by Kate Ryder
Standing on the far side of the decking, Sylvie has not taken her eyes off Oliver since first spotting him in the crowd. As his eyes graze over her, she waits for his acknowledgement but her presence doesn’t register. Oliver continues to scan the crowd. Sylvie’s jaw drops.
She’s not here!
Bitter disappointment consumes him and Oliver is left in no doubt. How much longer can he curb his feelings? Raising the beer bottle to his lips, he turns his attention back to the musicians.
‘Thank you,’ says Morwenna, as the audience applaud their opening number.
Tristan carefully places his guitar on its stand and walks to a set of keyboards, as the backing vocalist, and multi-instrumentalist, selects a bodhran from the collection of instruments at his feet. Fingering a tin whistle, Morwenna counts them into the next song – a haunting acoustic.
Oliver looks around again and his heart leaps straight into his mouth. Cara stands in the archway leading from the café out to the decking. As she turns in his direction her eyes light up and she breaks into a smile. She says something to her female companion before making her way through the crowd towards him.
‘Hi, Oliver,’ Cara says, as she reaches him. ‘Enjoying the music?’
‘Greatly.’
Tas looks over his shoulder and nods at Cara before turning back to watch Morwenna.
‘This is Tristan’s girlfriend, Jane.’ Cara makes the introduction.
‘Hi. You were at the beach party,’ Oliver says with a smile.
‘Hello again,’ Jane says, flattered he should remember.
‘I didn’t know you’d be here,’ Cara says softly as she turns to face the stage. ‘I’m glad you are.’ She smiles up at him; a beautiful golden smile.
With hammering heart, Oliver senses the ‘grey mist’ retreating fast. In amazement, he realises that Cara can do what no therapist has ever achieved. No longer does he feel alone or adrift. He feels found.
As Cara listens to the music, she remembers how she and Christo encouraged The Corringtons from their earliest days, when they were just friends jamming together on a wet Sunday afternoon at The Lookout, with Christo accompanying on guitar. She thought she’d be filled with melancholy hearing them again tonight and considered not coming. The memories of the last time she saw them performing at the café and the following, hateful, life-changing day are still too raw. But Cara doesn’t feel melancholic. In fact, she feels as if life is just about to take a turn for the better and, deep down, she knows it has everything to do with the man standing closely beside her. She senses Christo watching over her and is sure he gives his blessing.
Sylvie stares at Oliver and Cara, her mind turning to ever more malicious thoughts as she sees the way he is with her. Who is this girl? He should be with her – he promised! As Cara turns to speak to Oliver, Sylvie watches him lean in closely to hear her more clearly above the music. She sees their eyes lock. No! She can’t stand it. He promised he would phone, but he hasn’t. It’s just lies. And what of that bitch behind the bar? She was all over him the last time she saw them together. So, he thinks he can have all these other women but not keep his promise to her. This won’t do! He belongs to her.
Sylvie walks to the bar and orders another Cornish Rattler, this time from Tania. As Tania walks to the cooler cabinet Sylvie’s eyes travel up and down her body, finding fault. She’s not so attractive close up. Although she has legs that go on forever, this woman is not someone her Oliver would fall for. She flaunts herself too much and flirts with every man she comes into contact with. Is that why Oliver is paying so much attention to that other blonde?
When Tania returns to the skinny woman at the bar, she’s surprised to find her breasts being ogled. Pouring cider into a glass, she places it on the counter.
‘Seen anything you like?’
Slowly Sylvie raises her eyes. ‘Not a lot.’
Tania reels, shocked at the vindictive look on the woman’s face. ‘Hey! Who the fuck do you think you are?’
There’s a touch of madness to Sylvie’s laugh and Tania shivers.
Placing her money on the counter, Sylvie picks up the glass and moves away, but then turns back. ‘You will never have him, slut,’ she hisses. ‘He belongs to me. And if you insist on trying to get him I can’t be held responsible for my actions. Hands off. He’s forbidden territory.’ She glares at Tania. ‘And as for that ridiculous dance…’
She puts her glass down and takes a couple of steps back. Raising her hands high above her head, Sylvie starts to erotically sway, dipping and rising, not once breaking eye contact. ‘Just let it happen…’ she says, mimicking the Australian’s husky whisper.
Tania’s eyes open wide and her jaw drops.
Dismissively, Sylvie runs her eyes over Tania’s body one more time. ‘I’ve warned you,’ she growls. ‘Hands off!’ Grabbing the glass, she turns away.
Shocked, Tania holds onto the bar to steady herself.
Sylvie pushes her way through the crowd, once again taking up position on the far side of the decking. As she takes a gulp of cider, she looks across the sea of people in Oliver’s direction and chokes.
With one foot propped against the archway, Cara gazes up at Oliver standing in front of her, his right arm outstretched over her shoulder and the palm of his hand flat against the wall for support. Their bodies are almost touching. The look on Oliver’s face is tender as he talks to her. They appear oblivious to the other people in the room, and there is something very private and intimate about the way they are with each other.
As Sylvie’s jealousy spills over, something evil and twisted slithers up from the depths of her stomach, infecting her like a virus. Voices in her head tell her to destroy all that is good and beautiful, and there’s no denying it: the woman with Oliver is stunning. Her beauty transcends her looks, going much deeper in a way that Sylvie has never witnessed before. Suddenly she has a powerful vision of Cara shrouded in a pure golden light, alone on a barren bank, standing beneath a gnarled and twisted tree above a dark and foreboding bog. Her light shines out across the mire, highlighting something thrashing about in the darkness. A twisted, moaning figure crawls its way out of the blackness of the bog. Cloaked in misery and sadness, it clambers up the bank towards the beautiful, golden woman. To Sylvie’s horror, she realises the twisted figure is her. The glass slips from her grasp, its contents spewing out across the decking.
‘Shit!’
With trembling hand, she retrieves the empty glass. What the hell was that? She glances over at Oliver again. He looks so happy, smiling down at Cara, his face relaxed and eyes alight. Even Sylvie cannot deny the look of love.
‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’
A few people turn to look at the strange, skinny woman in the corner. Quickly, they move away.
Beside herself with frustration, Sylvie feels like screaming. She wants to tear Oliver away from that beautiful bitch. He is so near and, still, yet so far. Why is he being so unkind? She knows he likes to play hard to get, but she needs and wants him now! Sylvie considers how best to remind Oliver that he belongs to her.
*
Two hours later, Morwenna speaks into her microphone. ‘Sadly, that was our last song.’ She laughs at the collective groan.
‘More!’ the audience shout. Morwenna confers with her brother.
‘Thanks very much, guys,’ says Tristan, grabbing his microphone, ‘but haven’t you all got homes to go to?’
Further shouts and encouragement and the audience stamp their feet.
‘OK, one more,’ he says. ‘We don’t want to wreck Rick’s deck… and try saying that when you’ve had a few!’ He laughs and then grows sombre. ‘This song is in memory of a truly fantastic and special friend who was not only very supportive of us but also a massive Coldplay fan.’
Tristan looks across at Cara with compassion, and a sea of faces turns in her direction. As if only now becoming aware of their body language, Cara pushes herself away from Oliver and, abruptly, he is brought back to eart
h from an amazing dream. Cara smiles sadly as she listens to the familiar music. This was Christo’s favourite Coldplay song. She bites down hard on her lip, refusing to give into the emotions the music stirs.
Feeling Cara’s distress, Oliver yearns to soothe away her pain. He hears the lyrics and it’s as if Tristan sings directly to him. He has always felt lost and incomplete but, tonight, he knows the missing piece to the frustrating puzzle of his life has been found.
A big, fat tear slides down Cara’s face and brusquely she brushes it away. In an instant Jane is at her side. Putting her arm around Cara, Jane sways with her to the music, effectively deflecting any inquisitive stares. Just a couple of friends enjoying the song.
Oliver feels useless. It should be him holding Cara, kissing away her tears and making everything OK. It’s what he wants to do more than anything.
Sylvie watches like a hawk. Seeing Cara’s sadness and the pain it causes Oliver, she sneers and her bleak heart rejoices.
As the music finally comes to an end and the crowd reluctantly starts to leave, Oliver turns to Cara. ‘What are you doing now?’
‘I’ve got to get back. My parents are babysitting.’
‘I’ll walk you home.’
She nods and offers a watery smile. Turning to Jane, Cara says, ‘Thanks, Jane. You’re such a good friend.’
Jane gives her a hug and kisses her on the cheek.
Eventually extricating themselves from their friends, Oliver and Cara exit onto the boardwalk. Sylvie holds back, keeping to the shadows. A thick blanket of silence hangs over the cove, only broken by an occasional shout of farewell as people leave the café. Cara switches on her torch as they walk across the car park onto the track. Oliver glances up at the night sky. The moon is almost full and the sky is awash with stars.
These Cornish skies are amazing! It’s never like this in Surrey.
Deanna enters his consciousness, but it’s a bittersweet thought and he pushes it to one side. Looking across at Cara, Oliver knows he’s in danger of not turning back. In the darkness he finds her hand.
As Sylvie follows, her jealousy eats away at her. Where are they going? The track looks as if it disappears over the edge of the cliff!
They are only yards from The Lookout when Oliver stops and turns Cara to face him. Without speaking, she moves into his loving embrace as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As he covers her mouth with a kiss of such tenderness, Cara feels the deep-rooted sadness leave her body and tentative hope take its place.
Sylvie stops and stares. Filled with hatred for this woman who dares steal her man, she is also transfixed by the glow that surrounds the couple. Despite her venomous thoughts, she feels calm serenity reach out to her.
Oliver’s insides have contracted and the ‘grey mist’ has scuttled to the furthest recesses of his being. Cara is warm and soft and yielding, and he wishes the kiss could go on forever. Gently he pulls away and gazes down at her. Cara’s eyes are closed; her face tilted up to his. When he doesn’t kiss her again she opens her eyes. With a sudden thrill, Oliver sees his feelings reflected back at him.
‘Cara,’ he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, and he watches the deeply etched sadness in her beautiful eyes disappear.
‘Oliver,’ she says breathlessly.
It would be so easy to make love to her here and now. He dare not kiss her again.
‘Let me deliver you to your door,’ he says gallantly, and she laughs. Oh, how he loves hearing her laughter.
Finding each other’s hands once again, Oliver and Cara walk slowly towards the light shining from The Lookout’s porch.
Hanging back in the gloom, Sylvie watches as they enter the last bungalow along the track.
*
Ken glances at his wife. ‘What’s troubling you, Carol?’
Headlights appear in the distance over the brow of the hill and his attention diverts back to the dark road ahead.
‘Our daughter.’
‘What do you mean?’
Carol sighs. ‘Didn’t you see how she looked tonight?’
‘Yes, happy for the first time in many months.’ Ken glances at his wife again. ‘Surely, you can’t deny her that?’
‘Of course not, Ken! I, as much as you, want her to be happy.’
‘Then what?’
Carol sighs again. ‘What do you suppose is making her so happy?’
Ken considers her question. ‘I suspect it has rather a lot to do with that charming actor I met tonight.’
‘I fear it does.’
Indicating right, he turns off the main road. ‘Why fear?’
‘Where have you been these past two decades?’ Carol asks, exasperatedly.
‘With you, my love,’ Ken answers calmly, ‘and a wonderful life it is too.’
Carol smiles, despite her concerns. Then slowly she says, ‘Oliver Foxley is married, and the wife that I met is a formidable woman.’
*
Oliver stands in the darkness, thankful the others have yet to return to the farmhouse. He has a lot to sort out. Standing at the open French doors, he looks across the lawn to the Cornish stone hedge and the heathland beyond. The moon casts a silvery glow over the surroundings. It could be any century, so unspoiled and unchanged is the landscape. Glancing up at the man in the moon, he wonders if Cara also looks up at him, suspended in the same sky only two miles further along the coast. The thought warms his heart, momentarily affording some peace to his troubled soul. He tries to distinguish the individual stars making up the Milky Way arcing across the night sky. How many other people in the world are looking up at the galaxy at this precise moment in his predicament? He loves Deanna – of course he does – despite the current dysfunctional nature of their relationship. They have built a life together and created a family, and she has been beside him from the very first flicker of his fame. But, there is something about Cara that speaks to him on a level he and his wife have failed to reach. He has never felt anything close to what he feels for Cara.
As he relives their kiss, there is the sweetest taste on his lips. He shouldn’t have done that, but he was powerless and it seemed such a natural thing to do. There was nothing awkward about it. Oliver groans. He has to stop this right now, for all their sakes. He saw the way Cara looked at him. It made his heart stop and his stomach turn inside out, and he wanted her in a way he had never wanted anyone before. But what he feels for her, and what he hopes she feels for him, has nowhere to go. He punches the doorframe, but there’s no avoiding it: Oliver Foxley is in love for the very first time.
‘Why?’ he cries into the night air. ‘Why bring her to me now?’ An eerie screech carries on the wind and Oliver shivers.
A movement to his right makes him turn and he watches as the pale, ghostly shape of an owl glides across the lawn on buoyant wingbeats towards the heathland. A silent predator of the night world. He stands at the open door a while longer until he hears tyres crunching on the gravel. Closing the French doors, he quickly makes his way to his room before the others enter the house.
*
Bethany is sound asleep and Cara quietly closes the bedroom door. Checking on Sky, she finds him awake. Barnaby, curled up at the foot of the bed, looks up inquisitively as she enters the room and thumps his tail on the duvet.
‘Did you have a good evening with Grandma and Grandpa?’ Cara asks, sitting next to Barnaby.
‘Yes.’ Sky breaks into a smile. ‘Grandpa and I had two bowls of ice cream.’
‘Did you, now?’ says Cara, stringing out the last word.
‘Promise not to tell Grandma? I don’t want to get him into trouble.’
‘It’ll be our secret,’ Cara says, smiling at her son. She brushes his fringe out of his eyes. ‘It’s late, Sky. You should be asleep.’
Turning onto his side, the young boy pulls a well-loved teddy into his arms.
‘Goodnight, sweet Sky. Pleasant dreams.’ She kisses him on the forehead and calls to Barnaby. Reluctantly, the dog gets off the bed
.
She’s at the door when Sky calls out. ‘Was Oliver with you tonight?’
Unprepared for the question, she breaks into a smile. ‘Yes, he was.’
‘I like him. Can he take me to school one day?’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. He’s a busy man.’ And he has a family of his own, she thinks. But, seeing the disappointment on her son’s face, she adds, ‘I tell you what, I’ll ask him to supper one evening. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?’
The boy nods.
‘Goodnight, Sky.’ She blows him a kiss and pulls the door to, leaving it ajar a couple of inches.
As Cara walks to her bedroom, she contemplates all that has happened during the evening. Oliver Foxley kissed her! It seemed so right. There was nothing ungainly about it, no embarrassing smashing of teeth or bruising of lips. It was just lovely. And it stirred feelings she never thought to experience again. Briefly, she wonders if he is simply playing with her, flirting with the idea of a summer fling to pass the time while he is in Cornwall, but instantly she rejects the thought. Oliver is not shallow or flippant and he has never portrayed himself to be anything other than caring and thoughtful, especially where she is concerned. Butterflies in the pit of her stomach take flight. And he has never cowered from exposing his raw, vulnerable side to her. No, Oliver is something real, something worth keeping and someone she would be prepared to love because of his flaws, not in spite of them.
Aware that she is close to falling in love, Cara reaches for the cherished photo displayed on her bedside cabinet. In a voice filled with emotion, she whispers, ‘Christo, there will always be a place in my heart for you.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Oliver straightens up from a deep bow. It has been a particularly good show and another full house. It’s always encouraging when matinees prove as popular as evening performances. As the season has progressed, the members of the Tasmanian Devil Theatre Company have become like family; their delivery ever smoother.
