Somewhere Beyond the Sea

by Miranda Dickinson

  She was hell to live with. But I must have loved her once.

  I take another slug of bitter-tasting liquor.

  I did love her.

  I’ve been avoiding the truth, too angry and scared to even look at it. I loved my wife, but I was going to leave her and then she died on the day I’d planned to go. For months I’ve carried so much guilt for not trying to talk to her the night before, when I had the chance. I should have used the unusually calm evening to make one last bid to save us. There had been a moment then, with her curled up on the sofa and me in my armchair, where I looked across at her and thought how beautiful she looked. The blue-white light from the television dancing across her face, her newly washed dark hair curling over one shoulder, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she relaxed. I should have told her I loved her then. I should have left my chair and crossed the invisible wall across the living room carpet to take her in my arms and remind her why she loved me.

  But I didn’t. I hunkered down and wished the time away, my head filled with plans and contingencies for walking out of her life next day. And then she never came home.

  Above me, the stars are brighter now. From my very limited knowledge of them I can make out the Plough and Orion, but frustratingly the rest remains a jumble of tiny lights. I have a sudden memory of sitting close to Seren MacArthur, looking up at the blue screen of her phone as it revealed all the constellations. I wonder if she is watching the stars tonight; if she sees what I can see.

  I want Seren in my future. But first, I have to acknowledge Tash in my past.

  So on the cold front step of the chalet, I finally allow the tangle of emotions inside me to tumble out. Tomorrow I’ll blame the whisky and exhaustion for this, but for now I just cry. Great big, unattractive tears of hurt, frustration, guilt and every fear I’ve hidden punch their way out of me, until my throat is on fire and my eyes sting from the flood of saltwater. I am emptied out, finally shedding what has weighed me down for so very long. Out here with nothing but the stars and the distant rumble of surf for company, I am on the edge of the world, the questions I haven’t dared ask myself finding their answers at last. Everything aches. Everything hurts. But I know what I want.

  I don’t know what time I finally drag myself inside, but the first glimpse of morning light glows through the gap in the curtains as I pull the duvet over my head.

  In two days, the project will end. I have to be ready.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Seren

  The shop is mine till midday. And even though I don’t need to be here, I am sitting in the middle of the white, empty space on a folding chair, waiting with the shop that’s meant the world to my family, as if keeping a beloved relative company before a journey that will part us forever.

  I’ve already taken the keys from my key ring, putting them with Mum’s spare keys and Dad’s set from the pocket of his jacket that still hangs in the hall at home. The keys lie together in my right hand, joined by a length of yellow ribbon I found while clearing out the storeroom. Their weight in my palm is both comforting and intensely sad. I may have willed this day to arrive since accepting the offer, but the reality of it is only now sinking in.

  At midday today, MacArthur’s will cease to exist.

  It feels like an execution date.

  Time of death: twelve noon.

  I’ve told myself not to be sentimental, but suddenly it’s too soon, too close to the day we lost Dad. I haven’t had time to say goodbye, I argue with myself – except that’s all I’ve been doing lately, isn’t it? I’ve bid a slow farewell to this tiny shop unit tucked in a corner of a Cornish courtyard with every brushstroke, every roll of the white-paint roller. I’ve whispered goodbye with each shelf dismantled, each nail pulled out, each scar in the plaster filled smooth. Step by step, I’ve been letting go, setting it free.

  I’m going to be okay. This is the last link chaining me to debt: once I hand over the keys I’m handing myself the freedom I’ve longed for since Dad died.

  But knowing that doesn’t stop it hurting.

  Last night I sat on the bench in the Shedservatory, looking out across St Ives. A heavy fog rested over the town, but instead of frustrating my view, it felt as if St Ives was being enveloped in a cool, white embrace. The air was so still; and I remembered that feeling of holding my breath whenever Dad gave me a hug. As a child, I wanted to always stay close to him, his reassuring arm around me; the steady, sure beat of his heart sounding through his dark blue fisherman’s sweater.

  I don’t know where Dad is, but I think if he could have seen me last night he would have told me it was okay. The peace I felt was as close to a hug from him as I’ll ever experience again. He would be asking about my next adventure, not demanding an explanation. I took on his business because I had no choice, but I think Dad would have fought me over it. He wasn’t one for being hemmed in; the last thing he would have wanted was to impose that on me.

  Painting the shop white was the best idea. It’s different enough to be at odds already with the wealth of memories I’ve accrued here. I’m sitting with a friend who bears only a passing resemblance to someone I’ve loved before. That’s how I’ll be able to hand the keys to Mhairi when she and her father arrive.

  And then what?

  I’ve thought about today a great deal as I’ve been preparing the shop for handover. I can’t go straight home – that would be too much like scurrying away to lick my wounds. Do I wander down to the harbour, where life goes on and I can lose myself in the crowds? Or walk over to Porthgwidden and the familiar welcome of Aggie’s coffee hut? Do I get in the car and visit Gwithian again, or go a little further up the road and walk around the headland at Godrevy? The skylarks might be flying there now, and seals could be bobbing in the coves far below the cliff path. Or do I escape St Ives for a while, to follow my heart and find space to just be . . . ?

  I think about the note I’ve left for Mum on the yellow-gingham-covered kitchen table; the small holdall packed and waiting in the boot of my car. The map on the passenger seat, already marked with possibilities; the list of B&Bs where I might call in en route . . .

  It’s time to find my freedom. Wherever that might be. I can’t do that here, with all its memories, all the links with my life. My friends will understand. Everybody needs to get away once in a while. I’ve saved a little money working at Becca’s Bar, enough to sustain me for a couple of weeks. It won’t be forever: I just need to breathe, to let everything I’ve loved and lost wash over me and to find my peace.

  At five minutes to midday, I see Mhairi and Luke Peters walk into the courtyard. I’m tempted to keep the door locked until the last moment, but I know it’s time.

  Rising slowly and folding up the chair, I take a final look around the shop and walk over to the storeroom doorway. My fingers find the deep scratch shaped like an ‘S’ just above the door strike plate on the architrave. I trace the serpent-like shape, tears filling my eyes. I can almost feel Dad holding my young hands over a bradawl as we carved the first initial of my name into the wood.

  ‘There. You’re part of history now, sweetheart. “S” for Seren. This shop will always remember you.’

  With all the strength I can find, I pull my hand away.

  ‘Goodnight, sweet one,’ I whisper, the words Dad always said before locking up the shop for the night leaving my own lips for the last time.

  Mhairi meets me at the door, two minutes early. Her face shines with every dream she has dared to imagine for when this place is hers, every hope she has for its future. I hand her the keys.

  ‘Congratulations. I hope you find happiness and success here.’

  ‘I will.’ She gives me a hug and whispers, ‘I’ll take care of it for you.’

  And then I am out in the courtyard, empty-handed, seeing two new business owners celebrating the beginning of their adventure through a door that has just closed on Dad’s dream.

  My mobile buzzes in my hand. I knew Aggie would be first to contact
me.

  Hope it went well. You did great. Onwards, lovely! Beer at The Maidens to toast the shop? K and Cerrie coming too. Pick you up at 6pm! A xxx

  I haven’t told them I’m going away. Walking out of the courtyard into the warm sunshine on Fore Street, I pocket my phone and decide to call Aggie from wherever I decide to stay tonight. If I leave within the next hour or so, I can be there long before she arrives to pick me up at Mum’s. I don’t want to discuss it, just get to my car and go as soon as I can . . .

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Jack

  Everything is ready.

  I stand back to look at the final element Nessie helped me complete and realise how nervous I am. For the last three weeks this project has consumed my thoughts – even while working on Rectory Fields and spending time with Ness, my mind has been working overtime. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired, but neither have I believed so strongly I’m doing the right thing before. This has to work. It has to be enough.

  I have poured everything into making this happen. Not just my time and physical effort, but every word I’ve wanted to say, every thanks I’ve wanted to give. My brother would rib me for eternity for even thinking this, but I almost believe if you put your hand against the reclaimed stone you’ll feel the beat of my heart. It’s the structure I’ve dreamed of creating; on a small scale, admittedly, but it represents my hope for the future. Just like the tiny driftwood and moss house we left with the seaglass star on Gwithian Beach weeks ago.

  The house we left for Seren.

  Last night, I told Nessie the real reason I’ve been working so much. I wasn’t sure what to say or how to frame it: after all, it’s just a gesture for now; she might refuse. But Ness lit up like the horizon when the sun emerges from the sea.

  ‘That’s amazing!’

  ‘You think so?’

  She nodded emphatically and hugged me for a long time. ‘It’s the best, Dad. Even better than the marshmallows.’

  That’s all I needed to hear.

  Brotherson called me yesterday on Skype unexpectedly and I gave him a probably very wobbly video tour. From his grainy image in the inset box on screen, he seemed genuinely impressed. I’m so grateful for all his help, getting planning permission granted so quickly by the council because of the purpose of the build and the amount of sustainable material we were using. Without him gifting it to the community, I doubt the project would ever have got off the ground.

  ‘So this is it, eh?’

  ‘It is. What do you think, Bill?’

  He nodded his approval. ‘You did good. We did good. Never thought I’d hear myself saying that. I hope it’s worth it, Jack.’

  So do I.

  I can’t worry about that now. It’s all been arranged for this evening, so I have to wait. I check my mobile again but there aren’t any new messages.

  Stop it, Jack!

  It’s almost three p.m. I have to go and pick Nessie up from school. With a final look, I take a breath to push the nerves away and head for my car.

  Cerrie meets me at the school gate as Nessie dashes to my side for an extra-large hug.

  ‘Everything’s ready,’ I say.

  As soon as she smiles, I know something is wrong.

  ‘She isn’t answering her phone. Aggie and Kieran have been calling and texting her since midday.’

  ‘Well, where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know. Nobody seems to.’

  ‘She’s just sold her shop. Perhaps she needed some time alone.’

  Cerrie chews a rose-gold nail. ‘Possibly.’

  My nerves begin to twist. ‘You’re worried, aren’t you?’

  ‘No. I’m trying not to be. Look, maybe it’s like you said: she’s gone somewhere for a bit to have some time on her own. Why don’t you take Nessie home and I’ll call you when I hear anything?’

  Owen, Sarah and the kids are waiting at the chalet and have promised to look after Ness while I go to the site. My brother thinks I’m a hero for finally admitting how I feel; Sarah was less demonstrative, but I think even she can see what it means for me. But all of that will be academic if Seren doesn’t show.

  ‘I’ll take Nessie home and then I’ll come back here. You might have heard from her by then, yeah?’

  ‘I hope so. I’ll be here for another hour at least, so, sure, come back if you haven’t heard from me.’

  I can see Nessie observing me from the rear-view mirror as we drive. It’s too quiet in the car but my head is whirring too much to make small talk. I find the dance music radio station Ness likes and turn the volume up a little. She settles back in her seat, but her eyes remain on me.

  ‘You don’t like this music.’

  ‘But you do.’

  She nods along with the music as if considering her next move. Sure enough: ‘You’re being weird, Dad.’

  ‘Am I? Sorry, ladybird. Working too hard.’

  ‘Grown-ups always say that. But you work hard all the time, so that can’t be why.’

  ‘Leave it, Ness. Enjoy your music.’

  She gives a loud groan and stares out of the window, while I breathe an inward sigh of relief. I can’t even explain what’s going on in my head, so I have no chance of making my daughter understand it.

  It never occurred to me that Seren wouldn’t be there. For the last three weeks all I’ve thought about is that moment, when I can finally show her the project. I still don’t have a clue what I’ll actually say, but her reaction, her opinion are what matters.

  If she turns up.

  Part of me understands completely why she wants to go away. If I hadn’t had Nessie when Tash died, I might have done the same. So much crowds in on you: so many people wanting your time – meaning well, but becoming another pressure adding to the weight already on your head. If I could have packed a bag and set off on my own for a while, I don’t think I would’ve hesitated.

  I know I’m being selfish, but I want to see her this evening. Not just to show her what I’ve done and explain why, but because I’ve missed her. I’ve missed the stars on the beach and I’ve missed being on the opposite side of a debating table. I just didn’t realise what missing someone could feel like.

  But I didn’t know Seren had to hand over the keys to her dad’s former shop today – no wonder escape was her first priority. I’d assumed she’d closed the shop earlier this week and that Cerrie and Aggie had chosen Friday as a good day to commemorate its passing. I wish I’d known. This is too much for her to have to bear. And how conceited must I appear to demand that she come to the site on such a difficult day? Maybe I don’t deserve her time after all. I’ve ploughed ahead with this project because I thought I was doing the right thing, but is it what Seren would want? I’m a fool for only asking myself this now.

  I park next to Owen’s battered Land Rover Discovery beside the chalet and walk round to Nessie’s door, but she is already clambering out. She shuts the door and folds her arms.

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why are you so quiet?’

  I sigh. ‘I don’t think Seren is going to come and see what we made for her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. She’s had a very sad day today and I don’t know if she wants to see people.’

  Nessie’s frown softens. ‘But she’ll want to see this. It’s lovely.’

  ‘Thanks, kid.’

  She wraps her arms around my waist. ‘I think you just need to learn to believe more.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You didn’t think we’d see any more stars but we did. I knew we would. That’s because grown-ups always have too much other stuff in their heads.’

  ‘Oh Ness, you are funny.’

  She looks up at me, pleased she’s made me smile. ‘It’s true, though, isn’t it? I can believe in magic because I’m supposed to. I don’t worry about what other people think. But grown-ups worry about that all the time. You only get to play like I do when you’re playing with me. So, if I say it�
�s okay to believe things will turn out okay, you have an excuse to believe it.’

  I reach down and cup her face. ‘How did you get so wise?’ There’s something I haven’t told her yet, and I think now is the time. ‘Ness, I know who made the stars with us.’

  She looks up at me. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I found out.’

  ‘Who was it?’ There’s just a hint of caution in her question, as if she isn’t sure she’ll like the answer. I know we’ve joked about mermaids and for a while Nessie wanted to believe they were really responsible, but the moment I tell her I can’t take it back. A wash of nerves passes over me.

  ‘It was Seren.’

  Her mouth drops open. ‘Is that why you made her the round building?’

  I nod. ‘What do you think?’

  She lets go of me and stares out across the caravan park towards the beach she adores. Is she picturing Seren there, completing our stars? I’m tempted to prompt her for a reply, but she needs to work out her own response. This is as much her discovery as it was mine, and Seren’s before that. All three of us are now joined by this knowledge, and while I don’t know what Nessie’s reaction will be, it’s comforting that all of us know the truth at last.

  ‘Do you like Seren?’ It isn’t the reply I was expecting.

  ‘Yes, I do. Very much.’

  ‘And does she like you?’

  I wish I knew. I don’t want Ness to experience any more uncertainty, but that’s real life, isn’t it? I can’t protect her from it. All I can do is be honest. And even though I never thought I’d be discussing matters of the heart with my seven-year-old daughter, I answer her honestly. ‘I don’t know. I hoped she might but – I just don’t know for sure.’