by Ali McNamara
‘No, that’s not it at all. Sometimes parents are the last to know in my quite limited experience of these things.’
Jack still doesn’t look convinced. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t accept a gay son, is that it? I know I can be a bit stubborn sometimes and set in my ways, but—’
‘Jack,’ I interrupt him. ‘Please stop putting words in my mouth. I thought none of those things. I’m pleased you have such a great relationship with Ben. We’re both very lucky with our children. Now, shall we get on with the reason I’m really here?’ I gesture towards the easel.
Jack still looks at me suspiciously, but he nods.
‘Good.’
‘Ben can talk to me, you know?’ Jack says, still not happy he’s convinced me. ‘When he told me I didn’t go off on one, or make a scene. I was quite relaxed about it. Just pleased he’d confided in me.’
‘Wonderful,’ I say, turning towards the easel.
However, Jack’s not finished: ‘You seem to be under the impression that I’m some sort of Neanderthal who can’t accept anything new or unusual?’
‘Where is all this coming from?’ I ask, turning towards him. ‘I never thought any of those things. Yes, you’re stubborn and you’ve got a bit of a quick temper on you, but—’
‘I haven’t got a temper!’
‘What about the alarm incident?’
Jack looks puzzled.
‘Don’t you remember the first night I was here with you looking at the pictures and your shop alarm went off? You had a right go at me, and you never did explain why?’
‘Ah, that.’
‘Yes, that.’
‘It wasn’t you I was cross with that night. It was myself.’
‘Explain.’
‘I was cross because I had to come down the stairs and you had to see me like that. I didn’t want you to see me compromised – I hardly knew you then.’
‘But I didn’t see you as compromised at all. If anything the complete opposite. I saw a strong, capable man, who was using his strength and ingenuity in the best way he could. You might not think it, but traversing those stairs like that is pretty impressive. It had quite the effect on me.’
‘Really?’ Jack asks, suddenly much more chipper.
‘Yes, now if you’ve quite finished fishing for compliments, shall we continue with our pictures? Or do you want to throw your line out a bit further?’
‘All right, let’s get to the pictures. You haven’t got the felt lined up quite right though,’ he tells me. ‘It needs to go a tad to the left.’
I sigh and shake my head, but I move the felt a little and suddenly we’re ushered back to the enthralling story of Clara and Arty once more …
St Felix ~ Summer 1958
Clara sighs as she stares at the beautiful sunset in front of her.
‘Isn’t this simply gorgeous?’ she says to Arty, as they sit next to each other on the clifftop overlooking St Felix Bay.
‘Nature at its finest,’ Arty says, and he squeezes Clara’s hand. ‘I don’t know whether I want to paint it or photograph it, it’s so beautiful.’
‘You and that camera of yours,’ Clara says, smiling at him. ‘It was bad enough when you wanted to paint everything, including me, but now you have a need to photograph everything too.’
‘You know how much I love documenting our lives together, Clara. These photos will be our memories in the future.’
‘No, our memories will always be up here,’ Clara says, tapping her head, ‘and in here,’ she adds, touching her heart.
‘You’re right, of course,’ Arty says, looking adoringly at her. ‘You usually are.’ He winks.
Clara beams back. ‘I’m so happy, Arty,’ she says. ‘This past year has been one of the happiest of my life.’
‘Mine too. I’m so pleased I bumped into you and Maggie that day at the harbour … although I don’t think you thought all that much of me back then, did you?’
Clara smiles. ‘I was different a year ago. Much warier of people. Life up until that point had let me down, but St Felix, my shop and you have changed all that, Arty. You’ve been so good for me, and for Maggie.’
‘She’s doing so well now, isn’t she?’ Arty says. ‘You wouldn’t know a year ago she was in a wheelchair – she’s so strong, both in body and in character. I do love her as if she were my own.’
‘Oh, Arty,’ Clara says. ‘I know you do. You’re a better father to her than anyone could ever be. She thinks the world of you.’
They gaze at each other, and then Arty looks down at Clara’s hand. He lifts it up and clears his throat.
‘Clara, I love you more than anyone I’ve ever met. I love everything about you, from your kind and generous personality to the way you never put up with my nonsense. I never thought I’d find a soulmate on this earth, but I have, and it’s you. For some strange reason I know not, you seem to feel a similar way about me too, so now, my darling, I would like to ask one more thing of you?’
Clara nods, utterly spellbound by Arty’s words.
‘Clara, would you do me the greatest honour of becoming my wife?’
The colours begin to swirl and mix together, and frustratingly the images in front of us disappear.
‘No!’ I cry out. ‘Not now. I want to hear what she says!’
‘She’ll say “yes”. Of course she will,’ Jack says in a quiet voice next to me.
‘How do you know though?’ I say, still staring at the silhouettes of Clara and Arty on the canvas in front of me.
‘You can see they’re totally in love with each other, that’s why.’
‘But they hated each other to start with – well, Clara didn’t like Arty. When did it all change?’ I turn to Jack and to my surprise notice his eyes are a little misty. ‘Are you all right?’ I ask.
‘Yes, of course I am,’ Jack says gruffly, rubbing at his eyes. ‘Hay-fever, that’s all. Things change, don’t they?’ he says, hurriedly changing the subject. ‘You could see in the previous couple of paintings they were getting on better, and Clara was softening towards him at last, poor guy.’
‘So why the sudden leap forwards in time?’ I ask, choosing not to mention Jack’s sudden ‘hay-fever’ any further. ‘They said they’d known each other a year, so we must be in nineteen fifty-eight now.’
Jack shrugs. ‘You’re asking me to explain why the magical pictures we’ve been watching for the last few weeks have suddenly missed a few chapters? It’s hardly the strangest thing going on here, is it?’
‘That’s true, I suppose. It’s lovely though, isn’t it?’ I say, clasping my hands together delightedly, ‘that they’re going to have a happy ending.’
‘If this is the ending?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Come on, Kate! You can’t think we’ve watched all this only to see Arty propose to Clara? There has to be something more to it.’
‘You’re probably right,’ I say, my hands dropping back down into my lap. ‘It would seem odd for it just to be this. In my experience life is never that straightforward.’
‘Ain’t that the truth. I’m glad we know Maggie didn’t end up in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. Believe me, no one would want that, especially not back then. It would have been a lot harder to be in a wheelchair in the fifties and sixties than it is now. Things aren’t great these days, but they’re a hell of a lot easier than they would have been sixty years ago.’
‘Yes, it’s good to hear she recovered. I wonder what she went on to do. She’d be what, mid-to late seventies now – I wonder if she’s still alive?’
‘She might be. It could have been her who had been living in the house we went to visit, not Clara.’
I shake my head. ‘No. According to Anita, the woman who used to live there was called Peggy, so it wasn’t her.’
‘So what do you think all this is about then?’ Jack asks. ‘Do you think like me there’s a reason to it?’ He gestures to the painting.
‘Anita says St Felix is like that
. Things happen here that can’t always be explained, but usually only to people who need help or who can help someone else.’
‘Anita is a very wise woman,’ Jack says knowingly.
‘Yes, she is,’ I reply. ‘I didn’t think you knew her all that well though?’
‘We’ve bumped into each other a few times. Which of her categories do you think we fall into?’
‘Hmm?’ I ask, still wondering when Jack and Anita might have come across each other. ‘Oh, I see. Er, I’m not sure,’ I reply honestly. ‘But I bet it’s not long before we find out.’
‘I hope so,’ Jack says. ‘All this strange mystery stuff doesn’t sit well with me at all. Right, fancy that drink now?’ he asks suddenly, while I continue to stare wistfully at the painting of Clara and Arty.
‘Oh, yes, why not?’ I reply turning to him. ‘Let’s hide this stuff first and then we’ll go.’
We head down to The Merry Mermaid. Even though we’ve been here a couple of times together already, I suddenly feel very conscious this is our first proper date.
We go inside the pub as all the seats outside are taken, and while I let Jack go to the bar (I know better than to try to take that role by now) I try to find us a table where I know Jack will be able to get his wheelchair in with a minimal amount of fuss.
Eventually, Jack arrives with our drinks – pint for him and a glass of white wine for me – and we settle down together.
‘How’s the shop going?’ I ask, suddenly aware that all we seem to talk about when we’re together these days are the pictures.
‘Good thanks, and yours?’
‘Yeah, not bad. We’re up on last summer anyway.’
‘That’s good, that’s good.’ Jack takes a sip from his pint.
‘How are you getting on with two helpers now that Ben is here? It must be easier for you?’
‘Yeah, Ben has settled in well. Him and Bronte seem to get on okay, so all is pretty cool in my domain right now.’
‘Good,’ I say, virtually repeating Jack. I sip from my glass now.
‘Kate, I don’t want to seem my usual awkward self, but we don’t need all these niceties, do we? We know each other a bit better than that by now, I think.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ I say, somewhat relieved, ‘but all we ever seem to talk about when we’re together is the pictures. I suddenly felt a bit odd so I started making polite conversation with you.’
‘Let’s not make polite conversation then – let’s make rude conversation.’
‘How do you mean?’ I ask, wondering if this was some sort of vulgar army game Jack was going to suggest.
‘I mean, let’s ask each other all the questions we’ve been too polite to ask before now. There are loads of things I’d like to know about you, and I hope you might feel the same about me?’
I nod, partly with relief and partly with interest.
‘Great, who’s going to go first then?’ Jack asks eagerly.
‘You go,’ I offer, although I’m a little concerned about what he might ask me.
‘The only rules are that we have to answer as honestly as we can and we can ask anything. All right?’
‘Sure,’ I reply, definitely worried now.
‘Promise you’ll be honest?’ Jack says.
‘Yes, I promise.’
‘Tell me about your life before you came to St Felix,’ Jack asks immediately, as if he’s been planning this. ‘Like why you came here.’
‘Okay … so I’d always wanted to run my own shop. Well, a craft shop actually. I’d always made bits and pieces at home that had been popular with friends and family, and I thought I might be able to sell it properly and make a business of it if I had my own store.’
‘Go on?’ Jack says when I pause.
‘What do you mean Go on? That’s it.’
‘What I’ve just heard is your very practised version of the story that you tell anyone when they ask. I want to hear the real version. Why St Felix – why not somewhere else? Why at that moment in your life? What made you take the leap?’
‘Okay …’ I say, a little more hesitant this time. ‘I didn’t choose St Felix, more it chose me. I was in the hairdresser’s one day and someone next to me was talking about how they’d just been to the funeral of their great-aunt, and how she owned this shop in Cornwall and had worked there all her life. Then she began talking about the place and how lovely it was, and when she said the name St Felix I immediately Googled business properties for rent here and that’s how I found the shop.’
‘Nice,’ Jack says approvingly. ‘So what were you doing then? For a job, I mean.’
‘I worked for a finance company. I had a bit saved up so I thought why not – let’s do it.’
Jack looks at me suspiciously. ‘Just like that? You uprooted your whole life, and your daughter’s life too? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t strike me as the most spontaneous of people, Kate. Quite the opposite in fact.’
Jack was correct, of course, but I wasn’t about to admit that. ‘I’m not saying I didn’t think a lot about it,’ I reply, ignoring his comment, ‘but it seemed like the right thing to do. I talked to Molly, of course I did. She was a little reluctant at first, but she soon came around when we visited St Felix. Who wouldn’t want to live by the sea?’
‘So, that’s it, you saw an opportunity and took it. There were no other reasons for your move?’
I sigh. I had promised to be honest.
‘I’d just come out of a very difficult relationship,’ I say carefully. ‘It was a good time to get away.’
Jack nods, and I’m grateful yet surprised when he doesn’t ask me any more questions. Most people would want to know why it had been difficult. ‘Understood,’ is all he says.
‘Right, is it my turn now?’ I ask quickly, keen to move on. ‘I feel like you’ve grilled me plenty.’
‘Ask away,’ Jack says, lifting his pint. ‘I have no secrets.’
I think for a moment. I already knew how Jack had come to be in his wheelchair, and why he’d snapped at me that night in his flat. ‘Why don’t you want your friends back home to know where you are?’ I ask, suddenly remembering the conversation between Jack and Ben when we’d been in here the last time.
Jack looks mystified.
‘When we were in here with Molly and Ben, Ben said one of your friends didn’t know you were here in Cornwall running a shop. He was surprised to hear it.’
Jack nods slowly as if he’s considering his reply.
‘You promised to be honest,’ I remind him.
‘Actually you promised to be honest. I never promised anything.’
I glare at him.
‘Okay, okay, I’ll be honest with you.’ He pauses. ‘The truth is I don’t want them to know.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m ashamed of what I’ve become.’ Jack looks away across the bar at something, anything, in the distance. ‘I used to be a strong, fit soldier. I used to travel all over the world defending Queen and country. I risked my life during that time more than once, and I earned the respect of my comrades. Now I’m just a sad guy in a wheelchair who runs an art shop in a funny little seaside town in Cornwall.’
I stare at Jack again, but this time because I can’t quite grasp what he’s telling me.
‘Do you really see yourself like that?’ I ask quietly.
He shrugs and reaches for his pint again. ‘Pretty much.’
‘What about me?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I thought I made it clear at your flat that’s not how I see you at all.’
‘Well, yes, but that’s different – you were just being nice, weren’t you? Like you always are. I’m talking about everyone else.’
‘Hmm.’ I sit back in my chair thoughtfully. ‘So I’d be wasting my time sitting here telling you that’s not what anyone else sees either?’
‘Yep, pretty much.’
‘Right, then, I won’t, but you are very, very wrong abo
ut this, Jack. I can’t tell you how wrong.’
‘But you can’t deny the contrast,’ Jack says, taking my bait as I knew he would. ‘The decorated brave soldier was the person I used to be, and this,’ he gestures in disgust towards his legs and his chair, ‘is the thing I am now.’
‘Stop that right now,’ I tell him sternly.
‘What?’
‘Feeling sorry for yourself. You were very clear when we first met that pity was the last thing you wanted from me, so you’re not allowed the honour of feeling it for yourself.’
Jack glares at me, but I stare back at him with an equally challenging expression.
‘You’ve every right to feel sad. Every right to feel aggrieved at the life you’ve lost. Any normal person would, but what you’re not allowed to do is refer to yourself as a thing. You’re still the same person you used to be. Just because your body isn’t quite as complete as it once was, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have compassion for yourself, and faith in those who love and care for you.’
Jack’s expression has been softening gradually throughout my little speech. Now his face looks back at me with tenderness, rather than anger.
‘You’re right, of course,’ he says quietly. ‘About everything. I just can’t help it sometimes.’
‘That’s totally understandable,’ I say, taking his hand across the table. ‘Anyone who’s been through the shock and transformation that you have is going to have their off days – days when they doubt themselves and their worth. If you didn’t grieve for what your life used to be there would be something wrong with you, but never for one moment doubt the worth of your existence now. You, Jack Edwards, mean too many things to too many people.’
‘Including you?’ Jack says, looking into my eyes.
‘Especially me,’ I reply, squeezing his hand. ‘After all, who else am I going to find to watch my secret soap opera with?’
I smile at Jack, and he grins back.
‘That’s very true. No one else would believe it, would they? I’m still not sure I really do, and I’ve been invested in every episode.’
We gaze at each other over the table, still holding hands.
‘I’m sorry about just now,’ Jack says sheepishly. ‘You don’t need to be burdened with my worries.’
