by Helen Mcginn
‘Yes, he’s single. Again. His marriage didn’t work out, sadly.’
‘Oh my God, you’ve had that conversation already? When did you see him?’
‘I haven’t seen him yet. We’ve just been in touch via email, catching up on each other’s news.’
‘This is so exciting, Jess! You two were—’
‘Don’t say it, please, Annie. I properly fucked it up last time and I can’t even believe he’s bothering to answer me but, well, he is. And I have to say, writing everything down has been so good. I mean, I’ve told him about Rob, about my job… everything.’
‘Wow, Jess. Normally your emails are no longer than a couple of sentences.’
‘I know. But since coming back from Rome, I’ve realised that I have nothing to lose. Well, apart from my dignity, but I lost that in Rome.’
‘Why, what happened?’
Jess thought back to the television in the café that morning, the unmistakable heat of humiliation creeping up her neck. She shuddered at the thought. ‘Oh, nothing really. I just decided it was time I ran towards something rather than away from it. It might come to nothing, but for now getting to know each other again this way feels right. And honestly, I think it’s helped me make sense of everything that’s happening.’
‘Jess, that is brilliant news. I’m so happy for you.’
‘Thank you.’ They grinned at each other across the table.
‘Here’s to my sister.’ Annie raised her glass to meet Jess’s.
‘To my sister.’
12
1963
The sound of the alarm clock battled its way through Patrick’s dream, bringing him abruptly back to the surface. He sat up in bed, his breathing uneven, soaked in sweat. Another nightmare. This time he was running, but from what, he didn’t know. The latest work assignment had left scars, far more than any before. Not that you could see them, bar the odd healing cut and bruise. This was more brutal. He’d taken to avoiding sleep in a bid to escape the images that flooded his head at night. Whisky helped.
He looked around the room, trying to focus on something, anything to remind him exactly where he was. The room was so dark. Pushing the covers away, he crossed the floor and opened the heavy curtains. He took in the grey stone on the quiet traffic-free street below. Paris.
Of course, he was in Paris. Since arriving back from Algeria he’d spent much of his time buried in the welcome silence of the darkroom at his studio. Some of the shots developing before his eyes were almost too painful to look at but he knew he had a job to do. That is, help tell the story of the people caught up in a bloody fight for independence, even if it was now technically over.
Throwing on some clothes, he headed for the door, hoping fresh air and strong coffee might help shift the fug in his head. He walked the now familiar route down the street, through the Jardin du Luxembourg, past his favourite jazz club he couldn’t quite remember leaving last night and crossed the wide boulevard to the café. Chairs were still stacked up against the wall outside. He pushed open the door and slipped into the red leather-covered banquette seat at the table by the door, just as he had almost every morning since moving to Paris the year before.
‘Bonjour, Patrick,’ the waiter placed a small cup of coffee down on the table in front of him. ‘Late one last night, non?’
‘A little.’ Patrick stared at the cup, dropped two lumps of sugar into it and stirred slowly. He reached into his pocket, putting a crumpled packet of cigarettes on the table. He felt around in the other for a lighter.
‘Here…’ The waiter held out a lighter.
‘Thank you, Monsieur. Some eggs, too, please, when you’re ready.’
‘Of course.’ The waiter turned and headed back to the long brass-topped bar behind him.
Patrick took a quick sip, the liquid burning his lips. He looked out across the street and realised for the first time for a long time that what he really needed was to go home. Not back to his parents but to Cornwall. To see the sea, smell and feel the prickle of sea salt on his skin. Running away, burying himself in work wasn’t the answer. If he wanted to try to come to terms with what he’d had and lost, he needed to go back first.
Moments later a plate of fried eggs and bacon was placed on the table, the smell arriving before the food. ‘I’m so sorry, Monsieur, but I have to go.’ Patrick stood up from his place, putting on his coat.
‘Is everything OK?’ The waiter looked concerned.
‘It will be. Please, I don’t want this to go to waste.’ He put some coins on the table.
‘Merci, Monsieur… if you are sure.’ The waiter smiled and picked up the plate.
‘Thank you. I’m so sorry.’
As Patrick walked back across the gardens, now filling with people walking to work, children running to school, he looked up at the pale blue sky and took in a deep breath of cool morning air. For the first time in months he felt a heaviness lift from his shoulders. He headed to the agency office, his pace quickening as he rehearsed what he might say to his boss, Henri. Since joining he’d not turned down a single job, knowing – as the rookie photographer – it wasn’t his place to say no.
By the end of the day he stood on the tarmac at the airport, small suitcase in hand, camera round his neck. Just as he’d hoped, Henri had told him to clear off for a few weeks. ‘And, Patrick,’ he’d said, cigarette smoke curling from his mouth as he spoke, ‘don’t come back until you’ve had a proper night’s sleep. You look like shit.’
Two days later Patrick stood on the steps of the big house on the hill. He knocked quietly. No answer. He knocked again, still nothing. He walked around the side of the house, peering into the windows. Inside, the place was in darkness. Dustsheets covered the furniture and, despite the gloom, he could see thick cobwebs hanging in the corners of the room.
‘Can I help you?’ A gruff voice came from behind him, catching Patrick by surprise. He turned to see the old gardener standing, secateurs in hand.
‘Ah, yes… Hello, I’m Patrick.’ He held out his hand, dropping it slowly when his gesture was ignored. ‘I’m looking for Maggie. She was a friend of mine, but I haven’t seen her for a few years.’
‘The family aren’t here any more, I’m afraid. Moved out a few months ago now. Sad, really. They’d been here so long.’
‘Oh, right… Do you know where they’ve gone?’
‘I don’t, I’m afraid. The new owners kept me on, though. Told me to carry on as usual. So that’s what I’m doing.’ He raised the secateurs by way of explanation.
‘Ah, OK. Thank you anyway. I’ll head off then.’ Patrick looked into the room once more, then back across the field. For a moment, he could almost feel the touch of her hand in his as they’d stood on that slope gazing down at the village below. The grey sky sat heavily above, the smell of impending rain in the air.
‘Right you are.’ The gardener waved a hand and wandered off towards the rose garden.
As Patrick started the long walk back to the station he cursed himself for being so naïve. Why on earth had he thought it would be as easy as knocking on Maggie’s front door to ask where Julia might be, how she was? Earlier he’d walked quickly through the village, past Julia’s aunt’s cottage. As much as he’d wanted to, he didn’t dare stop. He’d carried on, taking the path to the left towards the river. As he went, he remembered the times he and Julia had walked along this very path, planning their future. One that was full of ideas, of promise, of hope. When he reached the corner he stepped out onto the small bank, looking first up the river then down. He wanted to cry out but the stillness stopped him. It all looked just as it always had, even though things could never be as they were. Julia had made it very clear in her letter that they were not to see each other again; that if he did indeed love her, he would let her get on with her life.
All he knew was that his baby, a healthy son, had been born and within weeks sent off for a new life with people he’d never know. But at least he – little William – had been in that
small white cottage, with roses around the door, in the arms of the woman he loved. Not for long, but for a short while. The thought gave him some comfort, at least.
He carried on up the hill, the station a good twenty-minute walk away, so lost in his thoughts he didn’t hear the loud revving as a car slowly crawled up alongside him.
‘Patrick!’
He turned to see a familiar face behind the wheel of the Morris Traveller.
‘Tessa?’ Patrick saw she was smiling at him, familiar grey wisps of hair escaping the scarf keeping it back from her face.
‘Darling, won’t you at least let me give you a lift? I presume you’re heading to the station? Come on, get in before this thing starts rolling backwards.’ Tessa reached across to open the door for Patrick.
‘I didn’t expect to see you…’ He folded his long body into the seat, his legs practically touching his chin.
Tessa floored the clutch and got the car moving again. ‘I could say the same. But then I saw you walk past earlier, or at least I thought it was you. I came out after you but you’d gone. I’ve been looking for you ever since. Where did you go?’ She had to shout for him to hear her over the roar of the engine.
‘I’m not sure, really. The house, the river… I wanted to go to the beach but I couldn’t get there. Tessa, I… I’m not sure what to say. I’m so sorry. I know you must know everything and I’m not here to interfere. Julia made me promise not to find her, not to try to get in touch but I just had to… see…’
‘Oh, darling boy, I’m so sorry things didn’t work out as you’d both hoped, as you both deserved. But her parents, my sister…’ Tessa screwed up her face, shook her head slowly, ‘… is very old-fashioned, I’m afraid. This was one battle Julia was never going to win.’
‘What’s he like? William?’ Patrick stared ahead, hoping he hadn’t pushed her kindness too far.
‘He looks like you, Patrick. Enormous eyes, a sleeper, thankfully. Julia was so happy to have him even for just those precious few weeks. They had such a bond, really they did.’ Tessa closed her eyes, remembering the smell of his head, the clench of his little fists.
‘And what about Julia – how is she?’ Patrick looked at Tessa now, trying desperately not to let the tears behind his eyes fall.
‘She’s good, Patrick, a lot better than she was. It has taken time but she’s getting there. She desperately wanted to go to college in the September after William was born but her parents needed her to stay with them and work in the shop. Her father wasn’t well for a while and her mother couldn’t manage on her own. She’s been living there ever since but she’s planning on going just as soon as she can. She’s been saving up and when she’s ready, she will fly, I know she will.’
‘And does she…? Do you think she really doesn’t want me to get in touch?’
‘I think she would love that more than anything in the world. But because of what’s happened she says she can’t face you. I remember her saying that if you were together, she thought you’d both always be reminded of what you had lost, not what you had. Honestly, Patrick, this almost destroyed her. Giving up William was the hardest thing for her to do. It’s a miracle it didn’t destroy her, to be honest. I think she’s determined to try to have a life. She hasn’t been here since – I think her mother’s still terrified of what people will say, which is ridiculous, I know – but Julia and I write to each other all the time.
‘Please don’t tell her I came, Tessa. I’m desperate to see her, to talk to her, but I know she doesn’t want me to, and for that reason alone I don’t want her to know I was here. I don’t want her to worry.’
‘Of course not, Patrick, but I think it’s a good thing that you came.’ Tessa put her hand on his, squeezing it as she did.
‘I will try to move on, too, try to have a life, Tessa. Thank you. And I’m sorry… I never wanted to—’
‘No more apologies, Patrick. Listen, how about I drive you to the beach, leave you there for a bit? I know it doesn’t look like it now but I think the sun will break through soon. You can walk down to the cove.’
‘How do you know about the cove?’
‘Listen, you can’t do much around here without being spotted.’
‘Right. Well, I would love to go. But…’ he looked at his watch, ‘I’d miss my train.’
‘Then unless you’re in a hurry, you can stay with me tonight and I’ll put you on the first train back to London tomorrow. I think that if you’re really going to lay some ghosts to rest, you need to go down there and put your feet in the sand, watch the waves for a while, listen to the sound of the sea. What do you say?’
‘Tessa, really, I couldn’t put you out like that. You must have things to do.’
‘Nothing would make me happier than knowing I’ve helped you in some way. And I’d love the company over supper tonight. Not that it’ll be anything more exciting than some bread and cheese and a bottle of red, I’m afraid.’
‘That sounds absolutely perfect, Tessa. Thank you.’
‘Right, I’ll turn round at the top of the hill. If we make it up there, that is…’
Tessa drove back towards the coast and dropped Patrick by the edge of the road. ‘I’ll pick you up back here in an hour. I need to pop into town. Might see if I can find something a bit more exciting for us to eat tonight.’ She waved as Patrick headed off towards the beach down the path across the field.
He walked towards the point, lifted by the sight of the sea far below. The sky was still grey – no sign of the sun – but the sound of waves on the shore soothed him. Picking his way down along the narrow path, he remembered how Julia would always run ahead, her bare brown legs moving quickly between rocks and gorse. There wasn’t a soul on the beach. Now he was on the shore, the noise of the sea surrounded him and he watched the waves washing first up towards him before gently rolling back. Over and over, a soundtrack to his thoughts of her, of the way they were. And of William, a small boy made by them both. A gift they hadn’t been allowed to keep. Patrick’s sense of loss left him weak. He looked out towards the horizon, a huge black cloud spreading before him. The sea breeze had picked up, now whipping around him. He threw back his head and let out a long, desperate yell, the wind picking it up and carrying it up into the sky. He closed his eyes and felt the first drops of rain on his skin. Within moments, he was drenched, his hair sticking to his face. He held the heel of his hands to his eyes, hoping to stem the tears but they came anyway.
Patrick turned and looked back along the beach, first one way, then another. Still empty. The tide was out far enough for him to reach the cove round the corner. He walked slowly, his feet sinking in the stones but the wind at his back pushed him towards the small opening of a cave; their cave. Stones gave way to damp sand and he took his place on a rock just inside, where he’d once sat turning mackerel on the fire. How could it be so fresh in his memory and yet feel like a lifetime away?
He sat looking at the sea, watching until the rain stopped and the wind died down. The black cloud had all but disappeared and the grey clouds slowly gave way to glimpses of blue behind. He got up and walked to the shore, ready to walk back up the cliff path. The gulls wheeled overhead. Just as they always had and just as they always would. Taking a deep breath he started towards the steps.
Tessa waved from the top of the hill. He waved back.
The following morning, as he sat on the train heading east once again, flashes of Cornish coast soon giving way to sweeping moors, he thought of Julia. She had made her decision, asked him to go ahead and live his life for all their sakes. And no matter how much he wished he didn’t have to accept it, he knew deep down he owed it to her to do as she’d asked.
For the first time he felt a sense of acceptance, a kind of perspective he hadn’t known he’d needed. He’d spent so long running away from the facts, filling his days with anything other than the ordinary. Now he knew: things were as they were and the best he could do was to start living properly again, holding the memory of Jul
ia and their son in his heart and cherishing it. He’d spent the last two years trying to forget, pretend nothing had happened. Now he knew he’d have to learn to live with it if he was going to have any life at all.
‘I’m sorry… were you…? I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
He looked blankly at the woman sitting opposite, now speaking to him.
‘I just wondered if you knew how long it is until we get to Exeter?’ She smiled, her brown eyes framed with glasses.
‘Ah, not too long, but we’re here for a little while at least, I’m afraid. You haven’t done this journey before?’ Patrick pulled himself back to the present, returning her smile.
‘No, I haven’t.’ She extended her hand. ‘I’m Katherine, by the way. Kathy, usually… Nice to meet you.’
‘I’m Patrick. Pleased to meet you, too.’ He took her hand and shook it.
‘Well, if we’re stuck here, how about tea?’ She took a flask from the large tartan bag at her feet and placed it on the table alongside a tin. ‘And by the looks of it, my mother has made enough biscuits to fuel an army.’ She lifted the lid and peered inside. ‘Or two.’ She passed the tin across the table to Patrick. At that moment he realised he hadn’t eaten a thing since supper with Tessa the previous day. He took a biscuit, a thick slab of yellow, crumbling shortbread, and bit into it.
‘Thank you, delicious.’ He wiped the crumbs from the corners of his mouth, watching her pour out two cups of steaming tea from the flask. ‘So, what takes you to Exeter?’
‘I’m going for a job, actually. And I’m quite nervous. I’m afraid that’s why I came to talk to you. Sitting there on my own, I was overthinking it. I need a distraction.’
‘Oh, right. Glad I can help.’ Patrick laughed gently. ‘So, what’s the job? Or don’t you want to talk about it?’
‘Oh, no, I do. It’s for a position on a research project. I’m probably far too young for them to even take me seriously but, honestly, I think this job was made for me. It’s a project on Thomas Hardy, working through his correspondence, documenting new finds, figuring out as much as we can about his influences, his inspiration. It’s a mammoth task, but to me it sounds like heaven.’
