When I get back to the café Dominique is sitting outside. ‘I’ve ordered us two salads and some frites, before the café closes for the evening.’
We sit in the last of the sunlight, holding our faces up to the warmth, and I tell her about the house I spotted. I can’t hide my excitement.
Dominique is cautious. ‘Gabby, you can’t bury yourself down here. You don’t know anyone any more. You’ll go mad. Your friends and your work are in London. You can’t recreate your childhood. It’s going to be years before Will and Matteo start having children of their own.’ She smiles at me. ‘Give it another ten years …’
The salad and chips come. The tables are almost empty.
‘I don’t want to recreate my childhood, Dom. I want to make a happy place for Will and Matt to come and one day bring their children. I want a house that has no memories of Mike. I want somewhere of my own …’
‘Okay,’ Dominique says, carefully. ‘We will go and get details and look together, tomorrow. Now eat something.’
But neither of us is hungry. We leave our food and wander down to the beach. The sun is about to slide away. We walk towards Nearly Cave as surfers in wetsuits are coming out of the water glistening like Labradors.
Little clumps of local families are sitting on the wet sand with the debris of picnics. The faces and voices of the friends we once had whisper and merge with the sound of the sea and the laughter of children playing volleyball on the sand.
A tall dark girl runs gracefully out of the sea carrying her surfboard.
‘That could be you,’ I say.
Dominique smiles. ‘A very long time ago.’
She pulls me towards the sea. The sun has bled into the clouds and the world is turning monochrome as, barefoot, we sink into the cold wet sand.
‘Do you think?’ I ask her. ‘That Papa sailed into the storm, not away from it?’
‘Yes,’ Dominique says. ‘I do.’
Such a long lifetime of recompense and regret. Papa had to live with himself, and that is the hardest thing to do.
As we stand there, I feel a slow, painful forgiving – a letting go. If Dominique can do it, then so can I. I start to run after her along the edge of the cold sea, carrying my sandals, holding up my grey dress. I laugh, for it seems to me as if I am caught in a wonderful, endless ribbon of time, running after my sister through the spooling lacy tide.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Cornwall, spring 2011
‘Describe for me,’ Massima says into my mobile. I am standing with my back to the cottage as the last of the scaffolding is loaded onto the lorry. I wave at the men and they trundle heavily away along the track. Below me an uneasy sea churns, foamy and navy blue.
The wind still has icy fingers. Spring is a long time coming.
‘The new roof is finished. The sash windows are in …’ I tell Massima. ‘All the major things are done and I’ve painted most of the inside …’
‘You see!’ she says. ‘A month ago you despaired.’
‘I did. I’d forgotten what the winters were like down here. It held the builders up, but the daffodils are out in the fields and the sea has stopped roaring like a lion and crashing about and hopefully the sodden earth will dry out.’
‘I am trying to imagine you by a wild sea,’ Massima says, ‘but it is hard when I am sitting in my gallery in Karachi. My roar is not sea, but traffic and hot pavements …’
I think of her in her lovely gallery. She feels impossibly far away.
‘I miss you,’ I say. ‘I miss you, Massima.’
‘Come back,’ she says softly. ‘Come back to Karachi and help Sergei this summer, even if it is only for a while. We all miss you so much.’
Sergei. I feel a lurch of loss. I still help remotely with IDARA’s video appeals and I know Will and Sergei are in touch about a project for medical students to go out and help in the refugee camps. Sergei and I email but not often. In a tacit, unspoken agreement we do not phone each other. To hear each other’s voice would be too painful.
Massima says gently, ‘We all still dream of forming our own charity one day. Sergei, he is away from Karachi on lecture tour. Come soon, Gabby, or you will forget the feel of us …’
I smile, knowing what she means. My friends in Pakistan still live beneath my skin. I hear clearly the tone and timbre of their voices but a day will come when our lives diverge and slip away and we will not know what to say to each other. The distance between us will have stretched and tapered away.
‘No chance of that,’ I say quickly to stop my own fear of it. ‘I will try to come soon.’
‘You are okay in your wild place? You are not too lonely?’ Massima asks: this girl who dreams of wild, lonely places.
‘Sometimes,’ I tell her. Often, actually.
We say goodbye and I stand in my layers of clothes in the chill wind and listen to the silence. The builders have gone and the house behind me is settling into itself. I have thrown myself into getting everything finished, to make it all ready.
Ready for what, living here alone? I have no idea. I still own the London house. Emily and Steve have moved in but I have kept my own room and the top floor is still Will and Matt’s base, but it is no longer a family home.
I have painted the front door of the cottage the pinky dove grey I love. I had been lucky, the farmer had been anxious to sell the cottage quickly and we did a deal without an agent.
I walk back inside to the warmth of the log burner. In nine months I have bought and done up a house, translated two books and got a divorce. I glance at the long envelope lying on the table. It arrived today with my decree nisi. I wonder if Mike and Zakia are celebrating in Dubai.
‘It feels a bit like you are punishing yourself by isolating yourself down there,’ Kate had said. ‘If ever there was a time when you needed people around you, it’s now.’
She was right, it would have been easy to fall back into the comforting old habits and easy routine of sharing my house with Emily, but there would have been no marker in my life that indicated the change in me. I do not want to be swallowed by the life that I had, but to find a new one.
I went back to London for Christmas with the boys, but for most of the winter, I lived in the sitting room with the log burner while the builders worked around me or disappeared altogether.
Alex and his family have rented our old house out, although they come down often and plan to move to Cornwall in a few years’ time and work remotely. When the weather was bad I went for days without talking to anyone. I forced myself out into the leaden skies and whipping rain just to exchange pleasantries with dog walkers.
It reminded me of childhood winters with Papa pacing around the house like a tiger and Dominique pounding up and down the stairs getting on everyone’s nerves. The very memory felt regressive, as if I were taking crablike steps in my life, rather than moving forward.
I thought being on my own was what I needed, but I have never known loneliness like this. Sometimes, the air is so thick with my self-imposed isolation and longing that I can slice it with a knife. The silence hangs in the still cottage, paralysing me. The absence of anything solid to hold onto makes me feel somehow unreal. This is what a lack of human contact does.
Now, it is April and spring is here with faded blue skies. The nearly finished cottage is looking lovely inside and out. It is my birthday on Saturday and Will and Matt are catching the Friday evening flight to Newquay tomorrow and hiring a car at the airport.
I go and check their rooms with a feeling of accomplishment. I think of all the summers they will be able to spend here, the friends they can bring, a bolt-hole that is always here for them, even when I am long gone.
As I prepare supper for tomorrow night I look out of the window onto the garden and think of all my plans. I wait for warm contentment to flow through me, but all I can see is Maman peering out of her kitchen window waiting for me to come home. I think, with shock, I am fifty on Saturday. I can’t let this turn into my life, just li
ving for Will and Matteo to come home.
My mobile jumps into life on the table. It is Will. I tell him a hire car will be expensive. I can easily pick him and Matteo up from Newquay.
Will says quickly, ‘Mum, Dr Orlov is in Edinburgh for a conference. He’s talking to medical students next week but he doesn’t know anyone here, so I thought it would be nice to invite him down to Cornwall for the weekend. Is that okay?’
For a minute I am so startled I cannot speak. ‘Of course, he’s very welcome,’ I say carefully, feeling hurt. Why hadn’t Sergei let me know he was coming to the UK? ‘But … I’m not sure where I will put him, Will.’
‘Oh, it’s all organized,’ Will says. ‘I’ve checked everything. There’s a seat on the flight to Newquay and the pub in the village have a room for him.’
‘Well … That’s … fine, then. Well done. Tell Sergei I look forward to seeing him again … And Will, tell Cassie we’ll miss her and wish her good luck with her exams.’
I put the phone down and go and pour myself a glass of wine. I smile to myself. There is no way Sergei would come to the UK and not get in touch with me. Happiness creeps into my bones. Sergei being in Edinburgh by chance feels improbable. Sergei coming to Cornwall, even more improbable.
It is late afternoon the next day when I hear the car in the lane. I go out and lean against my grey front door. When it scrunches to a halt the sun is resting on the surface of the sea. Will and Matt are grinning smugly at me. Dominique emerges from the back seat and hurtles towards me. I squeak and hug her with joy and as I look over her shoulder I see Sergei unfolding out of the front of the small hire car with some relief.
I let my sister go. Sergei is looking anxious but his smile lights up his face when he sees me. I try not to radiate happiness as I go to greet him. We shake hands formally in front of my sons and sister, but I can see Sergei is trying not to laugh.
‘Gabriella, it is good to see you again. I was worried about intruding on your family birthday but Will was very persuasive …’
‘Of course you’re not intruding, Sergei, it’s great to see you. Come inside.’
The boys and Dominique drop their bags and prowl through the rooms.
‘I wasn’t sure about the conservatory but actually it fits in okay,’ Will says.
‘Great light,’ Matt says, standing in the kitchen and staring into the glass room that lightens the house. ‘Is this what Alex helped you with?’
‘He did.’
‘It’s all lovely, Gabby,’ my sister says, but there is a note in her voice I can’t fathom.
Sergei smiles at me. ‘So this is your new little cottage, Gabriella.’
‘It is.’ I turn to the fridge to hide my naked pleasure at him standing in my kitchen. ‘You will need to duck your head in places …’
When we are all sitting round the log burner with a drink, Sergei raises his glass. ‘To you, Gabriella, how clever you are to make such a wonderful home …’
We all clink glasses and he smiles across at me, but I catch a flicker of sadness. It echoes my own. Our lives could not be further apart.
Supper is fun and easy. I can tell Dominique has taken to Sergei and I watch Will and Matt laughing as he tells a funny story about Pakistani politics. Sergei is a chameleon who fits in everywhere.
After supper, Will drives Dominique and Sergei to their rooms in the pub.
‘I will have the spare room ready next time,’ I tell her.
As we say goodnight Sergei keeps his hands on my arms a little too long and breathes in my scent before he turns for the door.
I find Matt standing in the empty conservatory looking out at the dark garden.
‘How are you, darling?’ I ask.
‘I’m good, Mum.’ He sighs. ‘I’m really impressed with all you’ve done. It’s perfect, this space.’ He turns to me. ‘Would you mind if I came here and painted this summer?’
‘Matt, it’s the whole point of this house. It’s your home for whenever you want it, it’s not just for me.’
‘It’s weird,’ Matt says. ‘A few months ago, I felt like we had lost everything. I couldn’t even visualize the future. Now, ideas are buzzing inside me, seeing this space. It’s like, I can suddenly see what’s ahead for me and it feels good, Mum …’
‘I’m glad,’ I say, and loop my arm through his.
He grins. ‘I approve of the double beds too.’
‘Well, pretty pointless bringing your single beds down from London.’
‘I’ve met this girl …’ he says diffidently, looking out into the dark. ‘She’s a silversmith …’
‘That’s wonderful.’ I stand beside him in the room of glass. Beyond him, through the window, white ripples fan out on a sea as smooth as snakeskin.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Cornwall, 2011
I wake to sunshine. I can feel the air is warmer. The birds are singing their hearts out in the garden. Summer is a heartbeat away. The earth will dry; the paths will be negotiable again.
There is a bleep of my phone. It is Mike wishing me a happy fiftieth birthday. Another two bleeps. It is Kate and then Emily. I can hear movement downstairs and the radio. It feels so good having Will and Matt in the cottage.
Matt arrives with a tray full of fruit juice and boiled eggs and toast.
There are cream primroses in a tiny jug. Will follows carrying presents.
‘Happy birthday! Eat first. Presents second or the toast will be cold.’
‘Oh, this looks wonderful,’ I say, as we picnic on my bed. ‘The sun is out. We must make the most of it.’
‘Yeah,’ Matt says. ‘Let’s walk, then Dominique has given us instructions to take her into Penzance. She wants to cook you a special birthday supper and that will take her all afternoon.’
‘I don’t want her to have to cook. I’ve booked a table at the pub,’ I say.
‘She wants to cook for you, Maman. It’s your fiftieth birthday and we can christen the cottage.’
I smile. ‘So we can.’
‘Go on, open your presents.’ Matt hands me a beautifully wrapped little box. Nesting in tissue paper is a delicate little silver chain bracelet with a tiny aquamarine heart the colour of the sea.
‘Oh, it’s beautiful, Matt, I love it.’ I turn the little card over and see, Iona McCloud, Silversmith. There is a picture of an attractive girl with long red-blonde hair.
Matt flushes with pleasure. ‘Iona made it especially for your birthday. I gave her a photograph of you. She likes to craft her pieces so they are personal. Shall I put it on for you?’
I hold my wrist out. ‘It’s exquisite, Matt. I will wear it all the time … Thank you. Thank Iona …’
Will smiles and pushes another little box towards me. ‘Iona made this too, from me. It sort of goes with the bracelet …’
Inside the second box is a simple little silver ring with a tiny rope decoration that echoes the bracelet. Will slides the ring onto the third finger of my left hand where my wedding ring once lay. ‘This is your own ring, Mum, to mark your future and new things for you and happiness …’
The thought and effort and expense of these presents make me burst into tears. My sons hug me, embarrassed and pleased and emotional too. We are all slowly but surely moving on.
By the time I have showered and dressed I find Dominique in my kitchen making coffee and a shopping list.
‘Happy birthday, darling.’ She hugs me. ‘I’ve left Sergei having breakfast and amusing the staff. Go and join him when we’ve had coffee. You can take him for a walk. The boys are changing. They are going for a run and then they are taking me into Penzance to shop for supper. I shall have a lovely afternoon cooking in your little kitchen …’
Before I can object to being organized, my sister digs into her bag and hands me something wrapped in tissue paper. It is a bound journal for this year with gold leaf edges.
She smiles. ‘It is so you can chart how far you have come …’
I laugh. ‘Yeah. Three miles
from home.’
‘Not in miles,’ she says softly. She pours me coffee. ‘Have you missed Mike these last few months, Gabby?’
I sit at the table. ‘I’ve missed being the happy couple we were when the boys were small. I’ve missed the habit of him. I’ve missed the fun and generous bits of him, but I built a world around Mike that didn’t exist. I hung onto the idea of a nearly perfect marriage. I settled for something that wasn’t really there. Mike loved me, but never enough. I know that now.’ I smile at her anxious face. ‘Dom, I have no regrets, Karachi opened my eyes. I no longer love or want the person he became.’
‘Good,’ she says. ‘You ought to go and find your lovely Russian.’
I glance at her sharply but she is peering into my fridge to see what I don’t have.
‘Stay away as long as you can. I need to concentrate this afternoon …’
Will and Matt come in carrying dirty trainers. They roll their eyes at me. ‘We are obeying Grunhilda’s commands. Looks like you are being banned from your own house …’ Matt says, ducking a swipe from my sister.
‘It does indeed.’ I pull a sweater over my head and head towards the door.
‘Got your phone?’ Matt calls. ‘Will and I will meet you for lunch …’
I walk down the track to the coastal path and turn right towards the village. The sun feels warm on my face and I can feel the familiar itchy smell of gorse in my nostrils. I spot Sergei from a distance coming towards me. I stamp on the urge to run, to close the distance between us. As he catches sight of me we both grin, absurdly. When he reaches me he opens his arms and I’m there in a second.
I do not know how long we stand there holding each other, slowly rocking. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against my cheek. I can feel the tension in him. He bends his head to mine. ‘I swore I would not do this …’
We stare at each other in wonder. ‘What a long way from Karachi,’ he says.
‘Let’s go down on the beach. Will and Matt are going to come running past any moment …’
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