by Jane Linfoot
‘And you put everything of hers away?’
There are deep lines on his face in the shadows and he’s come to a halt now, staring out around the curve of the bay to the lights of St Aidan, clustered in the distance. ‘Gemma literally cleared the place out when she left. The few things Gemma hadn’t taken went in the coach house, because I couldn’t bear to see them. The only thing that escaped the cull was the shelf of colognes in the bathroom. And the cupboards in the kitchen. The colognes came from Gemma’s sister – don’t ask me why they’re still there.’
I have to say. ‘I did notice those and wonder.’ It’s not the time to ask which he uses. I’m not sure I even want to know any more. It’s so much him, it wouldn’t be right on anyone else.
‘She’s a fragrance rep, hence the collection.’ He takes a breath. ‘I threw myself into work to block out how much I was hurting. So long as I don’t allow myself to think about it I can manage to function on a basic level.’
I know exactly where he’s coming from there, I’m very familiar with that. Burying the pain. Carrying on as if nothing had happened. Toughing it out, making myself so busy there’s no cracks for the past to break through into the current reality. At least this explains why the carefree guy I met that day in the chalet went away and came back so changed.
‘So long as I bat away Gemma’s demands, I can just about get by. Some days I almost convince myself that part of my life never happened, that this is all there ever was.’ He runs his fingers through his hair. ‘Then Christmas comes along with a whole heap of memories and expectations and makes everything a gazillion times worse again …’
He’s so broken, my heart is aching for him. ‘I’m so sorry. And then we come crashing in with all the kids and make it harder still. If there’s anything I can do to help …’ There won’t be.
‘You did mention …’ he’s looking down at me, his gaze steady in the darkness ‘… the last time we were on the beach …’
As I see his arms splay my stomach drops so fast I can’t breathe. ‘You’re asking for a …?’ My throat’s so dry my voice gives out long before I get to croak the word hug.
‘It’s a very long time since anyone offered me one.’ His head is tilted. ‘If you don’t mind it’s really warm inside my jacket … you could get out of the wind for a moment … just as a friend …’
I swallow, close my eyes, and dive. Lock my arms around his torso, grasp a handful of jumper, drag the scent of cashmere and denim shirt and man deep into my lungs. Bury my head in the hollow underneath his collarbone, listen to the slow primeval clunk of his heart as it bangs against his ribcage. I’ve waited so long to get here, it won’t ever happen again, so I’m loath to let go. Not unless I really have to. Like when the tide comes in and washes over my boots. Or maybe when the water comes up to my waist. Once I’m submerged all the way to my shoulders. Then I might.
He’s resting his chin on my head, ‘Actually, I haven’t minded everyone crashing in … sometimes it does you good to be shaken up.’ There’s a grate as he clears his throat and swallows. ‘So how about these regrets of yours?’
That’s such an unexpected question, I have to open my eyes so I can think better. High above the line of Bill’s collar I catch a glimpse of a slender crescent of moon as the clouds part. I’m careful not to let my fingers relax any. That one afternoon by the fire at the chalet got me from there to here. The next few minutes will have to last me the rest of my life. As for being sorry about things that are over, my pile is too high to even begin.
‘I wish I’d dyed my hair blonde more often.’
‘How often did you?’
‘Never.’
‘Go on …’
‘That I’d got to a higher level on Tetris before my Gameboy died … that I hadn’t killed so many tamagotchis … I should definitely have looked after my sea monkeys better …’
‘Those are millennial. Anything more recent?’
We’re moving onto very shaky ground here. ‘I probably sound like Willow, but regrets are negative, dwelling on them can only be destructive. You need to leave them in the past, because that’s where they belong.’ I’m pretty much paraphrasing a year’s worth of trauma recovery sessions in three sentences here. ‘Grasp your life in your hands and head for the future with your head held high. That could work for you too.’ I’m watching, hearing the frill of the tide. With each rush the foam is washing closer towards us.
‘Now and again it’s interesting to look back, compare notes, that’s all.’ He’s musing, chin still resting on my skull. At a guess with his eyes open. ‘So far Gemma and I have only dealt with finances. We haven’t faced the toughest part yet.’
Then it strikes me. I don’t want to interfere, it’s his life, it’s their broken relationship. But he will regret it if he doesn’t do this. ‘However hard it is, you mustn’t give up on Abby.’ I squeeze his back. ‘She will still need to see you. You have to find a way.’
His sigh hits my hair. ‘I know, thanks for reminding me. I’ll try.’ His fingers are tucking in my scarf. ‘You have to find your way forward too … how hard is that going to be?’
I’ve held it in for so long, if I’m pulling it out now it’s only to show him why it’s impossible. ‘Well, with my accident, the driver of the car didn’t make it. So before I move on I’ve got to get past a dead person who wouldn’t have lost their life if it wasn’t for me.’ All I can say is, I’m so pleased it’s dark and my head is buried inside Bill’s coat.
‘Ivy-leaf, I’m so sorry.’ His fingers are gentle, catching in the strands of my hair as he brushes them out of the wind. ‘Can you bear to tell me how it happened?’
‘It’s a long story …’
He’s prompting. ‘So where does it begin?’
‘After George left …’
‘So you were on your own …’
‘That’s right, but going out with really random people trying to claw back the years I’d wasted on George. It was all a bit desperate and crazy.’ I’m shuddering to think how bad it was. ‘I’d met up with someone for a second date at a party in Brighton. Michael. He had a name, and a mum and dad, and two brothers and a whole life ahead of him.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘Well he – Michael – actually I think mostly his friends called him Mike – that’s how little we knew each other, we hadn’t even got onto calling each other by our proper names. So Michael – or Mike – offered to drive me back through the lanes to London after the party, and that’s where we were when he went off the road.’ How did one second of misjudgement turn out to be so shocking and awful? ‘One minute he was there next to me, laughing, the next we were sliding off the road, the car was rolling, we hit a tree and his life was over.’
‘They can happen so easily on country lanes, you hit a patch of mud and lose control. But how is that your fault?’
‘If it hadn’t been for me he wouldn’t have even been there.’
His voice is slow. ‘Ok-a-a-a-y …’
‘But worst of all I didn’t realise until afterwards he’d been drinking, probably because I’d been drinking so much myself. I could have stopped him. I should have stopped him. But I didn’t. All I keep thinking is, if only we’d never set off he’d still be here.’
‘Oh Ivy, it was an accident, that’s something that happens by chance that shouldn’t have, that’s why they’re called that. You can’t take responsibility for something that really wasn’t your fault.’
‘His neck snapped with the impact. He was just quietly sitting there next to me, he didn’t even cut himself like I did. But he was gone. How unfair is that? That’s why it doesn’t feel right for me to get on and enjoy my life.’ I let out a breath. ‘I was so strong to start with, I went back to where the accident happened, but when the anniversary came around, however much I tried to, I couldn’t make myself go back. I hate myself even more for that because it feels so wrong and cowardly.’
Bill’s chest heaves as he sighs. ‘It cou
ld just as easily have been the other way round. You were the lucky one, you walked away, and you shouldn’t waste that chance. You have to let go of the guilt – beating yourself up for something you can’t change is only going to get in the way.’ He stops for a while. ‘It’s more important than ever now for you to have the best time, to get on and live your best life. I’d say you owe it to Michael to do that.’
His jumper is warm against my cheek. ‘That helps, thank you, it’s a good way of thinking about it.’
‘You already go the extra mile for everyone else, it’s time you did the same for yourself.’
It’s hard to explain. ‘It’s fine to do things for other people, because it’s like paying back.’
‘But of everyone I know, Ivy-leaf you’re the one who deserves the good things for yourself too. It’s time you let yourself have them.’
I swallow away the lump in my throat. ‘Maybe.’
I can hear the smile in his voice. ‘You need to remember how carefree you were that afternoon by the fire in Chamonix. I’d like to hear you laugh like that again.’
That’s the thing, I’m not sure I ever have. ‘So, we’ve both got to work on the hard stuff.’
I can hear his laugh reverberating in his chest, he’s probably raising an eyebrow to match. ‘How about if we stay here all night and miss the films, will we regret that?’
As a rogue wave comes rushing towards us up the sand, just before it hits my feet I jump. When I look up again he’s three feet away, his jacket flapping in the space where I was.
‘What – stay here, and get washed out to sea?’ There’s a sudden chill now I’ve stepped away from the warmth of his body. However much I’d like to burrow in and go back for more, I won’t ever be able to ask. ‘You please yourself, but there’s no way I’m going to miss Christmas.’
He lets out a groan. ‘Tell me you’re not going to make me watch Love Actually?’
‘That’s not all. There’s Mama Mia! too.’
He gives a fake grimace, but he’s still hanging around on the spot, barely moving. ‘So much to look forward to.’
But I’ve had my high point, the last ten minutes have been everything I’ve wished for for the last seven years and more. Being wrapped in his arms was every bit as good as I anticipated. Yes, I was pushing my luck and making the most of his misery, and true, it did have a ‘friend’ sticker firmly attached before it even began. But even taking all of the above into account, perfect doesn’t begin to cover it.
And if Bill’s telling me to do something for myself, I just have. At this moment I have to be the happiest woman in Cornwall. And bearing in mind Miranda got the proposal she’d been working for probably since the day she met Ambie, and a rock and a half to match, there’s a lot of happy washing around in the county to beat, the Cornish happy-ometer is riding pretty high.
But I’m going to take a second to relive the last ten minutes, wrap them very carefully in tissue paper, and tuck them away in my safest memory box.
Then I need to whistle Merwyn and make a run for the castle before anything happens to spoil it.
Sunday
22nd December
29.
And a partridge in a pear tree …
As a way of keeping a whole lot of people warm, cosy and entertained in a castle that is otherwise like a fridge at best, and at worst feels like fifty below plus wind chill in the Arctic circle, the night of films is a winner. By the end of Mama Mia! Here We Go Again it’s a long time after midnight and most people have already curled up under their duvets and dropped off to sleep so we dim the lights, heap more logs onto the fires, and settle down for the night.
Merwyn is delighted that I’ve come to my senses and decided to sleep on the floor at last. And as Fliss and I settle down somewhere between Harriet and Oscar’s travelling cots and Tiff and Tansy’s gentle snores, Bill has already melted away into the shadows. Due to the ‘special (wifi) facilities’ Libby allocated his room a priority fan heater and Milo was given a second, due to how small the room is and how devastated he was about his dad. At least this way if he wants to cry himself to sleep, he can do it in private. And she gave Miranda and Ambie the rest of the heaters, supposedly so they don’t have to get frostbite on their bits on their engagement night. The real reason is Libby said she could put up with many things, but Ambie’s endless moaning about rough sleeping wasn’t one of them. As for the silver surfies, they must be used to their camper vans because they’re settling down in their sleeping bags without a murmur.
When we’re woken next morning by Harriet lobbing her teddies and – more painfully – Postman Pat’s large plastic car onto our heads, the dawn sky is streaked with pale pink beyond the small paned castle windows, and Keef’s back crouching by the fireplace again. As Fliss, the kids and I tiptoe our way through to the kitchen and gasp at the sunlight shining off the colourless early morning sea, we’re welcomed by big piles of what we recognise instantly as Bill & co. muffins.
‘Hmmm, nice, cherry ones and blueberry flavour.’ I hand one to Harriet on my hip and another to Oscar who’s still in yesterday’s lion onesie, bouncing like a kangaroo. He’s also got a vegetable strainer on his head, and he’s banging it with a fish slice. Then I grab a couple of muffins for Fliss and I and follow her through to Bill’s room breathing a sigh of relief that the Do Not Disturb sign has already gone.
We heap the kids onto Bill’s bed and as Fliss holds up her phone she sounds all breathy. ‘Brilliant, I’ve got a line out and Rob’s phone is ringing.’ She makes big eyes at Oscar. ‘Are you going to talk to Daddy on Facetime?’
It wasn’t my best idea to give Harriet a muffin that was bigger than her head, then put her on Bill’s duvet cover. I was hoping to show Rob a picture of baby contentment, and as Harriet buries her face in the sponge she certainly sounds happy. The only downside is the cake explosion on the grey Egyptian cotton. Who knew one head-size muffin would spread so far when baby hands collapsed it into a million crumbs and a hundred lumps of blueberry. It only takes Merwyn a second to inhale the bits on the floor, and I’m doing my best to do the same with the ones spread across the bed cover when Rob picks up.
As his face fills the screen, he lets out a loud ‘waaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh’. Then he closes his eyes, shakes his head and as he rubs his hair I can’t help notice – even though they’re hundreds of miles apart, he and Fliss could have walked straight out of the same festival-hair hairdressing tipi. I know they had a huge wedding list, but obviously neither of them thought to put hair brushes on there.
‘Hi there, Bubsy Harrie, say hello to Daddy-bunny …’ Rob might sound totally knackered, but he’s putting the effort in, wiggling his fingers doing rabbit ears over his head, and the goofy teeth. And it works because Harriet’s exploding into peals of laughter.
Fliss is frowning at me. ‘Has Oscar been in the dishwasher?’
But then Oscar starts making bunny faces, bashing his colander and screaming with laughter too. There’s a moment where Rob breaks off to have a slurp of tea, then they’re straight back to the shrieks. Which is all lovely except for one thing. When it comes to mugs, Rob is an engineer and a bit of a purist, he won’t have a flowery one in the flat. Which is fine, except when he took his sip of tea back there, I know it was weird in close up, but it definitely looked like roses on the mug rim.
It goes on for a couple of minutes, then Rob lets out a yelp. ‘Shit, is that the time, thank Christmas you woke me, jeez, I’ve got to go to work.’ Which sounds a lot like what he said last time.
And then the screen goes blank. But just before it does, he must roll out of bed, because there’s a definite flash of pillowcase. Then Oscar starts banging his fish slice on the phone and Fliss whips it away.
She lets out a whistle. ‘Well, that went well … didn’t you think?’
My smile is fixed. ‘Frigging brilliant.’
She’s still going. ‘Why have I been tying myself in knots, I should have done this all along. What made me think i
t would upset them? I feel so much better now.’
Oh my. She’s my bestie, she’s been to hell and back for weeks over this, she had the proof she’s been waiting for in front of her eyes and she missed it. If she didn’t spot the alien pastel geometric pillowcases and the floral mug because she was too excited thinking things are okay, I’m not going to rub her nose in them. I mean, my stomach has left the building, I’m too gutted by the implications to start my muffin, so jeez knows how Fliss would feel about this when it’s her husband in someone else’s bed. At least this way she gets a couple of days of ignorant bliss before the shit hits. But I’m not letting it go totally.
‘Work on Sunday? Is that a regular thing for Rob?’ Of course it bloody isn’t.
She gives a shrug. ‘Maybe he’s just trying to get finished so he can come down tomorrow not Tuesday.’ She’s so optimistic. Deluded even.
Oscar’s gone back to smashing his fish slice on his head. ‘Daddy Facetime, Daddy Facetime, Daddy Facetime …’
I’m busy ignoring my muffin, agonising over the problem, when there’s a throaty cough outside the door, and Miranda pushes her way in.
‘Here you all are! I’ve just been out for a ciggy.’
Fliss frowns. ‘I didn’t think you smoked before lunch.’
Miranda’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘It’s the holidays, rules are for breaking, carpe those effing diems, shine like a diamond and all that jizz.’
Fliss stares at her. ‘Jeez Mother, listen to yourself, you sound like you bumped into Keef and had a bullshit top up. And I’ve told you before, saying jizz is not okay.’
‘Jizz … jazz … it’s only one letter, how can it matter?’
Fliss sends me her ‘give me strength’ look. ‘Believe me, it does.’
I didn’t have Miranda down as a blusher, but her cheeks are suddenly very pink and she’s flapping her fingers in front of her face and talking really fast. ‘And if Keef was at the woodpile it was a total coincidence.’
