by Emma Davies
So, I’m back to the link again and the words that jump out at me as if they’re written in bold. Textile… Conservator… Hidden among a collection of queries within a search string. I eye the kitchen door as if mistiming my opening of the link might cause a minor explosion with disastrous consequences. But the coast is clear and so, screwing up my eyes, I click.
I’m surprised when what actually opens is not a dodgy link to buy Viagra, but a page on the IIC website – the International Institute for Conservation of Historic and Artistic Works. A bit of a mouthful by anybody’s standards, but, most importantly, the industry standard. The job I’m looking at has me glancing up nervously once more as if Hugh will somehow be able to catch me out, to see through walls and know what I’m looking at.
I skim-read the contents. They’re fascinating. In fact, so much so that a bloom of heat travels up from my toes and out onto my cheeks. But, just for a moment, the job description can wait. Something else is claiming my attention. I narrow my eyes, trying to catch the thought that’s flitting through my head, some flicker of memory that won’t sit still. Just when I think I’ve got it, it laughs and skips away, teasing. But there is something there, and when I trap it, pin it down and stare at it, I’m amazed I didn’t see it straight away. The email address… such a giveaway.
I hit the reply button, thinking. I could make this long or short, but there really is only one question I need answering.
Why…?
Then I hit send and consign my message to the ether.
I clear my throat, sit up a little straighter, and navigate back to the internet tabs I have open and the pages of patterns I’ve been browsing. My concentration is shot to pieces, but now I need to do something to keep myself occupied. The one thing I won’t do just yet is look at the job advert that Sam sent to me.
Within seconds a reply comes pinging back, sending another little shock wave through my system.
I just came across it. It seemed… timely.
Bullshit. Did it ever.
And how dare he think he knows what’s right for me?
He is right, of course. A job like this was all I ever dreamed of, so it would be perfectly natural for Sam to assume that I was working in this field. But that’s utterly beside the point.
You didn’t just come across this… you went looking.
Okay, so I went looking…
Well at least he has the decency to admit it. Although that rather begs the question why he did it in the first place. He doesn’t know anything about my circumstances. And if he does, who told him? More to the point…
I start typing again.
Again, why? And who gave you my email address?
I flick back to my internet search. I will not stare at the screen waiting for a message to arrive. I will not.
The seconds click by as I scroll from image to image, staring at the details of patterns for Nancy’s tuxedo without seeing any of them. But still I keep scrolling. What is he doing? Is he sitting there, picturing me in my kitchen, in the lounge perhaps, wondering what to say, how best to explain? Maybe he’s gone to get himself a cup of tea…
I shake my head. For God’s sake, Alys, you’re pathetic.
A sudden ping.
Can I see you?
Yes.
10
I’m early. I’m always early for everything and it drives me mad. I would so love to be one of those people who just arrive for things, casually, in a relaxed manner, on time and with no fuss whatsoever. Instead, I fret and double-check details, triple-check them actually, and then arrive with so much time to spare that I can really go to town torturing myself over what I’m wearing, what I’m going to be doing and all the possible things that could go wrong.
And the more important the meeting, the earlier I am. So it’s a full twenty minutes before I see Sam making his way slowly across the car park towards me. I doubt he’s spotted me – I’m perched on the end of a bench alongside the river, partially shaded by one of the willow trees that line its course through the city. And, after a tortured never-ending weekend, when my mind conjured Sam into some mythical, almost super-human being, who had the power to bring about massive disaster, it’s a relief to see that he’s just a man after all. One wearing jeans and a tee shirt, and walking with a pronounced limp. Not a threat to my life at all.
I wouldn’t say that Sam was ever good-looking, not in the traditional sense, but there was always something about the way his features arranged themselves that was pleasing to the eye. They carried the sense of who he was right out there for all the world to see. Except that now, of course, one half of his face has been given a different personality, scarred by the accident that punched a hole through his life. And mine. It’s a stark reminder, should any be needed, of what Sam has been through over the last two decades; it isn’t just my life that has been so different from what I imagined.
I stand up as he approaches so that he’ll see me easily. Today is rife with opportunities for things to go wrong and I don’t want anything to be awkward, not even our greeting. He raises a hand when he spots me, his face creasing into a grin.
‘Hi,’ he says easily.
And I stand there, squinting into the sunlight at the man who used to be my husband.
‘Am I late?’ he adds. ‘I wasn’t expecting the traffic.’
I shake my head. ‘I was expecting more. I got here early.’
There’s silence for a moment as each of us tries to work out what to say next. I don’t want to compliment him on the way he looks, because that might imply that he’s dressed up for the occasion, and give entirely the wrong message. But he does look well. Far more relaxed than when I saw him last and he seems comfortable in his skin, even though he won’t be. And I don’t want to say something banal about the weather either.
‘Sorry, I’ve just realised I don’t even know where you live,’ I say. ‘Have you come from far?’
‘Today no, I’m staying with Nancy at the moment.’ He smiles at the sudden alarm in my eyes. ‘I’ve told her I’m meeting someone I used to know way back when from work,’ he adds. ‘Which is perfectly true. Don’t worry, Alys, this isn’t going to cause any problems; I know you two have become friends.’
I smile my gratitude. ‘It’s good that you and she still get on well,’ I say.
He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing something up, but then his face clears. ‘Yes. Well there’s Theo to consider of course and…’ Sam gives a little snort of amusement. ‘Although he thinks I’m an arsehole actually. Still, I don’t suppose I’m the first parent whose kid thinks that. I’ll be up here for several weeks, that’s all, just to give Nancy a hand with a few things until The Green Room opens, then it will be just her running the show and I’ll disappear back home.’
‘Which is where?’
A gentle smile creeps over his face. ‘I have a flat in London, but for the most part – well as much as I can manage anyway – I have a house in Cornwall.’ He’s regarding me with amusement and the penny suddenly drops. I should have realised.
I slap a hand against my forehead. ‘Mousehole, of course…’ I pronounce the word Mouzel, just like the locals do.
He grins. ‘I did wonder whether you would work out who sent the email, but it didn’t take you long. I’m impressed.’
‘Well, you always did dream of living there.’
He watches me for a second before his gaze drops. It was my dream too.
‘And is The Little Country still your favourite book?’ I ask quickly, moving on.
He smiles. ‘One of them. I’m a little more well-read these days, but it will always have a place in my affections. And yes, it’s lived up to my expectations and now that the business pretty much takes care of itself, I’m happy to say I’m able to spend more and more time there.’
‘That’s good.’
The conversation is in danger of coming to a halt once more and it’s a relief when Sam looks at his watch.
‘Right,’ he says. ‘Well,
shall we?’
I look at him quizzically. ‘Yes, we’d better. Did you have anything in mind? There are some good places to eat locally, or…’ I trail off. I’d been about to suggest we simply walk along the river, but I’m not sure how easy that will be for Sam.
He looks a little apologetic. ‘Actually, I’ve made some arrangements. I hope that’s okay?’ When I don’t reply, he continues. ‘I just thought it might be easier if we had something specific to do… so… come back to the car and I’ll explain. We need to drive, but it’s not far from here.’
‘Okay…’ I say slowly. ‘Sounds intriguing.’
The conversation falls away as we make our way through the car park. I hadn’t intended it to, but I can’t think of a single thing to say and now I’m conscious of every step we take.
‘We may be out for a few hours,’ says Sam after a minute or two. ‘Is that okay? I’m not sure how long you can park here.’
‘It’s all day,’ I reassure him. ‘That’s why I suggested it. I used to park here for work, before I was made redundant.’
He nods. ‘Hmm, Esme mentioned that,’ he replies. ‘I offered to pick her up one morning on my way into the restaurant but she thought you might rather do it. That you were at a loose end…’ he adds, explaining.
‘Which is why you sent me the job advert…’ It’s all beginning to make a little more sense.
He looks at me sideways. ‘One of the reasons. Still, not much fun though, I don’t suppose. Where did you work?’
That surprises me. I thought he knew. ‘Harringtons,’ I reply.
He stops dead, eyes wide. ‘You’re still working at Harringtons? Were still working…?’ I can see his thought processes join up the dots. ‘So… what, Hugh made you redundant. Oh my God, that’s priceless!’ A bark of laughter escapes before he can stop it. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I shouldn’t laugh.’
‘No, you bloody shouldn’t.’ I can see he wants to say something else, but he holds his tongue and we walk in silence the rest of the way. As soon as we’re settled in the car, however, he turns to me.
‘Sending you that job advertisement was really insensitive of me, Alys. I’m sorry, I really should have thought. I just assumed…’
‘What? That I was working as a conservator already, not still stuck in my sales assistant job, the one that was just temporary until I found something better?’
A slight flush colours his cheeks. ‘Shit,’ he says succinctly. ‘Well done, Sam. I really couldn’t have got that more wrong if I’d tried, could I? And worse, I have a horrible feeling that you’re going to hate today.’
‘Oh?’
He sighs. ‘I’ve arranged for us to go and see the textile conservation studio at the National Trust. They’re having an open day, you see, and I thought… I don’t know whether you’ve ever been, but I thought that at least if you hated me then the day wouldn’t be all bad… I don’t want you to hate me.’
‘I don’t hate you, Sam. I don’t know you.’
‘No,’ he says quietly.
‘I did hate you. With a passion. And I’ve been through all the other emotions too over the years. I guess you have as well.’
His hand is still on the car key, poised in the ignition switch. He doesn’t know if we’re going yet.
‘But sending me the job details and thinking I would like the open day are both incredibly kind thoughts, Sam, whatever you did or didn’t know. And I’ve never been to the studio. They don’t have open days very often. In fact, I think it’s only once a year, but I’ve either been working or talked myself out of going before now… It always felt a little like rubbing salt in the wound… But today, I think I should like to go very much indeed.’
Sam dips his head a little and starts the engine, but neither of us says a word as he navigates out of the car park and into the traffic. It isn’t until we reach a stretch of road that’s a little less busy that the conversation resumes.
‘So, I think I know where I’m going,’ says Sam. ‘But you’re the local. Please shout if I start heading in the wrong direction.’
‘It isn’t far,’ I reply. ‘About half an hour or so. Just follow the signs for Cromer and the Blickling Estate. The studio is almost next door.’
The car falls silent. I try every which way to start a conversation but, somehow, every opening feels wrong. Today is fraught with danger. There are too many things that need saying, and similarly too many that must remain unsaid. There’s no way I can afford to loosen my grip on the lasso that’s holding my thoughts corralled. God forbid any of them should jump the fence. So I sit back and try to enjoy the luxury of the car we’re travelling in and the scenery passing by me on a day when, remarkably, I’m not rushing from one place to the next.
Eventually I manage to ask a few questions about how much of Norfolk Sam has seen, if any. Does he like it? Is he happy that Nancy and Theo are now living here? I learn that Nancy’s parents have a bungalow on the coast and suddenly The Green Room coming to Norwich makes a lot more sense.
The heat is finally beginning to leave my face as we draw up into the car park for the conservation studio. I wasn’t lying when I made the comment, I am genuinely excited to get a glimpse inside. And whether that sparks some yearning deep inside of me, I don’t care, not today anyway. I can deal with that another time. I lean down into the footwell to pick up my handbag and my hand is already on the door handle when Sam’s voice comes from beside me.
‘So, Alys Robinson. If you’re not a curly-haired kind of girl any more, what kind are you?’
I’d forgotten how he could take the legs out from under a perfectly straightforward conversation, and my carefully rehearsed speech goes straight out the window. ‘Sam, don’t do this.’
‘Do what?’
I smile. ‘Be like you used to be…’ I can’t think of anything else to say.
He laughs, throwing his hands up in the air, because he knows exactly what I mean. But then he adopts a more serious expression. ‘Don’t worry, Alys, I’m not how I used to be at all. In fact, I’m a shadow of my former self.’ He’s holding my look with the frank expression that I remember of old. ‘But I promise that I’m no threat to you. I’m not here to cause trouble.’
He’s watching me as he talks and, despite what he’s just said, he’s as direct as he always was. It was one of the things that I admired about him, actually; how he never used to shy away from talking about the things that really mattered. The things that even us adults, with all the supposed wisdom of our years, find too difficult to discuss. And he’s right of course, we should talk about it.
‘So, what is today all about then, Sam?’
His reply is immediate. ‘I just didn’t like the way we parted the other day. It didn’t seem right, not when we once loved one another, were married. Even now that’s no longer the case, it seems wrong not to acknowledge it and try to pretend it never happened, however much we might wish it hadn’t. Our past has brought us both to where we are today and the intervening years haven’t left either of us unscathed.’
He gives me a sad smile. ‘I know you have things you need to say, Alys. Just as I know you probably would like to see me dipped in a vat of boiling oil at the very least. I’d be a fool if I didn’t acknowledge that you’d have every right to say and do those things. I’m just not sure what good it would do.’
‘Actually I wanted you cut into tiny pieces and dipped into a vat of boiling oil,’ I reply. ‘But you’re not stupid, Sam, I know everything that I might want to say has been in your head for years, same as in mine. I know you will have thought up replies to all the questions and counter questions I’d ask, just as I’ve thought endlessly about what to ask you. What I would say to you if I ever met you again. And now, when faced with the prospect, it’s bizarre how little of it matters.’ I’d removed my arm from the door handle but I place it back there now, leaning my body to the side as if about to get out of the car. His hand catches my arm.
‘The only thing you need to know
is that I never meant you any harm, Alys, quite the opposite, in fact. And the same is true now. But for all that you meant to me back then, I can’t just pretend that I’m not curious about you now, and what your life has become. That would be like pretending you don’t exist.’ He pulls a face. ‘So, tell me, Alys, what kind of woman are you now? Your hair is not the only thing about you that’s changed.’
I climb from the car, drawing in a deep breath that’s meant to calm the flutters in my stomach. I wait until he’s levered himself out too.
‘What kind of woman am I?’ I say, staring out across the car park for a second, before flicking my gaze back to him. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’ I push the car door closed. ‘Let’s go inside, shall we?’ I add, as a cloud crosses the sun.
He’s right about what he said. And up to a point I’m just as curious as he is. The only difference is that I can’t see what good indulging this curiosity would do. Aside from possibly making small talk at the restaurant on the odd occasion over the next couple of weeks, it’s unlikely that I’ll ever see him again. Once The Green Room opens, he’ll go back to his life and so will I. Besides, I really don’t want to describe my life to Sam; it’s bad enough that I have to think about how little I’ve achieved without telling him too.
But, as soon as we enter the conservation room, I realise how clever Sam has been in bringing me here today. And I can’t help the smile that lights up my whole face. Laid out across a vast table in the centre of the room is a carpet, of the kind that once upon a time I would have given my eye teeth to work on. It’s probably a hundred and fifty years old, almost certainly Axminster, but the chenille wool facing has all but gone in vast areas and it breaks my heart to see it so forlorn. The colours would have been so beautiful when it was new.
