by Megan Tayte
‘Are you up for some climbing?’
I looked dubiously at my sandals, then kicked them off and rolled up my trouser legs. ‘Definitely.’
We passed an hour clambering on the many rocks, inspecting rock pools, collecting shells and generally acting like children in explorer mode. The tide was out and the water shallow near the shore, so we paddled out to the massive rocky outcrop and climbed partway up it. The view out to sea and back at the land was pretty amazing, and we sat quietly for a while, just taking it in. I asked about an island to the west that jutted out of the ocean like a triangular wedge; I thought I recognised it.
‘It’s called the Mewstone,’ said Luke.
‘I remember it,’ I told him. ‘You can see it from the far corner of the cottage garden. When we were kids, we used to fantasise about living there – our own private island.’
It had slipped out, and that little word, ‘we’, made me ache. It was just me now.
Luke opened his mouth to talk, and suddenly I was afraid of what he would say, afraid he’d touch that bit of me that ached and break it wide open.
‘Race you down!’ I called, and quickly scrambled back down the rock. A shocking idea that resulted in me slipping and landing on my butt in the water.
Luke was quickly – nimbly – at my side. ‘Are you –’
I covered mortification with laughter. ‘An idiot? Yes.’
‘Here.’ He held out a hand to me. I hesitated for a moment, and then took it. His hand was warm and a little rough. And dry. He pulled me up and surveyed my jeans, clinging limpet-style to my legs.
‘Sun’s blazing now,’ I said. ‘They’ll soon dry if we sit for a while.’
He looked dubious, but followed me to the beach where we kicked aside the bigger pebbles to create a clear patch and sat down, side by side. Instinctively, as I’d done on the beach all my childhood, I began sifting through the surrounding rocks and shells, looking for ‘keepers’. Here, many of the rocks were amber-coloured and marbled with a smooth, creamy trace, and I weighed different ones in my hand, enjoying the smooth feeling of the stone against my skin. Then I realised I’d been sorting rocks rather than talking to Luke. I looked up, embarrassed, to see what I’d missed – and smiled. Luke had been busy picking out the rounded grey pebbles; the more symmetrical, the better. I teased him about it, and he laughed and confessed he was a stickler for order amid chaos.
‘Here,’ he said eventually, after a forage at his left side, away from me. He handed me a piece of green glass, its edges curved and softened and its surface frosted by the tide. ‘When I was a kid, I thought these were pirates’ treasure. My grandad was always telling me about Sir Francis Drake – hero to the English, pirate to the Spanish. He sailed from Plymouth, you know…’
I stared at the green glass in my hand as Luke carried on briefing me on Vice Admiral Drake. What was it the boy in the churchyard had said? My eyes were green like the jewels of glass that washed up on the beach.
Luke, seeming to realise that he’d lost my attention with his brief history lesson, checked his watch and suggested it was time to move on. I snapped back to reality – guilty to realise I had been thinking of that other boy while here with Luke, and then confused by the guilt; surely I was free to think of whoever I liked?
The climb up the rocks and the walk along the narrow path proved a little trickier this time around, with my still-very-wet-jeans weighing me down.
At the pub car park Luke said, ‘I have another place in mind for lunch. But first, do you need to change your jeans?’
I really did. The denim was cold, soggy and sticky. ‘They’re fine,’ I lied.
‘Do you have a change of clothes with you?’
I eyed the boot of the Mini, which was full of bags ready to be dropped off at the charity shop. ‘Not… really.’
‘I’ll look away while you change, if that’s what you’re thinking…’
‘It’s not.’
‘Oh.’
I sneezed.
‘Scarlett, do me a favour?’
‘What?’
‘Get changed.’
‘Right.’
*
A half hour later we were weaving down steep, tiny streets that looked to be designed for horses rather than cars. I had a vague idea that the houses we were passing were quaint and colourful, but I was too busy gripping the steering wheel to look properly as we descended. How Luke had expected to get his van down here I had no idea. Finally, we reached the bottom of the hill and pulled up.
I eyed the sandy expanse on which Luke had told me to park. ‘Er, this looks a lot like…’
‘A river bed? It is. Newton Creek. That side’ – he pointed to a smattering of houses on the northern bank – ‘is Newton Ferrars. This side is Noss Mayo. Tiny village. But the pub is great. When you can get to it. Got to watch it when the tide comes in, or you lose your car.’ He saw my expression. ‘Don’t worry. I checked the times; we’re fine.’
Still, I gave my little car a reassuring (goodbye?) pat as I locked it up.
‘You ready?’ asked Luke, and I saw his eyes flit down momentarily – again. The car boot was full of old school sports kit, and I’d ended up in a hockey skirt. An ugly one. Bottle-green. Which clashed horrendously with my pink vest. But it had been a choice between the skirt, a leotard and baggy-kneed jogging bottoms.
I tugged the skirt down as far as it would go (which wasn’t far; it was two sizes too small) and managed a breezy, ‘Which way?’
Luke gestured along the sand to a white stone inn set right on what would be the waterfront when the tide was in. Clearly, despite the difficult access, the Ship Inn was a popular haunt, but Luke spotted a couple gathering their things at an outside table on the deck and darted across to claim it. I followed him and sat down.
The next two hours whizzed by in a blur of sunshine and people-watching and chat. Luke was such easy company, and he often made me laugh – once to the point of choking on my lasagne. But then, during one anecdote involving Luke attempting to cook a lobster that refused to die in the pot, there came a turning point. It was such a simple gesture, casual and no doubt meaningless – the breeze picked up and caught my loose hair, blowing a section across my face, and Luke reached over and brushed it away. But all I could think of was the feeling of his touch on my skin, and the intimacy of the move, and the way it made me feel cared for in a way I’d never been. Suddenly, the realisation hit me: I was falling for this boy.
I thought furiously as I did my best to keep up with the conversation (the lobster had escaped the pot now and Luke was grappling with it on the kitchen worktop). In a sense, this was the simplest, most natural development in the world. Who else but Luke? He was kind and generous. He didn’t judge me. He didn’t crowd me or probe into my business. In our lessons, when I rode a wave he cheered me on. When I failed to conceal my exhaustion and wobbled in his company, his arm was straight out, steadying me, and his voice was soft and deep as he asked, ‘Hey, you okay?’ And there was no denying that he was attractive, that I was attracted. His physique made me feel protected, safe; and those eyes…
Now, just being close to him made my heart beat a little faster. Every time he shifted I caught his scent on the breeze – a hint of spicy aftershave and something else, something that made me think of freshly baked cakes. His lips as he talked were mesmerising. What would it feel like to kiss them? Under the table I felt the heat of his knee dangerously close to mine. A part of me willed him to touch me.
Warmth flooded through me, and something else – something new and frightening. I should have been happy. To like someone was to feel alive; to be like every other teenage girl. But to like someone meant vulnerability. He’ll hurt you, said a low voice inside.
‘Scarlett?’
Luke was looking at me expectantly.
‘Oh!’ I said. ‘Ha ha! Lobsters, eh?’
He looked at me a little oddly, and I had to wonder whether the end of the story I’d completely missed wasn�
��t, in fact, a funny one.
From then on, I did my best to affect my light mood of earlier, but I think Luke sensed that something had changed. After our third round of drinks I suggested we head back. The journey home was quieter, more subdued, and I racked my brain for a way to restore our earlier rapport while hiding my messy feelings, but what with concentrating on the narrow roads, I had my hands full.
Finally, as we drove up the lane to the cottage, I took myself to task. I couldn’t carry on floundering about; I had to do something to correct the awkwardness.
‘Stay for a drink?’ I offered. ‘The views from the terrace are great, and there’s some Victoria sponge I made yesterday for Bert. It’s as hard as brick, but not too bad dunked in coffee…’
I cast a sideways look at him, hoping he’d see the offer for what it was, and found him smiling easily back at me.
‘Sure. Thanks.’
I relaxed. It was Luke, and he was easy to get on with. There was really no reason to have got all tense. We’d have a drink, have a laugh, and tomorrow we’d be back on the boards and friends as usual.
But as I pulled around the bend on the approach to the house, I realised in a second that my plan was scuppered. My vehement curse gave Luke a jolt.
‘What is it? Oh, you have a visitor…’
Ahead of us, pulled up right before the front door to the cottage, was a large silver Mercedes. As I passed it, a suited chauffeur emerged and moved to open the rear passenger door – and a whole big can of worms.
13: HOW TO BE A MOTHER
‘Luke, I’m sorry, but that drink will need to wait,’ I said hurriedly as I pulled up alongside the house. ‘Can I catch up with you tomorrow?’
The subtext was clear: Leave. Please. Now.
I looked at him. His expression was pinched, anxious.
‘Scarlett, who’s…’
I sighed. ‘Look, it’s my mum, all right? Bloody surprise visit. It’s best if I see her alone. She’s… delicate.’
He nodded, seeming to accept this, but still he was tense. I could tell he was thinking of Sienna, wondering what darkness lay in my family. ‘Will you be okay?’
‘Yes,’ I promised. ‘I can handle her.’
He must have seen the frustration in my eyes, the pain that had re-emerged, and he touched my arm. ‘Hey, it’ll be –’
A sharp rapping on my window pulled him up short. I turned to see Mother peering nosily into the vehicle. I grabbed the door handle and flung the door open, causing her to totter back sharpish.
‘Mother,’ I said as I clambered out and slammed the door shut. ‘What a surprise. What are you doing here?’
Already the tears were flowing, and in two steps she was clinging to me like a lush to a free bar.
‘Oh, Scarlett, Scarlett. I just had to see you, to speak with you. My baby. My only baby…’
Gently but firmly, I extracted myself from her embrace and made to lead her into the house, but her eyes had fastened on something beyond me and suddenly her crumpled expression transformed to one of delight. I groaned and thought, Here we go.
‘But darling, you have a friend with you! How lovely!’
I shot a look behind. Respecting my wishes, Luke had made a good go of backing towards his van, but now he stood frozen, unsure which way to go.
‘Come!’ instructed Mother imperiously, beckoning him over.
Desperately, he looked at me. I rolled my eyes and then admitted defeat with a slight nod.
I saw Mother take in Luke’s appearance as he walked around the car to us. Looks were very important to Mother. ‘What a strapping young man,’ she said to me.
I cringed at her speech, which was slightly slurred and way too loud.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Blake,’ said Luke politely when he reached us, holding out his hand to her. ‘I’m Luke Cavendish.’
I wondered what he made of my mother. Most people, on first meeting her, were taken aback. Not only was she younger than expected (she’d had Sienna aged twenty, making her only thirty-eight now) but she was startlingly beautiful, with a tall, slim frame, pearly skin, vivid green eyes and gloriously red hair that fell in artfully arranged waves. And, of course, she was poor at concealing her ‘fragility’, as Father put it (‘stark-raving-bonkersism’ had been Sienna’s term of choice), which had got a lot worse since her daughter’s death. All in all, Mother was quite a shock to the system.
‘Luke,’ she said now approvingly. ‘A good, sensible, Biblical name – I like that.’ She gave his hand a weak clasp and then dropped it. ‘You’ll join us for tea, won’t you, Luke?’
It was as if I was invisible to Mother; she was like a cat with a new toy to bat between clawed paws.
Luke gave me a nervous look. ‘Well, I really do have things…’
‘Nothing that can’t wait, I’m sure.’
‘Mother,’ I said in a warning tone. ‘I’m sure whatever you’ve come here to discuss isn’t of interest to Luke.’
Wasn’t it enough that I’d messed up this afternoon by getting all awkward? No way should Luke now be subjected to this dramatic, ridiculous woman. And then there was the problem of her loose tongue and what she may say in front of him if he stayed.
‘Silly Scarlett, I’m just here to visit with you. See how you are.’
I regarded her sceptically. With Mother, there was always an agenda.
‘So, that’s settled then. Three for tea! Now Scarlett, really, aren’t you going to invite us in? I’ve been sitting in the car waiting for you for an hour now, young lady, and it’s been stiflingly hot.’
I didn’t bother pointing out that the Mercedes was air-conditioned and equipped with an integrated ice bucket and mini-bar, which, judging by the smell of gin emanating from her, I had no doubt she had drained.
‘Why don’t you go around to the back terrace, and I’ll make drinks.’
‘Perfect. Luke here can escort me round.’
Poor Luke. She held out her arm for Luke to slip his through. I had to admire his cool in taking Mother in his stride. They made a strange pair, walking away – Luke, tall and broad in his casual shorts and shirt alongside Mother, thin as a pin and weaving along in six-inch stilettos and a very tight designer shift dress.
As they disappeared around the side of the house it occurred to me that Mother was bound to ask how Luke and I knew each other, and the very worst thing he could do was say he was my surf instructor – perfect recipe for a Mother meltdown; not entirely unreasonable given that she’d lost her other daughter in a ‘surf accident’, as she liked to call it.
Quickly, I unlocked the door, threw my bag down on the hall floor and charged into the kitchen. I grabbed the nearest drink to hand – a bottle of lemonade – decanted it hurriedly into a jug, slammed it down onto a tray along with some glasses and a packet of biscuits grabbed from a cupboard, and pushed through the back door into the garden.
Mother and Luke were sitting at the white patio table, Luke relaxed back and Mother perched delicately on the edge of her seat. As I strode across I was in time to hear Luke say, ‘… teaching Scarlett to…’ and I launched straight in:
‘Drive! Advanced driving lessons. The lanes are so tight.’
I risked a glance at Luke and mouthed a silent, Please.
‘That’s right,’ said Luke easily. ‘Ten to two, mirrors-signal-manoeuvre and all that. Safety first.’
I smiled my thanks at him. So already he’d picked up on the fact that Mother was the nervous type then. But she was distracted…
‘Scarlett,’ she said disapprovingly as I set the tray down on the table before her. ‘Really, is this the best you have to offer? Not even a pot of tea?’
‘It’s fancy lemonade,’ I pointed out as I poured it into the three glasses – mismatching ones, I now noticed. ‘Look, it’s got floaty lemony bits.’
Luke helped himself to a biscuit and began munching.
Mother took her lemonade, looked at it as if it were a toxic chemical and took a delica
te sip. She winced as she swallowed.
‘So,’ I said, sitting beside her and looking her right in the eyes, ‘what brings you all the way down here. On a Thursday afternoon. With no advance warning.’
‘Oh, Scarlett,’ she breathed tragically, placing her drink down. ‘I’ve just been so worried about you. You don’t return my calls. You don’t write. You don’t come home to see me. It’s like you’ve vanished…’
Luke was suddenly absorbed in picking apart his biscuit.
‘Now, Mother,’ I said with as much patience as I could muster. ‘Be fair. I emailed you last week. You know I’m okay.’
‘But Scarlett, I can’t bear to think of you here, in this dreadful place. What if something happened to you…’
I could see the tears forming, could feel where the conversation was heading – like Sienna.
‘I’m fine here,’ I said firmly. ‘I told you – I’m almost eighteen. Old enough to live independently.’
‘But for just a couple more weeks. Then you’ll move to London. For university.’
‘Term starts at the end of September,’ I corrected. ‘Almost two months.’
I felt Luke’s eyes on me, and there was so much more I wanted to say – about the cove, and how I loved living here; about London, and how I’d begun to realise I would not love living there. But it wasn’t the time.
‘Oh, Scarlett, you’ll be all alone! In that little Chelsea apartment. Two bedrooms – one empty! Your sister… your sister… Sienna should have been with you…’
Now Mother’s shoulders were wracked with sobs. Luke looked distressed. Standing, he offered to go and find some tissues.
‘Thanks,’ I told him. ‘In the kitchen.’
As soon as he was out of earshot I said sharply, ‘Stop it, Mother. Luke is a friend, and you’re parading our family’s pain in front of him. It’s embarrassing for me. Please pull yourself together. I’m okay, you can see I’m okay. I’m happy here. I feel better. Time here is helping. Now please, can we have some pleasant time together before you head back?’ I paused as a terrible thought formed in my mind. ‘You are heading back tonight, aren’t you?’
