by Laura Tait
‘Ah, you’ll like the story behind this,’ says Brian when he sees where I’m looking.
Apparently it’s a heat-seeking device, so they can locate potential jumpers after dark.
‘The ring you found at the pub,’ he says. ‘Nobody came to claim it, so after a few months the landlord sold it and donated the money towards this.’
‘A happy ending,’ I say.
I’ll have to tell Rebecca. Although maybe I’ll leave out the bit about the happy ending I’d originally hoped for.
‘You seem to be in a place where you’re able to cope a bit better?’
I give him a conditional smile. ‘Now I just need to decide what it is I’m doing with my life.’
He takes a sip of the wine and then his mouth crooks at some inner thought.
‘What?’
‘I don’t think many people decide what they want to do. It’s like supporting a football team – you don’t consciously decide, it just happens.’
‘For most people, maybe,’ I say. ‘That was another thing I dithered over. In the end Jamie scribbled down the words to Blue Moon on a piece of paper, shoved it in my pocket and told me to meet him outside Maine Road at quarter past two the following Saturday.’
Brian laughs, then downs the rest of his drink. He tells me there is somewhere he needs to be, but insists on swapping numbers before I go.
As I’m walking back I remember what he told me last time – about being able to see clearer once the rain has stopped. I hadn’t foreseen exactly how hard it would come down.
But now, finally, it does feel like I can see everything more clearly, and as my feet find the chalky path that leads down to the bus stop an idea comes to me about what I might do, but straight away I dismiss it.
I’d never be able to pull it off, would I?
I keep walking, and maybe it is the brilliance of the horizon, the almost cloudless sky, but gradually in my mind the idea doesn’t seem so ridiculous at all.
Chapter Forty
REBECCA
Sunday, 29 March
I wake early with the sun pouring through the window, my bed drenched with sweat. I was dreaming about Jamie again.
In the dream, I was walking past Arch 13 and there was a van outside, and someone was loading it with red booths. I walked over and sat on one that was waiting to be moved and slid my hand down the side of the booth, finding a folded piece of paper with my name on it. I unfolded it and found in Jamie’s handwriting, You’re the best girl I know. And I cried. I’d missed my chance to speak to him about New Year’s Eve. I’ll never be able to tell him that he was the best boy I knew. And that although what I felt for him wasn’t romantic, it was love and I assumed he’d always be in my future too.
It wasn’t the worst dream I’ve had about Jamie since he died, though. The worst are the ones when he’s still alive. They’re brutal. Because then I wake up and have to lose him all over again as I remember that night that changed everything. Rowing with Ben, us almost kissing, the call from Danielle.
My breathing eventually returns to normal and I sit up in bed, gulping the water on my bedside table.
Dad is taking me for lunch today and I’ve a few hours before he’s picking me up so I have a long shower and tidy the flat. I cancelled the cleaner; it started to feel a bit extravagant, especially after I paid Ben his share of the furniture. I’m just putting my duvet cover back on – having finally got the knack of doing it by myself – when I hear a beep outside. Dad has pulled up to the kerb outside the house, right on time as always.
When I reach the front door I find Natasha from downstairs also on her way out and trying to get her pram up over the step.
‘Here, let me give you a hand.’ I pick it up at the front, while she takes the back and we carry it through the door.
‘Thank you so much,’ she says, breathing heavily once we’ve put it down.
‘No worries,’ I say, peering into the pram at the yawning baby dressed in a pink and yellow striped Babygro, before heading for the door.
I pause.
‘What’s her name?’ I ask, turning back around.
‘Amy,’ says Natasha with a grin, pulling her daughter from the pram and on to her shoulder.
‘She’s gorgeous.’ I smile back. ‘See you later.’
The restaurant is busy, and the waitress who greets us at the door seems stressed, but she manages a wide smile for Dad. ‘Would you like to sit inside or outside?’
‘Outside, please.’ He smiles back. ‘It’s a lovely day.’
He looks handsome in his sunglasses and his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and I catch the waitress looking me up and down when he pulls out a chair for me.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I say pointedly.
‘Can I get you some drinks?’
‘Small beer for me, please,’ Dad replies. ‘Rebecca?’
There’s a bottle of white wine in an ice bucket by the next table, condensation dripping temptingly down its sides. It was Jamie who told me that you can never go wrong with a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.
‘I’ll have a glass of the Oyster Bay, please.’
The couple drinking the wine are about Dad’s age and though neither of them are speaking, it looks like a comfortable silence.
‘Did you ever think you might want to meet someone else after Mum died?’ I ask Dad once the waitress has left. I don’t know where it comes from.
If he’s taken aback, he doesn’t let on. ‘I’ve neither ruled it out nor searched for it,’ he says evenly. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason.’ I shrug. ‘It’s just that everywhere you go women love you. And I wondered whether it’s that you’ve never met anyone else you wanted to be with, or if you felt like it’s wrong. You know, because of Mum.’
Dad laughs. ‘I’ve not lived the life of a monk. You remember me having various friends from time to time as you were growing up? Not all of them were just . . .’
‘All right, Dad,’ I groan. ‘I don’t need to hear any more.’
Dad chuckles, then his face goes serious. ‘Is this about you and Ben?’
‘Nah,’ I dismiss.
Well, not really anyway. It’s been five months since Ben and I split up, and apart from that one date with Michael, there’s been no one else. But I know now Ben wasn’t my One. Not like Mum was to Dad – something unique and magical that can’t ever be replaced.
‘How’s Stefan?’ I ask to change the subject. ‘I haven’t seen him since the funeral.’ He’s called loads of times trying to get me out, but I’ve thrown myself back into work to make sure that by the time I get home each night, I’m too tired to even think.
‘He’s moving in with his boyfriend.’
‘Jeez, Dad,’ I exclaim, slamming my water down. ‘You picked me up an hour ago and you’ve only just thought to mention that? Have you met him? What’s he like?’
‘He’s lovely. Very polite. Seemed shy at first but was very chatty once he’d relaxed. And he’s incredibly fond of Stefan.’ Dad sips his beer. ‘But apart from that he seems normal.’
After the waitress brings our food out, Dad asks, ‘How’s your cinema?’
‘Good,’ I say. ‘We’re scheduled to finish in just over a month, but there’s not much left to do. It’s been tough, though. It scared me a bit.’ I run a finger round the rim of my wine glass. ‘It didn’t occur to me before I started that I might not be cut out for it.’
‘I remember saying that about that job I had in the Dordogne. Remember the old wine store that was converted into apartments?’
‘Vaguely. That was just before we moved to Paris, right?’
‘That’s right. God, I messed up so many times – forgetting to get materials signed off, and getting site procedures wrong. I’d end up having to stay late, and catch up on paperwork at weekends, then I felt bad that I wasn’t spending enough time with you and Stefan.’
‘I can’t imagine you struggling,’ I admit, genuinely surprised. I always thought it came s
o easily to him.
‘And I bet there are people who can’t imagine you struggling,’ he says. ‘But we’re all human.’
I take a sip of wine and close my eyes.
‘I just hate the thought of being a disappointment to you.’
‘And how could you possibly think you could be that?’ Dad asks, pushing his empty plate away and taking off his sunglasses.
‘Mum died having me,’ I whimper, tears escaping as I resist my instinct to close the barriers back up. ‘I can’t imagine how you must have all felt. You lost your wife. Stefan lost his mum. And for what? Me? Was it really worth it?’
Dad goes to say something but I cut him off.
‘That was a rhetorical question. As if you’d say no – you’re my dad.’
The waitress shows up to clear our plates and Dad orders us both another drink. She pretends not to notice I’m crying, and I wonder what she thinks is going on. My cheeks burn beneath the tears and I wipe them with the backs of my hands.
‘Your mum knew the risks, you know,’ Dad says softly, meeting my eye.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Having you. The doctors couldn’t have made the implications of having another child clearer. She’d had complications with Stefan, and was told that she wasn’t strong enough to have another one.’
I try to let this sink in. She knew it was me or her?
‘As far as she was concerned, there was never any doubt about whether she thought you were worth it.’
‘But you must have tried to convince her not to go through with it?’
‘Oh, we talked and talked about it. And I’ll be honest, Rebecca, the thought of losing her terrified me. But her mind was made up. She said she knew you were too special not to bring into the world. And you know,’ he adds, putting his sunglasses back on and leaning back in his chair, ‘as usual, she was right.’
We sip our drinks in silence.
‘You OK?’ Dad asks eventually.
‘Yep. Just a little shocked, that’s all.’
I feel closer to my mum all of a sudden. I’ve always thought of us as never having had a relationship because we never knew each other. Now I realize she loved me before I was even born.
‘Sorry I never told you about Mum before. I know talking about her upsets you, but I didn’t realize you thought about it like that.’
‘Not about that.’ I grin. ‘I mean Stefan moving in with a boy.’
Dad chuckles, then tilts his head at me. ‘How’s Ben?’
The last time I spoke to Dad I was telling him how hard Jamie’s death had hit Ben. He was more lost than ever.
‘Better, actually,’ I tell him. ‘You’ll never guess what he’s doing?’
The waitress appears with the menus again. ‘Anything for dessert?’
‘Why not?’ says Dad, taking one, then looking at me.
Chapter Forty-one
BEN
Saturday, 2 May
Erica is already leaning against the shutters when I arrive.
‘Afternoon, boss,’ she says.
‘You can pack that in straight away,’ I tell her.
‘Aye, aye, captain.’
I lift the shutters and insert one of the keys, but it doesn’t work. The next one doesn’t either. In my peripheral vision I see Erica trying not to laugh.
‘I swear that was the first one I tried,’ I say when the door eventually gives.
I allow Erica to slide past me into Arch 13, where tall stools and poseur tables and mood lighting have been replaced by ladderback chairs tucked into square tables with candles, but when I follow her a memory returns to me so vividly that it’s like I’m back there and nothing has changed. My first night working here, after Jamie told me his chef had walked out. Him taking the selfie of us. I think I’m starting to understand why he wanted to mark the moment.
I take a deep breath and exhale the memory. Today my mantra is to smile, and so I smile now, at the serendipity of that day, for helping me to finally work out what I should be doing with my life.
The invites said five o’clock, but Tom and Avril arrive an hour early with the pictures.
Tom and I struck a deal. Twenty of his pieces would be on display in the bistro, and I’d get fifteen per cent of any sales. It was part of the business plan I put together with Mum after I agreed to let her invest a chunk of her redundancy.
‘It’s hardly the Tate,’ I overhear Avril say as I go to fetch the final picture from the van Tom hired.
I don’t catch Tom’s reply because Mum and Dad are approaching. Mum quickens her pace, leaving Dad trailing. She is dressed up, which to Mum is all about inches. An inch added to the volume of her hair, an inch subtracted from her skirt, so that it cuts at the knee rather than below it.
‘Don’t you look wonderful,’ she says, brushing something from my lapels before we hug. ‘I’m so proud of you.’
Dad waits patiently to shake my hand. ‘Me too, son.’ He hands me a present. ‘I got it from a car boot sale.’
I unwrap it.
‘A chef’s hat!’ I try it on for size. ‘This is awesome!’
‘I made sure to wash it at ninety degrees before he wrapped it.’
‘Ta, Mum.’
I introduce them to Erica, and show them the kitchen, where I’ve fitted a chrome griddle, a six-burner oven and a commercial freezer. I’m still waiting for the new extraction system to be installed but they’ve promised it’ll be done in plenty of time for the real opening next week. Dad nods his head throughout, keen to show he’s impressed.
‘The lighting is terrible,’ says Avril from behind us as Tom hangs up his final piece.
Mum tsks loudly.
‘Tom’s girlfriend,’ I say. ‘We try to ignore her.’
It takes me a second to understand that Mum wasn’t tutting at Avril at all. She is standing slack-jawed in front of a sketch of the Queen dancing in a field. Tom has dressed Her Majesty in a short skirt.
‘Have you seen this, Ben?’ Mum says indignantly, but mercifully she soon forgets all about the picture.
‘Look who’s here!’ she says.
Rebecca does her best not to look too awkward as Mum waves her in for a hug, and then Dad gets a kiss on the cheek.
‘The place looks fantastic,’ she says, and I can tell she’s not sure whether to give me a Mum hug or a Dad kiss. I pull her in for both.
‘I’m glad you could make it,’ I say, and when she finally withdraws she hands me a gift of her own.
I go to open it and recognize the frame as soon as it juts out of the paper.
‘How did you get this?’ I ask, discarding the rest of the wrapping.
‘After you told me you’d been around to Jamie’s flat and seen all his stuff I called his parents to see if it would be possible to have a couple of keepsakes.’
‘It’s signed by Chas ’n’ Dave,’ I say, showing the disc to Mum and Dad, who seem confused until I explain that they were Jamie’s favourite band and this was his prized possession. Tom offers to find an appropriate place to hang it.
‘I kept the liquor posters and Danielle and her cousin went to pick up the foosball table,’ says Rebecca, and as I draw her in for another hug I have to swallow the sadness rising up my throat.
Today, I remind myself, I will smile.
I stand alone by the kitchen, watching Erica carry a tray of Rob Roys. It’s even busier than I’d hoped. Frank from the cafe is here, and lots of Jamie’s old regulars, and I catch sight of Russ arriving, but he pauses by the door to let Rebecca’s friend Jemma in first. The only person I invited who isn’t here is Danielle.
‘Ben, I’d like you to meet my wife, Linda,’ says Brian, appearing in front of me.
I smile broadly and lean down to kiss her cheek.
‘This place is great,’ she gushes.
‘Well, I probably wouldn’t be doing it without Brian’s wise words.’
As soon as I left his hut at Beachy Head I realized Brian was right: most people don’t decide w
hat they want to do any more than they decide their football team – it just happens. But supporting City didn’t just happen for me. I needed Jamie to make that decision. So who better to decide what I should be doing with my life? And that was the thing, he’d already decided, albeit by accident: I would cook right here.
‘I’m not sure about wise words,’ says Brian, ‘but either way you’ve more than repaid me with the donation.’
I spent most of the day after Beachy Head on the heath, where I’d seen Rebecca and Michael, desperately scouring the turf around the pond. I didn’t actually expect to find the ring, but I did, the box sodden but still intact. Because the ring was an antique I ended up getting what I paid for it, and while most of the money went towards this place, I wanted to do something to let Brian know how appreciative I was.
As I stand with him and Linda, suddenly Jamie appears in my mind’s eye, charming people as they enter. I imagine him doing his thing, a lump swelling in my throat until I’m struggling to breathe.
I have to excuse myself, escaping to the kitchen to finish the canapés, and the process of chopping and shaping and putting in the oven takes my mind off my apparition, off him not being here.
‘He would be so proud.’
I turn.
‘How long have you been standing there?’
Rebecca walks towards me, ignoring the question. ‘What are those?’
‘Sautéed sherry chicken livers on toast.’
She scoops one and takes a bite. She closes her eyes while chewing, not opening them until she’s finished.
‘God, I missed your cooking when we broke up,’ she says.
I look at her but she just laughs and I let it go. It was only six months ago, but it feels like ancient history.
‘You know this is all part of Jamie’s plan for you, don’t you?’ she says.
I eye her again.
‘When he told you his chef had walked out, I’m not sure that was actually true.’
‘What are you on about?’
‘I think Jamie sacked him. I mean, it wasn’t just because of you – his food was diabolical.’ She laughs. ‘Seriously, I could have done better.’ I crinkle my nose doubtfully. ‘But he knew that by sacking him he could get you doing something you were passionate about. I think this was the plan.’
