnish.”
“Really? You kept the accent, though?” Now she thought about it, the Irish lilt hadn't been as strong during the interview. Gosh was that only this morning?
“I can produce a school boy accent, should the need arise.” He spoke in clipped tones. “But I find my own fair brogue is best for charming the ladies.” He grinned.
“Is that what this is? A charm offensive? Is that appropriate?”
“I'm not your boss yet.” He winked, then his face became more serious. “If I am attempting to charm you, it's purely in a work capacity. I could tell you weren't overly taken with your time with us today.”
“If you mean did I dislike being grilled like a piece of tuna, you're right. Besides...” She stopped. Conor's manner was too friendly; it had nearly lulled her into another indiscretion.
“Besides what, Fair Maid?” Leaning forwards, he clasped his hands and turned to face Claire full on.
She squirmed under his scrutiny, well aware she had a bad habit of admitting the wrong things to the worst people.
Thinking furiously, her brain threw up a card. “Besides, I'm not sure I'm ready to bury myself in this backwater, charming as it might be.”
Connor frowned. He looked much older without the grin. “From the sounds of it, you've stayed in more remote places than this and found peace.”
It was Claire’s turn to furrow her brow. They hadn't discussed her travels much during the interview, so he must have read her blog. Funny how you could pour your heart out to invisible strangers but find it so much harder to talk to a flesh and blood person who was just as much a stranger.
“Who could climb a hill, stand in silence on the summit. and not find peace?” She spoke softly, half hoping he wouldn't hear.
“Me,” he said with a laugh, making her jump. “Can't bear to be by myself.” He shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I'll happily sit in a bar on me own, but there's still the steaming heap of humanity all around. Silence makes my teeth ache.”
He turned to face the band still playing in the corner and Claire breathed in relief. She needed to know her own mind before she divulged anymore of it to anyone, least of all a potential boss. When the song finished she drained her glass and stood to leave.
Conor reached out a hand to lightly grasp her wrist. “Claire?”
Frissons ran up her arm from his touch.
“Don't sell out. If they counter-offer - and I'm sure they will; I would if you tried to leave me - don't be swayed. We can't compete on salary but you'll be making a difference here. Not to some faceless corporation, but to real people. Think about it.”
Claire looked down at his hand on her wrist and he dropped the grasp as if her skin burned him. His eyes looked puzzled and Claire wondered how often he met with a rebuff.
Not often enough. With a nod to acknowledge his words she turned and made her way through the punters to the door.
Outside, the cool night air prickled her skin. Josh would be awake, if she wanted to call him. She felt drained and hollow, fit only for sleep. Loading up the map on her phone she traced her way back to the hostel and fell into troubled dreams.
***
TWENTY-SEVEN
Cold sand pushed through Claire’s toes, waking her senses in a way Starbucks never had. Cool morning air played with her hair and brushed her skin, and the scent of the sea fizzed in her brain. Shoulders slumped with the weight of carrying her heavy head, Claire placed one foot in front of the other and tried not to think. It was impossible. Like the proverbial pink elephant, the more she attempted to still the crashing waves of thought in her mind, the higher they rose.
To her left the bay lay flat as a mill pond, as if trying to show by example what still waters might look like. The surface reflected the translucent blue of the sky and all was calm.
Turning away from the mockery, Claire made her way to the steps by the public slip, and paused to pull her shoes back on. It’s no good, it has to be coffee.
She wondered if anywhere would be open this early in the morning on a weekday in May. Walking through the silent streets, Claire’s head pushed heavier against her shoulders, until she felt she might have to prop it up with her hands. It reminded her of a tiny baby, whose giant head – too large for the scrawny body – bobbed and swayed like a ball on a piece of elastic.
The thought led her by increments to an image of Kim telling her about her baby and on, by more awful pictures, to the moment when Michael opened his stupid mouth and broke apart a twenty-year friendship.
Claire’s feet led her onwards, following an unheard call. A faint scent of bacon wafted on the sea breeze and she realised her feet were more reliable than her brain. They led her to a small café, barely a room with three tables and a breakfast bar at the window. Every table was full of men, elbows out, tucking into a steaming plate of pork and grease. The smell twisted Claire’s stomach and reminded her of the lack of dinner.
Conscious of eyes watching, Claire walked head high to the counter and stopped.
“What’ll it be, love?”
A man in a blue and white striped apron met her gaze. His face seemed friendly although he didn’t smile. She hesitated, then blurted out, “Full English, all the trimmings, and the strongest coffee you have.”
Her words raised the corners of his mouth, and he nodded. “Heavy night?” There was understanding in his voice.
“Something like that,” Claire mumbled, reaching into her bag for her purse. It wasn’t there. Her heart thudded and she searched again, then remembered that she had tucked it into her rucksack for safe-keeping before wandering along the beach. Being mugged had left her cautious.
“Crap. Sorry, scrap that, I’ve left my purse at the hostel.”
“You’re staying at the YHA?”
Claire nodded.
“No worries, you can pay me later. The manager’s a friend of mine. Besides, you look like you’ll be more trouble if I don’t feed you. You’re greener than seaweed.”
The man’s words made Claire realise how wobbly she felt. A combination of insomnia and lack of food had left as weak as a tangle of bladderwrack. If she was the same colour, that was no surprise.
“Thank you.” Claire tried to smile but the nerves in her face wouldn’t obey. Settling for a nod, she made her way back to the window and climbed onto a stool.
Staring out the window, it felt like looking through a tunnel. Her eyes were open but her vision felt reduced to a tiny point surrounded by sleep. Fog descended in her skull.
I wonder if this is what it feels like to die? This diminishing of senses; this muffling of sight and sound and thought? For a brief moment Claire thought it might be quite nice to die. No more decisions, no more wrong choices, no more guilt.
“Here you go, love, get your chops round that. You’ll feel right as rain in no time.”
The man in the stripy apron plonked a plate and a thick white mug of steaming coffee in front of her. Her stomach heaved at the smell, and she thought she might be sick.
Taking a piece of white toast, dripping with butter, Claire nibbled on the edges and waited to see what happened.
Like a tiny crack breaking open the dam, Claire realised she was starving. Grasping knife and fork, she attacked the breakfast with gusto and didn’t stop until the plate was clean, even eating the fried bread and black pudding, items that would normally be pushed carefully to one side. Washing it down with coffee, Claire wrapped both hands around the warm mug and sighed.
A cloud covered the sun and, in the sudden darkness, Claire saw her reflection in the shop window. A j
olt of shock ran through her chest and into her over-full tummy.
When did I get so thin? With exploring fingers, she traced the lines of her cheekbones, jutting out beneath deep-set eyes. She hadn’t looked in a mirror for days, not properly. Only the tiny mirror in her make-up case, on the morning of the interview, to apply mascara.
All those years of stupid diets to keep up with the waifs at work, and all I needed to do was lose my best friend, quit my job and forget how to sleep. Simple, really.
Sipping at the coffee, she realised the breakfast was the first proper meal she’d had since Kim’s wedding. Even at Ruth’s she’d been more concerned with ensuring that Ruth and Sky ate than worrying about her own consumption.
What am I going to do?
Conor’s words the night before slipped through the fog. They rattled her. His passion left her with an urge to run. His comment, that he would counter offer rather than let her leave, sounded slightly psychotic.
He doesn’t even know me. She couldn’t imagine Carl thinking that way. He had counter-offered, but only because he didn’t want to lose clients, not because he didn’t want to lose her. It felt like it had when she realised Michael was keeping tabs on her though her Tweets and blog posts.
Mind you, that paid off. Goodness only knows how long I would have been stuck in that lane if he hadn’t called the police.
Michael. Kim. Conor. Carl. Their faces, their voices, their demands and concerns, crowded round Claire like circus clowns, freaky and frightening. She felt like she might burst. She wanted to tell them all to get lost; to run and keep running.
Scribbling her name and number on a napkin, Claire left it with the man behind the counter, with assurances that she would pay later in the day. Then she hurried from the café, her need for space and silence overwhelming.
***
TWENTY-EIGHT
Claire strode up the wide grassy incline, dividing her attention between the sea to her left and the raptors overhead. The birds of prey swooped and circled on an updraft, forming a perfect dance of air-born joy.
Two horse riders ambled down the hill towards her. She nodded in greeting and wondered what it might be like seeing the world from that height; peering over hedges and into people's houses. Maybe horse riding could be my new passion? People who ride become consumed by it. It's a healthy obsession at least, if a bit pricey.
Out in the bay, a large speedboat carved arcs of white against the cerulean blue. The growl of an engine drifted up to her. Wondering if it was a Sunseeker being put through its paces, Claire stopped to watch. Now that is an expensive pastime. Well above my touch. I'd have to marry a footballer. I could hang out at Sandbanks and see if I take someone's eye.
She laughed, startling a pigeon pecking at the grass. Who am I kidding? I'm not young, blonde, thin or dumb enough to be a WAG. Actually they're not dumb. If I thought I could bag Beckham I’d definitely give it a go.
The wind picked up as she came, blinking, out of a copse of trees and crested the ridge. The hedgerow dropped away and all around was sea and crumbling limestone.
Nearby, a young woman sat on a checked picnic blanket, entertaining a baby while a small boy ran about in the grass. He kept creeping close to the cliff edge, each time eliciting a squeal of alarm from his mother.
Goodness, why would you bring young children up here? Idiocy. Kids gravitate to danger like flies to jam.
Then Claire saw the faraway look in the mother's eyes as she kept glancing from her son to a group of people huddled near a ledge. As Claire watched, the group threw handfuls of dust off the cliff, nearly toppling from the rocks as the wind blew the ash back at them.
Claire felt a lump rise in her throat. The tight-knit group of people, some holding hands, other’s hugging one another tightly, spoke of family and love and loss in such volume it seemed to echo around the cliff-top.
How awful, to forever associate this beautiful place with death. Around her the wide sky drew her spirit and the endless sea beckoned her on. Although it wouldn’t be such a bad place to spend eternity.
Rounding the corner, Claire saw the Pinnacles and glimpses of Swanage in the distance. It was tempting to carry on walking into town, but that posed the dilemma of getting back to her car. It was a gorgeous day, and she had nowhere else to be. No one expecting her, or harbouring expectations of her. With a shrug, Claire followed the path to town.
The phone rang just as Claire was beginning to regret her impulsive decision. Footsore and hungry, and without so much as a boiled sweet in her bag, Claire knew she had broken all the hard-learned rules of walking. It didn’t improve her mood.
“Hello?”
“Goodness, you’re in a temper. Or do you always answer the phone like that?”
“Who is this?” She knew, but needed time to calm down.
“Conor. Where are you?”
“I’m out on the ballard, walking back into Swanage. It’s further than I anticipated.”
“Ah, did you go up to Old Harry and get tempted? Do you need a lift back to Studland to get your car?”
How did he know? Claire sank to the grass to rest her bruised feet and seethed in silence.
“I’m right, aren’t I? It’s not rocket science. It’s a cracking day. The walk from The Bankes Arms is the easiest way up on the cliffs along there, and many a time I’ve been lured to walk the route back to town.”
“Is that why you’re calling? To check up on me?”
“No, I’m calling to offer you a job. If you still want it?” There was doubt in his voice; all brash bravado gone.
Claire’s stomach plummeted as if it had dived off the cliff like the paragliders she’d seen earlier. Damn. It wasn’t a shock. But it did mean she would need to make a decision.
“Can I have some time to think about it? I’m going home to my folks’ for the weekend. I’ll ring you Monday.”
Before Conor had time to interject, Claire hung up the phone. The day fell dark, and she would have paid a large chunk of her counter-offer salary to be whisked back to the hostel and furnished with a hot mug of tea.
***
TWENTY-NINE
Claire pulled up outside her mum’s house, pulled on the hand brake and let out a sigh. Okay, I’m getting a bit tired of driving up and down the country. Maybe staying in one place for a month or two might be quite nice.
Standing on the doorstep, Claire looked around at the familiar place and felt something jar inside. When did it stop feeling like home? When did I start ringing the doorbell rather than letting myself in with a key?
Eventually she heard footsteps and her mum opened the door.
“Claire! What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Mum. Nice to see you too. I’m staying for the weekend, to take Sky to Kim’s opening night. Remember?”
“Goodness, is that this weekend? It can’t be. We have guests.”
Claire’s skin flushed hot and cold, and a lump of ice slid down her chest.
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry, darling. We met the most lovely couple at the Spa, and invited them to stay. Can’t you stay at Ruth’s? It makes more sense, if you’re taking Sky out to the theatre.”
“Ruth doesn’t have a spare room, you know that. I’ve had enough time on her sofa.” She saw a frown furrow her mum’s brow and her lips scrunch like she’d swallowed a lemon.
“Oh, look, don’t worry about it. I’ll find somewhere. You have a lovely weekend.”
Claire raised her hand in a wave and turned to walk down the path. Stumbling slightly, she strained her ears, but all she heard her mother say was, “Bye dear.”
Blinking back tears, Claire climbed into the Skoda and drove on autopilot to her sister’s house. At least she would be welcome there.
“Hi Claire, you’re early. Sky’s still with Jenny. We’ve agreed that she’ll feed Sky her tea, just to give me a head start on the weekend. Especially as Mum has guests.”
Claire followed her sister into the hallway, letting the rush o
f words wash over her.
“I don’t understand. Mum and Dad only went to that Spa last weekend. How come these people have come to stay already?”
It had been less than a week since Claire was last home and it felt like the whole world had shifted on its axis.
“Apparently they got on like a house on fire. Mum came round yesterday, and was all full of Pam and Steve. Pam’s an author, and has been helping Dad with his book. I’ve never seen Mum so full of life.”
Claire tried to decide whether Ruth was as delighted as she sounded about their parents’ new friends. It was unlike Ruth to be so happy about someone taking their mother’s attention away from her.
“Can I stay here tonight? I had intended to stay at Mum’s but obviously that’s not possible.”
“If you don’t mind kipping on the couch. What time will you be bringing Sky back? She has a children’s party to go to tomorrow, so I don’t want her up too late.”
“It probably won’t finish until after 10pm. I imagine she’ll fall asleep in the car, so I’ll put her straight to bed.”
Ruth frowned. “That’s quite late. Couldn’t you take her to a matinée instead?”
Claire swallowed hard against her rising temper. “Ruth, we discussed this five days ago. You must have known about the party then. It’s Kim’s opening night, I can’t miss it. Sky doesn’t have to come.”
Shaking her head, Ruth jumped in, “No, she has to go now. She’s looking forward to it. I just wish I’d known it would be so late.”
With a sigh, Claire headed across the kitchen to the turn the kettle on, giving up on her sister ever offering her a drink. “Tea?”
“Yes, please. Wait, no. There isn’t any milk.”
Fighting a strong urge to cry, Claire retrieved a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water. As she sat back at the table, she wondered whether to call the whole thing off. Kim wasn’t going to talk to her anyway, and the weekend would be better spent worrying about her future, rather than disentangling her past.
Two-Hundred Steps Home Volume Seven Page 7
