by Laura Elliot
She brought Jake into her father’s study to show him Max Moylan’s books. It reminded Jake of a shrine. A museum filled with mementoes of his writing career. One wall was lined with his hardbacks: Max Moylan in Africa, Vietnam, Japan, China, Nepal. His desk was cluttered with pens and notebooks. Photographs casually lying at the side of his computer created the impression that he had stepped outside for a breath of air before choosing the ones what would go into his latest work in progress. The air was musty, a blind halfway down on a window that Joan Moylan must never open. Flowers wilted in a vase. Karin replaced them with the fresh bouquet she had brought with her. She stabbed each flower precisely into place and stood back to admire the effect. Uneasy in the fusty atmosphere, he sat on the edge of the desk and watched her at work. Something blue on top of the filing cabinet caught his eye. A stuffed bird in a glass case, wings spread as if it was about to land on a bed of river reeds. One glittering eye was visible, the feathers gleaming.
‘Do you know the legend of the kingfisher?’ Karin asked.
‘I wasn’t aware there was one.’
She lifted the case down and ran a cloth over the dust on the glass. ‘They’re called the halcyon birds.’
‘This one doesn’t look very calm,’ he said.
‘It’s an ancient Greek legend.’ She rubbed harder on the metal base. ‘I’m surprised Nadine never told you about it.’
‘Why should she?’ He tensed at the mention of her name. Living below Nadine was proving more problematic than he had anticipated.
‘Try to keep the noise down,’ she had said when he returned the corkscrew he borrowed the night Feral stayed on after band practice.
‘What noise?’ He had been genuinely surprised. ‘I never hear you.’
‘That’s because I respect your right to a peaceful existence,’ she said in the clipped voice she used when trying to hold on to her temper. ‘You’re no longer playing your guitar in a soundproof room. You must be aware of how sound travels through this house.’
‘I’d no idea you were monitoring my life by sound effects,’ he replied with the same chilling politeness. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.’
Since then, he returned from Karin’s apartment after Nadine had left for work. Her initial efforts to clear out the attic had stalled and she had not taken him up on his offer to help.
The metal base was shining when Karin replaced the glass case on the filing cabinet. She walked to the bookshelves and pushed one book that was out of alignment into position. ‘Nadine was with us that day,’ she said. ‘We were hiking in Monsheelagh Forest. Would you like to hear the legend that inspired the name of my company?’
‘Another time. We should go back to your mother.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Joan likes her own company best.’
Karin’s voice had an almost compelling intensity as she related the legend to him. Lovers transformed into kingfishers so that they could be together in death.
‘I understand that kind of love,’ she said when she finished the story. ‘Do you have any sense of its compulsion?’
What exactly was she asking him? He did not understand a love that drew a woman under the waves to join the man she loved. It was a typical Greek tragedy, too dramatic for his taste. He remembered Karin’s words on the plane. She would choose her lover’s arms rather than a life jacket if the plane was plunging downwards.
‘I’ve never wanted to be a kingfisher that badly enough,’ he joked. ‘We really should go back – ’
‘He promised to bring me with him on his next trip,’ she said. ‘We were going to the Sahara to live with nomads. He had it all worked out. How we would tell my mother, persuade her to let me go. I was only fifteen – ’
‘I remember.’
‘I know you do.’ A red telephone on the desk had an old-fashioned rotary dial. She dialled a number, watched the dial rotate and settle again, dialled another. ‘Nadine said I was too young. She sided with my mother. I found that hard to forgive. Have you been talking to her recently?’
The question was so unexpected that he hesitated before replying.
‘Have you?’ she repeated.
‘I spoke to her this morning. She was flying to London. Something to do with Ludicrous…I mean Lustrous. Why?’
The repetitive whirr of the telephone dial was beginning to irritate him. As if sensing his irritation she sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk and slowly spun it from side to side.
‘She threatens me. I don’t mean physically. Just the memory of her… all those years you had together. How can you stay away from each other?’
‘I’ve explained our situation,’ he said. ‘Neither of us can change anything at the moment. The debts…’
‘How do I know you’re telling me the truth?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Married men are programmed to lie. It’s an inevitable consequence of cheating on their wives.’
‘I’m not cheating on Nadine. We made a decision – ’
‘Then maybe you’re cheating on me.’
‘That’s a ridiculous accusation. You’ve no reason to be jealous of Nadine. She’s determined to leave Sea Aster as soon as she can afford to rent her own place. I intend to do the same. We just need time to get our lives together again.’
‘Why don’t you bring me to Sea Aster? Let me see exactly what’s involved in this ‘under the one roof’ arrangement.’ She waggled a finger on each hand to suggest quotation marks.
‘That’s never going to happen, Karin.’ His irritation snapped into anger. ‘Not as long as Nadine is living there. I made a pact with her. It’s the only way we can handle this arrangement. I’m not prepared to break it. I don’t know why we’re having this stupid argument.’
‘Don’t you?’ She steadied the chair and parted her legs, trapped him between them. ‘It really turns me on when you get angry.’
‘I’m not angry. I’m trying to explain…’ The tense clasp of her thighs, her skirt sliding upwards, the glimpse of a blue thong nestling like a feather in the nest of blonde hair, he wanted her with an urgency that made him forget the quiet presence of Joan Moylan in a nearby room.
‘You’re hard and I’m wet… so wet,’ she murmured. ‘I want you inside me right now… right now, Jake.’
He lifted her onto the desk and steadied her as she unzipped him. Her tongue flicked against his ear and all was forgotten as she pulled him under the same riptide of passion that had swept a Greek goddess to her death. It was over in an instant, a pulsating collapse into relief, his hand over her mouth to stop her crying out.
He was flushed, still breathless when they returned to the living room. Joan was watching the evening news. The same stories, austerity, repossession, despair. Jake knew all about halcyon days. The calm before the storm. He sat down on an armchair and stared unseeingly at the screen.
‘We have to go now,’ Karin said.
‘Be a pet and make me a cup of tea first,’ Joan said.
She lowered the volume on the remote when Karin was in the kitchen and turned to Jake. ‘How long have you been seeing each other?’ she asked.
‘Three months,’ he replied.
‘You and Nadine…I have to assume your marriage is over?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Her eyelids sagged heavily over her eyes but she had the same disconcerting stare as her daughter. ‘How is Nadine?’
‘She‘s fine. We’ve had an amicable separation.’
‘You’re one of the lucky ones then. An amicable separation is not an easy thing to achieve.’
Did he imagine a dart of pity in her expression before she turned back to the screen?
‘We are where we are.’ The politician being interviewed on the evening news had the haunted look of a man clinging to a cliché. ‘Burning the bond holders is not in our best interests.’
Jake disagreed. He wanted a pyre. He wanted to strike the match, smell roasting flesh, hear the sizzle of gristle, the splatt
er of muscle. He wanted a walk of shame, bankers, politicians, developers, speculators, all in handcuffs, in the stocks, being pelted with eggs and rotten fruit. But all he heard was empty rhetoric. We are where we are. How blindingly obvious was that?
CHAPTER 22
NADINE
Plus Beauty Expo is, as its name suggests, all about beauty. From lip gloss to collagen, contour creams to liposuction, face masks to face lifts, we can have it all as we battle with free radicals and the unrelenting grind of time. I’d hoped to meet Ali while I’m in London but she’s in Manchester for the weekend at a Stanislavski workshop. At least I’ll have a chance to see Stuart. The last time we met he was about to undergo his chemo and I feel guilty that I haven’t been back since. He sounded strong and positive when I rang to tell him I’d be in London. He’s making an excellent recovery and has finished all his treatments.
Jessica and Liam work with me on the Lustrous stand. I distribute free copies of the magazine and speak to potential customers about the advantages of advertising with us. By the end of two days walking the long halls and talking about Lustrous it’s a relief to take a taxi to Canary Wharf where Stuart is waiting for me. I glide smoothly upwards in a tower of glass and steel to the seventh floor.
Stuart holds my hands in a hard clasp of welcome. I’m conscious of their structure, of sharp bones beneath the flesh. He’s always carried weight, solid flesh not flab, but he’s thinner now and it suits him. He’s my godfather, my only link with my mother and I always feel a startling jolt of recognition when I see his angular cheekbones, the gap between his two front teeth, his warm, welcoming smile.
‘Tell me about everything.’ He opens a bottle of wine and pours a glass, hands it to me. A pot of lamb ragú simmers on the cooker. ‘I’m still trying to get used to the idea of you and Jake separating. Of all the couples I know who are on the verge of divorce and, believe me, I know many, you two are the last couple I expected to break up. I always thought you were joined at the hip.’
‘At least we’re young enough not to need hip replacements,’ I joke and he smiles warily.
‘How are you managing under the circumstances?’ he asks. ‘Is it difficult living under the same roof with Jake? Together yet apart?’
I agree it’s not an ideal solution. I don’t want to think about the nights I wait for Jake to come home or the envy I feel but must control because that was never part of the deal we made.
‘What about you?’ I steer the conversation towards Stuart. His hair has thinned and turned completely grey since we last met. His face, I realise, is thin, not lean, and the skin under his neck sags, as if unable to cope with a sudden weight loss. ‘Have you finished all your treatment?’
‘All done and dusted,’ he says. ‘I’m heading to Alaska in August.’
He specialises in industrial photography and I assume this is another commission, an oil refinery, perhaps, or a coal mine.
‘Not this time,’ he says. ‘I’ve retired. This is all about ice.’
Photographing ice is Stuart’s hobby. Icicles hanging from eaves, ice cubes clinking in a glass, glaciers, icebergs, frozen cobwebs suspended between the stems of flowers. Ice has brought him to the summit of mountains, the Arctic Circle and up close to garden hedges. Now, he’s chartered a boat for August and intends to sail along the Southeast coast of Alaska.
‘How long will you be away?’ I ask.
‘I haven’t booked my return flight. It all depends…’
‘On what?’
He swerves away from the question and finds a map, spreads it over the table. He runs his finger along the Alaskan coast line, touching Juneau, Skagway, Sitka, Glacier Bay. He names inlets, coves, islands, bays, straits.
‘The owner of the boat will come with me,’ he says. ‘Daveth Carew has been conducting tours since he was a teenager. He knows the coast like the back of his hand.’
When the sailing is done Stuart will move inland to photograph the Juneau icefield. He needs someone to look after him. He never married. No woman would put up with his erratic lifestyle, he said when I asked him once. Always on the go, travelling here, there and everywhere. I think of Max Moylan. The same nomadic lifestyle and the toll it took on his marriage. But Max needed women, unlike Stuart who always found contentment in his own company.
‘Would you consider coming with me?’ he asks.
‘Me?’ For an instant I think he’s joking but his expression tells me otherwise.
He laughs at my astonishment then stops abruptly, as if the sound has become unfamiliar. ‘Don’t look so astonished. I’m said I’m going to Alaska, not Mars. You’ve as much as admitted that you and Jake are living in an impossible situation.’
‘But I know nothing about boats. I’d be a hindrance more than anything else on a trip like that.’
‘I wouldn’t ask you if that’s what I thought,’ he replies. ‘This is a chance to do something different. Don’t give me your answer until you’ve had time to seriously consider my proposal.’
‘You could easily get someone with more experience.’
‘I could,’ he admits. ‘But you’re the closest I’ve ever come to having a child of my own.’ For the first time I hear emotion in his voice, a quiver he’s unable to disguise. ‘Life is short, Nadine, and we allow so much of it to slip through our fingers. It would give us time to get to know each other a little better.’
I walk to the window and look down upon the city. Rooftops shimmer in the stillness of high places. It’s still bright outside and sun is a translucent disc, barely visible in the hazed London air. He’s offered me an escape route, but is sailing in treacherous seas with two men, one a stranger, the answer to my problems? Of course not… but what have I to lose? A domineering mother-in-law whose unbending attitude is never going to soften, a scattered family, a job that bores me and Jake… with his inscrutable gaze and secrets. The silence of vast empty spaces instead of the constant thud of music from his apartment when he’s there. The pressure of unasked questions when he’s not.
Stuart is knowledgeable and confident but there is a manic edge to his enthusiasm that worries me. Is he oblivious of the fact that gale force winds can whip without warning and change everything? The urge to ring Jake and discuss this preposterous proposal with him comes and goes. I’ll make up my own mind. By the time the elevator stops at ground level I know the answer. Madness. No way will I even consider it.
CHAPTER 23
JAKE
Eleanor opened the front door to Apartment 2 with her own key. It annoyed Jake that she could enter his apartment without knocking but he could hardly object when Sea Aster was her property. He swivelled his shoulders to loosen them and laid his guitar aside. He had been so engrossed in his music that the morning had slipped by unnoticed and Eleanor’s visit had been forgotten.
She entered the breakfast room and surveyed the beer bottles arranged in a semi-circle on the bay windowsill. Band practice had ended late last night. Afterwards, they had ordered pizzas and opened a few beers.
‘That brings me back to your youth,’ she said. ‘I feel quite nostalgic looking at the chaos of your life.’
‘I’ve been up since eight working on a new song,’ Jake protested. It should not have sounded like an apology but it did.
‘A new song.’ Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Wouldn’t it be a better idea to look for a new job.’
‘I have a job. I’m playing professionally as a session musician and teaching guitar in HiNotes.’
She impatiently swept his excuses aside. ‘Did you follow up on that contact number I gave you?’
‘I told you, I’m not interested in a retraining course. I’m reforming the band – ’
She lowered herself into an armchair, her face settling into the obdurate lines he knew so well. ‘For goodness sake, Jake! You’re not a teenager any more, so stop behaving like one.’
‘I’m not behaving – ’
‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten how I was pilloried by the media the last tim
e you were in that band. I still shudder when I remember that dreadful publicity… the time you urinated on stage.’
‘That was lime juice… a syringe… illusion.’
‘And when you ended up in jail… those dreadful Satanic lyrics.’
He almost laughed out loud, remembering. ‘When fucked about by Mum and Dad, Fuck them back and be as bad…’ The passion with which he sang those lyrics. A defiant pastiche on Philip Larkin’s ‘This Be The Verse’, it caused a riot when the guards invaded the club where Shard were playing and arrested them under some obscure obscenity act. The media loved the story. Talk radio had lit up with parents protesting, demanding that Shard be banned from ever appearing in public again. Jake was back on stage the following week, the toned-down version rippling with subtle undertones that created even more impact among his fans. How could he have known that a year later he too would be struggling with the reality of being a parent?
‘We’ve calmed down a lot since then,’ he assured her. ‘We’re middle-aged, for goodness sake. Anyway, who’s going to drag that up again?’
‘The media have long knives and even longer memories.’
‘I can’t be responsible for your reputation.’
‘But you can protect it by accepting my invitation to the conference.’
‘What conference?’
‘Didn’t you read my email? I sent it to you last week.’
‘I don’t remember receiving it.’
‘That’s probably because you never checked. This conference is important. We’ve a number of important guests from abroad speaking at it. When I deliver the keynote address, I want you and Nadine there supporting me.’
‘In other words, you’d like us on our feet for the spontaneous ovation.’
‘If a spontaneous ovation occurs then, yes.’ Irony was lost on Eleanor.
‘We won’t be there. It’s too hypocritical.’
She was on her feet before he finished, flushed and angrier than he had seen her for a long time. ‘Is this how you thank me?’ she demanded. ‘I came to your assistance when you needed my help. I gave you and your wife a roof over your heads when you were homeless and broke. The least you can do is support me on one of the most important days of my life.’ She pressed her hand against her heart and exhaled heavily. ‘Have you any idea of the effect your decision has had on me? Sleepless nights, palpitations, anxiety. I’m terrified the members of the party will find out about you and Nadine. Our core values are based around the sacredness of the marriage vow.’
