by Lucy Clarke
The same mouth that had kissed Marley. That had spoken my name. That had promised me, his face wet with tears, his fingers gripped hard around mine, that he would wait for me.
And he had.
He’d written long letters and sent books of poetry he thought I’d like. He emailed pictures he’d drawn to make me laugh. He left wildflower bouquets on my doorstep, and photographs of the renovated house he still wanted me to move into. He left phone messages and sent emails.
And then, eventually, he’d stopped.
I arrived on the sandbank, relieved to find Sarah had already opened up my hut, removing the winter shutters and airing out the place. She’d arranged a bunch of flowers in a jam jar, with a note saying, WELCOME HOME! She’d signed all three of their names – Sarah, Nick, Jacob – with a kiss beneath each.
Their beach hut was closed, and so was Joe and Binks’s next door. Standing in my empty hut, exhausted and shaken, I found myself pulling Marley’s memory book from its drawer, and pressing it to my lips. The book never came with me to Chile: it was for here, the beach hut. This was the place where I allowed myself to swim back through our memories, cloak myself in them.
No, I wouldn’t open it yet. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I carefully returned the memory book to the drawer, then grabbed a rug and a novel, and took them on to the beach. I lay near the shore, the book shading the sun from my eyes. My breathing began to settle as the sea air rolled in and out of my lungs. Within minutes the soporific sound of the waves had pulled me away from the page, towards a sleepy place. I felt the drag of my eyelids closing, the book lowering to rest on my face. I could smell the pulp and ink of the pages, feel my breath warm and moist against it. Just a moment, I said to myself. Just half a minute.
There were dreams. Dreams of Samuel, my face pressed into the warmth of his neck, but when I pulled away it was Marley’s face, wet and cold, staring back at me.
I woke with a start to find a man calling my name. I sat up, disorientated, the book sliding from my face. The man was standing right in front of me, bare-chested and tanned. I squinted against the sun.
‘Auntie Isla.’
I blinked. Jacob? My gaze travelled across his face. The proportions had changed. His dark eyes were set beneath strong brows, his chin had squared off and there was something more defined to the angles of his face. It’d been two years since I’d seen him and the change was staggering.
I pushed myself to my feet. He was taller than me now.
‘Jacob!’ I said, my face breaking into a grin. Then I threw my arms around him, squeezing him tight. ‘I missed you!’
I became aware of the warmth of his bare skin against mine, and the hardness of his muscles in his arms and back. I held tight, feeling a rise of emotion. Jacob had always been my marker for Marley. It forced me to see the passing of time. If Marley were still alive, he’d be turning into a young man, too.
‘Good to see you!’ Jacob said, letting me go. His eyes were bright, his voice animated.
‘I can’t believe it’s you! Just look at you! What has your mum been feeding you?’
He smiled, shrugged.
There was a new confidence about him in the way he held my gaze, held space. It threw me off balance, somehow. ‘Hey, I’ve got something for you back at the hut,’ I said.
I left the rug on the shore, and we walked up to my hut. Inside, Jacob flopped on to the sofa, in the spot he always chose by the door, one leg drawn up.
I rummaged in my backpack and pulled out a brown paper package tied with string. I always brought a gift back for Jacob, something special I’d pick up during the months I was away. It had become a ritual over the years, and it gave me pleasure to search the market stands and shops, looking for exactly the right thing. I’d scour antique bookstores, artisan stalls selling local instruments, or clothes weaved from sheep’s wool, allowing myself to think the gift was for Marley. It had become a test to see whether I still knew who he’d be at this age, whether he’d like the gift or not.
I passed the package to Jacob, suddenly panicking that it was too babyish for him – that I’d got it wrong. Maybe he wouldn’t be interested any more.
Jacob untied the string and tore off the paper, pulling out the carved figure of a bird. He held it up, his face serious. ‘A kingfisher,’ he said, tracing a finger over the polished mahogany. His brow creased as he studied the curved lines and details of the carving. Then he looked at me and said, ‘It’s incredible.’
I felt the warmth of pleasure spreading through my chest. He leant forward and hugged me. ‘Thank you, Isla.’
As his arms wrapped around me, my eyes closed and I breathed him in, letting myself believe – just for half a moment – that it was Marley.
We had a beer on the deck of my hut. They’d been in the cupboard since last summer – out of date and warm – but Jacob didn’t complain.
‘So, how’s college?’
‘You know, all right.’
‘Still skating?’
‘Yeah, got myself a longboard at the start of summer. I’m done with tricks.’
‘Because of your ankle? Your mum told me you broke it last summer.’
Jacob nodded. ‘Sand in the wheel bearings.’
‘Nasty. And what about your folks; how are they?’
He shrugged. ‘Dad’s stressed with work. Or a lack of work, I think. But he’s all right.’ He took a swig of beer.
‘And your mum?’
‘On my case the whole time.’
I was going to ask him more, but his attention was caught elsewhere. I followed his gaze down to the beach. A beautiful girl with a shock of bright blonde hair was walking along the shoreline, her body tanned and lean. I faintly recognized her. ‘That’s not Robert’s daughter, is it?’
He stood. ‘Caz!’
She turned, shading the sun from her eyes. The moment she saw Jacob, she grinned.
I glanced at him. His face was unguarded, his eyes bright.
‘Go,’ I told him. ‘Take your beer. We’ll catch up later.’
I watched Jacob jog down the beach with long, easy strides. When he reached her, he said something that made her laugh and she bashed him playfully on the arm. Then their hands threaded together – and they kept walking, their backs to me.
I watched them for a while, thinking, You don’t realize it, but you have everything ahead of you.
Sarah and Nick arrived at the beach laden with bags of food and drink. ‘We’re celebrating your homecoming!’ Sarah said, holding up two bottles of champagne.
She put them down, then hugged me tightly. ‘Jesus, Isla! You’re back! It’s so good to see you!’
Then Nick stepped forward and hugged me, too. ‘Isla Berry!’
It’d been two years since I’d seen him – and I couldn’t help noticing how much he’d aged. His skin was pale for midsummer and his hair was a little longer than usual, as if he’d forgotten to get it cut. ‘Looks like you brought summer with you,’ he said, lifting his hands to the sunshine.
‘Been an awful summer so far,’ Sarah added. ‘You probably heard. Wettest June on record.’
‘Let’s hope July and August make up for it,’ I said.
Nick asked, ‘You’re here for two months?’
‘Just under. I fly back the morning after Marley’s anniversary.’
He left Sarah and me to catch up while he lit the barbecue on the deck, scraping the grill clean with a metal spatula.
Sarah and I stayed in the kitchen, threading chunks of chicken, cherry tomatoes and button mushrooms on to bamboo skewers. When I told her about seeing Samuel, Sarah’s face immediately coloured. ‘Shit, I’m so sorry! I should have warned you. I didn’t think—’
‘You already knew? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!’
‘I didn’t want to upset you. Or tell you over the phone.’
‘Since when did you stop telling me things because you don’t want to upset me? You know how much I hate that.’
�
�Oh honey, I wasn’t thinking. I just … you weren’t here and I thought … Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I made a mistake. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.’
Her admission put out the flame of my anger. ‘It’s not your fault. He was always going to meet someone.’
Sarah smiled at me sadly. She washed her hands, then poured champagne into two glass flutes.
‘Well,’ she said, handing me one, ‘I’m sure they’re desperately unhappy and will have a calamitous break-up very soon.’
‘Here’s hoping,’ I said, clinking glasses and forcing a smile.
From the deck I heard Nick bellow, ‘And here he is!’ clapping Jacob on the shoulder as he loped in. ‘Look who’s inside,’ Nick said, nodding in my direction.
‘Old news,’ Jacob said with a light smile. ‘We’ve already caught up.’ He grinned at me, then went straight to the kitchen, pouring himself a pint of water, and swallowing it in a few gulps.
‘Have you and Nick been feeding him growth hormones? I’m pretty sure that last time I saw Jacob he only came up to my knee.’
‘I think it’s all the calories in beer, isn’t it Jacob?’ Sarah said.
‘How would I know? I’m not eighteen yet.’ He grinned.
I took a sip of my champagne and soaked up the family atmosphere. It was comforting – like pulling on a favourite warm jumper and hugging it tight to my skin.
‘So,’ Jacob said, his gaze full on my face, ‘how’s Chile?’
I followed him on to the deck and we sat in the evening sun, talking. Nick closed the lid of the barbecue and perched on the edge of the table, listening. I told them about one of the hiking trips I’d taken in my free time, driving the van down south to a national park. ‘I was the only person there. It was eerie how deserted the place was. I’d expected the trails to be well used – but it was just me. I hiked all day until I reached this glacier I’d read about. It was incredible seeing it up close – there was no snow, just rocks and ice. It just stood there – like a huge white skyscraper, glistening in the sun.’ I told them other stories, too, about the beaches that are constantly pounded by swell, and the street dog I’d adopted and named Feral Williams, who’d left my apartment infested with fleas.
When I glanced up, Sarah was standing inside the hut, a tea towel bunched in her hand, watching the three of us. Her lips were pressed together, and there was a tightness around her eyes. When she saw me looking, her eyes softened, a light smile flashing across her lips. ‘More drinks, anyone?’
‘Another beer, please,’ Nick said.
‘Same for me,’ I said, finishing my champagne. ‘Hey,’ I said to Jacob, ‘how was your camping trip last summer? Heard you toughed out the rain.’
When I’d arrived on the sandbank last year, I’d been so disappointed to learn that Nick and Jacob were away in Cornwall for the whole duration of my visit. If I’d known I’d miss them, I’d have changed my dates.
‘Made a pact, didn’t we?’ Nick said to Jacob.
‘Yeah. We’re never sharing a tent again. Dad snores like a buffalo’s arse.’
‘And Jacob messed about on his phone all bloody night. Shining the screen in my eyeballs.’
‘So it was a great success, then.’
‘Hmm,’ Nick said, raising his eyebrows.
Sarah returned with ice-cold beers.
‘Gutted we missed you though,’ Jacob added.
‘I know. Me, too,’ I agreed.
‘Shame your flights changed,’ Nick said. ‘If we’d had more warning, we could’ve gone camping earlier.’
‘My flights didn’t change. I was always coming for the last two weeks of August. I booked them months in advance.’
Nick’s brows drew together. Then he turned to Sarah. ‘I’m sure you said Isla had to change her flights or something.’
‘Did I?’ she said, seemingly perplexed. ‘Must have got the dates muddled. You know what I’m like.’
Yes, I do know what Sarah’s like. She’s efficient, organized, and doesn’t make mistakes like that.
I’ve thought a lot about that exchange since. If Sarah gave Nick the incorrect dates – booked their two-week holiday over the exact span of my trip – it was certainly no coincidence.
Sarah made light of it, saying she was pleased to have me to herself for a change. But now I realize Sarah didn’t want me to herself; she just didn’t want me near her family.
37. ISLA
This summer
‘What did you do to those cashew nuts?’ I asked, stretching up into the cupboard to put away the final plate, a damp tea towel over my shoulder.
‘Roasted them in sesame oil and honey.’
‘Incredible.’
Nick was away for the night, so Sarah had cooked for Jacob and me, and I’d brought the wine.
‘Ready for dessert?’
‘Always,’ I said, hanging the tea towel over the handle of the oven door.
‘Jacob?’ Sarah called up into the mezzanine, where Jacob was changing ready to disappear to a beach fire with a group of friends. ‘You having dessert?’
A thud sounded from above. ‘No!’ he hollered.
‘Let’s have it on the sofa,’ Sarah said to me.
I crossed the hut with my wine and sank into the cushions, tucking my feet to one side. Candles twinkled in glass jars and the smell of warm chocolate filled the air. As Sarah sliced a tray of brownies into generous squares, my attention was absorbed by a song on the radio. ‘Billie Jean’ was playing, and the chirrupy rhythm released a memory of Marley imitating Michael Jackson’s fluid moves, sliding backwards from his heels to toe, then threading his fingers together and making energetic waves with his linked arms. Sarah had the song on an old CD and used to play it in her kitchen for Marley, while the rest of us hooted with delight as he entertained us.
My chest ached with a fierce longing to see him moonwalking across this hut, to hear him burst into fits of giggles, for Sarah to clap her hands together in delight and announce, ‘Everybody, it’s Marley Jackson!’
I looked up, catching Sarah’s eye, smiling at the unspoken memories.
She glanced back with her head angled to one side. ‘Did you want more wine?’ she asked, perplexed.
I shook my head lightly. She’d forgotten. How could she have forgotten Marley’s love for this song? I swallowed, inexplicably hurt. I knew I could remind Sarah about the track, but the moment was lost, the warmth of the memories draining away.
Jacob’s bare legs descended the wooden ladder, the smell of freshly sprayed deodorant wafting after him. If Marley were alive, they’d be going off to the beach party together, the two of them teasing each other as they ambled from the hut, beers clinking at their sides.
Jacob caught my eye, then clasped his hands together in front of him and made a waving motion of his arms – wearing the same concentrated expression that Marley used to. Then he moonwalked across the hut, bare feet dragging across the sand-gritted floor.
It was so perfectly unexpected, so exuberantly executed, that I snorted with delight.
Jacob grinned back at me, dark eyes sparkling. ‘Marley Jackson will be dancing to this somewhere,’ he said, his voice low, a smile in his tone.
I pressed my lips together, nodded.
‘What is it?’ Sarah asked, turning to look at us both.
Jacob shook his head as if to say, Nothing. Then he moved to the doorway, departing with a casual wave. ‘Catch you later.’
I watched Jacob stroll down the beach, slipping his mobile from his pocket, head bending towards the screen. I could feel the grief opening up in me, a dark space unfurling. I wanted Jacob to come back, sit with us, talk to me about Marley. He was my link, my marker, the strongest connection I had left to my boy. My gaze travelled instinctively to an aged cream photo frame on the wall, beside Sarah’s Hut Sweet Hut sign. For years it’d housed one of my favourite pictures of Marley and Jacob, taken when they were eight or nine years old. They’d just returned from an afternoon’s fish
ing and were holding a mackerel in each hand, faded lifejackets bunched up around their ears, Marley’s nose wrinkled as he squinted into the sun.
As the song ended, I realized that the photo frame showcased a new image of Sarah, Nick and Jacob sitting on the deck of their beach hut, drinks raised to the camera.
‘You changed the picture?’ The words came out sharp, high.
Sarah stepped towards me, her gaze following mine. Her voice was over-bright as she said, ‘Binks took that at the start of summer. I look a bit like I’m storing food in my cheeks – but it’s about the only one that’s ever been taken of the three of us.’
I could feel my jaw tightening, a tingling at the ends of my fingertips. ‘There used to be a picture of Marley and Jacob here.’
Pink blotches rose instantly to her cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry, Isla,’ she said, pressing her hands to her chest. ‘I didn’t think when I changed it over. I had a whole load of photos printed at the same time and updated all our frames.’
‘Where is the photo?’
‘I’ve kept it. Of course, I have. How bloody thoughtless of me changing it! Sorry.’ She sounded genuinely so, and I felt bad for making a point of it.
‘I’m just being over-sensitive.’ I shook my head, blowing out. ‘It’s this time of year. I work myself up into a state.’
‘Let me switch the photo back. I do love that one of Marley and Jacob.’
‘No, don’t. You should have one of your family.’
‘At least let me give you that photo of the boys. I’ve got it somewhere. You make a start on dessert and I’ll dig it out.’
I washed down a few mouthfuls of brownie with my wine, but my appetite had vanished. Eventually Sarah located the photo, wiping it with her sleeve before handing it to me. The picture was sun-faded from its years in the frame, Marley’s face bleached as pale as a ghost’s. I carefully smoothed out the creases, then pressed the photo into the breast pocket of my shirt, feeling Marley close to me.
