Summer at 23 the Strand

by Linda Mitchelmore

  Red snapper or crab? Quinoa salad or pesto pasta?

  ‘Penny for them,’ Hugh said.

  ‘They might cost a little bit more than that.’ Martha laughed, looking up into his smiling face.

  Hugh laid a hand of greeting, briefly, on Martha’s shoulder and sat down opposite. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  ‘I’m glad to be here and, seeing as I had my first ever run this morning after I left you, I’m rather hungry.’

  ‘Really? The first? Ever?’

  ‘Yep. Although I’ve been guilty of being a bit of a gym bunny in my time, and daily dance lessons when I was at stage school.’

  Talking about this now, it was starting to feel as though it was all in the past for her. Was it? Could it be?

  ‘Did you like it? The run, I mean.’

  ‘I’ll let you know tomorrow what opinion my calves have on that,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘It gets easier,’ Hugh said. ‘As most things do.’

  And the smile on his face seemed to freeze, and although he was looking at Martha it was as though he was also looking inside himself.

  ‘Do you want to talk about Harris before we eat? You said earlier you used to come here with him so it can’t be easy being here with someone who isn’t your brother. We could just order a drink and talk? I’m not going to die of hunger if we postpone lunch for a while.’

  ‘I didn’t have you down as a mind-reader,’ Hugh said. ‘But yes, I was thinking about Harris. I imagined for a moment that he was going to come marching in, tell me it was my turn to buy the drinks – he always said that, even though I bought far more rounds than he ever did.’

  ‘And you wish you could be buying that round now?’

  A waiter arrived at their table. ‘What can I get you?’ he asked.

  ‘Just a drink for the moment for me,’ Martha said. ‘We’ll eat later. Okay with that, Hugh?’

  ‘Fine, fine,’ Hugh said. ‘I’ll have a pint of local ale. And you, Martha?’

  ‘Prosecco if you have it,’ Martha said.

  ‘We sure do. Won’t be a moment.’

  ‘That was inordinately kind,’ Hugh said. ‘To realise I was struggling a bit there. I seemed to have lost all power of thought and speech for a second.’

  ‘We all need a bit of help and understanding sometimes,’ Martha said. ‘Tell me about Harris.’

  ‘It’ll be easier if I show you.’ He took out his phone from his jeans pocket. ‘I’ve got hundreds on here. I’ll spare you the baby brother photos.’ He looked up from scrolling through and smiled at Martha.

  ‘I can probably live without seeing those,’ she said, doing her utmost to lighten what was, to Hugh, a difficult moment. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Sports teacher. With a bit of English on the side. Rugby was his game, although he was pretty good at just about everything he tried – tennis, cricket, water sports of every description. Here. That’s a good one.’

  Hugh handed the phone to Martha, and a good-looking chap, with hair fairer than Hugh’s and a big, rugby player’s frame, smiled out at her. Despite the physical differences, she could see the likeness between the brothers.

  ‘How did he die?’ Martha asked, handing back the phone.

  ‘Leukaemia,’ Hugh said. ‘He responded to treatment at first and we all held our breath with hope, but then it just stopped working for him and he shrunk before our eyes. It was swift in the end.’

  The waiter came back with their drinks then.

  ‘Can you come back in about half an hour, mate?’ Hugh said.

  ‘Sure can. Enjoy your drinks.’

  ‘Nice bloke,’ Hugh said. ‘But I think it’s plainer than day that we’re not enjoying much at the moment.’

  ‘It can’t be easy for you,’ Martha said. ‘But I’m not sad I’m here. How long ago did Harris die?’

  ‘Just over two years. It’s still a bit raw. It’s why I try to go to as many of those fêtes as I can and help them raise a bit of money so others can get the care Harris did. Although what I’m going to do with yet another teddy bear won on the tombola I don’t know!’

  ‘Offload it to a charity shop?’ She was feeling guilty now that she hadn’t gone along with Hugh, but there was no point saying so. Hugh just needed to talk. About himself. About Harris.

  ‘I could. But a stupid part of me thinks Harris wants me to have the stupid things. They’re tactile. Look… sorry, Martha, I know I’m being less than a thrilling lunch companion. I can be a right miserable sod at times. It’s why I’ve been known to drink myself stupid more often than was good for my liver, although I’m over that bit now. It’s why I turned into a bit of a recluse, turned down commissions. And it’s why my long-term relationship broke down. Violins time, eh?’

  Martha had a feeling that, with this remark, he was subtly letting her know he was unattached at the moment.

  ‘What was she called? Your long-term girlfriend? If you don’t mind telling me?’

  ‘No. I don’t mind. Abby. Abigail. Losing her was like losing Harris all over again but time has healed me more quickly there. And I realise now she could have been more understanding. Harris had only been gone three months when she walked out. And so, here I am, trying to put all the pieces of my life back together, along with my broken leg. Doing my best to live again. But I’m being a right bloke, aren’t I, talking about me all the time?’

  ‘I did ask you to,’ Martha said. ‘And besides, you must know a fair bit about me if you’ve ever watched TV or been to the cinema. Or read the newspapers.’

  ‘Yeah, that must suck at times, too, having every bit of your private life splashed across the media.’

  ‘It does. But I don’t have to take it any more.’ The restaurant was beginning to fill up now and people had come to sit at tables either side of Martha and Hugh. She couldn’t risk anyone overhearing what she was saying. ‘Shall we order now?’

  ‘Good idea,’ Hugh said.

  ‘And then we can think, perhaps, of something we can do that will put our respective lives back on track.’

  Running, it seemed, was the activity that suited them both. Hugh ran on the beach at least three times a day, while Martha preferred to run along the promenade, but only twice a day. If they saw one another in the distance they waved, but Hugh hadn’t issued another invite to lunch, or dinner. And Martha wasn’t entirely sure she wanted another invite because she still wasn’t entirely convinced Hugh wouldn’t suddenly send photos of her to some agency. She’d told her parents she was staying with a friend until the hullabaloo had died down, and that she was fine, and would call them soon. Friends texted her and left voicemails but she didn’t reply to them either, having told anyone who needed to know the same story she’d told her parents. Sometimes she saw Hugh on the beach, bending to photograph something lying in the sand, or focusing on something out at sea. A couple of times she’d got that feeling a person gets when someone is looking at them and she’d turned to look up at the headland above the chalets, and Hugh had been there. There was a wonderfully panoramic view of the bay from up there and he’d probably been taking landscape, or seascape, shots. He’d obviously seen her, because he’d waved to her as she turned.

  But here was Hugh now, walking towards Martha’s chalet where she was sitting on the deck, hat on to shield the low light from her eyes, reading in the late-afternoon sunshine.

  He had a bottle of wine in one hand, and two glasses hanging from the fingers of the other.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Hugh said, walking up the steps of Number 23. ‘But my motto these days is never to drink alone, and I fancied a drink, so I hope I can persuade you to join me.’

  ‘Is the sun below the yardarm?’ Martha said, smiling.

  ‘It is somewhere in the world.’ Hugh laughed back. He set the bottle and glasses down on the patio table and took a corkscrew from his jeans pocket. ‘So, can I pour?’

  ‘You can,’ Martha said. ‘I might have some nibbles to go with that – some crisps and savoury cr
ackers, and two or three varieties of cheese.’

  ‘Sounds divine,’ Hugh said.

  Hugh had poured her a very full glass of wine when she got back with the nibbles.

  ‘To you,’ Hugh said, handing the wine to her.

  ‘Cheers,’ they said as one, chinking glasses.

  ‘I’ve come to thank you,’ Hugh said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For having lunch with me the other day. I’d never have been able to go in there had you not been waiting for me. I was hiding behind a pillar waiting for you and watched you go in. But now I’ve faced my demons and I’ve been in there alone. Just coffee and cake, but I did it. I sat where we sat having lunch and, really, it was fine.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Martha said, cradling her glass in her hands. ‘Unless it’s that I was happy to join you, and I’m glad you’ve faced that particular demon.’

  ‘We’ll drink to that then,’ Hugh said, holding his glass out towards Martha to clink again.

  ‘Onwards for us both!’ Martha said, holding her glass high as Hugh reached over to touch it with his. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed but when I’ve been running I haven’t worn my hat. And my hair’s been tied back at the nape of my neck.’

  ‘And no one came up and accused you of anything? Not that anything you may or may not have done is anyone else’s business.’

  ‘No. No one. I think there might have been two or three people who recognised me because, when people do, a sort of disbelief that it could be me running towards them, or in the queue for an ice cream, comes over their face like a veil. And then, when I’ve gone, they whisper to their companion, only often it’s louder than a whisper and I catch my name on the breeze… Serena Ross.’

  ‘Be careful who you pretend to be or you might forget who you are.’

  ‘Gosh, that’s a very profound statement,’ Martha said.

  ‘Not mine, I’m afraid. I’m quoting, only I’ve forgotten who for the moment. Is that how it’s been for you for a while? With the acting name, I mean.’

  Martha nodded. ‘I see that now. These past few days have been good. Since you showed me the shells on the beach and pointed things out to me, I’m seeing more, if that makes sense.’

  ‘Perfect sense. And “seeing more” is my cue to come in with a suggestion. My mission here is twofold. There was the chance to share a bottle of wine, of course, but it was also to tell you there’s a small boat that does wildlife trips, coast-hugging. It leaves from the harbour early. Would you like to join me? Can you do early?’

  ‘Ah, so you’ve noticed I don’t emerge for my run until after coffee time?’

  ‘I have. Would eight o’clock at the harbour be too early? The carrot here is that there’ll more than likely be dolphins off Berry Head.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘The boat leaving at eight bit, or the dolphins bit?’

  ‘I can do early if I’m going to see dolphins.’

  ‘You’re on,’ Hugh said. ‘My treat.’

  Martha was up at six o’clock the next morning. Hugh had said it might be an idea to wear a jacket with a hood if she had one with her, and a scarf, because it was still only May and, while the forecast was good, it could be a lot colder on the water than it was sitting on the decks of their chalets in the shelter of the cliff behind them.

  He’d said it in a very non-bossy way as though he really was concerned she might get chilled.

  Hugh had said he’d call for her at seven and they could walk over to the harbour. But when she looked out to see if he was on his way she saw he was on the beach, his phone/camera to his eye, back to the sea, photographing the chalets on The Strand.

  Why was he doing that? Was he waiting for her to open the door so he could get a shot of her coming out? Was she being paranoid? Whichever, a ripple of unease snaked its way up her spine and out over her shoulders, and she shivered.

  But just as Hugh had faced his demons by going into The Shoreline on his own without his brother, so she would have to face the fact that not every lens aimed her way was going to be for evil ends.

  Martha reached for her coat, scarf and shoulder bag and went out. Hugh slid his phone back into his pocket and walked to greet her.

  ‘Gorgeous morning for it, Martha,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you’ll regret this.’

  ‘I hope not,’ Martha said. ‘I’ve usually got pretty good sea legs.’ And then she decided to let Hugh know she’d seen him photographing her chalet. ‘What were you taking photographs of just now?’

  ‘The chalets. And yours in particular.’

  ‘Why?’ Martha said. She didn’t know whether she wanted to go and see dolphins any more.

  ‘Because there was a peregrine falcon hovering above it. I think it must have seen a piece of cockle or something a seagull had dropped. I’ll show you if you like.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘We’ll need to get going if we’re going to catch that boat, though.’ Hugh placed an arm under Martha’s elbow and steered her round in the direction of the harbour. ‘I’ll find the best shots and show you as we go along.’

  And he did, but still Martha was uneasy.

  ‘Have you ever seen the film Roman Holiday?’ Martha asked.

  ‘Yep. Dozens of times. It’s my mother’s favourite. After Harris died she curled up on the couch watching it on a loop for months. I watched with her more times than I can count. So, I think, reading between the lines here, that you’re saying I’m not the Gregory Peck character who gets to kiss the iconic Audrey Hepburn character, but that I’m… the photographer?’

  ‘But you haven’t taken any photos of me that you’re going to present to me, as happened in the film, when my fortnight of escapism here is over?’

  ‘Nope. But then, photographers don’t, for the most part, have to sit in a darkroom developing stuff these days. There are no negatives to blackmail people with. Anything unwanted is deleted with a swipe of a finger. ‘But back to Roman Holiday… Audrey Hepburn’s character, Princess Ann, and the journalist, Joe Bradley, as played by Gregory Peck, were never going to get together, were they? Even though they did share just the one kiss,’ Hugh went on. ‘See how well I know this film!’

  ‘And the Princess Ann character was never going to get it together with the photographer?’ Martha smiled.

  ‘Irving Radovich, as played by Eddie Albert. Who never got to kiss Audrey Hepburn, although, as I said, Gregory Peck did. And what a kiss! What fantastic on-screen chemistry those two had, eh? And off-screen for all we know.’

  They’d reached the end of the beach now, and would have to get back on to the promenade to make their way to the harbour. Hugh, with his long legs, stepped on to the prom and held a hand out to help Martha up.

  Hugh was looking at Martha, a gentle smile playing about his lips. He ran his tongue around them as though they had suddenly gone dry with nerves. She had the feeling he would very much like to kiss her. And much to her surprise, Martha found she wanted very much to kiss him too. In all her twenty-seven years she’d never kissed anyone who hadn’t been involved in the world of acting. But would that be wise? Could their worlds knit together happily? Would they?

  ‘Well,’ Hugh said, breaking the spell that seemed to have been cast over them both. ‘The boat and the dolphins wait for no man. Come on.’

  ‘You weren’t joking when you said it was a small boat.’ Martha laughed. ‘I’ve been in bigger baths in the States!’

  ‘I’ll have to take your word for that!’ Hugh grinned.

  They were sitting in the stern, just seven other passengers seated onboard. And two crew. Tea and coffee available on request was written on a scrap of paper pinned to the cockpit and Martha wondered where it could possibly be made in such a small space – and how, given the boat rocked as the captain spun it round to point out to sea. But then the sea seemed to flatten out as though it had been ironed and they were sailing over a sheet of satin.

  ‘Cormorants,’ Hugh said. ‘Fairy Co
ve.’

  Just yards out of the harbour and Martha had seen her first cormorant up close, standing on a rock a few yards from the shoreline of a fairy-sized cove. How large they seemed so close up, how glossy and rather elegant-looking with their small heads and slender bodies.

  ‘And the gulls are just waking up in their cliff roosting places,’ Hugh said, pointing up at the red sandstone cliff. ‘And terns.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a day of firsts for me already,’ Martha said. ‘I mean, do we ever really look at cormorants and seagulls and terns in the normal course of events?’ She never had – they were just there, seagulls being a nuisance much of the time, but from the boat they looked as though they’d just come through a washing machine on a white wash, they were so bright in the early-morning light.

  ‘Well, I do,’ Hugh laughed. ‘They can be my bread and butter, seagulls. Thank God for photo memory cards these days because I can take literally thousands of images and then discard what I don’t want. Forgive me if I ignore you for a moment, but there’s loads I want to take pictures of.’

  ‘Snap away,’ Martha told him.

  The captain was giving a running commentary about the area and the wildlife and Martha was happy to let his words wash over her as her eyes drank in the view. Hugh kept standing up to take pictures, then sitting down again, touching her on the arm now and then, gently but briefly, to ask if she was okay, and was she warm enough.

  And then, there they were. As the boat rounded Berry Head, there were the dolphins. The captain shut down the throttle so that there was only the shush of the sea and the rumble of the motor as they all stood, as though choreographed, watching the dolphins jump and dive. No one spoke. A woman on the port side put her hands to her mouth and her eyes went wide with wonder as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Martha tried to count them… seven, eight, nine… but couldn’t be sure she wasn’t counting the same ones twice. As the boat rocked gently on the current, and everyone seemed to instantly find their sea legs, the dolphins came nearer. Martha had the urge to reach out and touch one, they were so close.