There was an awkward silence.
“So has Luke seen you?” she said warily.
“Luke? The landlord?” I said. “Of course. Why?”
“And how is he? I mean, is he okay?”
“Sorry?”
But Paula had already turned away from me, distracted by someone tapping her on the shoulder. It was clear from the noise and the air kissing that her friends had finally arrived.
Alone again, I took another drink, thinking about what Paula had said.
“Melissa!”
Dad beckoned me into the crowd around him. He was discussing the merits of a photo with another group. He directed our attention to the scene before us: a row of beautiful stalactites and stalagmites which had joined together to form slender columns, like the pipes of an organ, viewed as the golden evening sunlight shone through the entrance of the cave.
“Hi there.” I felt a slight tingle at the back of my neck and turned to find Luke standing behind me.
“You’re looking beautiful,” he said, gallantly.
I smiled and took another gulp of my drink.
Dad was still analysing the photograph for his rapt audience. “See how the camera captures a very gentle, mellow light,” he said pointing to the sun’s soft rays, “echoing the slow, gradual wearing away and building up of the limestone by another force of nature: water. This is a subtle force - slow and steady - exerting its will over time.”
Luke fingered the amethyst drop at my throat. “Looks good,” he said. “Much better than a teddy bear.”
The group moved on to the next photo, Luke and I following, lingering on the outskirts, chatting.
“The exhibition seems to be going well,” he said.
I nodded.
“Your Dad knows his stuff, doesn’t he? He’s got the crowd mesmerised.”
I glanced proudly at Dad charming the group, drawing them into his love of geological photography.
I took another sip from my glass.
“You drinking wine?” Luke asked, eyebrows raised. “Does your Dad know?”
Rolling my eyes dramatically, I tutted at him for being so boring. But he didn’t notice, too busy looking around for a waitress who failed to materialise.
Then, spotting a small bar on the other side of the room, he went off to get himself a beer.
I didn’t want to look as if I was hanging about, waiting for him to return, so, as Dad led his group off, I followed them.
But then I saw Paula and her friends pushing through the crowd, coming in the other direction. It looked like they were leaving. In a moment she would have pushed her way past me and be gone. But I needed to talk to her. To hear her confirm something I had already begun to suspect from her previous conversation. And so, as soon as I caught her eye, with no time for subtleties, I dived straight in.
“Paula…” I began. “You know what you were talking about…”
“Sorry?”
“About the girl. The one I look like.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, love,” she said. “That was nothing. Just forget I said anything.”
But I couldn’t. Something inside me made me continue. I had to know. “How much do I resemble her?”
“Well, to be honest, you don’t look like her at all, really, now I come to think about it” she said. “For a start, she was into all that grungy stuff - you know, the thick black eyeliner and all that.” She waved her hand as if sweeping the whole conversation aside. “So, like I say, just forget about it.”
She began to move off, but I carried on regardless. “But you said I reminded you of her,” I urged, “in the market.”
“Well, yes,” she said, pausing again, her smile fading a little, slightly put out that I wouldn’t drop the subject. “But not facially. Just an expression I caught in your eyes for a moment. Nothing really.”
She tried to move off again, her friends looking back, wondering at the delay but I rudely pressed on. “But I look enough like her to make you worry about Luke?”
She turned back to me, her face troubled at my persistence. “Look, love. Just forget it. I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have said anything in front of you. It’s not something you want to chat about - especially round Luke. It could really upset him.”
“Because she and her mother were such close friends of his family,” I prompted. “Is that it?”
Paula looked at me, hesitating. “Well, yes…” she began, “But there’s more to it than that.” Laying her hand on my arm, she lowered her voice, speaking confidentially.
“Poor man - I don’t suppose he’s ever really got over it. How could he? You see, Billie - that was her name, the girl who died - Billie was his girlfriend.”
And then squeezing my arm and pulling a sympathetic face for Luke’s sad story, she hurried off to her friends.
<><><>
I wandered off, moving automatically, too deep in thought to care where I was heading now.
I’d been right. The girl - Billie - had been Luke’s girlfriend. No wonder he’d been so angry with me for casually gossiping about her death.
I gulped down the rest of my wine and reached for another.
By now, I had entered the ‘creatures’ section. I glanced briefly at the nearest photographs. On one side a spider sat at the centre of its dew-glistened web. On the other, a slick, green frog caught a dragonfly on its long sticky tongue. Ahead, a proud stag, its antlers wide and strong called out, its breath condensing in the cold morning air.
But my mind was busy thinking about something else. A bitter, poisonous thought. A crushing thought.
Paula had been worried about Luke seeing me hadn’t she - because she thought I somehow resembled Billie.
So - was that why he liked me? Liked hanging out with me? Is that what our ‘connection’ was based on: that I looked a bit like his dead girlfriend?
I thought back to the first time he’d seen me, when he’d looked into my eyes and I’d seen a sudden flash of recognition.
But no - I was being stupid. Paranoid. Just because Paula thought I reminded her of someone didn’t make it a fact. And Luke had never said anything, had he.
And the spark between us? I thought back to the fluttering in my stomach, the tingling of my skin at his touch. No - that was definitely real.
But then my thoughts were rudely interrupted by loud voices: two women having a lively discussion about the photo before them.
“A cuckoo chick,” one of the women read out loud. “Apparently the mother bird lays her egg in someone else’s nest, and flies off. Then when the cuckoo is born, it gets rid of any other eggs by pushing them over the side, thus getting all the surrogate parent’s food for itself.”
“How awful!” her friend shrieked.
I looked at the photo vacantly: a big fat baby bird stuffed into a rather small nest, being fed by a smaller bird, clearly of a different species.
“It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there,” said an overly-dramatic voice so close to my ear that I prickled with pleasure. Luke was back. He’d obviously heard the women too. “It’s not all buttercups and fluffy bunnies in nature you know. Ask any country boy.”
I nudged him with my elbow, delighted that he’d returned. I’d been worrying about nothing. Let’s face it: his girlfriend had been dead for at least five years. And now he had moved on. And he liked me. I was sure of it.
He had a bottle of beer for himself and an orange juice for me. He handed it over, swapping it for what was left of my wine which he placed on a side table out of the way.
We moved on to another photo: a bee next to some kind of honeycomb structure full of a milky white substance, a maggot-like larva floating at the centre.
Luke looked at his pamphlet. “‘A queen cup full of royal jelly’,” he read. “‘…Excellent food for creating queen bees’.”
“That sounds more like it,” I smiled. “Much nicer than the cuckoo story, anyway. So, Royal Jelly is therefore seen as a …” I put on a dramatic voice, “… force
of nature?”
“Well, not quite.” Looking at the pamphlet, Luke began to chuckle. “Actually, it says here that the first queen bee to hatch will sting the other larvae to death so that she can rule alone. I think she is meant to be the…” he put on an equally dramatic voice, “… force of nature.”
“What is this exhibition?” I cried. “Some kind of chamber of horrors?”
While we were laughing, Dad appeared with a plate piled high with finger food from the buffet.
“Ah, bees,” he said. “Should have known I’d find you here, Melissa.” He handed me the plate which I took in my free hand, but both hands now full, I was unable to feed myself. Laughing, Dad started to feed me, popping little bits of flaky pastry directly into my mouth. “Worker bees will stuff larvae full of royal jelly,” he said, “but I’ll stuff my little queen bee full of delicious cheese straws.”
“Dad…!” I shrieked, mortified, while beside me, Luke guffawed.
“So,” Dad said, smiling at us and gesturing around him. “What do you think?”
“Impressive,” Luke said, nodding.
“Gruesome,” I mumbled trying to wash the pastry down with a gulp of juice.
“Gruesome?” He looked around him. “The forces of nature - gruesome?”
“Some of the animal ones are,” I said. “They’re all about killing.”
“Maybe to our sensitive human souls, yes,” Dad mused. “But not to them. They don’t think of the moral issues - the rights and wrongs - they just follow their instincts. The force of nature. Whether it’s weaving an intricate web, or smashing a few eggs, or bellowing across the fields in order to attract a mate: it’s all just about instinct. The instinct to survive. To live. To go on.”
I tried to stifle a yawn. This was all a bit deep and serious for a party. And I think the wine was starting to affect me.
“You tired again?” he asked, concerned. “Ready to go home?”
I shook my head. “No, no - this is your big night,” I insisted.
“Yes - and one that looks like it might go on for quite a bit longer,” Dad said, looking at his watch. “But you need your rest.”
He turned to Luke. “I wonder… Do you think…?”
“Say no more,” Luke said. “I’ll make sure Melissa gets home okay.”
Dad smiled, relieved. “Thanks. Got to look after my sweet little drowsy honey bee.” I rolled my eyes in despair as he and Luke laughed.
<><><>
The rain had let up by the now, so, leaving the umbrella for Dad, I stepped out into the cold, night air.
At first it felt refreshing after the stuffiness of the crowded gallery, but soon I started to shiver. Lecturing me on my lack of jacket, Luke took off his own, wrapping it round my shoulders.
It was still warm from his body, and I nuzzled into the collar which smelled deliciously of his musky aftershave.
“Thanks for walking me home,” I said. I felt strangely happy and carefree.
“No problem,” he shrugged.
“No, it’s really kind of you,” I insisted.
He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “Not that kind, Melissa. I mean, I live there too.”
“Well, obviously!” I said. “But you’d have walked me home even if I’d been staying miles away, wouldn’t you.”
“I don’t know about that,” he laughed.
I should have shut up, then. I knew I should. I mean, I was talking utter drivel. But somehow I just couldn’t control my stupid mouth.
“Oh yes you would,” I heard myself blurt out confidently. I willed myself to stop, but my brain just wasn’t working properly. “You’re like my knight in shining armour.”
He paused for a moment and looked at me. “Melissa,” he sounded a little concerned, “how much of that wine did you have?”
“You are,” I said, ignoring him, and then I continued in my new cringe-worthy fashion: “You’re always lovely to me.”
“Yes, well,” he laughed, embarrassed. “What can I say - I’m a great guy.”
“Yes you are, Luke. You’re lovely.” What was the matter with me? Since we’d come outside my head had started spinning and I had lost total control of my mouth. I vowed to myself never to drink again, but no sooner had the thought entered my head than it was gone, and I heard myself continuing: “And you like me too, don’t you.”
“Melissa,” he said patiently. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
“But you do,” I stated simply. “You like me. It’s nice.”
And so we lapsed into silence.
<><><>
It was Luke who spoke next. “So, what did your Dad say when you told him about last night?” he asked.
I blushed as my mind pictured the scene: sitting on the bed, nestled in his arms, me having a total meltdown.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Nothing?”
“No. I didn’t tell him.”
Luke was silent.
“It’s complicated,” I tried to explain. “He has his own worries. I don’t want him worrying about me.”
Still, Luke didn’t say anything, so I continued. “I… I have to be strong for him.”
At this, he halted, taking my arm and gently turning me to face him. “But who’s being strong for you?” he whispered.
Anger suddenly flared up in me, my emotions swinging wildly from one extreme to the other. It was as if Luke was criticising Dad for grieving. How dare he! I turned from him, suddenly determined to get away, but his hand on my arm tightened, preventing me from leaving.
“You know I’m here for you, Mel, don’t you,” he whispered.
I looked back at him. At his face, all screwed up with concern. And suddenly all the loneliness deep inside me welled up in my throat, choking me.
“I…” I pulled myself free, unwilling to face up to my unhappiness, only to trip clumsily over a paving stone so that Luke had to grab me again, to stop me falling.
“Come on,” he said, putting his arm round my shoulder as the rain started again, “Let’s get you home.”
Entering the reception area, Luke escorted me to the bottom of the stairs where I reluctantly took off his jacket and handed it back to him. Behind him I could see Sandy in the bar clearing tables, the barman calling last orders.
Then came a pause. I clung on to the newel post to keep myself steady.
Luke looked at me and shook his head. “Promise me that you won’t be in such a rush to drink wine next time,” he said.
I hung my head, feeling very sorry for myself. I’d made such a mess of the evening.
Then he gently tucked a stray lock of my hair behind my ear, and, leaning forward, he kissed me lightly on the forehead. “Drink plenty of water before you go to sleep,” he advised, giving me one of his secret winks. “You’ll be okay.”
And then he walked across the reception area and off to help behind the bar, while I stood at the bottom of the stairs watching him leave.
<><><>
In my room, I took off Mum’s dress and put on a big old comfy T-shirt which had once belonged to Dad, all washed out and sloppy, the neckline so out of shape that it hung off one shoulder. Then I padded along to the bathroom.
I looked at myself in the mirror, and let out a gasp: my eyes were red and unfocused, my mascara smudged into dark rings and my rained-on hair in complete disarray. I looked terrible. What must Luke have thought?
Too tired to deal with my face, I released my hair from its grips, rubbing my aching scalp and trying to untangle the knots with my fingers. But on seeing my reflection again, I groaned loudly. With my hair all bushy now I looked even worse. Untamed. Wild. A perfect candidate for the loony bin.
And sure enough, as I bent down to take a drink, my madness was confirmed. Déjà vu. The same old thing: a hand reaching for the tap. A figment of my twisted mind.
I shook my head at it irritably and stuck my mouth under the tap, taking long cold gulps. But as I stood up again the room started to spin so that I had to h
old on to the basin for support.
I shut my eyes, cursing my stupidity. Why had I drunk all that wine? I’d made a complete fool of myself. Acting like a stupid kid.
And yet Luke had still been nice to me. I recalled the warmth of his jacket on my skin. The weight of his arm round my shoulder. The touch of his lips on my head.
And then I felt him standing behind me, there in the bathroom, his arm round my waist. A kiss on the shoulder where the T-shirt left it bare. A tiny, tender kiss. And then his other hand came up and grabbed my hair, pulling it away from my neck, as he kissed me again. My neck. My collarbone. And the space in-between.
But then I hiccupped loudly, a stupid drunken noise, and it was over. The fantasy gone. And I was alone, just me, as before, standing in front of the mirror. Instinctively my hand reached up to my shoulder, my neck. They felt slightly damp to the touch.
But then I felt my face, my forehead: they felt damp too. Covered in a cold sweat.
My head started to swim again: I felt dizzy.
Holding on to the basin for dear life, I breathed in and out, slowly, trying to calm myself down.
And then I lunged for the toilet and was violently sick.
17
Skidding.
Crashing.
The car smashing into the cold, dark river.
“Help me…!” Mum below me crying out, her voice echoing around my head, as the deadly water rushes in, searching for her lungs.
But her seatbelt is stuck.
I open my window and turn to push myself out. The sky above me seems full of twinkling stalactites. Then Luke is there, smiling, reaching out to me.
I do likewise, reaching out to him. But there is something in his hand. He raises it so that I can see. It’s a silver chain. And swinging from it, like a man on the gallows, is a pink teddy bear with a strawberry stamp on its paw.
18
The next morning, I was woken up by my phone blaring at me. Eyes still shut, I put out my hand, scrabbling about on the bedside table to find it. But by the time I had, it had stopped.
Guilt Trip Page 8
