by Lucy Diamond
Izzie pressed her lips together. Adults – Mum, generally – were always saying that, but half the time they had no idea. They didn’t know what she meant. Here was Olivia, for instance, nice and everything, but she had her own car with kiddie seats in the back: a grown-up life with responsibilities and money. What would she know about wanting to run away on a moment of impulse?
‘At least holidays come to an end, though, right?’ Olivia went on. A weird expression crossed her face. ‘Well – most of the time. You’ll be back in your real life again soon.’
‘I suppose,’ said Izzie. ‘Although I’m not looking forward to that, either. Exam results and stuff with friends . . .’ she added by way of explanation when Olivia gave her a quizzical look. Then she felt herself turning red. Look at her, pouring out her heart to this random middle-aged woman, having nearly been run over. Her friends would laugh their heads off if they could see her. Er . . . Summer of Yes, remember? they’d jeer. Wild recklessness and bad behaviour! What the hell, Izzie?
‘Oh God, I remember those days. In fact I’ve spent all today remembering,’ Olivia said, which was a bit odd, but then before Izzie could respond, she went on. ‘But, you know, here’s me, mid-thirties, living a life of domestic boredom’ – her face became rather pained-looking as she said this – ‘and I’d give anything to go back and have those teenage years again, when everything was possible. I’d do half of it differently, mind, but . . . Well, that’s life, isn’t it?’
Izzie didn’t know what to say. She was rubbish at talking to grown-ups. She felt embarrassed whenever she was round at her friends’ houses and their mums would pop their heads around the bedroom door and ask friendly questions. Just smile if you don’t know what to say, smile and be polite, her mum – the least shy person in the world – was always badgering her. So she gave her best and politest smile. ‘I guess so,’ she replied vaguely.
Olivia tipped back her head to finish her drink. ‘And there’s plenty of the summer left to turn everything around, at least. In the meantime . . .’ She turned to Izzie and raised an eyebrow. ‘Sometimes you just have to fake it till you can make it, as they say.’
Izzie was about to do her polite smile again and agree, but found herself nodding thoughtfully instead as the words resonated through her head. Sometimes you just have to fake it till you can make it. Yes, maybe that was the answer. In fact maybe that had been the answer all along and she’d been too honest – or thick – to realize it. None of her friends knew what was going on here, after all. She could make up any crazy wild thing for the Summer of Yes group chat, and they wouldn’t have a clue if she was telling the truth or not.
Words began appearing in her mind as if she was typing them there and then. Oh my God! Have met the hottest boy. Summer fling here we come!
Whoa! Got chatting to some eighteen-year-olds on the beach earlier – they invited me to a house party tonight. Obviously I said YES!
Went skinny-dipping with my new friends – so much fun. But COLD!!!
Why not? she thought, giddy with her own parallel universes. Why shouldn’t she fake it? At least her friends might shut up, for a change. Then she hurriedly blinked her giddy thoughts away, realizing that Olivia was talking again.
‘Now, are you okay to cycle to wherever you were going?’ she was asking, getting to her feet and smoothing down her denim skirt. ‘Legs not too wobbly any more? Otherwise I could give you a lift, if we can wedge your bike in my car. I’m staying in this tiny place called Parr’s Head, if that means anything to—’
Izzie started. ‘Parr’s Head? The holiday cottages with the swimming pool? That’s where we’re staying too.’
‘No way!’ They both laughed and stared at each other with zero recognition. ‘Well, then it was obviously destined that we nearly crashed into one another.’ Olivia pulled a funny face. ‘Although next time, feel free not to scare the living daylights out of me. So are you heading on into town or do you want a lift back?’
Chapter Sixteen
‘Her car’s back,’ Lorna said to Roy, looking out of the kitchen window as he walked into the room. The farmhouse where they lived was up a short track from the cottages and she tried to keep her distance from her guests, in order to afford them some privacy, but she had been baking today and it was hard to miss the comings and goings. If she was honest with herself, she was curious about their new arrival too. Olivia had looked so wretched the day before, Lorna had been quite concerned about her. It had been a relief to see her striding purposefully out that morning, and then, an hour or so ago, Lorna had noticed that her car was back in the car park again and had found herself sighing a little in relief. Good. She was okay. And maybe, just maybe, she might want to talk with Lorna about Aidan a bit more. Would it be wrong of her to go over there on the pretence of checking in on her?
‘Why don’t you pop in and say hello, if you’re worried?’ Roy asked. He’d always been able to tell what she was thinking. His hands were filthy from the vegetable patch and he went over to the sink and began scrubbing up with the Palmolive. ‘Rather than spying out the window like some nosy old biddy.’ He tilted his head towards the cake cooling on the tray, its top sticky with deliciously gritty sugar. ‘You could take her some of that lemon drizzle, before I ruin my diet with it. Save me from myself.’
‘Who are you calling a nosy old biddy?’ Lorna asked, before giving a snort at his diet comment. Roy was always going on about the diet that their GP had prescribed him – low-fat, low-sugar, low-joy, basically – but they both knew he’d chucked it in the recycling box with a sniff of mistrust the minute he’d come back from the appointment. ‘Cake’s not a bad idea, though.’
‘You don’t have to give her all of it, mind,’ said Roy, watching as she plunged the knife in. He hesitated. ‘And don’t badger her, will you now? She looked a bit fragile to me.’
‘I’m not going to badger her, you great lummox,’ Lorna scoffed. ‘I just . . .’ She felt embarrassed to put into words how desperate she was to talk to Olivia about Aidan again. But oh, how wonderful it had been when Olivia had brought him alive with her stories and memories! Lorna had written up every single one on pieces of paper and stuck them into her scrapbook, and felt a warm glow inside, like a lit tea-light, whenever she replayed their conversation. It was amazing how even a small flame could brighten a dark corner. Cherish the good days, she’d read in magazine agony-columns before. Recognize the happy moments when they arrive – and she did, or she tried to anyway, pinning down every lovely memory like a butterfly, telling herself whenever she remembered that today was going to be a good day, even when that didn’t always feel possible.
‘I just want to say hello,’ she said.
‘That won’t take long then, will it?’ He met her gaze with his, steady and kind. Don’t get all worked up now, that look said. Don’t you go upsetting yourself.
‘No,’ she replied, getting a cake tin down from the cupboard. ‘Probably not.’
‘Lorna, hello! This is a nice surprise. Come in,’ said Olivia when Lorna knocked a few minutes later.
‘Are you sure? I’m not disturbing you? I’ve brought some cake,’ Lorna said, holding the tin up rather self-consciously. ‘Lemon drizzle; it’s still warm.’
‘Thank you! That’s so kind.’
They went through to the kitchen, where Olivia had been peeling vegetables. A small chicken joint sat pinkly in a tray on the worktop with a head of garlic and some olive oil standing in attendance nearby. ‘Having someone round?’ Lorna asked in surprise. It was always so strange to see her cottages with other people’s belongings in them. Barring emergencies, when she had to pop over and replace a light bulb or inspect something that wasn’t working, she only ever saw them empty, having been stripped of guests and their possessions once more.
‘No, only me.’ Olivia moved the chopping board and peelings off the table and onto the worktop, then put the kettle on. With her deft movements, she already seemed different from the broken woman she had been
at Aidan’s grave. ‘I just fancied making something really delicious,’ she went on. ‘Treating myself. Roast chicken’s the best comfort food I could think of.’ There was a turquoise swimming costume on the table too, still with its price tag attached and somewhat incongruous amidst the potatoes, carrots and broccoli. ‘I treated myself to that as well,’ she explained rather bashfully, noticing Lorna looking at it. ‘How could I not, when that beautiful pool is out there? I’m getting all the food prep done first, then I’ll put the chicken in and take myself off for a swim while it’s roasting.’
‘Good idea!’ Lorna said. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she added, ‘Roast chicken was always Aidan’s favourite too.’ There he was in the room again, her beautiful son, still eighteen and piling roast potatoes onto his plate. Is that you? It’s me. They’d had a running joke about how many roasties he could eat. Sixteen, on one memorable Christmas Day, could you believe? Growing boys and their appetites!
Olivia stiffened for a moment before turning to find two mugs. ‘I’ve been thinking about him a lot today,’ she said. ‘Revisiting some of our old haunts.’
Lorna leaned forward greedily, as bad as Roy with his eye on a cream bun. This was what she’d come for. Tell me everything, she wanted to say. Every detail you can remember. Bring him back for me. ‘Where did you go?’ she asked instead.
Olivia started listing the stops she’d made – their old college, a friend’s house, a favourite beach – but there was something sort of closed about her face, Lorna noticed. Something she was holding back.
‘And how did they make you feel?’ Lorna prompted when Olivia’s words dried up. ‘Was it . . . Are you okay?’
Olivia was busy making tea, but Lorna saw her mouth twist at the questions. Oh dear. Had she gone in too personal too soon?
‘I was worried it would be overwhelming,’ Olivia confessed after a moment, in such a quiet voice that Lorna had to lean further towards her. ‘I’ve hardly been back at all to any of these places in twenty years, I just cut myself off because . . .’ She set a steaming mug down in front of Lorna and sat opposite her. ‘Because I couldn’t bear to revisit them, knowing he was gone,’ she finished.
They exchanged a small sad smile of understanding. Say no more, my darling, thought Lorna.
‘But today . . . I was surprised. I found myself thinking about happy times. All the best moments. It was . . . It was cathartic. And at times really lovely.’
‘Tell me,’ Lorna urged. Give me more. Please. Humour me. She wanted to continue building the jigsaw of her son, patched together with everyone’s nicest stories about him, to commemorate who he had been. Colour him in with bright memories so that he would never truly fade.
And so Olivia started recounting old tales, tiny snippets, moments of kindness. She talked about how she’d always felt Aidan had rescued her, brought out the best in her. Lorna drank in every word, every detail. Hadn’t she just told herself that today was going to be a good day? And she was right!
‘I just wish . . .’ Olivia said after a while, her eyes glassy. ‘I just wish I could have always been as nice to him as he was to me.’
‘You were nice to him!’ Lorna said in surprise. ‘He thought you were the bee’s knees, Olivia.’
‘Yes, but sometimes I . . . Sometimes I wasn’t.’ And now there was a fearful edge in her voice, an anxious glance at Lorna before her gaze dropped away.
Lorna knew that face of regret, because she had worn the same one herself, she had felt those exact feelings. All the things she could have done for him and hadn’t, it tortured her even now. She’d been meaning to paint Aidan’s bedroom for weeks when he died, but had put it off and put if off for one reason or another – until it was too late and he was gone. She’d always promised she’d take him to Wimbledon one summer – they were both big tennis fans – but again, she’d never quite managed to sort out tickets, and he’d died without ever seeing a match. She could go on.
‘Oh gosh, but nobody is nice around the clock, darling,’ she told Olivia now. ‘When I think about the times I told him off for coming in late, or nagged him about tidying his room, or was impatient with him . . . I could cut my tongue out for them. I wish I had been more patient and understanding, of course I do. I would give anything to have him back, and I’d never complain about a single thing he did, ever again! But . . .’ She spread her hands. ‘It’s called being human, isn’t it? That’s just how we all are. We get frustrated and snappy with other people. Poor Roy, the things he has to put up with – the man’s a saint for sticking with me sometimes. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love him any less. Like you always loved Aidan! He knew that.’
Olivia nodded but didn’t say anything, just clutched the mug of tea with both hands and took a sip. Lorna found herself looking at those ringless fingers and felt sorry for her. ‘It’s a shame you never met anyone else,’ she blurted out. ‘I guess he was a hard act to follow, though.’ Gratitude swelled inside her at Olivia’s loyalty. Her devotion! If Aidan could only see how much he had meant to this girl.
But Olivia was frowning. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean . . .’ Lorna felt bad for jumping to conclusions, Roy was always telling her off for it, but she couldn’t help another glance at the other woman’s bare hands. ‘I take it you aren’t married. Is there a boyfriend, though, or anyone special?’
‘Oh,’ said Olivia. She put her mug down and her hands vanished under the table. ‘I . . . Actually, I am married. I’m married with two little boys.’ Her voice was getting lower with every word. ‘But I’ve kind of messed everything up.’
Lorna swallowed hard because the first feeling she had was one of upset. Indignation, too. Olivia had married someone else, who wasn’t Aidan? She’d had children with this man? Lorna couldn’t believe how disconcerted this made her feel. Which – yes, okay – which she knew, rationally, was wrong of her. Wrong and unfair. Of course the poor thing was entitled to marry someone else, rather than live the rest of her life miserably alone, mourning her teenage boyfriend. But oh – Aidan. Poor Aidan! She hoped, if he was in the room with them, that he wasn’t too devastated by this bombshell. Don’t listen, my love. Hands over your ears, just like when you were tiny and the fireworks scared you.
‘I see,’ she managed to say. Oh dear, and now she sounded all stiff and formal, as if she disapproved. Probably because she did, just a little bit, even though she knew she shouldn’t. ‘I noticed you weren’t wearing a ring and assumed . . .’ She tailed off weakly, wishing she hadn’t said anything now. To think two minutes ago she had actually felt grateful to Olivia, for not marrying anyone! What an idiot she was. Wait till she told Roy. ‘No fool like an old fool,’ he would say mildly, before giving her a consoling hug.
Olivia’s head was bowed. ‘I took the ring off,’ she said. ‘We’re going through a bit of a bad patch. I just needed to get away.’
Thoughts were jumbling around in Lorna’s head and she found that she didn’t know how to articulate any of them. Olivia was a wife and a mother, but had walked out on the family? This didn’t sound good. In fact it sounded very much like history repeating itself, she thought, remembering the stories about Olivia’s own bad apple of a mum. Wild Sylvia Asbury of the kohl-rimmed eyes and tangled hennaed hair, that gap between her front teeth when she gave you one of her lazy smiles. The men had flocked around her like dazed bees to her honey. According to the gossip, she’d been having a very public fling with a man from St Mawes (the latest in a long line) and, word had it, they’d vanished to the States together when he was accused of a burglary and had promptly gone underground. It had all been hushed up to protect the children of course. ‘Oh dear,’ she said now. ‘And do you ever . . . Sorry, I don’t want to pry, but did you ever hear from your mum again? I know she went away, but is she around to help at all?’
Olivia’s face closed up. ‘She died.’
‘Oh darling, I’m sorry,’ said Lorna. ‘It must be so hard, not having her there to turn to. I rem
ember when I first became a mum and—’
She was interrupted by a knock at the door and Olivia jumped up, as if grateful for a chance to get away from the conversation. Lorna finished the last of her now lukewarm tea, still reeling. What must be going on in Olivia’s mind to have walked out of the family home like that, to have slept in her own car rather than in the marital bed? She must have been desperate to get away. What kind of man had she married? More to the point, what might she be doing with herself now, if Lorna and Roy hadn’t come along in the nick of time?
Her fingers trembled on the mug, trying to make sense of it all as her feelings whirled. Roy had warned her, hadn’t he; he had said that Olivia seemed fragile and not to go interfering – and he’d been right. But had Lorna listened? No. She’d gone blundering in with her lemon cake and interfering questions, like she always did, driven by her own selfish longing. She didn’t know Olivia any more; it was none of her business to go poking around in her life, none at all.
Guilt jabbing her like pinpricks, she got to her feet and took the mug over to the kitchen sink, unable to avoid overhearing the conversation at the front door.
‘Oh, there was no need, honestly,’ Olivia was saying. ‘It wasn’t as if I had to go out of my way or anything. That’s very kind of you.’
‘Yes, but it was so kind of you to bring her back, really decent,’ another woman was saying in a fast, rather breathless sort of voice. ‘I was out there driving around like a maniac, trying to find her – I don’t know if Izzie told you, but we’d had a bit of a bust-up earlier.’
‘No, she didn’t say anything, but . . . Sorry, do you want to come in?’ Olivia asked. ‘You don’t have to stand on the doorstep.’
Feeling self-conscious about loitering there within earshot, Lorna rinsed the mug, splashing it noisily, even though there was a perfectly good dishwasher that Roy had plumbed in himself not two years ago. She was tired, she thought, noticing the ache in her knees as she stood there. She could do with a holiday herself really – get away from the area, take a break from running this place. Roy pestered her now and then with adverts for cruises, winter getaways, special package deals he had found on the Internet. Mmm, maybe, she said each time, but they never actually went anywhere. She hadn’t done so for years, in fact. How could she, though, when Aidan was still here? How could she possibly leave him, cold in the ground and all alone?