The Missing Pieces of Us

by Eva Glyn

I put the note back on the counter. “There’s no need for you to give me anything I haven’t earned,” I said with as much pride as I could muster, and, putting my sunglasses back on, made for the door.

  I didn’t go to Boots; I went to Towan Beach. Ed was outside his surf shack hosing down wetsuits, the spray darkening his hair almost to the colour of his bronzed skin. He turned the water off when he saw me.

  “Quiet in the shop?”

  “So-so.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “To be honest, Ed, it isn’t that great me working for Megan as well as… You don’t know anyone who needs part-time help? I mean, I can’t leave her in the lurch and I wouldn’t want to, but a bit of independence…”

  He laughed. “I know what you’re saying. Not nice being a kept man, I’d guess.”

  I sat down on the low wall. “I’ve only just realised that’s what I am.”

  “You’re young yet, Rob. Strikes me you’ve got a lot to learn about women. But that’s by the by. Have you got a driving licence?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat next to me, stretching his legs towards the sand. “Then how would you like to take the trailer over to Watergate for me when the season gets going? Two runs, morning and evening, then I’ve got the van back here in case I need it during the day – and you could still work in the shop between times.”

  “It sounds too good to be true.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re making Meg happy and that’s important to me. Couldn’t do it myself – she’s not an easy woman – but the spring’s certainly back in her step since you’ve come on the scene.”

  I’d never thought of Megan as difficult although I had to admit she was a bit mercurial. When she came home that night she was nice as pie, but on Sunday – her birthday itself – we had another almighty row.

  It was my fault, I know, but I was so haunted by thoughts of my mother that I couldn’t betray her by staying on the beach, laughing and joking with everyone else. Claiming I was feeling rough again I walked home and curled up on the sofa and wept. I must have cried myself to sleep, because the next thing I knew Megan was shaking my shoulder and demanding to know why I hadn’t told her I was going to work for Ed.

  I struggled to sit up, my eyes too full of grit to focus. I started to apologise but she was ranting and raving about how I’d made her look a fool and she didn’t believe this allergy thing for one minute, that if I wanted to leave her I just had to say, and that everyone was laughing at her anyway, because I was so young.

  “That’s not true,” I yelled. “Ed says he’s pleased I’m making you happy. He—”

  “Well you’re not making me happy, are you?” she stormed.

  “I thought I was. I…” And despite myself, I started to cry again.

  She threw me a look of total disdain. “You fucking baby.”

  I put my head in my hands and stayed that way until she slammed the living room door behind her.

  I did sleep in the spare room that night and in the early hours I felt Megan slide in behind me. I turned to face her and held her in my arms.

  It was either that or walk away and I had nowhere to walk to.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Week by week the days lengthened and the sky became bluer. Newquay’s beaches thronged from early morning to dusk, people spilled out of the pubs onto the pavements, and families wandered along eating ice creams or fish and chips. For those of us who worked in the tourist industry there was no let-up; at least Megan and I had Sundays when the shop couldn’t open, but Ed’s surf school was a seven-day-a-week operation and I still had to get up to drive the trailer.

  Megan would be grumpy for hours if I woke her, so I’d slide out of bed, pull on my shorts and a sweatshirt and walk down to the beach to unlock the shack, attach the trailer, and load up the van with gear. Then I’d make myself a coffee and sit on the wall, watching the dog walkers and waiting for the instructors to turn up from whichever bed they’d found themselves in the night before.

  That half hour every morning became the most precious part of my day – the part I let Izzie creep into. The memory of her was a warm secret held to the very centre of myself. A longing for the past, imagining what could have been, and even – when I was feeling particularly strong – fantasies of how I might find her again.

  The secret pleasure and despair in these moments imbued my relationship with Megan with guilt. I was using her, and that knowledge made me feel even worse when I did something to make her cross, like giving the wrong change in the shop, or buying the wrong sort of beer at the off-licence on the way home.

  The previous day had been crap in that respect and I was determined to make it up to her. As soon as I’d done the morning run I was going to make her a slap-up breakfast in bed then spoil her for the rest of the day. I knew how tired she was – the depth of the lines under her eyes gave her away.

  When I got home she was still asleep, even though it was close to eleven o’clock. I crept into the kitchen and started frying sausages and mushrooms, and very soon she appeared behind me. She looked annoyed but I wrapped my arms around her and told her to go back to bed, which thankfully defused the moment, and after that the day was a really happy one. I’d begged Ed to do the afternoon run so Megan and I lazed in the garden drinking wine and reading the Sunday papers, and she said she wished every day could be like this. And I felt better, because I’d made her happy.

  But many times I didn’t. Like when I talked for too long to a pretty girl in the shop. Or when I was late back from an evening trailer run and she thought she could smell beer on my breath. The rollercoaster wasn’t only inside my head and I had absolutely no way of controlling it. On top of that, the anniversary of Mum’s death was looming and I was beginning to live in terror of it.

  It was only a matter of time before things really kicked off between Megan and me.

  It was after supper and I was meant to be washing up while she changed the sheets on our bed, but instead I stayed at the table, lost in my own thoughts, and when she came back she was furious.

  “You lazy little shit! The flat’s a pigsty. I just tripped over your fucking trainers in the hall.”

  I started to apologise but she wasn’t having any of it.

  “I bet you were spoiled rotten by your mum – bet she never let her precious boy do anything. Do you know what an iron is, Robin? A hoover? Do you know toilets don’t clean themselves?”

  Of course I knew all those things. But I wasn’t prepared to tell Megan that or the reason for it. I stood up and towered over her.

  “Don’t you dare talk about my mother! You’re not fit to— About the only thing you’ve got in common with her is your age.”

  I didn’t stay to listen to the abuse she was hurling after me. I grabbed the offending trainers and my jacket and stormed out of the flat.

  It was dusk and I stomped along the streets towards Fistral Beach. A solitary surfer was still in the water but most were in groups on the beach, with courting couples dotting the sand between them. I wanted no company so I walked the track along the golf course until I found an isolated bench tucked into the folds of the dunes, but still their bursts of laughter drifted towards me.

  I’d burned my boats with Megan and I had nowhere else to go. But maybe it was time I stopped using her anyway. I still loved Izzie and I spent the night convincing myself I should find a shred of courage from somewhere and do something about it. Again and again I pictured the look on her face as we held hands around the fairy tree and it planted a tiny seed of hope to cling on to.

  I must have slept a little because I remember waking to a pale-grey light in the sky. And it was cold – my fingers were completely numb. As I flexed them I looked at my watch. Coming up to five o’clock. I got up, stretched my aching limbs, and headed off in the direction of Ed’s surf shack where at least I could make myself a hot drink and have some sort of wash.

  When Ed arrived he had only to glance at my face. “What gives, young Rob?”
>
  “I was a shit to Megan last night,” I told him. “I can’t go on using her like this. It’s not right.”

  He sat down on the wall next to me. “Has it occurred to you that she’s using you as well?”

  “In what way? She’s given me a home, a job…”

  “And you’ve given her a source of cheap labour and a massive one in the eye for that bastard ex-boyfriend of hers up at the hotel every time he sees her with a guy twenty years younger than him.”

  “I didn’t know anything about that,” I murmured, spinning my empty mug around on the wall by its handle.

  “Well maybe you don’t need to, but all I’m saying is if there’s using going on then it’s cutting both ways.”

  “But it’s still not right…” The mug started to topple but I managed to catch it.

  “Like I’ve always said, Rob, you’ve got a lot to learn about women. What else is a relationship, anyway? It’s just a transaction where you’ve got something she wants and she’s got something you want – everything from a twenty-five year marriage to a one-night stand is based on that so you’d better get used to it.”

  As I drove to Watergate I thought about what he’d said. Was it true? Looking back at my mother’s various partners I could see he had a point, but I couldn’t imagine life being like that with Izzie. Ed made it sound as though love didn’t exist. Perhaps it was rare, and in which case it shouldn’t be wasted. By the time I was driving back to Newquay I’d made up my mind: even then I knew Izzie’s work phone number by heart and I was going to call it. If she’d married Paul then I’d forget all about her, but if not…

  Except, when I got back to the surf shack Megan was waiting for me and she looked as though she hadn’t slept either.

  She didn’t beat around the bush. “Robin, we’ve got to talk. Ed’s minding the shop for an hour or so. Shall we get some breakfast?”

  We made our way to a table in the back corner of the beach café. As soon as we sat down I started to apologise but she held up her hand to stop me.

  “OK, you said some horrid things – well, one in particular stung – but it was the truth. I thought about it all night, while I was worrying where you were. I touched a really raw nerve, didn’t I?”

  The lump rising in my throat made it hard to tell her what she wanted to know. “My mum’s dead. Coming up for a year ago.”

  “Oh, Robin, I’m so sorry. I’ve lost both my parents and the first anniversary’s the worst, I promise. It hits you for six but it does get better. Tell me when it is, so I can look out for you.”

  “Seventh of September.” I just managed to say it before I broke down and buried my head on my arms on the plastic tablecloth. I heard the scrape of Megan’s chair as she moved next to me to put her arm around my shoulders.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was the sixth of September when I finally plucked up the courage to call Izzie. I knew if I let it drift more than a year then I would be the other side of a significant watershed and it would never happen.

  There was a telephone box in Porth, on my way back from Watergate, and I had been eyeing it up for a while. I generally came back that way at about quarter to ten in the morning and I knew it was a time Izzie would be in the office, taking telephone orders and preparing for her day.

  I pulled the van off the road into the lay-by next to the beach. I listened to the waves crash on the rocks for a long time before I locked the door and crossed the road. The phone box was occupied by an elderly lady with a small poodle and I almost turned away, but she finished her call and my last excuse had gone.

  The receiver slipped in my hands and I dropped my ten pence piece. As I scrabbled to pick it up I noticed there was a child’s bracelet on the floor and it made me remember the fairy tree. It was the kick I needed and I pressed the buttons quickly before I could change my mind again. The phone rang three times and then I heard the familiar voice of the receptionist. There was no chance she would remember me.

  “Can I speak to Izzie, please?” I asked, my heart thudding so loudly it threatened to drown out her answer. I wish it had.

  “I’m sorry, she doesn’t work here anymore. Can anyone else help you?”

  I placed the phone back on its cradle. I stood for a few moments, my forehead on the glass, inhaling the pissy metallic smell. That, more than anything, drove me to open the door, stumble across the road to the van, drive to Newquay, and get on with my day.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The holiday season was effectively over by the middle of September. The shop became quieter and Ed only needed my services over long weekends. It would stay that way for another month and then my sole source of independent income would dry up. Megan wouldn’t really need me in the shop either and when I spoke to her about it she had a go at me for not trying to find non-seasonal work sooner. Given I’d been working more than full time over the summer I thought that was a bit much and I told her so.

  By now our arguments ran a familiar course: I would do something wrong, she would tell me how useless I was, I would bite back then sulk for a while, and then we would make it up, normally in bed or over a bottle of wine. But each time it happened I sank lower into an endless mist of grey, made more mistakes, became less willing to open my mouth, and so things went from bad to worse.

  It was Ed who eventually spoke to me about it, poor bugger; Megan probably put him up to it. He had become a bit of a father figure to me – probably the only one I’ve ever had – but it wasn’t his way to talk about emotional stuff and, as I didn’t want to either, it was a bit of an awkward conversation.

  We were putting the trailer away on a Sunday night in early October when Ed suggested we crack open a few beers. I was hesitant, fearing getting back to Megan late with alcohol on my breath, but Ed wasn’t put off by the feeble excuse I gave him and had already opened the cans.

  “D’you want to tell me what’s up, young Rob?” he asked as he handed mine over.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Nothing, really.”

  “Oh come on, you’ve been miserable as sin for weeks now. Everyone’s noticed and we’re worried about you.”

  It was nice of them, but I really had brought this on myself. But how to explain it all to Ed? Did I even want to? He’d probably tell Megan and then… And then, what? And did I care, anyway? It seemed too much trouble to care about anything. But Ed was looking at me, waiting for an answer.

  “It’s nothing really. It’s just, you know, the future looks so uncertain.” The metallic taste of the beer can reminded me of the phone box at Porth.

  “The future is uncertain – not just for you, now, but for all of us, all the time. We’re still caught up in this bloody recession for a start. It’s not great for old hands like me but it’s bloody unfair on bright kids like you, scraping by doing dead-end jobs.”

  “I’m not that bright. Lots of people have degrees nowadays and I’ve never even used mine.”

  “Because you can’t or because you won’t?”

  It was a good question. When I’d first graduated my choice had been limited because of Mum. I’d wanted to travel, work overseas even, but that avenue had been closed to me. Now I was a free agent and Ed was right. Instead of doing something about it I was bumming around. Only, I didn’t feel free; I felt more as though I was serving a life sentence.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I stood up and gazed out of the window onto the beach, waiting for my vision to clear and to be able to speak again.

  But Ed spoke first. “Megan’s especially worried.”

  “She hasn’t said anything.”

  “She says she can’t reach you. It’s like you’ve shut yourself off from her.”

  It wasn’t deliberate. “Can’t do a thing right, that’s all,” I muttered.

  I heard the smile in Ed’s voice. “That’s Meg for you.”

  “I can’t handle it.” I was close to tears again.

  “You won’t change her.”

  “I don’t want to. I…
I want to stop using her.” I burst out. “It’s not doing either of us any good and I’m too much of a wimp to walk away. And anyway, I’ve got nowhere to walk to.”

  “You can have my sofa for a few weeks if that’d help?”

  “No, Ed. It’s time I was a man about this.” Which was a really immature thing to say, although I meant it at the time; I really did.

  It quite literally took a hurricane to make me act. To be honest, the infamous hurricane of 1987 didn’t hit our part of Cornwall that hard, but waking up to the radio news about what had happened in the south of England turned my thoughts firmly to home.

  The last group of surfers of Ed’s season was a stag party from London and their tale of travelling through increasingly windy conditions the night before was regaled long and loudly while they put on their wetsuits. One had called his girlfriend in Wimbledon and was amazed to find she had no power, not a tube running, nor indeed much in the way of buses because so many trees were blocking the roads.

  Driving the van back on my own I was trying to picture tree after tree, crashing down in the wind, like so many dominoes. The devastating impact of nature on nature made me feel strangely agitated: for the first time, something was hauling my mind kicking and screaming out of the grey. It was awful, exciting, and stimulating all at the same time. Back in the shop I talked to Megan about it like a man possessed. I remember her smiling and nodding; she was probably just pleased I was communicating again.

  But then it started to get personal. That evening, on the TV, there were pictures from all over the south of England. Mainly London, but also some of Southampton and a vague unease crept into the edges of my mind. I watched the Nine O’Clock News then turned over for News at Ten. Megan said I was becoming obsessive and rather than argue with her I switched off the television and we went to bed.

  I woke in the deepest blackness of the night with an image of the fairy tree implanted into my brain. Not the fairy tree as I had last seen it, but lying skewed and broken in the middle of a tangled heap of twisted vegetation, the offerings pinned to its bark shredded and smashed under the fallen branches.