by Jenny Oliver
Stella was about to say something but she was stopped by her mother’s voice. ‘No,’ said Moira. ‘No, you won’t do this, Graham. You won’t do this. Whatever is happening here, don’t you dare hide behind Amy. She has a life to lead and it’s not with you.’
Graham looked wounded. ‘I was just offering to help.’
‘No you weren’t, you were dragging her back in. Well, it’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.’
Amy was aghast. ‘Mum! Why are you being so mean?’
‘Oh Amy, grow up!’ Moira shouted. ‘You need that man,’ she said, pointing to where Gus had disappeared out of the gate. ‘Your child needs that man. Don’t throw it away because you’re being a spoilt brat.’
Amy’s cheeks pinked, enraged.
Moira folded her arms. ‘Go on,’ she said.
‘What?’ Amy spat, hands on her hips.
‘Go after him, you silly girl.’
‘I will not.’
‘You damn well will. Now go!’
Amy stomped off, fuming, slamming the gate hard behind her.
As this was going on Jack looked at Stella and made big eyes down at Rosie who was watching the drama like it was Real Housewives of wherever. He angled his head towards the pool. Stella nodded and gestured to Sonny as well. Jack tiptoed round and yanked Sonny on the arm, dragging both the kids reluctantly over to the poolside.
That left Stella, her mother and her father, standing in the middle of the lawn.
Little birds fluttered in and out of the tree next to them. The filter on the pool opened and closed as the water lapped in the breeze.
Stella didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter because suddenly her mother was taking the lead on everything.
‘Right,’ said Moira, rubbing her hands together. ‘Are you going to make us a cup of tea, Graham?’
CHAPTER 38
Graham came back from the kitchen with three cups of tea.
Stella and Moira had settled themselves into a couple of old wicker chairs with yellow and blue striped cushions under the shade of an awning. As she’d sat down, Moira had given Stella a wink.
Now, as Graham handed her a tea, Moira said, ‘Thank you.’ Then inspecting the colour of it and taking a quick sip added, ‘It’s amazing what you learn when you’re left to your own devices, isn’t it?’
Graham mumbled something.
Stella raised a warning brow at her mother who looked away with a smirk.
In the background the kids were messing around by the pool.
‘What is this place?’ Stella asked as her dad sat down with his tea.
Graham looked around. ‘I found it on Airbnb.’
‘Airbnb?’ Stella was surprised he knew what the website even was.
‘Your son made me quite proficient on the Internet,’ he said.
Stella nodded. She looked around, saw a woman watching from the screen door with a bowl of cereal in her hand, a man behind her having breakfast at the table. ‘How many people are staying here?’ she asked.
‘A lot,’ he replied. ‘And they play music. Very loudly.’
Moira snorted a laugh. ‘Serves you right.’ Then, after a sip of tea, said very matter-of-factly, ‘So, go on then, why did you leave?’
Stella was relieved once again that her mother was here. On her own she’d have been pussyfooting round the issue, the pair of them immediately at a stand-off.
Graham shifted in his seat. ‘I don’t know really.’
Moira puffed an exasperated breath. ‘Course you know.’
Graham looked up. ‘I felt like I was surplus, I suppose. No one needed me,’ he said. ‘You’d gone off with your Mitch—’
‘Er, excuse me, but I haven’t gone off with him.’ Moira plonked her tea down on the table. ‘He’s a friend who I like and who challenges me to be my best self, Graham, rather than his teasmaid. And I don’t believe for one minute that’s why you left. I think you were afraid. You suddenly looked around you and were frightened you’d ballsed it all up.’
‘Mum!’ Stella tried to stop her from being so harsh.
‘I don’t know why you’re defending him, Stella.’
They were all quiet.
Graham exhaled. He sat forward in his seat, rubbing his hands together. ‘You’re right,’ he said to Moira. Then glancing at Stella said, ‘Your mother’s right. I probably was afraid.’
Stella felt uncomfortable under his gaze, big dark eyes like Sonny’s, unused to him looking at her.
He sucked in his cheeks before speaking again, the lines on his face deep as cracks. ‘I saw you all on that Instagram, living your lives, and I felt like I was on the periphery which isn’t somewhere I was used to being. I knew I had to do something, even before Sonny visited.’ He paused. ‘I like your kid,’ he said.
Stella watched him rubbing one thumb back and forth over the other. She wanted to say, ‘What about me? Do you like me?’ But she stayed silent, just nodded.
‘You were all getting on with it. Your mother was off with her new man.’ Moira sighed heavily in the background. ‘And I realised the only one stopping me was me. I’d forgotten what it was like to be out in the world.’ He sat back in his chair, a little more confident now. Getting into his story. ‘So, I tested it. Picked up my passport and gave it a go.’
Stella saw her mother roll her eyes.
‘And withdrew a thousand pounds of our money,’ Moira added. ‘And packed a bag. And managed to research a route that didn’t involve any flying. Don’t make it sound quite so romantic, Graham. You were lonely and you realised you’d be lonely forever if you didn’t get up off your bottom and do something.’
Her dad cleared his throat. ‘Well,’ he said, a touch more coyly. ‘I don’t know if I’d put it quite like that.’
‘Why didn’t you come back?’ Stella asked.
‘I don’t think I thought anyone would miss me. But then I saw you were all together, looking for me and I didn’t want to have caused such a fuss so … I was embarrassed.’
‘Oh fiddlesticks,’ Moira scoffed. ‘You loved it.’
Graham looked at her perplexed.
‘Don’t look at me like that.’ Moira shook her head. ‘I know you, Graham Whitethorn. You love nothing more than a bit of attention.’
Graham frowned. ‘That is not true.’
Moira sighed. ‘You loved the fact they were all trying to get you to come home with their photos. Just admit it.’
Her dad sat back with a slight smirk. ‘OK, maybe I was flattered. It was nice. It’s nice to be missed. Saw you all coming here, saw you swimming,’ he said, nodding to Stella. ‘Better late than never,’ he quipped.
Stella looked away. The sun had risen higher in the sky, red fading to yellow. All around them the palm trees swished in the ever-present wind.
‘Graham!’ Moira warned.
‘What?’
‘Don’t wind her up.’
‘I’m not winding her up. It is about time. Would have been better if she’d never stopped in the first place. But—’
‘Graham,’ Moira warned again.
He held his hands up. ‘OK, fine.’ He picked up his tea, blew on it, took a sip and muttered, ‘You could have been so good. It was such a waste.’
Stella narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t believe he would say it, still. ‘What did you say?’
‘Ignore him, Stella,’ her mother said.
But she couldn’t ignore him. She couldn’t slip back into their familiar caricatured relationship. She thought about Mitch that day at the beach. If it’s normal you’re all lying. ‘Dad, it was twenty years ago. It’s over. It’s so over it’s not even a thing any more. I didn’t want to do it. Do you understand that? I didn’t want to do it.’
‘You just got distracted, that was all, by a bit of time off and a load of parties. You just thought you didn’t want to do it. That was always your problem, you thought too much,’ he said with a disapproving shake of his head.
To Stella that bit of
time off, that freedom, was like a ray of sunshine through the clouds of her memory. ‘I didn’t think too much. I just started thinking for myself. That was the only problem. Maybe if you’d seen me as less of a project and more as a person then I would have had more balance and would have dived in the bloody pool.’ She realised she was starting to shout. Sonny and Rosie were looking up, worried. Stella waved her hand and smiled to show she was fine.
Her dad drank his tea. ‘Doesn’t matter now, anyway.’
‘Oh Graham,’ Moira exclaimed. ‘You can’t say that and just shut it down.’
Her dad jutted out his jaw.
Stella wasn’t used to her mother sticking up for her. She found it was giving her the confidence to carry on – knowing that if he shouted her down there was suddenly an avenue of support. ‘It does matter,’ Stella said. ‘It matters because I want you to see that what I did was right.’
Her dad looked across at her. ‘Why?’
‘Because it matters to me,’ Stella said.
He thought about it for a second, swatted a wasp away that flew near his face, and said, ‘I see that you think it was right for you.’
‘But not right?’ Stella said.
‘Graham, you’re being a bully,’ Moira snapped.
Her dad ignored her. ‘I think you regret it, Stella.’
‘You’re so annoying!’ Stella stood up and started to walk away.
Her dad wouldn’t let it go. ‘You do regret it, don’t you?’
Stella paused.
Moira held her hands up. ‘Does it really matter?’
Graham shrugged.
‘Do I regret it?’ Stella turned to face him. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I do. I regret not diving in.’
Her dad’s mouth tilted up ever so slightly in victory.
But Stella hadn’t finished. ‘Do I regret not going to the Olympics? No.’ She shook her head like it was the stupidest most minor thing in the whole world. ‘No, I couldn’t care less about that. Not one jot. I have a really lovely life. As you say I have a really lovely kid. And another one, Rosie, I don’t think you know her at all. I have a really lovely husband. Jack.’ She pointed towards the pool without taking her eyes off her dad. ‘I don’t think you know him at all. I have a really good job that rewards me for thinking too much. You’ve probably never read anything I’ve written. And do you know, I also have a really lovely sister, who when she’s not being mollycoddled by you, is a really great person. As is that guy, the father of the baby. The one you wouldn’t even look in the eye. You want to know why I regret not diving in? Because of all that. Because if I had, you would know my family. I would know my mother and my sister and you. You would know me.’ She swallowed.
Her mother was staring at her, fond sadness in her eyes.
Her dad was looking down at his hands.
‘It’s ridiculous.’ Stella shook her head. She could feel the slight sting of tears behind her eyes. Sonny, Rosie and Jack were watching her from the pool but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘It’s ridiculous that it ever got to this. You want me to say I regret it? Fine – I regret it. Does that make it better? You want me to say sorry? Fine. I’m sorry,’ she said, then again really loud and drawn out, ‘I’m S-O-R-R-Y.’
Then silence.
Not a word from anyone. Just the hiss and suck of the pool filter. Even the people in the breakfast room were staring.
Stella went and sat back down again. Cheeks flushed a touch with embarrassment at her outburst but feeling surprisingly relieved that she’d done it. She picked up her tea. Took a nervous sip and then glanced across at her dad. He seemed suddenly old and small, like an ageing stag in the herd. His power depleted.
He sat staunchly silent.
‘Stella, darling—’ her mother started.
‘Mum, it’s fine.’ Stella shook her head.
It all seemed so insignificant. So pointless.
She felt suddenly annoyed with herself for how much she craved his forgiveness – or at least a shouldering of some of the blame. She had waited so long to be forgiven that the thing she was being forgiven for was meaningless anyway. She was annoyed that she hadn’t been strong enough to put herself in control, believe her actions were good and, as he said, right for her. Who else should they be right for? She felt frustrated that through his alienation of her she had lost a certain sense of her belonging. Her confidence in herself. And that had trickled down into everything – her parenting, her relationship, even Potty-Mouth was an amalgamation of what people wanted her to be.
It all just felt like a giant waste of time, and put how she had just ranted it – like a giant loss of what could have been.
Sitting looking across at him, she was reminded of what Gus had said the afternoon before when they had been looking out at Sonny sitting at the table: ‘get rid of the expectation’. And she had to smile because next to her was really just a man afraid of being alone. A father who made mistakes he could not admit to. The same as Stella was a mother who made mistakes she couldn’t admit to – just she had the benefit of Gus’s seemingly infinite wisdom.
Her dad took a sip of his tea, staring straight ahead.
Stella watched his profile. Watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Under her breath she whispered, ‘I forgive you.’
He turned. ‘Sorry?’
‘See, it wasn’t that hard,’ Moira quipped.
Stella grinned.
Graham looked even more confused. ‘What wasn’t?’
‘You just apologised,’ Moira said, wriggling down in her seat, amused with herself. ‘Now, say it again with a bit more conviction.’
‘I don’t think—’ he started.
‘Graham,’ Moira cut him off. ‘Just apologise to the poor girl and we can all move on.’
Stella watched her dad squirm in his seat. ‘I don’t see what I have to apol—’
‘Graham!’ It was Moira’s turn to shout.
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ He sat up all shirty. ‘Fine, I apologise. For what, I’m not sure, but I apologise.’
Moira opened her mouth, visibly more enraged at his useless attempt at saying sorry, but Stella stopped her. ‘It’s fine, Mum,’ she said, almost laughing. ‘It’s fine.’
Moira narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re a stubborn old fool, Graham Whitethorn.’
Stella looked over to the pool, at Jack with the kids. Jack gave her a thumbs up. She nodded. He winked at her.
She thought about when her dad would wink at her on the side of the pool. How amazing it felt. How it spoke wordlessly everything she ever needed to hear. She glanced across at him, sitting slumped in his chair, a little sulky like he did back home. Then she nodded towards the pool. ‘I’ll race you for it.’
‘For what?’
She shrugged. ‘An apology. An acknowledgement that it wasn’t all my fault.’
She wasn’t sure it was something she even needed any more, but there was something in the fact he couldn’t say it that made her worry this wouldn’t be the end. A race felt like a language he understood, something with a clearly defined beginning and end. She was interested to see how he would play it.
Her dad was silent for a second. She waited, knowing however old and unfit he was, he couldn’t turn down a challenge.
He clicked his neck and rolled his shoulders back. ‘How many lengths?’ he asked.
‘Just one,’ she said, unable to stop the hint of a smile that he was considering it.
‘Not worth it for one.’
‘Two then.’
Her mother was watching, intrigued.
He nodded. ‘Let me go and get changed.’
Stella only had the frilly yellow bikini, left in the car after Amy’s hospital trip the day before. She went and got it and changed in the bathroom off the kitchen. Nervous, excited, adrenaline making her hands shake as she knotted the ties. When she came out her dad was standing on the edge of the pool, flexing up and down on his toes, wearing his tiny red Speedos with the Olympic crest. Stell
a had to stifle a laugh when she saw them.
Her dad made a face when she came to stand next to him. ‘Can you swim in that thing?’ he asked, nodding to the bikini.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said.
The couples who’d been having breakfast came outside to watch. Sonny and Rosie were whooping on the sidelines. Jack was waiting at the far end to check, as her father had insisted, that they touch the wall before turning. It was all very serious. Her mother was behind them ready to call the start.
Her dad did some more warm-up exercises. ‘My legs are a bit stiff because it’s so early.’
‘Are you just saying that in case I win?’ Stella asked.
Her dad’s gaze fixed on the water as he did a final stretch and said, ‘You’re not going to win.’
Her mother reached forward and placed her hand softly on Stella’s shoulder. The briefest of touches. Stella glanced round and caught her eye.
‘Good luck,’ Moira mouthed.
Stella took a deep breath. ‘Ready when you are.’
Her mother moved round to the edge of the water. ‘On your marks!’
Her dad glanced across at Stella. ‘And you’re definitely going to dive in? Not leave me splashing about like a fool?’
‘Get set!’
‘Oh, I’m definitely diving in,’ Stella said, rubbing her hands together, readier than she’d ever been.
‘Go!’
And Stella dived. Easy as anything. The taste of the chlorine on her skin. The blue of the water stinging her open goggle-less eyes. She swam fast. As fast as she could possibly go. ‘Go Mum! Go Grandpa!’ she could hear muffled through the water, neither kid having any idea why they were racing.
She knew she was ahead but could sense her dad next to her. Even with two years off he was fitter and stronger than her and she knew it. She made it through two-thirds of the first length before the pain hit like a hammer, lactic acid burning her muscles. She was unfit. She felt him pull away. Her arms seared. The water like a net pulling her back. She could see the red of his trunks now as he got further in front and she could feel her strokes shorten as she got annoyed. She couldn’t work out if she’d wanted him to let her win – but knew how infuriating it would have been if he had.
