by Zoe Cook
She and Claire had had no idea how to cope, how to react or who to turn to. Lucy had been lucky that Tom’s parents were so incredible at knowing what to do. But the weeks afterwards had passed in a hideous daydream. Lucy remembered feeling nothing but anger at the funeral, anger at all the people there being upset, all the people still there, when her family wasn’t. She hadn’t cried – she wasn’t sure if she’d said a word. Tom had been with her, of course. Had he spoken for her when people asked how she was doing? She couldn’t remember – it was as if something had blocked the memories from her mind, filed them deep away, tried to bury them. She could have been on the boat too, and at times she’d wished she had been; the pain of being left behind was sometimes too great to bear. And then she felt sick at herself for not being grateful that she was still here, before she’d imagine what they went through when it all started going wrong. How much did they suffer? She’d spent eight years trying to block out the thoughts and they forced their way back in with a fresh terror each time.
Lucy knew that if she was in a film she would sit there and talk to her dead parents about her life, ask them for cosmic wisdom and leave feeling melancholy but somehow reassured. But she had nothing to say and sat there staring at the stone as if it were nothing to do with her or her family. The hyacinths she’d laid looked depressing against the granite. Mum would’ve hated this, she thought. I should have brought the white vase, her thoughts spiraled irrationally and she began to cry. She shut her eyes and wondered why she had come. The plot was neat – someone must’ve been looking after it. They were a popular family and her parents were sociable. It must be old friends still coming after all this time to pay their respects. Lucy wondered if her parents could see her sitting there – what on earth they would think of what she’d done with her life. She thought they’d be proud that she’d gone to London, but then hoped they wouldn’t know what her life had been like there – the drinking, the boys, the drugs. Her parents would have killed her, she thought – they’d have been so disappointed.
Anger rose in her as she thought about how she’d had to leave Cornwall eventually, how the memories of this place had become too much to bear. She’d managed to finish her A levels. Even after Claire had left, Lucy stayed and carried on at school, like a good girl. If it had not been for the sanctuary of Tom and his family she was sure she might have ended it all one night. She had followed Claire to London because Claire was all she had once she left Tom. Like her teachers and friends, Claire had urged her to go to university, but Lucy felt she needed a different type of life. She wanted to work, to be a different person, to go somewhere she could be anonymous, not ‘poor Lucy – do you know what happened to her family…?’
And like the good soul she was, Claire had looked after her, mothered her whilst she found her feet in the city. Then eventually Spectrum had taken the place of her family. Emma, in her weird way had become some kind of anti-mum, someone to try to impress, to put you down when you failed, to tell you you weren’t really good enough but that she’d do you the favour of putting up with you anyway. And then she’d found the joy of drinking and drugs, and the shame that comes with that too. She’d pushed Claire away, ashamed of what parts of her life looked like, painfully aware of how much her sister would disapprove. She’d thrown herself into work; she’d done well. She was on her way to big things. Until she’d messed it all up.
Would she have ended up in London if her family hadn’t been snatched from her that day? She thought she probably would have, eventually. But perhaps she’d have been able to stay long enough to convince Tom to come too. Or perhaps they’d have found their own way in Cornwall. Maybe she’d be a mum herself by now, rather than an underweight, borderline alcoholic, with anxiety issues and a coke habit. She almost laughed at the thought but choked instead on more unexpected tears, which came suddenly and viciously. It had started to rain, she realised disconnectedly. The bright- blue sky was somehow crying with her too, and the sprinkling of warm raindrops felt almost comfortingly miserable on a beautiful day. She wailed quietly; the sound wasn’t human and she was panicked by the lack of control she had over it.
Lucy didn’t know how long she’d been crouched on the floor when she became aware of footsteps behind her and she didn’t turn around, assuming it was a fellow griever enduring their own ugly visit.
‘Lucy,’ she heard Tom’s quiet voice. ‘It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here now, you’re okay.’ He crouched down beside her and wrapped her in his jacket.
‘You’re soaking wet,’ he said softly, pulling her towards him, putting her head on his chest. She turned her face into his jumper and cried until the tears ran out as he stroked her hair and said nothing. Finally, embarrassed, she pulled away and apologised, wiping her eyes.
‘How did you know I was here?’ she asked.
‘I was opening up at the café,’ Tom replied, pulling her back into his arms, holding her there.
‘I saw you come out of the florist with the hyacinths and I knew where you were going. When this much time passed and it started to rain I thought I’d come and check on you.’
‘I didn’t know you were even up,’ she said, truthfully. ‘I thought you weren’t working today.’
‘Change of plan,’ he said softly, still holding her.
Lucy’s breathing was slowly returning to normal as Tom stroked her head, holding her against his body.
‘Thank you,’ she said. She thought she felt him kiss her hair in reply. He held her for a few more minutes and then gently led her away to the car, which he’d pulled up outside the old metal gate.
Tom walked Lucy back into the house, like she was an old relative too frail to manage the stairs alone. He ran her a bath while she sat on the edge of her bed, and when she got out he’d laid her oversized white dressing gown out on the bed – it was warm from the tumble drier. He knocked on the door and came in to sit with her.
‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ she said, embarrassed at the thought of herself.
‘There’s nothing to be sorry for,’ he said to her. ‘What happened to your parents, to Richie, the way they were taken, it was awful, it was the saddest thing that I’ve ever known and it still gets me every time I go up there. They were beautiful people and they loved you so much. They should be here now to see you grow up and they’re not. They’re not here to see what a beautiful young woman their daughter is and that’s heartbreaking. I know time heals and all that, but, well, it doesn’t really, does it? That never gets any easier to bear and I wish you didn’t have to bear it.’ Tom stopped himself to look at Lucy for her reaction to his clearly unexpected monologue.
‘You always were the only one who ever really got it,’ she said, and it was true. When she’d left Tom behind, she’d lost the only person who really knew what she’d been through and who she was. It felt so obvious now that it was a mistake to have left the only person who truly understood.
‘Do you really still go up there to see them?’ she asked.
‘About once a fortnight or so, yeah,’ he said. ‘I just make sure it’s all nice up there for them. Your mum would’ve hated it all scruffy, and I like remembering them, remembering what life was like when they were around.’
Lucy looked at Tom. All this time she’d been in London it had never crossed her mind that he would’ve been visiting their graves. She hadn’t been for six years and he’d been looking after things for them; she’d underestimated him in so many ways.
‘You’ve had a rough morning,’ Tom said, standing up. Lucy didn’t want him to walk away – she wanted him to lie down with her, to hold her in his arms.
‘You ought to get some sleep.’ He folded the duvet back and gestured for her to get in. It was a strangely intimate feeling, him helping her into her bed and she felt naked. He smoothed the duvet over her and lent down to kiss her hair once more. He just feels sorry for me, Lucy thought sadly.
‘I’m back off to the café. We’re fully booked and I don’t want Tara struggling ther
e on her own.’ Lucy was shocked at how jealous this sentence made her – it was an ugly emotion to feel.
‘Of course. Thanks for everything, Tom, I’ll be fine here,’ she promised as he left the room, pulling the door shut with a smile that made her feel fifteen years old.
21
Kristian sat Nina at the large round table in the bay window and headed towards the bar to get the drinks in. The Ship was one of six pubs in Hideaway, and the most popular with the younger crowd. They had live music in the summer months and a band was sound-checking at the far end of the room; squeals, beats and guitar riffs sporadically interrupting conversation.
‘This place hasn’t changed,’ Lucy noticed out loud. It was exactly as she’d remembered it from their days of underage drinking.
‘Even the staff,’ Nina said, nodding towards the guy carrying a tray of empties past their table. Lucy recognised him vaguely.
‘I’m going to be so jealous of your gin and tonic,’ Nina said, sighing. ‘I’m drinking a fucking Appletiser on a Friday night, woo!’
‘Well it’ll all be worth it, won’t it?’ Lucy said, trying to encourage Nina to focus on the reason she wasn’t drinking.
‘Oh I know,’ Nina replied, shifting in her chair. ‘I just wish my parents were a bit happier about it – that’s been pretty depressing.’
‘What have they said?’ Lucy asked. It was hard to imagine Nina’s parents being anything other than lovely and supportive, as they always had been of their only daughter.
‘Mum’s pissed off that we aren’t married,’ Nina replied. ‘Like we’re Victorian or something – like it really matters.’
Lucy could see the hurt in Nina’s eyes. Her mum’s disapproval wasn’t something that didn’t affect her, however much eye-rolling she was going to do to try to seem casual.
‘What about John?’ Lucy asked. Nina has always been close to her dad.
‘Oh, well, he’s just bloody mute on the subject,’ Nina said, looking down at the floor. ‘He’s barely mentioned it and when I bring it up he just changes the subject. Do you know, I really thought they’d be happy for us. It’s pretty gutting.’
‘Yeah, well, that is shit,’ Lucy agreed, reaching her hand over to Nina and giving her a squeeze. ‘They’ll come round, though, just doing the annoying parent thing. Try not to focus on it. We are all delighted! I am so excited!’
Nina looked up and smiled, genuinely buoyed by Lucy’s enthusiasm.
‘Here we are, ‘ Kristian leant across Lucy, placing drinks on the dark, stained wooden table.
‘Can I smell your gin?’ Nina asked Lucy.
‘Um, yes I supp-’ Nina took the glass from Lucy’s hand and stuck her nose right in to inhale.
‘Classy,’ Tom laughed, sitting down with his beer. ‘Really classy, Nin!’
‘Tara!’ Kristian called out, looking past Lucy’s head. She spun around towards the door and saw Tara in a tiny black dress and flip-flops, hair loose around her shoulders, in perfect bloody beachy curls.
‘Hey!’ Tara called over. ‘Can I get anyone a drink?’
Lucy turned back towards the table and made eye contact with Nina.
‘We’re all good, thanks,’ Nina called back to Tara, ‘but come and join us.’ She began moving her chair to make room, before looking back at Lucy with a sheepish look on her face.
Great, Lucy thought. She felt suddenly self-conscious with her crap hair scraped back into a ponytail and wished she’d put a bit more make-up on.
Tara made her way back with a bottle of beer and pulled a chair towards the table. Tom leapt from his seat to help her, sending a wave of jealousy so powerful through Lucy she had to physically turn away. Tara sat between Tom and Nina, right opposite Lucy. She looked her straight in the eyes and smiled at her, forcing Lucy to smile back. So smug, Lucy thought, cringeing again at how pathetic she was being.
The pub was busy and they’d been lucky to get a table. A large crowd was standing towards the so-called stage, which was, in fact, just a gaffer-taped section of dirty wooden floor covered in instruments and scruffy-looking band members. Kristian chatted to Lucy about the day’s surf and about their plans for tomorrow. Lucy tried to focus on their conversation, agreed with him about heading to one of the bays further along the coast, and reassuring him that she’d try and make sure Nina was okay about her parents’ current attitude towards their pregnancy. But her eyes kept drifting across the table to the increasingly cosy scene between Tom and Tara. Tom was leaning back in his chair, with his arm slung around the back, reaching around to Tara’s chair. Her body was angled towards his and she kept leaning into him as he spoke, pulling her hair away from her face and giggling. Tom looked happy, Lucy realised. Tara made him smile. It reminded Lucy of how they used to be, when they were young. Before she threw it all away and left.
She downed another gin and tonic so quickly that even Kristian noticed. She stood to head to the bar, and offered drinks to the table. Nina gestured at her Appletiser with a sad look on her face and Kristian raised his full beer. ‘Go on, then, I’ll have another,’ he said, as Nina gave him daggers.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Tara shouted over the music, still smiling. Of course she’s one of those sensible girls who just enjoys one leisurely drink, Lucy thought, the smug cow.
Lucy made her way through the crowd, dodging sweaty bodies and pints of beer. She stood behind the mass of people waiting to be served, trying to decide whether to make her gin and tonic a double. A hand reached around her waist, making her jump. She turned around to see Tom. He leant into her and said something she couldn’t hear.
‘What?’ she said, leaning back into him. She could smell aftershave on his neck and shampoo on his hair.
‘Just came to give you a hand,’ he shouted, as she held her a finger in her other ear.
‘Oh, thanks,’ she smiled at him. His eyes lingered on hers and she had the overwhelming urge to kiss him. His hand was still on her waist, she realised, and she stepped out of his grasp to try to escape the feeling of his hands on her.
He took another step closer to her as she ordered the drinks, his body pressed against her; his physical closeness made her want to cry.
Lucy passed him Kristian’s beer and asked him if he wanted one. He shook his head. She took her gin and tonic and they pushed and weaved their way back through the room towards the table.
‘Here you are,’ he spoke loudly into her ear as he pulled his own chair out for her at the table. ‘You sit here for a bit. I’ll go and chat with Kristian.’ He slipped around to the other side of the table and passed Kristian his beer, sitting down in what had been Lucy’s seat.
Great, Lucy thought, as she sat next to Tara, who turned around immediately and began chatting to her.
‘I love your top,’ Tara said, grinning. ‘It’s a lovely colour.’
‘Thanks,’ Lucy said. ‘It’s from London.’ She wondered what the fuck had just come out of her mouth. Her top was from Topshop. They had one of those in Plymouth – about forty minutes from here. It was hardly some exotic purchase.
‘Oh, well, it’s very nice,’ Tara said. ‘I think my dress is too short. I’m glad I’m sitting down!’ she giggled, nervously, Lucy noticed.
‘You look lovely,’ Lucy said. ‘I wouldn’t worry.’
The band started up louder than ever and a cheer erupted from the crowd. The shaggy-haired lead singer was energetically bouncing around and sticking his microphone out to the crowd for the chorus. It was too loud to do anything other than listen to the music, which suited Lucy just fine. She sat back in her chair and tried not to think about anything. She glanced over at Tom to see him watching Tara, then mouthing something to her that looked like ‘are you okay?’.
She couldn’t bring herself to look at Tara, so forced her gaze straight ahead again at the band. The pub was the same, but tonight showed just how different almost everything else had become. She was going to need more gin. She missed her London friends, she realised, sitting there feeli
ng like a total twat, she missed the outgoing social girl she’d been in London. She reached into her handbag and found her phone. She typed a message: fancy a trip to Cornwall? and hit ‘send’ to Charlie and Warren.
22
‘Lucy!’ The girl’s voice came from the kitchen and Lucy turned to see Tara peering around the door as she unloaded a tray of scones onto a glass cake stand.
‘Hi,’ she called back, unsure whether she was supposed to stop and talk.
‘How are you doing? Tom’s not here at the moment,’ Tara continued cheerfully.
‘Oh, okay,’ Lucy replied.
‘Sit down. Do you fancy a coffee?’
‘Um, yeah, sure, thanks,’ Lucy answered, before thinking about it.
‘It’s going to be a busy day,’ Tara carried the scones to the counter before filling the coffee machine.
‘You seem busy here every day,’ Lucy pretended to read the menu on the blackboard behind Tara, feeling awkward. Tara shrugged a reply and began frothing milk under steam.
‘Cappuccino sound good?’ she raised her voice over the hissing machine.
‘Sounds great,’ Lucy replied, watching Tara make her coffee. Although she’d been struck by how pretty Tara was the first time she met her, she’d not fully appreciated how striking she was, she realised now. She was one of those effortlessly attractive girls, who seemed at ease in her own skin. Watching her flit around behind the counter, Lucy could see why Tom would like her. She smiled at Lucy a couple of times as their eyes met and Lucy realised she must be staring at her.
‘Tom’s surfing, of course,’ Tara said, and Lucy felt stung at the obvious familiarity, as if Tara was staking her claim with her knowledge of him.
