Baz watches them, oddly moved by these two small people confronting the sea, standing so still; sees their hands reach out and clasp. He thinks of Matthew Arnold’s lines from ‘To Marguerite’:
Yes: in the seas of life enisled,
With echoing straits between us thrown,
Dotting the shoreless watery wild,
We mortal millions live alone.
These two, thinks Baz enviously, will never be truly alone.
Liv comes up behind him and slips her arm within his own. He loves it that she is so tactile, so affectionate. These moments of human contact are what he misses most even after all the years since Lucy died; the reason that he seeks out women who will comfort him, hold him, make love to him, but ask no commitment. Only El knows the whole truth about Lucy’s death: nobody else knows. He presses Liv’s arm and smiles down at her. He longs to mention Sofia, to speak her name, but fears it might be too obvious.
‘I like Sofia,’ she says, as though she’s read his thoughts. ‘She’s such a sweetie. And amazing to look at. The twins have really taken to her.’
‘Mmm,’ he replies, pretending indifference. ‘Yes, she seems a nice girl. She enjoyed our kite expedition.’
‘It was brilliant, Baz. Honestly, that was just such a fantastic idea. Their little faces were so sweet.’
She is watching the twins, who are now approaching hand in hand, and Baz, looking at her, feels almost fearful at so much love. She releases his arm and goes to meet them, dropping down on one knee and putting out her arms to them. They hug her, pointing back at the shells, explaining that they are letting the sea hide them. Flora holds the little flag that Baz awarded and suddenly plants it into Liv’s thick knot of fair hair.
‘Mummy’s the winner,’ she cries, and they both caper and clap their hands, and Liv stands up laughing.
Baz feels another frisson of fear at the display of so much happiness and thinks again of Maurice’s text: ‘Fancy one last canter for old times’ sake, mon vieux?’
Behind him, Meggie calls. It’s time for lunch.
Liv takes the twins by the hands and they all go in together.
CHAPTER SEVEN
PROMPTLY AT FIVE o’clock the cars begin to bump slowly down the track, parking in an orderly line beneath the hedge. All the guests know that the prosecco will be chilled and Meggie’s delicious cake set out on the tables under the awning. It is still hot, though there is a mackerel sky that looks like the ripples of sand on a beach, and the sea is flat as a metal shelf.
Annabel is irritated to see that she and Miles are by no means the first. She likes to station herself close to Baz, drink in hand, as if she is co-hosting the party with him.
‘I told you we should have started earlier,’ she remarks. ‘I see Janet and Dave are already here. And I suppose that young woman with the unfortunate-coloured hair must be the godchild.’
Miles is too occupied with parking to reply and Annabel leaps from the car before he’s switched off the engine. She smooths down her pretty linen dress, pleased with its elegant lines. She knows that everyone makes an effort for Baz’s party – well, everyone except dowdy old El, who has no idea how to dress – and she likes to make an entrance. She picks her careful way over the tussocky grass, between cushions of thrift, and hurries towards the Beach Hut. She is aware of several guests, of Liv and the twins talking to the godchild, but her eyes are all for Baz, tall, elegant and utterly gorgeous.
Annabel’s heart seems to squeeze with pleasure and anticipation, making her breathless as she advances on him. He beams at her, stretches his arm – the one not holding his glass – and cries out her name. Oh, how warm is his smile, how special that light kiss – always on the lips – how dear he is. And this afternoon he seems more than usually aware of her; his eyes have an extra gleam. They have never spoken of the chemistry between them but she just knows that he loves her; she just knows it. She accepts a glass of prosecco, shakes her head at the cake – she never touches cake – and takes a deep, happy breath.
‘Oh, Baz,’ she says. ‘How lovely to see you again. You don’t come down as often as you used to. It’s been far too long.’
How odd and necessary it is to have this connection in her life, this special feeling. It lightens dull days and makes her feel young and desirable again. She takes a sip of the wine and looks around her at his family and friends, though aware only of Baz’s presence at her side.
Poor darling, thinks Baz, parrying Annabel’s flirtatious remarks, trying to steer a way that neither compromises himself nor rejects her.
He hopes that someone will come to rescue him but meanwhile he compliments Annabel on her appearance – ‘Looking stunning as always, Belle.’ He knows she loves him calling her ‘Belle’, ‘Beauty’, flamboyant names that are all part of the fun. He knows that Miles doesn’t mind. On the contrary, he likes it because it makes Annabel happy for a moment, frees her – briefly – from her discontent, and gives Miles an opportunity to spend time with El.
What a mess and a muddle it all is, thinks Baz, filled with a sudden rage against the hopelessness of the human condition. He glances round him and his gaze comes to rest on Sofia. She is watching him, gives him a little smile, and his heart lifts in a quick little jump of pleasure. How unusual and beautiful she is in that strange, sea-green colour; how warm her smile. And, just as suddenly, his rage dissipates and he is able to respond again to Annabel and to enjoy his guests and his party.
‘Who is the woman with Baz?’ Sofia asks Liv. She keeps her voice light, casual. ‘I don’t know half these people.’
‘That’s Annabel. She’s married to Miles. I hardly know them either. I only meet them when we come down for the summer.’
Liv dashes away to prevent Jenks from sampling the cake and Sofia studies Annabel. She can tell that the older woman fancies Baz. Sofia notices the wide slash of red lipstick on the narrow face, the restless clash of gold bangles on the thin arms, the continual readjustment of her body in response to Baz as she stands close to him, needing his attention.
Baz glances around him – is there desperation in that glance? – and briefly their eyes meet and Sofia smiles at him. He responds with a swift widening of the eyes, as if some tiny message has been passed between them, some kind of recognition, and she sees his shoulders relax.
Sofia turns away. She won’t look at him again. This unexpected connection is too important to be used lightly and, anyway, she might have misunderstood him. Her all-too-ready lack of confidence shoulders forward and it’s with relief that she responds to Flora’s demand that she looks at the pictures that she and Freddie are colouring.
The twins are aware of the undercurrents of this gathering. People behave oddly, which is in a way unsettling, though Mummy is much as usual and so is Meggie. They like Meggie, who is always the same. She never fusses or gets upset. She is firm and they feel safe with her.
They know that she is enjoying being here, that she likes being a part of Baz’s party. Her hair has been done in a new way, and she is wearing a dress rather than her trousers, but she is not jangling and shrieking like the woman with Baz, nor has she gone rather quiet like Sofia has, although she is still helping them with their colouring. It seems to Flora and Freddie that nobody really notices Meggie: she is almost like the boy in one of their stories who wears an invisible cloak. She moves quietly around, making sure there’s always enough to eat and drink, though not getting in the way, but nobody seems to look after her. No one takes her a cup of tea or a piece of cake. Communing silently, watching Meggie standing alone, they decide that they will find a present for her.
Smiling at Sofia, they get down from the table and move away together across the beach. The present must be a very special stone or a shell, or perhaps something from one of the rock pools. Content in their common purpose they begin their search.
Miles looks around, keeping an eye open for El but conscious of the shape and movement of the party. Some guests sit beneath the awning, others wand
er along the beach. He is aware of Annabel, hectic, seeking attention, monopolizing Baz, and feels the usual mix of sadness, irritation and affection. His own love for her has never been enough and Lily, his beloved daughter, is a long way off in Christchurch. They communicate by email and FaceTime, though Annabel does not have any part in this. They are not close, and since Lily ‘came out’ Annabel refuses to discuss it and he is still not able to help her to come to terms with it.
I give in too often, Miles thinks. Always have. Anything for a quiet life. Poor Annabel. She was gutted when I was passed over. Wanted me to be an admiral. But we loved each other once. There was passion and tenderness. When did her love of a good time turn shrill; her sharp wit morph into bitterness?
As she jangles and postures at Baz’s side Miles studies her with an infinite sadness.
And then El appears, calm and poised, and Miles sees Annabel’s dismissive smile, Baz’s warm hug, and hurries to greet her.
Janet and Dave are pleased by the way that Sofia has been absorbed so quickly into family life at the Beach Hut.
‘This is what she needs,’ says Janet. ‘Liv is such an easy person. It will be so good for Sofes to have someone of her own age to talk to and it’s nice for Liv, too. Children of that age are a handful.’
As Janet turns to talk to friends, Dave sips his prosecco and watches Annabel being unwillingly hauled off by some newly arrived guests, giving Baz the opportunity to talk to his friends. He sees Miles greeting El and suddenly guesses why Miles pops up to Bristol at such regular intervals, ostensibly to see Baz and go with him to a concert at St George’s or Colston Hall. Miles’ passion for classical music – and Annabel’s indifference to it – is well known. Dave wonders how often El is a member of the party.
Janet rejoins him.
‘Why are you just standing here?’ she asks. ‘You should be mingling. What are you thinking about?’
‘I was just thinking that Annabel’s secret passion for Baz is showing,’ he answers.
She snorts. ‘You always think somebody’s fancying someone.’
Dave’s gaze drifts to El and Miles deep in conversation and he smiles and takes another sip. ‘That’s because they usually are,’ he says.
Meggie stands in the doorway, watching them, ready to top up glasses, refill plates with cake. She knows them all, cleans for most of them, but at these events she tends to feel slightly invisible. There are special people who try to make her feel part of the group – Baz, Miles, Janet and Dave – but to most of them she is simply part of the furniture.
Even so, she is enjoying herself. After the party she and Baz and Liv will have a quiet time together while they clear up. She likes Liv. There’s no side or nonsense about her, and as for Baz … Well, Baz has been so good to her and Phil. He’s just a lovely, lovely man, and there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for him.
She saw the way he looked at Sofia in the kitchen this morning. Knocked sideways, he was, no two ways about that, and Freddie saying, ‘You are toast, mate,’ was probably more true than he knew. Meggie smiles to herself. Well, Sofia’s a very striking-looking girl and judging by the one or two glances she’s sent Baz’s way just now it seems she’s a bit struck with him, too. Though there’s no chance of her getting a look in with that Annabel Carver all over him like a rash. Meggie sniffs contemptuously. Tricky piece of work, she is, and the meanest of the lot to work for: no offer of a cup of coffee whilst she’s cleaning, no present at Christmas. And always ‘Mrs Carver’, never Annabel. Treats her as if she’s a servant. Miles is OK, though. She likes Miles; she feels sorry for him. He’s under the cosh. He’s always so polite to her, though, if a bit formal. Probably being in the navy that’s made him like that. Not like Baz, who’s always good for a joke, ready for a laugh, or Dave and Janet, who invite her and Phil round for a cup of tea.
Meggie steps back as someone comes inside. She smiles and there’s a polite response but she feels invisible again. She pats her hair, stretches her back, and suddenly wishes that Phil could be here with her.
‘Have a good time,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘New dress, is it? You’re looking very posh.’
She laughed. ‘That’ll be the day. Sure you won’t come?’
He shook his head, still grinning. ‘Not my kind of do. I’ll see Baz later on.’
Baz always invites Phil, but Meggie knows that he feels awkward in his wheelchair and that he suspects that his presence would make some of the guests feel uncomfortable. He’ll get together with Baz later and have a drink. Baz always makes time to stroll down to the village to see Phil. Even so, she still wishes he could be there, to smile at her and send her a wink when the party really gets going and she’ll be scurrying around looking after them all.
Meggie turns to go back to the kitchen just as the twins come in from the beach and she smiles at them. They look up at her solemnly, funny little birds that they are, and then she realizes that they are holding something out to her, their small hands clenched tightly into fists.
Instinctively she opens her hands to them, cupping them together, and very gently they empty their treasures into them: tiny shells, pretty stones, the claw of a small crab. They stand back to watch her pleasure, their eyes wide with the delight of sharing. Meggie stares down at these gifts. Just for a moment, only a brief moment, she wants to shed a little tear. These two are honouring her; showing her that to them, at least, she is not invisible.
‘Thank you, my birds,’ she says. ‘These are handsome. Just wait till I show Phil.’
They follow her into the kitchen, watching whilst she puts their offerings carefully down on the table and then finds a paper bag in which to stow them so as to carry them safely home later. First, though, she examines the sea-spoils again, giving each piece its true value, and then she looks at the twins and nods.
‘Handsome,’ she says. ‘Proper handsome. Now, how about a piece of cake?’
El is glad when Dave joins them, though she knows that Miles is slightly disappointed not to have her to himself. With Dave she can relax a little and allow him to guide the conversation into more general areas. He talks to Miles of local events: the village fête, a photographic exhibition.
‘You really should come down more often,’ he says to El, and Miles looks at her hopefully.
Once or twice she has accompanied Baz to the Beach Hut for a weekend when he’s been there alone and though, to begin with, there were a few raised eyebrows, everyone knows now that there is no romantic relationship between them.
‘I might just do that,’ she says. ‘It’s just a bit more difficult once term begins.’
This is not really true: the truth is that she’s a city person. She likes the buzz, café society, theatres. It’s lovely to have these two weeks to walk and sketch, but when the rain and the gales sweep in from the Western Approaches, and the cliffs are hidden in mist, she longs for her little flat and the Royal Fort gardens.
Baz is the same. She watches him now with affection as he moves amongst his guests, tall and elegant, glass in hand, and knows that in this they are kindred spirits. Janet joins them and the four of them wander down on to the beach, Dave and Miles strolling ahead. More guests join them and El sees Miles, some way ahead now, turn to look for her. His expression – hopeful, loving – tugs at her heart and her compassion. She is reminded of lines from Jenna Plewes’ poem ‘The Final Session’ that she was reading last night …
Standing in the falling tide.
A skin of water healing the troubled sand
I think of you, and wish you well.
El smiles back at him, raises her hand in acknowledgement and makes her way to where he waits for her at the water’s edge.
Once Liv and Sofia have got the twins to bed Liv feels she can relax and enjoy the party. It’s nearly time for supper. Guests are beginning to wander into the atrium where the long table is loaded with dishes of tempting food. First, though, she’s hoping to speak to Matt. He’ll be at The Place getting ready for the usual b
usy Saturday evening, but there might be just time for a quick word with him.
It’s odd that having Sofia here, chatting to her as they gave the twins supper and then bathed them, has made Liv particularly aware of how lucky she is. Sofia’s generous admiration of the twins and of Liv’s achievements is oddly humbling.
‘What a shame Matt can’t be here,’ Sofia said. ‘I’d love to meet him. Is he like Baz?’
‘Very like him to look at,’ Liv told her, ‘and they’re both so laid-back.’
For a moment Sofia looked incredibly sad – and something else, which Liv couldn’t quite place. She saw Sofia glance at Baz, as if she might be imagining Matt, and her look held a kind of longing. Liv was suddenly aware of her own good fortune and a real need to speak to Matt; to hear his voice.
She slips away to a spot halfway up the cliff path where there is good reception and calls his mobile. It takes a while before he answers it and when he does he sounds rather remote, as if he is concentrating on other things.
‘I know you’ll be busy,’ she says quickly. ‘It’s just to say hi. Making sure you’re OK.’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’ There is still a note of distraction, as if his mind is elsewhere. ‘It’s filling up but nothing we can’t handle. All OK down there? Party in full swing?’
‘Yes, it is. Oh, I wish you were here. We miss you.’
‘Well, that’s good.’ She can hear a smile in his voice but there’s still that distraction. ‘Give the twins a kiss from me. And for you, too.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She is slightly hurt by his almost indifference but reminds herself what it’s like in the bistro on a Saturday evening.
‘Of course I will,’ she says cheerfully. ‘Love you, Matt.’
There’s a little pause, then: ‘Yeah, you too,’ almost absentmindedly, and then the beep as he cuts her off.
Liv stands for a moment, deflated, trying not to feel hurt. This is how it has become just lately: they are never quite in the same mood at the same moment. She puts her phone in her pocket and goes to find Sofia.
Seven Days in Summer Page 6
