Five Years From Now

by Paige Toon

  We stop talking after that, and I reflect on how unusual it was for Van to be so chatty in the car. I appreciate his attempts to divert me more than he could know.

  When we get to Helford, I direct him to Nick’s parents’ place, rather than the car park. The tide is out, so that means the road at the bottom is passable, although water from the creek still splashes up the sides of the car as we drive through.

  ‘Here’s fine,’ I say. Van pulls over in a parking bay and cuts the engine. ‘You coming?’ I ask.

  ‘Shall I?’

  ‘Nick will want to say hi.’

  He hesitantly unclicks his seatbelt.

  I haven’t been paying much attention to the weather, but it’s a gorgeous summer’s day. Red fuchsias burst out from amongst the hedges lining the road, making it look like the hedges themselves are flowering.

  Theresa and Christopher live in a chocolate-box thatched cottage opposite the pub. The scent of roses from their garden mingles with the smell of the tidal water as we enter through the white picket gate. I catch sight of Theresa at the kitchen window and she waves, making it to the door before we reach it.

  ‘Hello, sweetie.’ She pulls me in for a comforting hug before greeting Van. ‘It’s been a long time since we had you here for our New Year’s Eve party,’ she says.

  ‘Ten years, I reckon,’ he replies.

  ‘Mummy!’ Luke runs into the hall, the weight of his small body slamming into mine.

  ‘Oof,’ I exclaim, grinning as I swing him up into my arms. He buries his face in my neck and I hold him close for several long seconds before turning him towards Van. ‘This is Van,’ I say. ‘Mummy’s friend.’

  ‘Hello!’ Van replies cheerfully.

  Luke returns his smile.

  We decline Theresa’s offer of a cuppa and head across to the pub. I get the sense that Van is on edge, but Nick soon puts him at ease.

  ‘Hello, mate!’ he exclaims, coming straight out from the bar area and clasping Van’s hand in a warm, easy shake. ‘It’s good to see you! I’m sorry it’s under such awful circumstances,’ he adds.

  As they chat, Aimee, one of our longest-serving waitresses and also my friend, comes over to say hi. ‘You all right, hon?’ she asks.

  I nod, squeezing her arm. ‘How are things here? I’m sorry I haven’t been around to help.’

  ‘We’re fine,’ she insists. ‘We’ve taken on a couple of students for the rest of the summer hols. They’re a bit bloody hopeless, to be honest, but they’ll pick up. You take all the time you need. Go see Tristan,’ she urges. ‘He’s got some dinner packages for you.’

  When I come out of the kitchen again, complete with two bags laden down with the best ready meals imaginable, Nick and Van are talking about surfing.

  ‘You reckon you’ll be able to come out one day?’ Nick asks.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Van replies, glancing at me.

  ‘You should,’ I encourage. ‘You’ll need a break. Maybe we could tag-team it – I’ll go see Dad in the morning one day and you go in the afternoon.’

  ‘That would work,’ he agrees.

  ‘Day after tomorrow?’ Nick asks.

  Once more, Van looks to me for approval.

  I nod.

  ‘It’ll be a bit more crowded than last time,’ Nick tells him with a grin.

  That’s an understatement – the beaches at this time of year are heaving.

  ‘Eight to ten people is considered crowded where I come from,’ Van replies.

  Nick laughs. ‘Well, we might not manage those numbers, but I do know a couple of more secluded spots.’

  Nick wraps his arm around my shoulders and presses a kiss to my forehead. ‘You okay?’ he asks softly.

  I nod, fighting back tears. ‘Don’t get me started again.’

  ‘I thought I’d pop into the hospital later.’

  ‘Really?’ I ask with relief. ‘I’ve been feeling bad that I won’t make it back until after I’ve dropped Luke off tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘No problem.’ Nick kisses me again. ‘Love you. Go home, rest up. See you tomorrow.’

  He gives me one last squeeze before saying goodbye to our son.

  ‘You guys get on well,’ Van says when we’re back in the car. I’ve opted to drive the last leg home.

  ‘Yeah, we do. It was a bit rough for a while, but we’ve made it work.’

  I say this in a whisper, glancing at Luke in the rearview mirror.

  ‘Can we go out in the rowboat, Mummy?’ Luke asks as soon as we’re back at the cottage.

  ‘Oh, darling, Mummy doesn’t really feel up to that.’

  His face creases with disappointment.

  ‘Go on,’ Van urges. ‘It’ll do us good to get out for a bit.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say with a sigh.

  We have to clean out Platypus first, but the menial task takes my mind off Dad. I sit at the back, trying to balance my weight with Luke’s so we’re not all lopsided. Van rows while Luke leans out of the side with his net, trying to scoop up anything of interest. It’s highly unlikely that will include fish.

  ‘Shall we moor up on the other side?’ Van asks, steering us in that direction.

  ‘Yeah!’ Luke cries.

  That’s that decision made, then.

  The fields have wheat this year, which is yet to be harvested. As we climb to the top of the hill, a memory comes back to me of being up here with Ruth, once, when she was painting. The wheat was creamy yellow in colour and swaying in the wind, just as it is now. I remember Ruth pulling off an ear of wheat to show me how it matched the colour of my hair. Van and Dad were building a den down by the water.

  ‘That was right after you arrived from London,’ he says when I share the memory.

  I push my fingers through my son’s hair. ‘Luke’s is even lighter than mine was at his age. He takes after his daddy, curls and all.’

  ‘He has your eyes, though,’ Van points out.

  ‘Runny honey in sunshine,’ I say with a smile. ‘Your mum had such a way with words when it came to colour, didn’t she? Do you remember how persistent she was at getting me to choose my favourite green?’

  He nods, his lips tilting up at the corners. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ Van asks Luke, crouching down so they’re on the same level.

  ‘Yellow,’ Luke replies solemnly.

  ‘Ah, yellow’s a great colour,’ Van agrees. ‘The colour of sunshine.’ He glances up at me. ‘Where are Mum’s paintings these days?’

  ‘They’re still in the wardrobes in the annexe. Did you sleep okay in there last night?’

  He shakes his head and stands up. ‘I crashed out on the living room floor. It didn’t feel right being in your dad’s room.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You must be aching all over.’

  ‘I’m fine. I used the cushions. I’ve slept rougher. You should try being out on a boat for weeks on end.’ He ruffles Luke’s hair. ‘You want to build a den, mate?’

  ‘Yeah!’ Luke yells.

  ‘I’ll race you to the bottom.’

  I laugh as they set off, Van pretending to catch my squealing son the whole way.

  That evening, once Luke is tucked up in bed and dinner is in the oven, we sit out on the patio with a couple of cold beers.

  ‘He’s awesome, Nell. You’ve done good,’ Van says.

  ‘He’s the best. I can’t believe he’ll be in his second year of school soon.’ Luke was born three weeks prematurely and is the youngest in his class. I was a wreck last year when he started reception.

  ‘His birthday’s next week, right?’

  ‘Wednesday. I don’t much feel like celebrating, to be honest, but we’ll have to do something.’

  ‘Let me know how I can help.’

  ‘Thank you. Are you missing Libby?’ I ask.

  ‘Terribly.’ He checks his watch. ‘Do you mind if I call her from the landline later? I’ll give you some money for the bill.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Of course you can.’

&
nbsp; ‘There’s not a whole lot of time to be thinking about her when I’m out on a boat for weeks, but here, with him,’ he nods towards the top floor of the cottage, ‘it’s harder.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Van puts the bottle to his lips and I watch his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he drinks. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, then swivels to face me, swinging one leg over the other side of the bench so he’s straddling it.

  ‘How are things with your mum these days?’ he asks.

  I shrug and reach up to tighten my ponytail. ‘Better than the last time we talked about her, when we were in Uluru. She and Robert came to my wedding.’

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ he agrees with a smirk, taking another long draw of his beer.

  I laugh lightly and shake my head at him, reaching for my own bottle of beer. ‘Guess you were right about Nick, after all.’

  His expression sobers.

  ‘Why were you nervous when we went to the pub earlier?’ I find myself asking.

  He looks uncomfortable and I’m not sure he’s going to answer me, but then he speaks. ‘The last time I saw Nick, he was just a regular guy. Now he’s the man you chose to marry. That puts him on a whole other level.’

  A level that he can’t compete with.

  I get it.

  ‘I am sorry it didn’t work out,’ he says quietly.

  ‘I don’t regret it,’ I tell him.

  ‘How could you?’ Once more he nods towards the top floor of the cottage. ‘So your mum came to your wedding?’ he asks, reverting to our earlier subject.

  ‘Yep. First time in Cornwall since she lived here with my dad. She didn’t approve of my choice of husband, either,’ I say wryly.

  ‘Do you see much of her now?’ he asks.

  ‘Not a lot. She does send awesome Christmas and birthday presents for Luke, though. I need to call her, actually. I still haven’t told her about Dad.’ I’ve been disinclined to after how unsupportive she was last time.

  Van reaches over and brushes my jaw with his thumb. It’s a casual, caring gesture, but it causes me to inhale sharply. He retreats and drains the dregs of his beer, nodding towards the annexe. ‘Can I get into the wardrobes?’

  It’s astonishing how strong the paint smell is, even after all these years.

  ‘I thought you’d take them with you when you were twenty,’ I say as he brings out the piece of us on Kynance, building a sandcastle.

  He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t really have anywhere to put them, then. I thought they’d be safer here. But I’ll take them home with me this time.’

  I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut. Once they’re gone, once Dad’s gone, why would he ever come back?

  ‘Hey, you okay?’ he asks, noticing my expression.

  I shake my head, pressing the heels of my palms to my eyes.

  ‘I’m usually the one who loses it in here, not you,’ he says fondly, tugging me into his arms.

  I have such a big lump in my throat, but I fight against sobbing, my breath quickening as he holds me. The longer our embrace goes on, the more on edge I become. Perhaps he senses the shift in atmosphere because suddenly his hands are on my arms and he’s separating us.

  ‘I’ll go check on dinner,’ I say shakily, leaving the annexe.

  Later that night, Van goes into the hall to call Libby. I turn the telly up, trying not to eavesdrop, but it’s impossible to miss how relaxed and happy he sounds – a far cry from the teenage boy who could barely string two sentences together when he was talking to us or his dad back home. Through a crack in the doorway, I see him sitting on the floor, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

  ‘I love you. I’ll call you again in a couple of days, okay? Be a good girl for Mummy.’

  My insides are full of warmth, listening to him sign off the conversation.

  ‘How was she?’ I ask when he returns.

  ‘Fine. She’d just woken up.’ It’s Saturday morning in Australia.

  He sits down beside me, but I don’t mute the television and for a while we sit there and stare at the screen.

  But I’m not taking in a thing.

  I’m too consumed with something else that’s happening. The part of my heart that belonged to Van has been repressed for so long, but I can feel it unfolding and opening to let him in. It terrifies me – I don’t want to get hurt again.

  And how can I even be thinking about Van in this way when my dad is dying?

  Once more I cut our evening short and head upstairs early.

  The next morning, I wake up to sunlight streaming in through the cracks in my curtains. I almost jump out of my skin when I see that it’s eight thirty. Luke never sleeps in that long! I feel more well-rested than I have in ages, but then it hits me again about Dad and I feel sick and sad to my core.

  Desolately pulling on my dressing gown, I go to check on my son. To my surprise, his bed is empty, but I can hear voices downstairs.

  Luke’s high-pitched chitter-chatter mingles with Van’s deep rumble as I approach the kitchen. The sight in front of me fills me with surprise and delight.

  They’re painting, using the Christmas set that we bought Van all those years ago. It’s out on the table and they each have a piece of A3-sized paper in front of them.

  ‘Look at my picture!’ Luke exclaims in lieu of a greeting when he spies me at the doorway.

  ‘That’s amazing!’ I go over and place my hand on his back.

  ‘It’s a flower garden,’ he tells me seriously. ‘I’m making it for Grandad.’

  ‘He’s going to love it.’ I catch Van’s eye and my heart unfolds a little more. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Morning,’ he replies. ‘I heard him wake up and thought you could use the sleep.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I whisper. ‘And what are you doing?’ I nod meaningfully at his picture.

  ‘Just messing around,’ he replies self-consciously, dabbing brilliant orange onto a sunset.

  ‘That’s beautiful.’

  He hands me his phone. ‘You get the most incredible sunsets out on the boat.’

  I study the photograph he’s copying. The deck of the boat is at the bottom of the picture, then there’s a rough, grey ocean in the middle and, at the top, a sky bursting with colour.

  ‘I had no idea you’ve been painting again.’ I’m reeling. ‘When did you start back up?’

  ‘Just now,’ he replies, leaning in closer to see what Luke’s doing. ‘That’s awesome, mate. I like this colour that you’ve mixed.’

  It’s a sort of murky, green-brown-orange. I wrinkle my nose at the same time that Van looks up and grins at me.

  ‘Did you sleep downstairs again?’ I ask.

  He nods. ‘I was awake when I heard him stirring.’

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Yeah, we had some cereal an hour or so ago. Want me to get you anything?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thank you. You carry on.’

  Oh, Lord, I’m in trouble…

  ‘Do you like Van?’ I ask Luke on my way to drop him back to his dad.

  ‘Yes.’ He nods purposefully.

  ‘Do you think he sounds like Tom from Fireman Sam?’

  It’s one of his favourite TV shows – Tom is the Aussie helicopter rescue pilot.

  ‘Erm…’ He pulls a face and shrugs. ‘Will you give Grandad my picture?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘When can we do some gardening together?’

  It’s a while before I can answer. ‘Grandad is very ill, darling. I don’t think he’s going to be up for much gardening. But you and I can plant some flowers together sometime, okay?’

  I check the rear-view mirror when he doesn’t answer. He’s staring out the window, lost in his thoughts.

  ‘Is that okay, Luke?’

  ‘I miss Grandad,’ he replies. ‘When can I see him?’

 
; I draw a long, shaky breath. ‘I’m not sure, sweetie. Grandad is very sick. I don’t think he’s coming out of hospital.’

  ‘Can I go with you to see him?’ he asks hopefully.

  Oh God…

  ‘He’s not really himself at the moment.’ No. That won’t make sense to a child. I rack my brain for how to explain. ‘Can you think about Grandad right now?’

  His eyebrows pull together.

  ‘What do you see, inside your head?’ I ask. ‘How does Grandad look? What’s he doing?’

  ‘He’s in the garden,’ he replies.

  ‘That’s it.’ Tears spring into my eyes and I flick on my indicator, pulling up at the kerb. I can’t have this conversation when I’m driving. I swivel in my seat to look at my son. ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘He’s grumpy,’ Luke mutters, making me laugh. ‘And his hands are all dirty.’

  ‘Is he complaining about his knees?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes!’ he exclaims.

  ‘That’s how he wants you to remember him.’

  Having Luke with us helped, but now it’s just Van and me again and we’re quiet on the long car journey to the hospital. I tried to tell him about my talk with Luke, but broke down, so he had to take over driving again. I’m not sure what I’d do without him.

  Dad’s eyes shine with tears when he sees Luke’s picture, but when I reveal that his grandson is desperate to see him, his face collapses completely.

  ‘Not like this,’ he mumbles. ‘Not like this.’

  I try to cheer him up by telling him about how I came downstairs this morning and caught Van painting.

  He reaches for Van’s hand, grasping it. ‘Good!’ he says. ‘Can I see what you’ve done?’

  Van squirms bashfully. ‘It’s not finished yet. But I’ll bring it tomorrow if it’ll make you happy.’

  ‘Now we have to get her writing again,’ Dad says to Van, grabbing my hand with his free one. ‘Fudge and Smudge!’

  ‘Oh, Dad,’ I reply dolefully. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really! Luke would love those stories! You should write them for him, not me.’

  ‘Yes, you should,’ Van chips in.

  ‘Maybe I will, if you promise to do the pictures,’ I reply meaningfully, before pulling my gaze away.