‘I don’t know what you want to do now you’re here,’ Julie said, blowing her nose. ‘Do you want to ring your mother? Or go straight home? Or come to the island? I don’t know what to say for the best. You must be so tired and it’s such a shock – I just don’t know.’ She put her head in her hands and left the decision to Abigail.
So now they were in the little plane whirring and buzzing above the blue-green water, sitting side by side and not speaking. When they landed, they drove in Julie’s ancient car along a dirt track across the island. Somewhere Dad waited, Abigail felt, to tell her this was all a bad joke, a mistake, a false alarm. The car shuddered over pot-holes in the road and Julie’s hands shook on the wheel. Abigail thought she could drive better than that and she hadn’t even taken her test yet.
Crossing the island, they lost sight of the sea; there was only the lush vegetation that Julie said was a banana plantation, as if it mattered, and the dazzling flowers. The sun hammered on the roof of the car, and Abigail’s head throbbed with exhaustion and grief. Then they rounded a bend and (it seemed very sudden after the long journey) they had arrived at their destination. A beach of soft white sand littered with pink shells. Half a dozen thatched cabins a few yards from the water, and everywhere an abundance of red and purple flowers like the ones Dad had told her about, exploding like fireworks. Out at sea, several boats drifted at anchor and on the beach half a dozen couples lay browning in the sun. Abigail wondered if they knew yet that there was no one to cook their dinner. She felt suddenly hysterical and yet she still half expected to see Dad come running to meet her. If she started to laugh, would Julie think she was heartless and peculiar? But why did she even care what Julie thought?
Julie’s friends emerged from a large white building behind the huts on the beach. The man had grey hair and a beard and was wearing frayed denim shorts, like somebody trying to look young; the woman had bleached frizzy hair and wore a kaftan. They both looked sympathetic but distracted, as if they had got more than they bargained for when they asked Dad and Julie to join them. They looked heavy with responsibility, and glanced anxiously from Julie to Abigail and back again. Wondering how we’re getting on, Abigail thought bitterly. Whether I’m going to be a nuisance. Whether I’ve taken it well. She felt it was rather like Mr Williams the headmaster being asked to keep an eye on her.
‘Cathy and Morris,’ said Julie. She sounded exhausted. ‘And this is Abigail.’
‘Oh, my dear,’ Cathy said, advancing. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Abigail stepped back, afraid Cathy might be going to touch her. After a moment Cathy held out her hand and Morris did the same, so Abigail shook hands with both of them. So long as they don’t put their arms round me, she thought. So long as nobody does that, I might just be all right. I might just be able to get through this on my own.
‘It’s terrible, terrible,’ Morris said, getting her luggage out of Julie’s car. She had the impression that they were both extremely embarrassed and didn’t know what to say to her.
‘But don’t you look alike,’ said Cathy in a sudden surprised voice. ‘You could be sisters.’
‘Please, Cathy, don’t.’ Julie sounded quite sharp. ‘That’s the last thing she wants to hear.’
They offered her food and drink but she had consumed so many different things on the plane, although it already seemed a lifetime ago, that all she could manage was some fruit juice. Morris carried her luggage to one of the huts on the beach and left her alone with Julie. Inside it was surprisingly cool, with a fan over the bed; there was a bathroom, and she even had a fridge of her own. But there was fine mesh on all the windows, which made her feel like the Sunday joint in her grandmother’s larder on long-ago trips to Wales when she was a tiny child.
She was suddenly very tired, tired to the bone, the sort of tiredness she felt she might die of, and perhaps that would be the best thing.
‘Shall I leave you alone now?’ Julie asked.
Abigail nodded. She lay on the bed for a bit but she couldn’t sleep so she unpacked her things instead. She kept thinking what a paradise the place would have been with Dad: the sea right outside her door and the thick white sand, the pink shells and the palm trees, the flowers and the little boats. It was easy to see why someone would run away to such a place.
She sat and watched the sun setting over the sea, turning the sky all shades of pink and orange, purple and red, until it finally disappeared so abruptly that she almost expected to hear a plop. Then the tropic night came down with darkness as sudden as a drawn blind, heavy with stars.
She hurt all over, like the time she had had flu. Mum had given her pills and drinks, let her sleep, changed the sheets, tempted her appetite with ice cream. But she had felt sore everywhere. She had been hot or cold but never just right, whatever Mum did, whether she brought a cold flannel or a hot-water bottle. She had dreamed strange dreams and wanted Dad to be there. When she woke, he was bending over the bed.
‘How’s my lovely, then?’ he said, and suddenly she felt better, her fever gone, her skin no longer aching. Dad was magic. Mum had done all the work but Dad was magic.
Not any more though.
She slept at last beneath the whirling fan and dreamed of Dad coming out of the sea, holding out his arms. She woke screaming, soaked in sweat, and Julie came running in.
‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ she kept saying, and tried to hug Abigail.
‘No, it isn’t,’ said Abigail, and lashed out at Julie, catching her quite a heavy blow on the arm. ‘It’ll never be all right again.’
Julie subsided on to the bed. ‘No,’ she agreed, sounding unperturbed by the blow, even calm and fatalistic. ‘That’s true.’
Abigail sobbed and punched the pillows. ‘I had a nightmare,’ she said. ‘He was coming out of the sea.’
‘It’s not going to happen,’ said Julie. ‘I only wish it could.’
‘Go away,’ said Abigail. ‘Just go away and leave me alone.’
‘I’m only in the next hut,’ said Julie, going. ‘Call if you need me. I don’t sleep much.’
After she had gone, Abigail wished she hadn’t sent her away. The night outside seemed very black and the sea didn’t sound as friendly as it had before. Her throat was dry and her eyes felt gritty, so she got up and bathed them and had a drink of water from the fridge. There was a bowl of fruit on the table and she felt suddenly hungry, so she ate a banana and a mango. They tasted different from the ones she had had in England: richer, more creamy, spiced with sunshine. Odd disconnected thoughts came into her mind: fruit laid out in the greengrocer’s at home; Dad teaching her to swim when they went on holiday to Wales, and telling her never to be afraid of the sea but always to treat it with respect.
Then she noticed the spider. It was big by English standards, hugely black against the white wall over her head. She watched it with horrified fascination as it crawled for a bit, then scuttled suddenly, then settled down and spread out as if it had all the time in the world. She got as far away from it as she could and waited till her heart had stopped thumping, while she considered what to do. At home Dad had always removed them for her in a bunch of tissues while Mum told her not to be so silly. She knew they were harmless and possibly more frightened of her, but what use was that knowledge when she was terrified? She couldn’t sleep in the room with it; she daren’t put out the light. She would have to sit all night and stare at it, when it was the last thing she wanted to see. But if she took her eyes off it for a moment and it moved, she would never be sure where it had gone.
Suddenly she was very tired as well as trapped. Only in the next hut, Julie had said. Call if you need me. So how had Dad intended to keep them apart, so they never met?
It was awful to need Julie, but there was no one else. And if she waited too long, the creature might get between her and the door so she couldn’t get out. Already it was moving lazily in that direction. Making up her mind in a hurry, before she had time to hesitate, she ran to the door and flung i
t open, her feet plunging into the surprisingly cold soft sand. ‘Julie,’ she called. ‘Julie.’ She was ashamed of herself but she yelled quite loud.
Julie came out of her hut at once. It was almost as if she had been expecting the call. ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’
They stood on the beach looking at each other. Still Abigail half expected Dad to come out of the sea or the hut and join them. ‘There’s a spider in my room,’ she said. She felt brave just using the word: at home she would have called it a creepy, which seemed to make it less menacing, but Julie wasn’t to know that, unless of course Dad had told her.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Julie, as if it were her fault. ‘They don’t often come in, so near the sea. Shall I get rid of it for you?’
They went back to the hut together and several moths followed them in, but Abigail didn’t mind that. ‘It’s over there,’ she said.
‘Oh yes, I see,’ said Julie, unperturbed. She scooped it up gently in her hand and tossed it out of the doorway, closing the door after it like a weary hostess. ‘I used to hate them too but I’ve got used to them now.’
‘I know it’s silly,’ Abigail said, grateful and resentful. She couldn’t get the words ‘thank you’ to come out of her mouth.
‘It’s not silly at all,’ said Julie. ‘It’s just one of those things. I’m still frightened of worms but at least they don’t turn up in your bedroom.’
Abigail found herself looking at Julie for the first time. She hadn’t really seen her before; she had been too busy hating her. She saw a face that was calm and friendly, tired and sad. She didn’t look at all like the film-star waitress, tarty and cross-eyed. In fact she looked rather like some of the younger teachers at school, like someone Abigail might have trusted, if she hadn’t taken Dad away and killed him.
‘I can’t believe it either,’ Julie said. ‘I can’t believe I’ll never see him again. I know you hate me and I don’t blame you, but you must believe I loved him. And you had him for seventeen years. I only had him for a year.’
‘What about my mother?’ Abigail said. She felt it was somehow unfair, invoking Mum when it should be just between the two of them, but she wanted to hit back with everything she had.
‘I’m sorry about her, of course. But he told me it was over. They were really separate, even though they still lived in the same house.’
‘And you believed him?’ Abigail was shocked. Was Julie lying to her, or had Dad been lying to Julie? How could Mum and Dad have been separate? They never used the spare room, even when they had a row. And why had Mum cried so much when he went away?
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Julie said. ‘He wouldn’t lie to me.’ She swayed slightly on her feet. ‘D’you mind if I sit down?’ she asked almost humbly. ‘Only I feel a bit faint. You see, I’m going to have a baby.’
In the late morning Abigail sat on the verandah savouring the unfamiliar taste of paw-paw for breakfast and wondering how she could even eat when Dad was dead. Julie had talked far into the night about the baby and how thrilled Dad had been about it and how she had only ever wanted a husband and a family, not a career. Eventually they had both fallen asleep, Abigail in the bed and Julie across the end of it, like a guard dog, Abigail thought when she woke in what was left of the night and saw her there. In the morning Julie was gone.
Now she came across the sand barefooted with a letter in her hand. ‘Look what I’ve found,’ she said, pleased like a child. ‘I was looking at his things to cheer myself up and I found this. It’s for you. I haven’t read it.’
Abigail took it from her. She felt very strange, almost numb. A letter from Dad. Now. When he wasn’t there any more. When she couldn’t answer him. Julie went away. Tiny green lizards flickered up and down the wall. Abigail began to read.
Darling Abby,
If you won’t answer my letters and you won’t speak to me on the phone, what can I do to reach you? Are you even reading my letters?
You’re my only hope. How can I approach your mother direct after all I’ve done to her? But you must know how she feels. D’you think there’s any chance, any remote hope she might even consider letting me come home?
The familiar handwriting was a shock, almost a bigger shock than the words. It made Dad seem alive.
I’m not going to pretend I don’t love Julie any more because I do, but I’ve never stopped loving your mother. It’s quite possible, indeed fatally easy in my case, to love two people at once, only in different ways, as you’ll probably find out when you get older. I don’t expect you to believe me now and I don’t suppose your mother will believe me either, as I’ve hurt her so much. But she hurt me too when she made me feel her job was more important than our marriage, when she was too tired to make love, when she didn’t care that the hours we both worked meant we hardly spent any time together.
There were sailboats and windsurfers out at sea, and beyond them a big boat from which people dived. Abigail wondered if that was the boat that Dad had been on when it happened.
I probably shouldn’t be writing to you like this but who else can I turn to? You’re in the middle of this mess and you do love us both – at least I hope you do.
The thing is, Julie is pregnant. We didn’t plan it but she’s so thrilled I had to pretend I’m thrilled too. In a sense I am – new life can’t fail to be exciting and it’s always a compliment when a woman wants to have your child – but in my heart I feel terror. Suddenly it’s not a love affair any more. I had such a precious fantasy of Julie and me running away to the sunshine with no responsibilities, just each other and the restaurant, and now it all begins again, trying to be a husband and father.
This must sound terrible but I’m trying to be as honest as I can. If I have to be married, I only want to be married to your mother, and if I have to be a parent, I only want to be a parent to you.
The thought of Julie’s child reminds me of your childhood. I can’t do better for another child – I only want to make up to you for all the times I let you down. It’s asking too much to make me live through all that again with another child instead of you.
I must be such a disappointment to you as a father and I don’t know how to explain. There aren’t any excuses but sometimes middle-aged people go a little crazy and want to be young again and they find someone they think can make that miracle happen for them. It can’t be done of course but by the time they find that out they’ve caused a lot of pain and perhaps it’s too late to repair the damage.
I don’t know what I’m saying really – I can’t leave Julie if she’s pregnant and yet I’d rather stay with her if she wasn’t. I’m not making sense. You must be thinking very badly of me by now if you’re reading this at all. I suppose what I really mean is, I want the best of both worlds, to be back with you and your mother, but still to see Julie at the restaurant. I’m terrified at how fast my life has changed and I don’t know how to cope with it. I just go from one unbearable situation to another.
The letter ended there. He must have stopped writing it when he knew she was going to visit him. She sat for a while just holding the pages. When she had stopped crying she read it again, but it still made no sense to her. She felt frightened, that adults didn’t know what they were doing any more than teenagers did, so there was no hope for her; she was only going to grow up into a greater muddle, like Dad.
One thing was clear, though. He didn’t want Julie to be pregnant. She had only to show Julie the letter and all her happy memories would be ruined. She’d see what Dad was really like, how he wanted Mum back, and maybe Julie as well, but not her baby.
It would be so easy. She had it in her hands, the power to hurt Julie, to punish her for all the trouble she had caused. She could just say, ‘Read this,’ and Julie would be destroyed. The letter had been lying in Dad’s room like a, landmine and she had only to set it off with a touch.
Eventually Julie came back. Her face looked soft and hopeful; she said gently, ‘Was it a nice letter? Did it help?’
>
Abigail hesitated. She could see plainly in Julie’s face how much she had loved Dad. The letter burned in her hand.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s a lovely letter. Thank you.’
Julie smiled. ‘I’m so glad,’ she said. ‘D’you want to ring your mother now?’
Abigail shook her head. ‘Not yet,’ she said.
‘I’m going out in the motor boat,’ Julie said. ‘Come with me. You can’t just sit here. He’d have wanted you to do something.’
They took the boat to another beach. Their feet made fresh marks in the white sand where no one had been before them. There were huge greyish lizards among the trees; they looked very old. Julie said they were iguanas. They seemed friendly but shy. The water was very clear and Abigail wanted to swim.
‘You don’t think I’m heartless, do you, coming here?’ Julie asked. ‘Only we used to come here a lot. I’m sure he’d want me to bring you here.’
‘No, I don’t think you’re heartless at all,’ Abigail said. ‘I’d like to swim.’
They swam side by side, a little way apart, and she felt her tears flowing easily into the salt water, as if they belonged. The sea was warm and clear and buoyant.
‘There’s a coral reef out there,’ Julie called to her. ‘You can see all kinds of fish. Amazing colours.’
Back on the beach they lay on their towels in the sun.
‘What happens next?’ she asked Julie, when she felt brave enough.
‘I’m not sure. They may want to have an inquest before the funeral.’
‘Will I … I mean should I see …?’ But she couldn’t say the words.
‘You can,’ Julie said. ‘But I shouldn’t if I were you. Remember him the way he was.’
Triangles Page 11
