Arthur stared at its vacant spot on the beach. Perhaps I’ve been stuck in a rock pool, too, he thought. I need to be in the sea, even if it’s scary and unknown. If I don’t do it, then I will shrivel and die.
He imagined what Lucy would say if she saw him here, soaked to the skin, rescuing a crab. “You’ll catch your death. Come and get warm.” It’s what he would have said to her when she was a child. The idea of their roles being reversed was strange. He thought that Miriam would find it funny, too.
It didn’t matter what he did now. He was a widower. There was no one to tell him how to live. Why, if he wanted to perform a silly jig in the sea, he could do. In fact, why shouldn’t he? He kicked up his feet and waited until waves rushed toward him and he kicked and danced. “Look at me, Miriam.” He laughed hysterically as the tears rolled down his cheeks, mingled with the raindrops. “I’m being silly. I forgive you. You didn’t tell me things because you thought it was for the best. I have to trust that you did it for the right reasons. And I’m still alive. I wish you were, too, but you’re not. And I want to live even though it hurts. I don’t want to be a dried-up crab.”
He broke into a jog and then intermittently strolled and ran along the water’s edge, dipping in and out of the sea, the icy water reminding him that he was alive. He flung out his arms and embraced the wind, letting it whistle through his clothes and sting his eyes.
He had to forgive and forget. There was no other way.
He hugged himself and walked into the wind until he reached a beach café. He saw that the dark clouds were blowing over. The sun peeked through. Raindrops sparkled along the edge of the blue-and-white-striped canopy. Puddles on the pavement shone like mirrors.
A couple opened the door and made their way inside. They had a fox terrier with them, its fur wet and curled. Water dribbled down their waterproof trousers and coats. “I’m just as wet as they are,” he told himself, but thought what Miriam might say. “You can’t go in in that state.” But he could go in. He shivered as a welcome warm jet of air blasted his cheeks as he stepped inside.
“Gosh. Just look at you,” a lady in a cheerful yellow apron said to him. “Let’s dry you off a bit.” She disappeared behind the counter, then brought him a fluffy sky blue towel. “Rub yourself down.” She handed the couple a scruffier towel for their dog. “It’s as miserable as sin out there. Did you get caught out while you were walking? The weather can just turn like that.” She snapped her fingers. “One minute everything is lovely and then it all goes dark and gloomy. The sun always comes out, though, love. I think we’re at that stage now. It will be bright soon.”
Arthur used the towel to blot and wipe and rub himself. He was still soaking wet but his face was dry. He saw a young couple share a hot chocolate. The girl had dark hair like Miriam and the boy was skinny with too much hair. Their drink was in a tall glass and topped with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. When the lady in the yellow apron came to take his order he asked for one, too. It arrived with a chocolate flake on the side and a long spoon. He sat in the window and watched the raindrops on the glass. He scooped up the cream and savored every mouthful, blowing and sipping at the hot syrupy liquid.
When he was finished, he jumped on the train at the station, and then onto the bus home. His clothes clung to him, swishing as he walked. As he neared the house his mobile vibrated in his pocket. Bernadette had left a text message. Call me, it said.
Memories
ARTHUR’S HALLWAY WAS DARK, CHILLY. He stared at Bernadette’s text message. It was stark and to the point. Oh, God, no, was his first thought. He hoped she was okay. He would strip off his wet clothes and then ring her.
As he had predicted, there were no birthday cards waiting for him. Lucy would be at school marking books. Bernadette might still be at the hospital. He was on his own.
Placing his keys on the shelf near the fabric potpourri leaf, he paused. He thought he heard a rustling sound. Strange. He stood still for a while, listening. After blaming his age for hearing things that weren’t there, he pushed the door to the front room open in small increments. But then something made his heart almost stop.
In silhouette against the window he saw a shape. It was hulky—a man. It didn’t move.
A burglar.
Arthur opened his mouth to shout, to scream, whatever sound he could make, but nothing came out. He had locked the door behind him and didn’t want to turn and fiddle for his keys. Why me? he thought. I don’t have anything. I’m a silly old man.
But then his resilience kicked in. He had been through too much to let a stranger in his house ruin things further. He was glad that Miriam wasn’t there. She would have been scared. He stepped forward and spoke loudly into the darkness. “I have nothing here of value. If you leave now, then I won’t call the police.”
There was a thump from the kitchen. An accomplice. Arthur’s mouth grew dry. He was surely defeated. Two intruders were not going to listen to him, be reasoned with. He felt around for something heavy with which to arm himself. All he could find was an umbrella and he clutched the pointed end ready to thwack the strangers with the handle. He strained forward to peer through the gap in the door and braced himself for a blow to the head.
Behind him, the light in the kitchen flicked on. He blinked, feeling thrown off balance.
“Surprise!” a chorus of voices rang out. There was a group of people in his dining room. He stumbled and tried to focus on their faces, to see who his intruders were. Then he saw Bernadette wearing a white apron. Terry was there, without the tortoise. The two red-haired kids who didn’t wear shoes were there. “Happy birthday, Dad.” Lucy appeared and enveloped him in her arms.
Arthur dropped his weapon. “I thought that you’d forgotten.”
“We’ve been here waiting for ages in the dark. I texted you,” Bernadette said.
“I was just about to ring you. Is everything okay?”
“Let’s talk later,” she said. “It’s your birthday.”
“You’re soaking wet.” Lucy gasped. “Terry said he saw you go out for the day. We thought you’d be home by now...”
“I needed to get out. I...oh, Lucy.” He hugged her again. “I miss your mum...”
“I know, Dad. Me, too.”
Their foreheads touched.
Rings of water had formed around Arthur’s feet on the carpet. His blue trousers were cling-filmed to his legs. His coat was heavy with water. “I went for a walk. I got caught out with the weather.”
“Come on. Get out of those clothes and join us,” Lucy said. “But don’t go into the front room yet.”
“There’s a man in there,” he said. “I thought he was a burglar...”
“That was going to be your big birthday surprise,” Lucy said. She looked over her father’s shoulder. “But I suppose you can have it now.”
“Hello, Dad.”
Arthur couldn’t believe his ears. He turned mechanically to see his son standing with his arms outstretched. “D-Dan...” he stuttered. “Is it really you?”
Dan nodded. “Lucy called me. I wanted to come.”
Time fell away. Arthur just wanted to hold his son again, be close to him. When Dan had left for Australia the two men had only managed to give each other a friendly slap on the back. Now they held each other tightly, there in the hallway. Arthur relished the feel of his son’s bristled chin on top of his head, his strong arms. The guests were quiet, allowing father and son to savor the moment.
Dan broke away and held Arthur at arm’s length. “What the hell are you wearing, Dad?”
Arthur looked down at his blue trousers and laughed. “It’s a long story,” he said.
“I’m here for a week. I wish it could be longer.”
“That should just be about long enough to tell you what I’ve been up to.”
When he went upstai
rs to change, he could hear chattering and laughter downstairs. He had never really enjoyed parties or family gatherings, feeling uncomfortable that he had nothing amusing or interesting to say. He would stand in the kitchen and top up people’s drinks or attack the nibbles while Miriam did the socializing. But now, he liked the sound of other people in the house. It was friendly, warm. It was what he had been yearning for.
From his wardrobe he instinctively took out his usual slacks and a shirt. He laid them on the bed and peeled off his wet outfit. But then he stared at the clothes on the bed. Those old-man trousers scratched his ankles and cut into his waist when he sat down. The way he dressed was yet another routine, a widower’s uniform. The clothes he had bought in Paris with Lucy were a little formal so he rummaged at the bottom of the wardrobe. There he found an old pair of Dan’s jeans before he grew Popeye legs, and a sweatshirt with Superdry written on the front. He found this amusing because he was actually still superwet. He dried himself off with his towel, rubbed his hair, pulled on the clothes and went downstairs.
In the dining room the farmhouse kitchen table had been laid with a buffet—sausage rolls, crisps, grapes, sandwiches and salad. A shiny seventieth birthday banner was taped across the wall. On his chair sat a small pile of cards and presents.
“Happy birthday, Arthur.” Bernadette planted a kiss on his cheek. “Are you going to open your pressies?”
“I’ll do it later.” He always felt embarrassed opening gifts in front of others, having to act out delight or surprise. He liked to peel off the paper slowly and consider the contents. “Did you do all this?”
She smiled. “Some of it. Dan and Lucy have been great, too. Your neighbor Terry offered to look after the red-haired kids while their parents went to the cinema, so they joined in, too.”
“But...” Arthur hesitated. “Your appointment at the hospital... You left me a message. What happened?”
“Tsk. Let’s talk about it later. It’s your day.”
“This is important. I want more than anything to hear that you’re okay.”
Bernadette patted his arm. “I’m okay, Arthur. The results were fine. The lump was benign. It’s been such a worry so it’s been good to be busy, helping to plan this surprise for you. Lucy called me. She called all of us.”
Arthur grinned.
“Nathan told me that he confided in you,” Bernadette said. “He read my hospital appointments so I’m glad he had you to speak to. Anyway. Yes, I am fine.”
“Oh, God.” The relief he felt was immense. It made his knees wobble and his throat constrict. He stretched out his arms, circled them around her and held her close. “I am so glad you’re okay.” She felt soft and warm and she smelled of violets.
“Me, too.” Her voice trembled a little. “Me, too.”
The doorbell rang and Lucy shouted out, “I’ll get it!”
A few seconds later and the kitchen door opened. “Hey, put my mum down, Tiger Man,” Nathan said.
Arthur shot his hands to his sides but he saw that Nathan was laughing.
He’d had his hair cropped short, which displayed his china-blue eyes. He was holding something covered with foil in his outstretched hands. “For you.”
“Me?” Arthur took it from him. He removed the foil. Underneath sat a chocolate cake so beautiful it looked like it came from an exclusive shop. It was covered in shiny icing and had piped icing words saying, Happy 65th Birthday, Arthur.
“I made it,” Nathan said. “Me and Mum are back on track. We’ve talked. She’s happy that I want to bake. Has she told you that her results are clear?”
“Yes. I am so pleased for you both. And just look at this cake.” He would not tell the boy that he was seventy, not sixty-five. “That’s incredible. It looks delicious.”
Arthur was almost knocked off his feet by the two red-haired kids from over the road. One bashed into his elbow. “Oi, you two,” Nathan said as he took the cake and set it down. “Watch what you’re doing and put your socks and shoes on.”
The two kids stopped and immediately did what they were told. “They just need someone to pay attention to them,” Nathan said. “Terry’s a saint for looking after them.”
Lucy appeared. “Dad? We want to show you something. It’s your present.”
“I have a pile of presents here. I’ve not opened them yet.”
“It’s your big one from me and Dan. It’s in the front room.” She pushed open the door.
Arthur shook his head. “You shouldn’t have bothered,” he said, but he followed her in.
He was confronted by an explosion of color, of people. Each wall was covered with photographs. They had been neatly stuck in rows and columns like paint swatch colors. But as he stepped closer, faces came into view. His face, Miriam’s, Dan’s, Lucy’s. “What is this?” he said.
“This is your life, Dad,” Lucy said. “You wouldn’t look inside the pink-and-white-striped box so I’ve brought the photos to you. I want you to take a close look. I want you to study these photos and remember what a fantastic life you had with Mum.”
“But there are things you don’t know. Things that I’ve found out...”
“Whatever those things are, they don’t change what you had together. You had many years of happiness. You’ve become obsessed with the past, Dad. You’re hooked on finding out about a time you weren’t in Mum’s life. And you have built that time up in your head and heart to be bigger and brighter and better than what you and Mum had together.”
Arthur turned on the spot. There were hundreds of images of him and Miriam, together.
“Look at your life. Look at how Mum is smiling, how you are smiling. You were made for each other. You were happy. And there may not have been tigers or dreadful poems, or shopping in Paris. You might not have traveled to exotic climes, but you had an entire life together. Look at it and cherish it.”
The photos looked like tiny windows in a sprawling tower block, each giving him a glimpse to a past time. Lucy and Dan had pinned them in chronological order, so the ones nearest the door on his left-hand side were black-and-white—the time when he and Miriam had met. He remembered seeing her for the first time, strolling into the butcher’s shop with her huge basket swinging from the crook of her arm. He could even recall what was in that basket—a string of pork sausages in paper sat on top of a block of butter. He remembered that the wicker was frayed and broken. He slowly circled the room gazing, studying the photographs, seeing his life played out before his eyes.
Bernadette, Nathan and Terry tactfully retreated to the kitchen, ushering the red-haired kids with them.
Arthur reached out to touch a photograph. There was their wedding day. He looked so proud and Miriam was gazing at him in adoration. There was a photo of Miriam pushing a pram. Lucy gurgled inside. Then he saw something shiny dangling from his wife’s wrist.
“Where are you going, Dad?” Lucy called out as he scuttled out of the room and upstairs.
“Be back in a mo.” He reappeared seconds later with his box of tricks and took out his eyeglass. He pointed at the photo and then screwed it into his eye socket. From Miriam’s wrist hung the gold charm bracelet.
“So it wasn’t a secret. She did wear it,” Lucy said, peering closer. “I don’t remember it.”
“Nor do I.”
“It doesn’t suit her, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Can you see, though, that you were happy? It doesn’t matter about a silly gold bracelet.”
Arthur stood with his arms by his sides. He felt dizzy with love and pride. It had taken his children a few hours and lots of packets of Blu-Tack to prove it to him. He had been blind. The past twelve months of living alone, of devising his strict routines, had made the color fade from his life. He had needed something to fill the void and he had done so with an obsession for an o
ld gold charm bracelet. He felt so sorry for Sonny Yardley, losing her brother. But it had been a terrible accident. Miriam had recognized that she needed to move on with her life and she had done. He was glad that she had chosen to do it with him.
He strolled around the room twice, remembering, laughing. Recalling the first time he held Lucy in his arms, how proud he felt pushing the kids in their prams. He saw how beautiful Miriam had been at his fortieth birthday party, how her eyes shone with love for him.
“Are we ready, then?” Dan shouted out.
“Dan!” Lucy shouted. “You are so impatient. Dad is still looking.”
Dan shrugged. “I just thought that...”
Lucy shook her head. “Oh, go on, then,” she relented.
“What?” Arthur said. “What’s going on?”
The lights dimmed. Bernadette struck a match and lit the candles on the cake.
Arthur’s heart began to thump in his chest. Everyone sang “Happy Birthday” and he liked how different words were sung when it came to his name. Lucy and Dan sang, “Dad,” and the red-haired kids sang, “Neighbor.” Bernadette sang, “Arthur” and Nathan just mumbled a bit. Arthur hadn’t expected to ever feel this happy again.
He sat in his armchair with a cocktail in his hand. Bernadette insisted on making him a Sex on the Beach. It tasted nice, sweet and warm. He wasn’t a mingler but that was fine because one by one his guests came to him. Dan crouched and whispered how much he missed England. He missed Heinz baked beans and the countryside. Terry said he hoped that Arthur didn’t mind, but he had asked Lucy to the cinema next week and she had said yes. There was a film on that they both fancied. Arthur said that was great. He watched them talking and they looked relaxed together. Lucy was laughing and he realized that he had never seen her laugh with Anthony.
“I’ve been talking to Luce. She’s told me about Mum’s bracelet,” Dan said.
The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper Page 24
