by Judy Leigh
Cassie offered Lil and Maggie an arm each and they strolled towards the road. Maggie had been right: there was a signpost to the Adam and Eva beach, so they walked for a while, found a shop and bought vanilla cones. Maggie devoured hers while Lil licked the melting ice cream from her fingers like a contented cat. There was a dusty ramp down to the beach, a gradual descent from the road onto silver sand, faded scrubby grass on either side. Lil clung to Cassie; her eyes narrowed to watch the rolling waves in the distance. A lot of people were bathing, kicking their toes into the foam as the tide rolled in. Lil noticed a café not far away, with little tables and chairs with parasols, lots of people drinking beer and talking. Her feet touched the sand and she gazed in the direction of a bunch of young men playing volleyball, their feet pounding dust as they leapt into the air yelling, their fists punching the ball high across the net.
Lil shook her head. There was something peculiar about the beach. It was busy; there was a lot of activity; there were no children around, but that wasn’t what Lil was finding strange. Cassie was smiling at something and, all of a sudden, Lil understood what was so different. She opened her mouth and gazed around, then laughter spluttered from her lips.
‘They haven’t got a stitch on. Everyone here is as naked as the day they were born.’
‘Oh, my goodness.’ Maggie breathed out, her eyes wide. ‘We’d better get off this beach quickly. It’s a nudist beach. I can’t stay here and look. I’m a married woman.’
‘Not on your life.’ Lil shook her head, a delighted smile stretching her face. ‘I’m not going anywhere. All these young men running around playing games, with everything out in the fresh air? It’s too good to miss. Get the blanket, Cassie. We’re stopping here until someone tells us to leave.’
19
Lil had cheered up considerably. She lay in bed, her eyes open, staring into the darkness. To the left, a soft snuffling came from Maggie’s bed. To the right, where Cassie was sleeping, there was no sound, not even the light breathing of someone awake and thinking. Lil called out softly. ‘Are you asleep, Cass?’
‘No.’ The reply drifted from the shadows. Then, ‘Why are you still awake?’
‘I was thinking.’
‘What about?’
Lil took a breath. ‘Guess!’
‘About the naked men on the beach?’
‘No. We only stayed for a few minutes. It was their private beach and, to be honest, I soon felt bored.’
‘Are you thinking about how Sue elbowed everyone out of the way tonight so she could get one of the single rooms?’
‘No, not that, although Sue was pretty determined to have a room to herself,’ Lil replied, thinking that Sue would probably not be sleeping alone. But it wasn’t Lil’s secret to share; she wouldn’t gossip.
‘I agree. It was a good thing Denise got to share with Emily. I think Em’s taken her under her wing.’
‘She’s a nice girl, Emily.’ Lil was thoughtful. ‘She was so kind to Denise today. They had a lovely cycle ride.’
‘Emily is a star. She’s a great football player, she keeps the boys in line. It’s so tough for her too, with Alex being so far away at the moment. But she’s enjoying herself, which is more than I can say for Denise.’ Cassie rolled over. ‘I’m not sure Denise likes me, but I’ll keep trying.’
Lil considered her daughter’s words, wondering how anyone could dislike Cassie. ‘And are you enjoying this holiday, love?’
‘I am, Lil – and I’m getting some writing done. Are you?’
‘What?’
‘Are you enjoying yourself?’
‘Oh.’ Lil took a breath. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘So, what was it?’
‘What was what?’
‘The thing you were thinking about, the thing I was supposed to guess.’
Lil closed her eyes. ‘I was thinking about Herman.’
‘I noticed you talking together a lot during the dinner. Do you like him?’
‘He’s a nice man.’ Lil was quiet. ‘Cassie, do you think I’m too old?’
‘For what?’
‘For… everything. I’ve come on holiday; I’m enjoying myself but – am I too old for all the other things? For a bit of love?’
‘Of course not.’ Cassie rolled over again; the bed springs creaked. ‘None of us are too old, ever. There are some strange attitudes in the world about ageing, as if we all suddenly become too far gone for the pleasures in life. I’ve seen many people over the years who were old at thirty-five, their lives dominated by poverty, misery and disease. And I know inspirational people older than I am – you’re one of them – who don’t let age hold them back.’
Lil sighed. ‘Sometimes I think I’m still forty until I look in the mirror.’
‘But you’re full of life, Lil – and while you are alive, you can do anything your body will let you: travel, have new experiences, even love.’
‘Herman was a nice man.’
‘I’m sure he still is,’ Cassie agreed. ‘Do you miss him?’
Lil sighed. ‘I don’t know. It might have been something. At least it reminded me I still have feelings.’
‘We all do.’
‘I thought mine had dried up a long time ago.’ Lil inhaled. ‘But you’re alone, Cassie, with no one to love.’
‘I have you.’
‘You know what I mean.’
Cassie was silent, then she replied, her voice small. ‘Love never really worked out for me. I suppose I was too selfish, too engrossed in what I was doing. I’m fine how I am, living with Jamie. We rub along okay.’ Cassie thought for a moment: Jamie, his smile, his warm nature, his eagerness to support her, his sense of fun.
‘It’s not too late, love. You might find someone.’
‘It’s not too late for either of us, Lil,’ Cassie protested. ‘You should send Herman a few postcards, then invite him over to stay at Clover Hill.’
‘He’s probably always busy on the farm.’ Lil brushed the thought aside.
‘Well, see what happens.’ Cassie rolled over. ‘Come on, we should get some sleep. We’re off to Amsterdam tomorrow. I can’t wait.’
Cassie cuddled a pillow, pushed her head into the softness and was surprised to find herself imagining how it would be to snuggle close to someone as she fell asleep. She breathed out softly and Jamie’s smile filled her thoughts.
Lil gazed into the darkness again, wondering about the journey back home after Amsterdam and if it might be possible to stop at the farm in Boom again. She didn’t think that was on the itinerary. She imagined running away, turning up at the Goossens’ farm door with her suitcase, staring up at Herman with his bushy eyebrows and his lopsided grin and saying, ‘I’ve come to stay.’
She wrapped her arms around the pillow, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.
The minibus left Zandvoort after breakfast for the journey to Amsterdam, which Tommy promised would only take forty-five minutes. They’d drop their things off at the Roodhuis Hotel, a name which was making DJ and Jake snigger together, offering loud observations about whether the place they’d be staying for two nights was, in fact, in the red-light district.
Ken gave a little cough. ‘Our hotel’s in the Jordaan area – according to my guidebook, it’s about fifteen minutes from the red-light district, ten minutes from the Rijksmuseum and five from Dam Square. Perfectly chosen, Tommy.’
Tommy called from the driver’s seat. ‘Thanks, Ken – it’s all down to my wife, Angie. She sorted out all the bookings. I’ll buy her something nice to take home.’
Duncan agreed. ‘My Kerry will be getting a wonderful present from me – Amsterdam’s famous for diamonds. I might push the boat out.’
‘The boat’s been out for quite a while, Dunc,’ Jake observed. ‘How much have you spent on beer?’
Maggie lifted up her novel; she had just finished Fifty Shades of Hay and was avidly reading the first page of Frolics in the House. Jill, the innocent young politics student, had been trapped in the viewin
g gallery of the House of Lords with Devlin O’Toole, the handsome but wayward son of a baronet. She called out, ‘I’m not sure I want to go to the red-light district. That’s where all the prostitutes are, isn’t it?’
Lil nudged her gently. ‘I think we’ll be safe enough, Maggie.’ She began to cackle. ‘Unless you fancy supplementing your spending money. After all, Brian’s not here – out of sight, out of mind.’
Maggie laughed back. ‘Now that might be a thing. You and I, out on the town in our frilly suspenders, finding out what we’ve missed in life.’ She waved the book. ‘I’m getting a few ideas from the characters in your stories.’
Sue raised her voice. ‘What is the proper word for a prostitute? Isn’t sex-worker more PC?’
‘Prostitute’s more honest, I think.’ Ken cleared his throat and adjusted his cravat. ‘Oldest profession, as they say…’
Denise glanced up from her magazine. ‘Whatever you call them, those poor women are exploited. I think it’s dreadful.’
‘It has to be their choice, if at all,’ Emily offered. ‘And sex worker is a better term – it’s gender-neutral and less loaded…’
‘It’s all legal in Amsterdam, though. The women sit behind glass windows and you can choose the one you like.’ DJ sat up straight in his seat and Jake gaped in disbelief.
‘Is that what you’re planning, DJ?’ Duncan teased. ‘A visit to a lady of the night?’
‘Not at all. My days!’ DJ’s shoulders hunched awkwardly.
‘We should go and have a look around the area though,’ Jake suggested. ‘There might be some good clubs there.’
Pat snorted. ‘Women should be treated with respect. Whether you agree or disagree with legalised prostitution, you shouldn’t discuss women like they are pieces of meat.’
Everyone stared at Pat, his ears now pink. He went back to texting on his phone.
Ken’s voice was light. ‘Well, I think it’s important we take in all the aspects of Amsterdam culture while we’re there. It’s a beautiful, vibrant city and the architecture is stunning.’
‘Definitely,’ Tommy called from the front. ‘We’re just entering Amsterdam now, folks. Have a think about what you all want to do when we have dumped our stuff in the hotel. We’re at leisure for the day and we can eat anywhere we like tonight – Amsterdam is our oyster.’
‘I don’t like oysters, they remind me of snot,’ Maggie observed, pushing Fifty Shades of Hay back into Lil’s hands. ‘Here you are, Lil. I enjoyed reading that. I’m – what’s the term? – I’m expanding my education on this trip.’
Lil placed Vicky the Saucy Vet on her knee, still open at the chapter she was reading, and turned around, waving Fifty Shades of Hay in the air. ‘Denise, here, you can borrow this – you must have read that old magazine a dozen times. It’s a great novel. Maggie’s just finished it.’
Denise held out her hand and Duncan passed the book back to her after pausing to examine the cartoon cover of the woman in jodhpurs waving a whip as she sat astride a man on all fours.
Denise took the book and muttered, ‘Thank you. I haven’t read this one – it looks rather… different.’
Lil picked up her novel, making herself comfortable against the cushions in her seat. ‘Enjoy,’ she muttered to herself before going back to the misdemeanours of Vicky the vet.
They arrived at the Roodhuis Hotel just after eleven o’clock. It was a beautiful five-storey building, narrow with a single room under a curved gable, the front painted a deep red. Across the road, the river nestled behind a bridge, so many bicycles nestling against black iron railings. Cassie helped Lil and Maggie down the steps of the minibus and they stood for a moment, their eyes taking in colourful barges and bending trees, their green leaves sweeping onto the glassy grey canal. Ken beamed, wrapping an arm around Sue and Denise. ‘Here we are, ladies.’
Denise brightened. ‘I like the look of our hotel. What do you think, Syoo?’
Sue pursed her lips, glancing at Ken and away again, and hooted, ‘I hope they give me that little garret room at the top.’
‘I want a room on the ground floor,’ Maggie retorted. ‘They don’t have a lift in this hotel.’
Duncan was gazing around him, his face shining. ‘There’s a bar just across the road – they sell real Amstel beer.’
‘Let’s get unpacked and find our rooms,’ Tommy suggested. ‘Then we can explore as much as we like.’
‘I’m going to visit Anne Frank House,’ Denise announced. ‘Who else has booked to go there? We have online tickets, don’t we?’
‘Five of us, my dear.’ Sue spoke with authority. ‘You, me, Ken, Emily and Pat.’
‘I’m going to the Rijksmuseum,’ Cassie offered. ‘Are you coming, Lil?’
‘I might just find a café and rest for a bit.’ Lil shook her head. ‘I’m tired. I can do the energetic stuff tomorrow.’
‘I’m with you, Lil. I want to put my feet up before I see the sights.’ Maggie agreed and Albert nodded, placing himself at Lil’s elbow, smiling.
‘We’re going to find a bar with live music.’ DJ wrapped an arm around Jake.
‘So that leaves us to drink some Amstel beer?’ Duncan grinned at Tommy.
‘And just me for the museum.’ Cassie sighed.
They deposited their luggage in the rooms they had been allocated for the next two nights. Lil and Maggie were sharing a room with Cassie on the first floor, next to Sue, Denise and Emily. DJ, Pat and Jake were together, next door to Duncan, Tommy and Albert on the third floor. Ken had the garret room to himself at the top, with a view he claimed was magnificent. He had winked at Sue and proclaimed, ‘You can see right across Amsterdam from my little room. You’d love it, Sue.’ Sue had beamed and Denise had wrinkled her nose and looked away.
An hour later, Cassie was strolling through the Rijksmuseum. She had taken the steps to the first floor, into a vast room with huge paintings lit by little overhead lamps. She wandered past an alabaster sculpture on a plinth, some china displayed in an enormous glass cabinet, highly polished oak furniture and several paintings of men in ermine and velvet, holding a sceptre, regal and composed.
For a moment she stood gazing at a painting of a shipwreck and she was fascinated by the vast swirl of sky, the turbulent blues and greys that seemed to swamp the sunshine. A ship had been tipped to one side and tiny people were jostling on the beach, insignificant in comparison to the sweeping power of the stormy sky and the grey, sucking sea. Cassie held her breath, struck by the emotional impact of the image, and read the details: it had been painted in 1837 by Wijnand Nuijen. She had never heard of him.
A voice at her elbow said something in Dutch; she turned sharply and met the smiling eyes of a man about her own age. He spoke again, and she was conscious of the intense darkness of his gaze. His hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, although it was not really long enough, tin-grey wavy strands around his ears. His skin was tanned and leathery, and he had deep lines around his eyes. He was slim, dressed in black jeans, T-shirt and jacket. Cassie shook her head.
‘Sorry, ik spreek geen nederlands… I don’t speak Dutch.’
‘American?’ the man asked.
‘English.’
‘I apologise.’ His eyes swept over her, white hair wrapped in a bright scarf, long colourful dress. ‘I thought you were a Dutchwoman. Your clothes are bohemian.’
Cassie frowned, words springing to her lips, speaking the first thoughts that entered her head. ‘Dutchwomen aren’t the only ones who wear what they like.’
He held out a hand. ‘I have offended you; I am wrong twice. I apologise again.’
‘No offence taken.’ She took his hand. He held it in his for a moment, then released it and stood back, glancing at the painting.
‘So, do you like the shipwreck painting?’
‘I do – I don’t know much about the artist though.’
‘Nor do I, except that sadly he didn’t live long enough to make many more paintings,’ the man replied. ‘And t
hat he was unusual for Dutch painters of this period. He was influenced by the Romantics, and I like that. No perfectly realistic pictures of kings and queens and girls with pearl earrings, but instead the wildness of nature and the insignificance of mankind. He reminds me of your English painter, Turner. I like his work very much.’
Cassie glanced at the brief biography next to the painting. ‘Wijnand Nuijen is certainly dramatic like Turner; Turner was born earlier but died later. I wonder if they ever saw each other’s work.’
The man gave her his full attention. ‘You know about art. I was right to talk to you, even by mistake.’ He gave a little bow. ‘My name is Piet Cornelissen.’
‘Cassie Ryan.’
‘Cassie.’ He repeated her name softly. ‘Are you staying here for a while, visiting? Or do you live here?’
‘I’m just here for a couple of days.’
Piet shook his head. ‘Just two days?’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe I can buy you a coffee, tell you about some places you might like to visit?’
Cassie met his eyes. ‘Like museums and parks? Canal cruises? I know about those.’
‘Like the Zwart Gat, a great club where they play the best music.’
‘Zwart Gat? That means the black…?’
‘Black hole. It’s ten minutes from here. There will be some good music tonight.’
‘What sort of music?’
‘Jazz, Cassie. It’s the best local music scene. I am on stage tonight. I will play the guitar and sing. But there are greater musicians, pianists, much better singers and they will be there, many instruments and good songs.’
‘But you play too. Are you any good?’
He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. ‘Good enough to be paid for it.’ He shrugged. ‘You can come and judge for yourself.’
‘Maybe I will.’
‘So, Cassie – do you like music?’
Cassie was enthusiastic. ‘Yes, I do. I dabble a bit myself.’
‘That is so cool.’ Piet ’s smile broadened. ‘Please – come and have that coffee with me and tell me all about yourself.’
