Instead he’s across the road from the church, loitering in an alleyway, uncomfortably dressed in a shirt and tie with a fleece over the top of it so he feels a bit less conspicuous, although it’s roasting hot. He has no intention of spying on them, not really, but it has crossed his mind that maybe Rachel won’t be there, and then what will he do? Go and look for her? Probably. If he feels brave enough.
His intention, therefore, is to see if she’s there – that’s first – then see how she looks – if she’s well, happy. Whether she’s on her own, or if she’s got someone with her, because it’s been two months since she left and it’s entirely possible that she’s got herself a boyfriend, despite everything.
The thought of her with someone else makes him feel sick, but there you go. It’s his own fucking fault. If she looks happy, he thinks, he will leave her to it. He will turn around and go back up to Scotland.
He watches cars turning into the car park, and then smartly dressed people walking up to the front of the church and going in. Nobody he recognises, until a couple with a pushchair, and he spots Rachel’s sister pushing it; he knows her from that photo on Rachel’s phone. Lucy. She’s lost weight, if that’s her.
Then an older couple, the woman wearing a hat, as if it’s a wedding – surely that’s Rachel’s parents? And then a taxi pulls up outside, and Rachel gets out with two other people: a woman and a man. It takes him a good few seconds to recognise Lefty in a suit. In a fucking suit! With a decent haircut, and looking fit and well, if a little shifty. He knows that look. Lefty’s nervous, and why wouldn’t he be? Fraser doesn’t care who the woman is because he’s too busy staring at Rachel. Tall, smart, wearing a dress, high heels, her hair up. She looks round for Lefty, says something to him, smiles, then they go inside.
She hasn’t seen Fraser, over the other side of the road.
Hasn’t even glanced in his direction.
She looks – incredible.
Does she look happy, though? It’s only a few seconds. It’s impossible to know.
His phone rings, just then. He’s still getting used to it actually ringing; it takes him a moment to realise the sound is coming from his pocket.
‘Hello?’
‘Well?’ It’s Julia. ‘Have you seen her?’
‘I have, aye.’
‘And? How is she? What did she say?’
‘I’ve not spoken to her.’
‘Why not?’
‘They’ve just gone into the church.’
‘Get yourself in there! What’s the matter with you?’
In the ten days since Julia came into the living room with her mobile phone, handed it to him and walked out again, things have changed. He had always intended to phone Rachel; he just hadn’t had the right words. Hadn’t trusted himself to be able to speak to her without making everything worse. Had he made it worse? Probably. But, as Julia keeps telling him, he still has the chance to put things right.
Since that evening, Julia has become alarmingly bossy. He wouldn’t go so far as to say that this expedition to Norwich – the furthest south he’s ever been – was her idea, but she had certainly encouraged him to do it. Maybe he’d needed a bit of a push.
During their phone call, Rachel hadn’t mentioned the christening, even though when she was on the island she had invited him – twice – and then mentioned it again in an email. But she’d said that was a joke. She probably doesn’t want him here.
‘I’m not going in.’
‘Just go in, sit at the back. Talk to her afterwards, if you can’t bring yourself to do it now. Go on! And ring me later.’
Fraser sighs, tucks the phone in his pocket, and heads across the road.
Rachel
They are in the private function room at the Rising Sun, a gastropub on the river which has a stellar reputation. The lunch they’d served was lavish, and Rachel had mentally tried to calculate the cost of food and wine for the thirty invited guests, but had given up. Lefty, sandwiched between Mum and Rachel’s cousin Josh, aged sixteen, has spent most of the afternoon happily leaning over Josh’s iPad watching YouTube gaming videos, one earphone each.
Rachel has been talking to her Auntie Jan about the island. Years ago, Jan lived on Fair Isle for a while, and has much to say about seabirds and island life. Rachel is enthusiastically reliving the fresh air and the springy turf and at the same time thinking about Fraser and feeling sad, again, when she sees Mel heading towards her from across the room. Mel is striding, fast, eyes on Rachel, who glances across to where Lefty was – to see that he’s no longer there.
‘You okay?’ Rachel asks, as Mel reaches them.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Mel says to Auntie Jan. ‘Can I borrow Rachel for a minute?’
‘What is it?’ Rachel says, suddenly panicked. ‘Where’s Lefty?’
‘Come, quick.’
Mel takes her arm and they walk fast towards the door, practically running.
‘Bloody hell, Melanie, what …?’
And they reach the door of the pub and they are outside in the fresh air, and there is Lefty, hands casually in the pockets of his smart charcoal trousers, bought for him by Rachel’s dad, talking to a huge man in the car park.
Fraser.
It’s Fraser.
For a moment she has forgotten how to breathe.
‘Here she is,’ Lefty says, cheerfully. ‘What’d I tell you?’
Whatever Lefty had been telling Fraser about her is lost. She is lost. Staring at him, looking so different here, standing on the neat tarmac of the car park instead of on bright green grass, wearing – what is he wearing? A shirt and tie, holding a jacket or something over his arm despite the warm weather; hair cut short, his beard trimmed. And he’s staring at her.
‘I take it this is Fraser,’ Mel says, looking from one of them to the other.
‘Yes,’ Rachel says, and then collects herself. ‘Um, Fraser, this is Mel – Mel, Fraser.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ Fraser says, holding out his meaty hand.
How is he so calm?
‘Hi,’ Mel says, shaking it, and adding with a decidedly frosty tone, ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’
Oh, God.
He manages a little smile. ‘I expect you have.’
Fraser switches his attention from Mel to Rachel. She sees the flick of his eyes from her face, down the front of her dress, back to her face again. His expression is unreadable. Rachel feels the flush rising from her neck: this is all wrong, she thinks.
Rachel is still staring at him, only half-aware of Mel saying, ‘Come on, Lefty, let’s go inside.’
Fraser is still here. He’s really here.
‘You okay?’ he asks, eventually.
She nods, and then finally finds her voice. ‘What the fuck?’
‘Hello yourself,’ he says.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
He shrugs. ‘Last-minute decision.’
‘Are you coming in?’
He looks behind her into the function room, the crowds of people, the staff clearing away plates.
‘Or,’ she adds, thinking that for a minute she just wants to have him all to herself until she can work out whether this is really, actually happening, ‘maybe we could go in the bar for a drink?’
‘Aye,’ he says, relieved, ‘let’s do that.’
They’ve still got a lot to talk about, she thinks. Best get it over with.
Fraser
He can feel her eyes boring into his back as he stands at the bar. A young barman serves him quickly enough. Mercifully this one doesn’t bat an eyelid as he hands over his Scottish twenty-pound note. Everyone else he’s paid money to since he came south of the border has stared at the unfamiliar notes and gone to ask a manager.
He takes the drinks back to the table she’s chosen in the corner near the window, just about as far from the function room as it’s possible to get.
‘Here you go,’ he says, placing a fizzy water on the table in front of her. He pours
the bottle of beer out into the glass he’s been given, wondering if he can actually manage to drink it. He feels sick with nerves all of a sudden.
‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘So.’
‘So. How have you been?’
‘Fine. As I told you on the phone, when we spoke. More to the point, how are you?’
‘I’m doing okay. Better.’
He can’t keep his eyes off her. He thinks maybe he can see a bump. It might be his imagination, seeing things he wants to see, but, however subtle, he thinks it is definitely, indisputably there. And it’s his, the baby inside her. It’s his. He’s been trying to get his head straight about the whole thing, but here it is.
Rachel is pregnant.
‘I know I fucked things up,’ he says. ‘I should have called. Just couldn’t think of the right thing to say.’
She sips her drink, her eyes huge. ‘It’s really very hard to have conversations like that over the phone. Even more so when you have to force someone to talk to you.’
‘Yeah. I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I thought you might be – you know … With someone else.’
She stares at him, looks pointedly down at herself. ‘Are you kidding me? Of course I’m not with anyone else.’
He still doesn’t have the right words. All he can do is look at her.
‘I know you’re probably pissed off that I had to get Julia involved,’ she says.
He shrugs. ‘Actually she’s got a bit feisty since that phone call. Told me to get my arse down here and tell you what I’ve been wanting to tell you all this time and haven’t.’
‘Which is?’
And just at that moment, of course, he hears a strident voice from across the lounge. ‘Rachel! There you are! Can you come?’
Fraser turns in his seat. Rachel’s sister is heading towards them.
‘Perfect timing,’ he murmurs.
Rachel takes a deep breath in. ‘I’m just—’
‘Hello!’ Lucy says, brightly, thrusting out her hand. ‘I’m Lucy. And you are …?’
Fraser gets to his feet to shake her hand. Lucy’s eyes widen as he towers over her. ‘Fraser,’ he says.
‘Oh,’ Lucy says, looking at Rachel and then back to Fraser. ‘Oh, I see. Well.’
‘Can you just give us a minute?’ Rachel asks. ‘I’ll be there in a sec.’
‘Mum was asking … I think they want to go home. Dad wants a photo.’
‘Right.’
He looks back at Rachel and sees the eyes wide, the smile huge and bright.
‘In that case,’ she says, standing, ‘we’d better go.’ She picks up her drink. Looks back at him. ‘You coming?’
‘Me?’ he says, stupidly.
‘Of course you. About time you met my family.’
He watches her as she walks behind Lucy back into the function room. The way her hips move. Those long legs.
And then she looks round, gives him a smile, and he follows.
Rachel
‘Mum, this is Fraser.’
Her mother looks appropriately startled, as everyone does when she introduces him. Unsurprising, as he’s six foot five and wide as a doorway.
‘Oh! Pleased to meet you,’ she says, and Fraser tries to shake her hand, but Mum has gone on her tiptoes to try to kiss his cheek, grasping him by both biceps, and Rachel thinks that Fraser’s face is really quite hilarious.
She’s doing this on purpose, a subtle revenge – forcing him to meet everyone. It’s the least he deserves, for turning up unannounced. And for the past ten days, making no further contact with her, after she’d had to tell him about it over the phone.
She had had to explain how she had forgotten all about getting emergency contraception. She had been so busy worrying about Lefty, working out where to live. In the end it was only the fact that she’d thrown up getting off the bus that had made her think about getting a test, and by that point she’d been seven or eight weeks gone. She’d told him all this, trying not to sound apologetic, trying to sound firm, in case he said something she didn’t want to hear. Her biggest fear was that he would want her to get a termination – not that she would, but even hearing him suggest it would have just finished her.
Because, actually, she has the strongest feeling that this isn’t one of Rachel’s fuck-ups. This is something far more important. Something precious.
He’d been so quiet, she’d had to say, ‘Hello? You still there?’
‘Aye, I’m still here.’
‘Look, I know this isn’t what you want. You don’t have to do anything. I’m just telling you because you’ve got a right to know.’
‘That it?’
It wasn’t as though he’d been cold. Just – resigned. As if this was another massive thing for him to deal with.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you need anything?’
Overwhelmed with hormones, exhausted and nauseous, that had hit her quite hard. I need you! she’d wanted to yell. She hadn’t expected him to be overjoyed, exactly. But she had thought that it might mean something.
Deep breath in.
‘No. I just wanted to tell you.’
She had heard a heavy sigh from his end of the phone. A long pause. She could picture him in the kitchen, or maybe he was in the living room, feet up. Maybe Julia was still there with him; maybe that was why he was having trouble talking to her. Because this didn’t sound like her Fraser. This man was quiet, detached, tired. As though she had just taken away the last bit of life he had left.
‘Look, maybe you could call me back? When you’ve had a chance to think about things?’
‘Aye.’
It had hurt. A lot. He hadn’t called back later, or the next day, or the next. She’d thought he had gone forever.
And now, here he is, and she’s introducing him to her family, and everything is just so … weird.
‘… and Dad.’
Fraser gets a brisk handshake and a hard stare. Rachel’s father has full knowledge of who Fraser is, and has a damn good idea of what’s gone on between him and his daughter, though she hasn’t said anything outright, especially not about being pregnant. Her mother also knows who Fraser is, but she’s distracted by the christening guests and hasn’t quite made the association between Rachel’s former job on the island and this huge man who’s appeared out of nowhere.
‘And this … This is Emily. My niece.’
Rachel borrows Emily from Lucy’s mother-in-law, who seems more than happy to reclaim her glass of prosecco from her husband, mutely standing behind her holding their glasses. Emily has been as good as gold today, considering the monstrous christening gown she was forced to wear for the ceremony. She’s since been changed into a little pink dress, which is only marginally less awful. The baby regards Fraser with her fist in her mouth, which she then stretches out towards him, leaving a trail of drool.
‘She likes you. Want to hold her?’
‘I—’
Rachel holds Emily under the armpits and thrusts her in Fraser’s direction. He has no choice but to take her, holding her only slightly awkwardly with one hand under her bum. Emily looks up at him, pressing her drooly hand into his pale blue shirt, leaving a nice soggy print.
‘Hello,’ Fraser says, looking down at her.
The chubby little hand reaches up and grabs at a fistful of beard, and she laughs dirtily, a proper throaty cackle.
‘I know, Ems,’ Rachel says, ‘he’s very hairy, isn’t he?’ She is very close, puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘See? Not so bad, is it?’
‘I love you,’ he says.
‘Yes,’ Rachel replies. Her heart is pounding. ‘Right. Okay, then.’
‘Rachel! Come, and bring Emily!’
Rachel stands obligingly for the photos under a string of white fairy-lights twined around a beam, holding Emily, not holding her, then standing with Lucy and Rob and Emily, and then a big whole-family shot that even includes Lefty. She waves to Fraser, trying to get him to come in on the picture, but he stays resolutel
y still, looking at her with an expression she finds hard to read.
But he said it, and her heart hasn’t stopped flying.
Fraser doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.
Fraser
An hour later, he’s standing in a messy kitchen, with a mug of coffee that is surprisingly not that bad. Rachel has made it, and another one for Mel, who has taken herself off into the lounge. He can hear their hushed conversation through the open door.
‘Sure you don’t want me to—?’
‘No, we’ll go upstairs.’
‘I can go to Darius’s …’
‘It’s fine.’
Rachel comes back in. Leans back against the kitchen counter.
Now that they’re alone, he lets his eyes travel up her body from her bare feet all the way up to her eyes. Feels more unworthy than ever. Wonders what he’s doing here.
‘So,’ she says. ‘I love you too. Now we’ve got that out of the way.’
‘Right,’ he says, his heart bursting. However blunt the delivery.
‘When are you going back to the island?’
‘Tomorrow. But I’ve been thinking I might hand in my notice. Finish at the end of the season.’
‘But – why?’
He shrugs.
‘You know. Responsibilities. Things I need to do.’
‘I can manage just fine, you know. If that’s what you’re worried about.’
Fraser puts his mug down hard on the draining board, takes a breath, and turns to her. ‘Will you just stop?’
‘Stop?’
‘Stop being so bloody calm about it all! I’m used to you being emotional, right? Not this.’
‘Jesus! Sorry that I’ve got my shit together. And I thought it was me being a constant mess that was hard to deal with.’
He stares at her.
‘Fraser, I’ve had a hard time. When you didn’t call me back … I thought you didn’t want to know.’
‘Aye. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made it all worse for you.’
You, Me & the Sea Page 40