by Emlyn Rees
Why had she behaved the way she had? Why had she taken him home? What had compelled her to look after a man she barely knew, as if it were the most natural thing in the world? Why hadn’t she just called a taxi for him? She would have done for any of her friends in London. What was it about Ned Spencer, of all people, that made her feel this strange mixture of empathy and intrigue? Not to mention anger and frustration? She’d never been volatile or impulsive like this, ever. Not even with Jason. OK, so she moaned at him occasionally, but he was so easygoing that they hardly ever rowed.
Just forget it, she told herself. Ned was drunk. He was talking nonsense. The best thing to do would be to pretend last night never happened. But still, his comment about timing nagged at her. What had he meant? And that look! There’d been something so primeval in his eyes, a kind of longing that made her heart beat faster just thinking about it.
Loaded up with an old-fashioned eiderdown and some candles, and still pondering these questions, Ellen walked through the town to the front and stopped at the esplanade overlooking South Beach. Behind her, there was a row of lifeless holiday bungalows, next to a closed-down teashop, its curved Thirties windows decorated with faded bunting. Now, out of season, the wide stretch of tarmac overlooking the front was empty. Ellen looked along the rows of empty cast-iron benches and fixed telescopes pointing out at nothing in particular, imagining the sound of ice cream vans and the rush of tourists in the summer.
Way below her, down the steep zigzagging concrete steps, the tide was out. The sweep of beach was festooned with a tidemark of seaweed and, behind it, some kids were drawing in the sand with a stick. A dog was running around them in circles, splashing in the shallow ripples. Ellen felt a pang of loneliness. She thought about her conversation with Beth last night and how Beth’s twins would love it here. Maybe she should invite them down, after all, she thought. She could just see Harry and George running around in their little red wellies.
How had these years passed so quickly? she thought, leaving her shopping on a bench and walking towards the front. How did she get to have five-year-old godchildren and none of her own?
Dropping a coin into the slot of one of the telescopes, she looked through the viewfinder and out over the flat grey sea. She hadn’t looked through one of these things for years, she thought, focusing in on a distant flock of seagulls, bobbing on the waves, before finding a yacht on the horizon. If only she could look to the other side of the world, she pondered. If only she could see Jason right now, then maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone …
Ellen stood back, wrenching her gaze away from the telescope, the horizon springing back to its original perspective and the seagulls disappearing into the grey swell of the sea. Of course she couldn’t see Jason. But she had the next best thing, she thought, reaching into her pocket.
She stared at the phone in her hand, daring herself to dial the number. She had the emergency number for Jason’s satellite phone, but she never used it. She’d called him once before, a few years ago and he’d gone nuts as the ring tone had disturbed a flock of wild birds that he’d been camping out to film for days. Since then they’d had a strict agreement that he would call her and not the other way around.
Well, she didn’t care. Not today. Jason didn’t make the rules. She needed to speak to him. And she needed to speak to him right now.
‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’ Jason panicked as he came on the line.
‘Nothing,’ Ellen said, feeling foolish. He’d seemed such a long way away in her head, but hearing his voice made him real again. Jason was on the other side of the planet and it was probably the middle of the night. What was she thinking of?
‘I just –’ she began.
‘What?’
Ellen took a deep breath. She knew he was annoyed, but she had to say what was on her mind. She pressed the phone against her ear, listening to the echo on the line. This was ludicrous, she thought, that she could only communicate with Jason via space. Suddenly, he seemed impossibly far away: nothing more than a disembodied voice in a phone. Well, it wasn’t good enough. She needed him here. She needed to see him in person, to be able to talk to him. But most of all she needed a hug. She needed to touch him and to be touched back in return.
‘When are we ever going to be together?’ she blurted, feeling tears rising in her voice as she leant against the telescope. Why are we always apart? I can’t stand it.’
‘What?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Ellen said, amazed that she felt so churned up.
‘I know I shouldn’t call on this line, but I had to hear your voice.’
‘I thought it was something important.’
‘It is important!’
Jason sighed, and she could imagine him rubbing his forehead, in the way he always did when she got emotional. ‘Ellen, baby, look. Do we have to talk about our future right this minute?’
‘If we’re not going to talk about it now, when are we?’ This was going all wrong. She hadn’t meant to have a meltdown at all. Ellen looked down at the kids on the beach. ‘I mean … I don’t even know if you want a future with me,’ she continued.
‘Jesus Christ, Ellen!’ Jason exploded in a frustrated whisper. ‘What on earth’s got into you? Of course I want a future with you. What a ridiculous thing to say!’
There was a pause. Ellen stared at the puddles rippling in the pitted tarmac.
‘Are you OK?’ Jason asked, sounding concerned.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I don’t know…’ She ran her hand through her hair, feeling more at a loss than ever. ‘This just feels worse than the other times you’ve been away. I’m really missing you.’
‘Are you sure that’s all?’
Ellen bit her lip. That was it, wasn’t it? ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m fine. I’m sorry, I –’
‘Oh, darling,’ Jason sighed gently. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care. I love you, baby. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, swiping away a tear.
‘I promise we’ll talk when I get back.’
‘You promise?’
‘I promise. Now I’ve got to go, OK?’
Ellen switched off the phone, put her hands in her pockets and stared out to the horizon. The phone call hadn’t given her the feeling of relief she needed, but at least it had helped a little. Jason was hers, she reminded herself. And she loved him.
Looking out at the sea, she tried to picture Jason’s face, but the details eluded her. Concentrating hard, she searched her memories, scanning across events to find suitable footage that she could replay for a sentimental fix. But she could only think of times when she was alone and missing him, like now.
Picking up her bags and walking slowly in the direction of the cottage, she thought back to the beginning of their relationship. She could remember times when they were on holiday together, but still she couldn’t animate Jason in her mind and her recollections remained static and impersonal, like flipping through old postcards in a second-hand store.
The facts were the facts, she said, being stern with herself. Jason had promised they would talk when he got back and that wouldn’t be long now. She would just have to wait.
Later, Ellen felt much more calm, as she lit the fire in the cottage and set about cooking a batch of Bolognese sauce, which would hopefully last the week and appease Scott’s ferocious appetite. Humming along to the radio as she cooked, she thought about the kitchen in her flat in London, about how much the slate floor tiles had cost and how long it had taken the temperamental builders to fit the teak units and five-ring hob. How odd, she thought, that here, in the tiniest kitchen in the world, she felt just as much at home.
Maybe she should remortgage the flat and buy a little cottage by the sea, she thought, as she poked the logs on the fire. Maybe that would solve her quality time issues with Jason. They could get somewhere where they could hide away at weekends together, like they used to. Maybe she should suggest it when he
came home.
One thing was certain; after today’s conversation, she was going to make a special effort when he came back. She would prove to him that her meltdown had been a one-off. She knew how much Jason hated needy people. He always told her he liked the fact that she was independent and didn’t lean on him emotionally. But on the other hand, perhaps it was a good thing, she mused. Perhaps that phone call was what they needed to get things back on track between them.
She had just fitted her new candles into the china holders she’d found on the dresser, when there was a knock on the door. When she opened it, still wiping her hands with a tea towel, she was shocked to find Ned outside with Clara.
She looked at Ned, feeling a blush rising to her cheeks, as if she’d been caught out. Was it possible that he could somehow know how much she’d been thinking about him? He looked tired, but sober, she thought, seeing that he was clean-shaven with an ironed shirt. He even looked as if he’d had his hair cut.
‘Ellen,’ he said simply, thrusting a bottle of wine, wrapped in white tissue paper, towards her. ‘I came to apologise. About last night –’
‘There’s no need for this, really,’ she said gently, taking the bottle and smiling at Ned. He smiled back and shrugged, looking relieved. There was a moment of silence between them, until Ellen became aware that Clara was gazing up between her and Ned. Embarrassed, she looked down. ‘Hello, again,’ she said to Clara.
‘I made you a painting,’ Clara said matter-of-factly, stepping forward to hand Ellen a thick piece of warped paper.
‘You did?’ Ellen flipped the tea towel over her shoulder and leant down to take the painting from Clara’s outstretched hand.
‘It’s you in a dress,’ Clara said, before her face wrinkled into confusion and she leant her head to one side. ‘Do you have a dress?’
Ellen looked at the crude picture of a woman in a huge dress decorated with brightly coloured bows and then down at the black trousers she practically lived in, along with the grey cashmere jumper. She looked terribly drab in comparison with Clara’s painting. ‘I do have dresses,’ she said to Clara, ‘and if I look this good, I’ll have to wear them more often. Thank you. I think your picture is lovely.’ She smiled and looked at the painting again. ‘I’ll tell you what … maybe we should have a tea party some time and we could both dress up. What do you say?’
‘Can we have it now? I’m hungry.’
‘Clara, no!’ Ned said, putting his hand on her shoulder. ‘We just popped round and we’re on our way home for supper.’
Ellen watched as Ned started to steer Clara away, and impulsively found herself saying, ‘Why don’t you stay?’
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Ned stopped and turned. As Ellen’s eyes met his, she caught her breath guiltily, remembering her phone call with Jason. But she wasn’t doing this for Ned, she thought, deliberately lowering her gaze to Clara. ‘Do you like spaghetti?’ Ellen asked her with a smile.
Clara nodded vigorously. ‘Can we, Daddy, can we?’
‘No, really, thanks for the offer, but you’ve done enough …’ Ned began.
Ellen batted away his polite refusal. ‘If you really want to make it up to me for last night, you can come in and keep me company,’ she said, challenging him. ‘I hate eating on my own.’
Clara was more fun than Ellen could ever have imagined. In Ned’s company she behaved like a small adult and constantly made Ellen laugh with her observations and natural instinct to play games. She insisted on a competition to make each of them suck strands of spaghetti until their faces were covered with splashes of sauce and they were all laughing. Eventually, when Clara started yawning, Ellen realised how late it was. ‘Why don’t you come upstairs with me?’ she asked Clara, raising her eyebrows at Ned for approval. ‘I bought a new quilt today in the market. I’ll show you, if you like.’
Following Clara, Ellen smiled at the giant steps she took up the wonky stairs.
‘It smells nice in here,’ Clara remarked, as Ellen unlatched the bedroom door and turned on the small lamp she’d bought in town. Its red and gold glass shade cast a soft glow in the room.
‘Oh, I had an accident with my perfume, so everything’s a bit smelly,’ Ellen explained. ‘Here, look at this.’ Ellen took the quilt out of the bag and laid it out on the bed.
‘It’s pretty,’ Clara said, her small hand running over the pattern of pink flowers.
‘I think so, too,’ said Ellen. ‘And it looks so cosy. I haven’t tried it yet, though.’
Then Ellen crouched down and looked at Clara. ‘I’ve got an idea. Will you test it out for me?’
Clara nodded and Ellen gently wrapped Clara in the quilt and then, lifting her up, laid her on the bed. ‘Why don’t you see how warm you get? I’ll be downstairs with Daddy, so you can come and tell me how it is in a while, OK?’
Clara snuggled down more deeply, closing her eyes.
Ellen leant towards her, instinctively wanting to smooth her hair, but she stopped herself and tiptoed out of the room.
Downstairs, Ned had cleared the plates. ‘If you’ve got the knack to get Clara to go to sleep, you’re a genius,’ he said.
‘There’s no trick. There was almost half a bottle of red in that sauce,’ Ellen replied, putting her hands in the back pockets of her trousers. Now that she was alone with Ned, she didn’t know what to say. Something about this situation made her feel guilty. As if she were doing something illicit and wrong.
Ned’s a colleague, she told herself. There was no harm in them being alone together, surely. Especially with a child upstairs. Jason is thousands of miles away, she reasoned. If he were here, he’d be with them right now and it would be the three of them drinking wine. But something about the mere thought of that situation felt like trying to press two magnets together in her mind; as if Ned and Jason repelled each other.
Ellen forced herself to think about Jason. ‘I love you,’ Jason had said just a few hours ago. ‘You know that, don’t you?’ Of course she knew it and she loved him, too. She wasn’t doing anything wrong being with Ned, surely?
Ned came and stood opposite her, by his chair. He took off his glasses and laid them on the table. ‘Look, Ellen, about last night …’ he began, speaking in a rush, as if he’d been holding his breath. His face was caught in the light from the candles on the table and she thought how handsome he looked without his glasses, especially now, as he narrowed his eyes in embarrassment. ‘Trying to drive home. What must you think?’
Ellen shrugged, not able to look at him. She hadn’t thought of him as handsome before, so why had she thought that just now? ‘I guess we all need to let go sometimes,’ she said, deliberately echoing his sentiment from last night.
‘It’s just that … I don’t know,’ Ned continued. ‘Sometimes I get so angry about what happened.’
‘I suppose I would, too, if I were you.’
‘I’m not an alcoholic, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘Good. Then we can have some more wine,’ she said, deliberately turning the conversation on to a light-hearted note and pushing the bottle towards him. He smiled and topped up their glasses.
There, she told herself. You can do it. You can keep everything professional. There’s no need to get close to him …
Ellen took a sip of wine and glanced at Ned. Who was she kidding? she thought. Ned was simply too fascinating. And anyway, there was no way she could put her whole life on hold until Jason came back. Jason was a world away and Ned was right here. If a friendly relationship between her and Ned was developing, then why was she trying to stop it? She could be friends with someone of the opposite sex. After all, there were probably loads of women out in South America with Jason. And what did they talk about round the campfires late at night? She doubted they would only be talking about work.
Besides, she liked the fact that she was able to get Ned to open up to her. She liked the feeling that maybe he trusted her and that he cared enough to come round and apologise fo
r last night.
Ellen thought back to Ned in the car and how he’d looked so weary when he’d asked her if there was anything wrong in trying to forget everything. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him. She wanted to know how Ned had felt when his wife had died, how he’d mourned, how he’d coped with Clara and, most importantly, how he felt now. But there was something so matter-of-fact about the way he’d recounted the facts the other day that warned her that if she rushed him now he’d only clam up. And she didn’t want that. Now that Ned had let her in a little, she wanted more.
‘Tell me about her. Tell me about Mary,’ Ellen said, relaxing back into her seat. ‘What was she like?’
‘Before she became ill, you mean?’
Ellen nodded.
‘She was, just … just Mary,’ he said, seemingly at a loss.
‘So what was it about her that first attracted you?’ Ellen persisted.
Ned rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Her smile, I guess. She had a beautiful smile. And she was talented. She was a truly gifted artist.’
Ellen leant forward, resting her elbows on the table. ‘Go on.’
‘She had a unique way of seeing things. She could paint life into everything.’
‘What about you?’ Ellen asked. ‘How did she make you feel?’
Ned frowned. ‘What an odd question.’
‘Not really,’ Ellen said. ‘I mean … did you get on?’
‘Of course we got on. She was my best friend more than anything. We set up the business together, but she was always the one with the inspiration. She would come out with mad plans and then challenge me into doing them. It’s down to her that the business ever became successful in the first place.’
Ned walked to the fireplace, resting his glass on the mantelpiece. Ellen couldn’t see his face, but she could tell he was smiling as he spoke. ‘She had a wicked sense of humour. In the early days we always seemed to be laughing.’ For a while, Ned was silent, as if he was caught up in memories. Then he half laughed and looked into the fire. ‘She had so much energy. She wanted to go everywhere. She was always surprising me with tickets to places she’d read about …’
