by Sue Watson
‘I know, and I understand, I feel it too sometimes, but it’s life. It doesn’t matter if you’re scared or not, you’re on the ride – so just enjoy it,’ he leaned over, gently touching my arm.
‘I like that, and it’s so true, we think we have choices but we’re all just at the mercy of whatever’s next.’
‘Exactly, we’re in control to a point, but there comes a time when if you’re wise you’ll accept that we have little influence over the big stuff in our lives. It’s all about the universe. “Like flies to wanton boys are we to the gods,’’ he said, ‘“they kill us for their sport.”’
I recognised the line from King Lear, a play I’d studied at school a hundred years ago. ‘Funny I always liked that line, it spoke to me somehow,’ I said.
‘Me too, because it’s reminding us that we have little say in what happens and we really aren’t the architects of our own lives,’ he sighed. ‘But there’s a certain freedom in realising that. That’s why I dive, I let the water take the pressure; the feeling of letting go, deep into that ocean and becoming weightless is like saying “world, you’ve got this”. Some people have religion – but I have the sea,’ he smiled.
I kissed him, tipsy from the wine and his wisdom, and I felt so lucky to have him in my life, like he was sent to me just when I needed him.
Later as we lay together, we talked about more earthly things. He told me about his family, how he resented his father but understood him. I said I had my own struggles with my mother, and my advice was to never let his father near the internet, or near a teenager who could provide access to the internet.
‘My mother’s dangerous with a mouse,’ I laughed, after regaling him with more of Mum’s dating exploits. I’d rung her the day before and she told me her and Leo had progressed from flower arranging to line dancing; I told myself that at least this accounted for the breathlessness.
‘So what about you?’ he said, sitting up in bed, pulling the sheets over both of us. ‘What’s the story with you and Richard?’
‘Dick.’
‘I’m not,’ he joked.
‘I prefer to call him Dick, it makes me feel better to get the insult out first if ever I’m forced to refer to him, and it provides endless opportunities for jokes too. His story isn’t new and different, it’s as old as the Bible. He left me for someone with bigger breasts.’
He sighed, turning to lie on his arm so he was looking into my eyes and listening. ‘Are you over him?’
‘Oh God yes. I still miss the guy I married, and I still feel a pang for the family we once were – but then I guess that’s life. We all move on in some way – even families and now I’m saying the long goodbye to my kids.’
‘That’s why I never married; it’s not worth all the pain. Like you say, everyone leaves in the end.’
‘I meant life moves on, Ben… people don’t always leave.’
‘In my experience they do,’ he sighed.
My heart tore a little for him, his inability to rely on others, assuming they would leave, could probably be traced back to his mother’s death. He had loved her very much, but it wasn’t enough, she left him.
‘But we’re talking about you,’ he said. ‘Dick’s affair, how did it happen?’
‘Oh he’d been having trouble at work and I’d suggested he make his life easier and stop railing against the management. I told him he needed to charm his new female boss, who’d just bought the company. “Tell her how great she is,” I said. And he took my advice – he did it so well she fell for him, he dumped me and now lives an idyllic life in an exquisitely furnished villa in Marbella.’
‘Oh that must hurt.’
‘It did… still does, but not from a thwarted love perspective – more as the embittered ex-wife who doesn’t have her own villa in Marbella. He’s making me sell the family home while he sends the kids the minimum allowance with cheques he writes by his sun-drenched pool – I’ve seen it on Facebook,’ I added with a rueful smile.
‘That’s not easy.’
‘No, it’s one thing to be deserted by the father of your children for someone younger, prettier and richer – it’s another to have to sit and watch their perfect life from the shabbiness of your own cold living room.’
I waited for the familiar sting of resentment as I said this, but for the first time I didn’t feel a pang of anything. For the past few years his smug red face and her smug brown boobs had been all over bloody Facebook every time I clicked on and it had driven me wild with anger. I was only prepared to put up with the sheer masochism of being confronted with their fabulous lives because I hoped if I waited long enough I’d live to see the day her boobs dropped and he went bald in my timeline.
‘You okay,’ Ben asked, moving my hair gently from my face.
‘I’m fine,’ I laughed, realising it was true, I was fine – then added, ‘Now… here with you in this lovely place – I finally don’t care how pert Dick’s wife’s boobs are,’ I said.
‘Dick’s wife’s boobs – that sounds like a bad porn film,’ he laughed.
‘Not one I’d like to see,’ I smiled.
‘It’s all over now,’ he whispered, ‘no more dastardly Dick.’
I giggled and he kissed me before slowly rolling on top of me and I saw the stars, felt the waves beneath us all over again.
Later that night, as Ben slept, I tiptoed out of the bedroom and downstairs. In the back of my mind I’d been waiting for a call back from Gina all day and though I kept checking my phone, there was nothing. I was surprised how much this hurt me, it was like I was her little cousin all over again, just waiting for her to shine her light on me. I suddenly remembered all those times we’d made plans to paint our nails and have ‘a girlie night’, only for them to fall through at the last minute when her boyfriend appeared. A much talked about shopping trip abandoned by Gina because a friend asked her to go to the matinee at the cinema instead. As I rewound the girlhood slights that I’d pushed to the back of my memory, I was surprised how each one still pinched all these years later. I’d really hoped that the minute she’d got my message she’d be on the phone shouting, ‘Ella, Ella how are you, where’ve you been?’ Delighted to hear from me and making me feel like I was the most amazing person in the world for phoning her. Perhaps she hadn’t got the message? Didn’t have a signal? I could make a million excuses for Gina, but she just hadn’t called. After all, a woman too busy for her own mother’s funeral wasn’t going to drop everything to call her long-lost kid cousin.
I made myself a cup of chamomile tea and as I’d gone to the cupboard to get a mug, I spotted the old Italian carrier bag, so I took it out, made my tea and carried both into the living room. Wrapping a throw around me, I snuggled up on the sofa and looked at the bag, remembering my mum going back to Italy with Sophia when I was very young. Their mother had died and was being buried ‘back home’, and I’d stayed in Manchester with my dad. When Mum had returned she’d brought with her the most beautiful doll all the way from Naples. I wanted to call the doll Gina, but Mum wouldn’t let me, she said I should call her Roberta, which was of course her name. I remember Roberta came in a bag just like this one. And deep down I had a feeling that whatever was inside this dusty old bag was more than just bits of old paper and bills – it was something important – a message from the past.
Looking inside as I reached in, I was amazed at how much was in there. The bag was quite heavy, and there were stacks of letters and what looked like postcards and photographs. There was also a smell – I couldn’t quite place it at first, it reminded me of being very young, sea salt, strawberries and perfume, my aunt’s perfume, Rive Gauche. It was the same perfume my mother wore but seemed so different on each woman – on Aunt Sophia it smelled sweet, on Mum it smelled citrusy.
Inhaling the echo of this scent, I knew this bag had belonged to Aunt Sophia. I wondered if perhaps her recipes might be inside, so I delved deep, picking up the odd letter, a list of appointments, a shopping list. I even found photos
of Gina, blonde, glamorous, sitting on a sunlounger by her pool in LA. Photos of her lying on a huge, circular bed in the mansion, and other photos of her with famous film stars, singers, at parties, glass in hand, a sparkle in her eyes. What a life she must have, I thought, laying the photos on the coffee table and admiring them. I spent a few minutes escaping into her life, how far she’d come since this sleepy little seaside village. You had to admire her courage, just upping and leaving – and now this, a life of luxury in Bel Air. Eventually, I dragged myself away from the past, and from Gina’s wonderful starry life – I hoped she would tell me all about it herself soon enough.
It was already late and I had to be up early, so now wasn’t the time for the full excavation, but I allowed myself to take a look at a small bundle of letters. They were tied with a pink ribbon, and as I undid it I knew they were probably personal, possibly love letters, and I shouldn’t be doing this.
Looking back, I sometimes wonder if I should have just burned the bag with all its secrets, rather than prying into other people’s lives and opening a door into a past that should have remained there. But that was later – on that first night I read letters from ‘Old Italy’ from Sophia’s friends, telling her of engagements, marriages and babies, back home in Italy. And so many letters from my great-grandmother writing to her own daughter, my grandmother. These letters had probably taken weeks to arrive in a world so different from today, yet she was asking the same questions of her daughter that I asked Lucie on Skype: she wanted to know they were eating and keeping warm and that they were safe and happy.
It’s all we ever want as mums, to know our kids are safe and happy, I thought, as I put the letters back in the bag. And even though it was after midnight and God knows what time in Nepal and Thailand, I called Josh and Lucie to make sure they were safe and happy… and eating well.
After a few days in Appledore, I had soon settled into a routine. Business was slow, but promising, and Gina had finally texted to say she was coming over – but I wasn’t holding my breath. Best of all, I woke most mornings to find a gorgeous man in my bed, and after a breakfast of brioche, ice cream and kisses, I’d set off for work, heading for the beach, with the wind in my hair and happiness in my heart. I’d drive down the narrow streets onto the front, waving at random kids on their way to school, the van’s jingle playing loudly, unable to take the smile from my face. I could now put names to some faces, and my fourth day, I spotted Beryl, one of the slimming ladies, rushing from the bakery with a bag of doughnuts. She gave me the thumbs up and shouted something about ‘salted caramel…’ and I knew she’d be arriving at my hatch well before next Monday’s after class treat time.
Pulling up on the sands that morning, I saw Peter with his Labrador Cocoa and he gave me a wave – and I felt inexplicably happy. This lovely beach with the seagulls above and the blue skies meeting the sea was now my workplace. I finally felt a real sense of freedom. This feeling of being totally alone, not having anyone depend on you and not worrying about anyone (for a little while anyway) was what I’d needed. This is what a gap year must be like minus the backpacks, bungee jumping and obligatory tattoos.
Just at that moment, as I looked up to take in my surroundings, I suddenly saw a figure walking along the promenade and I just knew it was her. So she’d decided to come to Appledore after all.
15
Jelly Sandals and Gina’s Tears
I noticed her shoes first. Black patent high heels with a flash of scarlet sole. Looking up, I saw her cream, fitted skirt, short, boxy jacket, probably Chanel, and her hair, a cloud of creamy gold around her face. Gina had arrived and she was walking from the car park, dark glasses on, film star stroll, heading down onto the front. All the time she was looking into her phone, unaware of the stir she was causing around her.
I quickly closed the van and headed across the beach to greet her, my legs carrying me there; jelly sandals on my feet, a bucket and spade in my hand I was running to Gina. Just like when I was a kid, any little niggles and doubts were swiftly replaced by the familiar bloom of pride filling my chest as I neared the promenade to greet my cousin, the film star.
The sun was behind her like a halo, full red lips, golden, sun-kissed face, the sea breeze ruffling her hair. I remembered the last time I saw her, saying goodbye at the end of a holiday, hugs at the car, Mum telling me to hurry up and get in, and Gina’s tears, always the tears saying goodbye to her little cousin.
It was the closest either of us had ever got to having a sister, and I worried what she’d make of me now, thirty years later. Gina a successful movie star with a mansion in Bel Air; Ella a wannabe ice cream seller with half a house in Manchester. I was just a child when we knew each other back then, and she a young woman, so much had gone on through the years; could we ever hope to reach each other again?
Gina was almost sixty, yet still she was turning heads in Appledore just as she had in her twenties. As I ran, I watched her go into the Seagate pub on the front, disappointed she hadn’t looked out for the van and come to find me. But that was Gina, she did her own thing and she probably fancied a drink first (even though it was only 9 a.m.), so I headed to the pub and opened the door. I walked in, and I didn’t need to look around for her, she was there, leaning on the bar, making the surroundings look old, the furniture shabby. I was aware the pub was quite busy with people breakfasting, but Gina had this light that seemed to follow her around and everything and everyone else dimmed in her presence. I stood in the doorway unsure of how to approach her, what to say.
‘Gina?’ I said, breathlessly. Unable to hold back, I was suddenly standing in front of her and for a moment I wondered if she’d recognise me. But as soon as she looked up from her drink, pulled down her sunglasses and peered over them she squealed loudly.
‘Darling… darling Ella, I was just about to phone you.’
I doubted that, but in an instant I forgave her for the little white lie. She just wanted to make me feel special – Gina always made people feel special, and there was no doubt she was genuinely delighted to see me. As we embraced, I breathed in that familiar citrusy perfume, the same one Mum and Sophia always wore, but Gina’s was sweeter, laced with French vanilla and first-class travel.
‘Darling, oh darling, I have missed you! It’s just so wonderful to see you,’ she said into my ear, both arms tightly around me like she would never let me go. I was reminded how much taller than me she was as she kissed my head and squeezed me for what felt like forever.
I was delighted at her sincere warmth and affection after all these years – clearly our relationship would be as strong as before. This was good for both of us, as Mum, me and the kids were probably the only family she had left now. We could all regroup as a family; it was time. In those few seconds as we hugged I had visions of us sitting together on those fabulous sun loungers by her pool, sipping martinis with Leonardo DiCaprio and clearing up all the stupid pain that had hung around us for all these years.
‘I so wanted to be at the funeral, but I was caught up in filming,’ she said, climbing onto a bar stool and patting the one next to her. It wasn’t my place to judge, my mother did enough of that for all of us. I had felt resentment about Gina’s no-show on Sophia’s behalf, but I didn’t know Gina’s life and commitments. And I certainly wasn’t going to ruin this wonderful reunion by reprimanding her or trying to make her feel guilty.
‘It was a sad day, but your mum had a good send-off.’
She nodded and ordered two large vodkas, looked like she’d already polished the first one off. I wanted to protest, to tell her it was too early and I had a business to run on the beach, but I didn’t because this was my wonderful cousin who’d come thousands of miles to see me. I also didn’t want to seem boring and straight in the presence of my fabulous, high flying cousin. My business was important, but so was family, and after all these years I could finally sit and have a drink with her.
‘I’m sure Mum would understand that I couldn’t be there on the day,’ she
said.
‘Yes, I’m sure, I mean you can’t just walk off a film set, whatever happens,’ I added. ‘I spoke to your agent.’
‘Yes, she told me. She said you sounded upset, so I dumped Leonardo and jumped on a plane.’
‘Oh Gina, you didn’t?’ I was surprised, and flattered, she hadn’t left filming for her mother’s funeral, but she’d done it for me, which seemed strange. ‘But what about Leonardo… did he mind?’
‘He understood. “Leonardo,” I said, “I have a very special cousin who needs me.” “Then you must go to her,” he said, and I hopped on the red eye from LAX,’ she said, like she’d simply jumped on a bus.
‘Wow! I didn’t mean for you to change your plans, I was just calling to thank you for the accommodation and to talk to you about the business.’
‘Oh it was no trouble, I wanted to come and see you and sort out mother’s estate at the same time.’
‘Oh?’ I was torn between asking about Leonardo’s understanding nature and the burning question about what she planned to do with the café, ‘is everything okay, with the café?’
‘It will be,’ she said enigmatically.
‘Will you sell?’ I asked.
‘It depends,’ she replied, rummaging in her bag. ‘Do you mind if we sit outside, I need a…’ she waved a box of cigarettes in the air and I dutifully grabbed my drink to follow her. ‘I started vaping, but the flavours in the UK make me gag… and anyway, I bought a million dollars’ worth of duty-free ciggies so I’m damn well gonna smoke them,’ she laughed.
Once we were seated on wooden benches at a table outside I continued the conversation about the café. ‘It might be nice to keep the café? If you were wondering about a manager, I could… I would love to be involved.’
‘Ella, my darling, I won’t do anything without discussing it with you first, but give me a break. My ass has only just landed and I haven’t seen you for thirty years.’
