Just Haven't Met You Yet

by Sophie Cousens

  ‘I thought this compartment could be for one of your mother’s patchouli bags,’ I suggest, ‘and this one could hold a few pieces of her sea glass collection—’

  ‘I think I prefer seeing the sea glass on you,’ he says, pulling me into his arms.

  ‘Come on, we’ll never get this finished if you keep distracting me,’ I say, nudging him away with my head. ‘These little shelves here,’ I say, pointing to two of the rectangular openings at the bottom of the cabinet, my head feeling giddy as he starts kissing up behind my ear. ‘You could put little photos in, one of Gerry and your mum, and then something of yours here.’

  ‘Can I put you in the memory cabinet?’ he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. I admit defeat and give up all pretence of trying to keep the house clear-out PG-rated.

  It takes us a while, but we finally do get the house empty, the carpet vacuumed, and the last bits and pieces into boxes for either the charity shop, the auction house or the skip. All that remains to keep, Ted has packed in cases, to either store or drive back to England on the ferry.

  ‘Will you take this back to London with you?’ I ask, nodding towards the memory cabinet.

  ‘I guess so,’ Ted says, a heavy look returning.

  The bubble of pleasure we have found in each other has distracted us from the realities of both our situations. The real world was always going to creep back in sooner or later. I have not opened any of the angry emails from work, nor answered the work phone. What will I do now – dust off my old contacts from when I was a freelancer, or temp for a while until I can work out a better plan? I don’t know what Ted is thinking. He told me he has a review meeting with the hospital in a few weeks, about going back to work. If he doesn’t return straight away, will he even want to be in London? I guess if he stays here for a bit, it’s a short flight for me to visit. Do I want to be in London now that Vanya is moving out of our flat? If I’m not working at Love Life, do I even need to be there? As my mind dances down all these avenues, I try to rein it in – focus on today. Whatever happens, it won’t be impossible for us to keep seeing each other.

  ‘I will keep it with me wherever I am,’ Ted says with forced jollity. ‘The perfect way to remember this house, to remember all the life lived here.’

  Then I think of the story Gerry told me – the birds.

  ‘Can I see the carvings in the beams of the attic?’ I ask. Ted looks surprised that I know about this. ‘Your dad told me about the Ukrainian man who was hidden here during the war.’

  Ted takes me up to the loft, hands me a torch, and says I need to lie on my back and shuffle backwards through to the narrow space behind the water heater. It takes me a while to locate the drawings on the beams, and when I find them, at first I’m not sure what I’m looking at, but then I make out wings, scratches for feathers, the distinct angle of a beak. Though they are rough, there is a real sense of motion in these drawings – the person who made these longed to take flight.

  ‘Do you know if he survived the war, if he ever got home?’ I ask Ted through the wall.

  ‘I’m not sure. I think he survived but I don’t know what happened to him. It was my great-grandmother who knew all the details. We should have written it all down while she was alive.’

  I crawl back out of the small space and sit next to Ted at the top of the stairs.

  ‘You must write down everything you do know about him being here and give the story to whoever buys the house. Some things are too important to be forgotten.’ I wipe my eyes, which are swimming, suddenly inexplicably emotional about the idea that these birds, and what they meant, might be lost.

  ‘You’re right,’ Ted says sombrely, ‘we must be guardians of stories more significant than our own.’

  He puts an arm around me. The sound of a car crunching on the gravel rouses us from our moment of reflection. We look at each other – wondering who that could be. Walking downstairs and through to the porch, we see a cab driver, the one who brought me back from Maude’s party yesterday. He waves my phone out of the driver’s window.

  ‘I assume this must be yours, love,’ he calls. ‘I’ve been retracing my steps from yesterday to see who might be missing it.’

  I’d forgotten all about my phone.

  ‘Oh, thank you so much!’ I say, running over to retrieve it. I’m amazed any cab driver would go out of his way like this – perhaps it’s only possible when you live on a small island. ‘That is so kind of you – I must give you some money, let me get my wallet.’ I start to head to the cottage to find my bag, but he waves me away.

  ‘Just pay it forward,’ he calls, then clocks my tear-stained face and says with a wink and a wave, ‘and cheer up, eh, now you’ve got something to smile about.’ Then he reverses far too fast back up the drive. Ted and I catch each other’s eye and start to laugh, the kind of laugh that once you’ve started, it’s hard to stop. It isn’t even that funny, but it might be our first ‘in joke’, and those are the most delicious kind.

  Back inside the house, once we’ve composed ourselves, I plug in my phone.

  ‘Can I take you to my favourite beach now?’ Ted asks, but I’m distracted by my phone lighting up with messages. I realise I’ve enjoyed being out of contact for a while, and I’m not sure I’m quite ready to let the outside world back in.

  There are messages from Suki, from other people at work, all trying to track me down yesterday. Then messages from today that Suki has sent to both my phones, ‘We need to talk Laura. Call me ASAP.’

  ‘What is it?’ Ted asks. ‘All OK?’

  ‘Everything’s fine. I think I might leave the phones here today.’

  Ted doesn’t say anything, but he raises both eyebrows and then reaches to rub the space beneath his chin, his hand searching for the beard that is no longer there.

  Ted and I pack a bag of beach things, and he drives me to Portelet, a cove on the south-west of the island. There are so many beaches here I have yet to explore. Flying in, the island looked so small from the window of the plane, an accidental rock protruding from the endless sea, but now, the more I explore, Jersey’s size feels deceptive, like a Tardis.

  We walk down some steep steps to get to the beach. There is something Enid Blytonesque about the scene, the walk down and the picture-perfect bay, the ideal setting for a Famous Five adventure. A tiny island sits in the middle of the bay, with an old fortification on top. Ted tells me it’s a Martello tower called Janvrin’s tomb.

  ‘Janvrin was a sea captain returning from France in the early eighteenth century,’ Ted says, as we walk down the last of the steep steps. ‘He fell ill, then because of plague quarantine restrictions, he wasn’t allowed to land in Jersey or see his family. He had to stay out on his ship, where he died a few days later. He was buried on this islet right here – his wife had a tomb erected as a monument of her love and to preserve his memory.’

  ‘What a sad story,’ I say, looking out at the tower.

  ‘It served its purpose, though,’ Ted says, taking my hand as we walk across the sand, ‘because I’m telling you the story now, three hundred years on.’

  ‘Do you think anyone will remember us in a hundred years, let alone three?’ I ask wistfully.

  ‘If you are saying you want me to build you a Martello tower, Laura, I’m not sure I have the skill set,’ Ted says, leaning in to kiss my shoulder.

  ‘It’s never too late to learn a new skill,’ I say, leaning my head into his.

  We walk down to the water’s edge and swim around the islet of Janvrin’s tomb, the sun glistening off the dark blue water. Ted’s a far stronger swimmer than me, and I claim to need a lift for the last bit, so I can wrap my wet limbs around his warm, broad back. We have pizza on the beach at Portelet Bay Café, a gentle breeze drying our wet hair, and we talk animatedly about nothing of consequence. We don’t discuss what this is between us, or our plans for next week or even tomorrow; we just tell silly stories and get lost in the pleasure of each other’s company.

  ‘I’
ve missed being this person,’ says Ted, squeezing my hand as we walk back up the steps towards the car park at the top of the hill.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask. He stops walking, and we turn to look at the view one last time, the tower on the island, sleek sailing boats edging towards the horizon, a scattering of people on the pebbled shore.

  ‘Some people bring out the parts of yourself you like the most,’ he says. ‘I like the version of myself I am when I’m with you.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I feel the same, like I don’t have to filter myself around you. I’m not sure if this raw version of me even existed before.’

  ‘She was always there,’ says Ted, ‘you just hadn’t met her yet.’

  When we finally get back to L’Étacq, my hair feels full of salt, my skin slightly sun-kissed, and my face glows with the feeling of being the version of myself I love the most.

  We get out of the car and hold hands as we walk down to the cottage together. I imagine we’ll have a shower, then indulge in an afternoon in bed – I think I would be happy if I could just re-live this day over and over again forever; my own delicious Groundhog Day.

  Then I notice someone sitting at the patio table in the garden. A slim woman with long dark hair and a feline yoga body. She’s wearing a floating turquoise dress and has a floral print scarf tied around her hair. She has that effortless, serene beauty about her, as though she meditates every day and never eats chocolate, or if she does, it’s only dark chocolate, and then only one square at a time. She’s looks up at Ted with familiar eyes.

  ‘Who’s this?’ I ask quietly, but when I turn to look at him, his face is drained of colour, his eyes unblinking.

  ‘Belinda.’

  Chapter 31

  Belinda. Oh no, I thought this was all going a bit too well. It’s like those movies where it’s all wrapping up nicely, but there’s still fifteen minutes to go; you know the bad guy they conked over the head with a saucepan is going to stand up and stab someone at the last minute.

  ‘Hi,’ says Belinda, giving us both a wave. ‘Well, aren’t you looking well, Ted? Now I can see why.’ She nods towards me.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Ted asks, still standing motionless in the middle of the lawn.

  Belinda gives a delicate shrug, and I notice she has the most amazing shoulder bones. I don’t think I’ve ever even noticed someone’s shoulder bones before, but hers are exquisite.

  ‘After what you said on the phone, I wanted to come and see Gerry. Plus, I figured I could bring the divorce papers in person. Is Gerry not here?’ She walks around the patio table, her hips moving in this sultry, hypnotic way.

  ‘He’s already gone to Acrebrooke.’

  ‘He’ll hate it there,’ says Belinda. ‘I can’t imagine him in a home.’

  I feel a twinge of jealousy that she knows Ted’s family so much better than I do, that she knows what Gerry might or might not like. Ted is still standing frozen, staring at Belinda as though she might be an apparition. She walks over to him and kisses him on each cheek, then extends her hand to me.

  ‘I’m Belinda, you must be the new girl.’ She smirks knowingly, and I feel myself bristle. She says it as though I’m the new shop girl, wanting to remind me: He’s known you five minutes, but he loved me for almost a decade.

  ‘You should have called first,’ says Ted, clearing his throat.

  ‘I tried; the landline has been cut off,’ she looks down at her feet, eyelids fluttering, ‘and I’m afraid I had to erase your mobile number when I left, in case I called in a moment of weakness, Teddy.’

  Teddy? Ted is not a Teddy. I look at Ted; his eyes are closed. When he opens them, he glances across at me and, maybe I’m imagining it, but I can tell he doesn’t want me here for this.

  ‘Shall I be mother and make tea?’ Belinda offers, biting her impossibly bee-stung lower lip.

  ‘I should leave you to it,’ I say, waving a hand between them.

  ‘No,’ Ted says firmly, ‘there’ll be nothing said you can’t hear. I thought we said everything on the phone, Bell?’

  He calls her Bell. A whole history no one else will ever share. Belinda turns her attention to me and gives me a wicked smile.

  ‘She’s very young.’ I feel my skin grow hot and my eyes drop to the ground. She laughs. ‘I taught him everything he knows, so you can thank me later.’

  ‘Bell, stop it,’ Ted growls.

  ‘Sorry,’ Belinda sighs and smiles. ‘You know I’m only teasing.’ Then she rolls her eyes.

  It’s too much. I can’t be here any longer; I’ll cry, and that will make me look like a pathetic little girl next to this confident, formidable woman.

  ‘I’m going to go,’ I say, turning to walk up the hill.

  ‘Don’t,’ Ted says, his eyes full of pain, but I know me being here will just make this more difficult for him.

  ‘Honestly, it’s fine, I need to make some calls anyway. I’ll catch up with you later.’ I attempt my best nonchalant smile, like I find myself in this kind of love triangle every day of the week. Now I come to think of it, I guess I was sort of in a love triangle with Jasper and Ted … Maybe I do find myself in a lot of love triangles. Despite feeling conflicted, I definitely preferred being the one in the middle. Better to be the one choosing than the person someone chooses between, especially when the competition looks like a combination of Audrey Hepburn and Angelina Jolie.

  I pick up both my phones from just inside the porch and then try to stop myself from glancing back at the lawn, but I can’t. They’re in the middle of the garden hugging; Ted’s shoulders are rising and falling as though he might be crying. I shouldn’t have turned around; now I feel like my feet have been whisked from beneath me by an undercurrent, and I’m being pulled, powerless, out to sea, away from my Ted-shaped shore. My heart breaks a little for Ted, too – he was so lost, not knowing where she’d gone, and now here she is, in his garden, two days after he finally took off his ring.

  As soon as I’m far enough away from the house, I furiously blink my eyes, determined not to cry. The light is on in the workshop. As I knock gently on the open door, Ilídio turns off the electric sander he is working with.

  ‘Laura, what’s wrong?’ he asks, his face full of concern.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say, shaking my head firmly, ‘can I just sit in here for a bit?’

  ‘Of course,’ he says, putting down his tools and cracking his knuckles, and there’s something strangely reassuring about the sound. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  The comfort of a kettle. And then I start thinking that maybe it’s quite nice to give your kettle a nickname, especially if you live alone, and maybe Aunt Monica is on to something. I might name my own kettle – Kevin, perhaps. Then I sit, and I make jewellery, and I try not to think about the man of my dreams, talking to the woman he loved, only a few hundred yards away.

  I’d like to say the jewellery distracts me, that I get into perfect flow again, but I don’t; I burn my hand on the soldering iron, and I can’t stop staring at my phone, hoping for him to call me, to tell me she has gone.

  My phone is full of texts:

  Suki: Laura, I want the work phone back. Take a few days of personal time to get your head together, but I will expect you back in the office next Monday. I don’t want to lose a perfectly good employee over this nonsense.

  Vanya: WHOA, what happened in that interview? Everyone’s saying you quit. You are on fire, girl!! Though maybe you absorbed Tiger Woman’s roar mantra a little too literally? Hope you’re OK, call if I can help. X

  Vanya: PS Thought Jasper looked HOT. Is he your Gale or your Peeta?

  Jasper: I got two kitchen enquiries off the back of our broadcast! Plus, Suki wants to include Contessa Kitchens in an interiors feature next month. Thank you for the intro. Sorry you didn’t think our floorplans were in alignment, all the best. J x

  As I’m replying to Vanya, telling her I’m fine, it’s complicated, and I’ll call her tonight, a text from Ted flashes
up:

  Ted: Where did you go? I’m taking Bell to see Dad. Back soon, please don’t go anywhere.

  No kiss. Don’t go anywhere. Maybe he wants to let me down gently, in person – Ted would be courteous like that. Part of me thinks I should just leave now. Fly home and forget this whole weekend of madness. Except I’m never going to be able to forget Ted, am I? I’m certainly never going to forget last night. Maybe Ted’s ruined sex for me now. Like showing someone a film in surround sound from the comfort of a luxurious private cinema, and then telling them they have to watch all future films on their phone, at the back of a bus, with crappy broken headphones.

  Maybe I should move back to Bristol, be closer to Gran. Perhaps I should grovel my apologies to Suki and simply go back to work next week. Though I don’t think I want to do that. The idea of being freelance again, which terrified me before, now feels strangely exciting. I could still write things I wanted to write for Love Life, but I could also write other, more serious things, for other publications. I could be my own boss again, and work from anywhere.

  Something needs to change, I know that. At the very least, this weekend has given me a taste for the restorative power of the sea, my need to see the horizon occasionally. I promise myself I will try to get out of the city more at weekends. Maybe Brighton would be a nice place to live?

  As my mind races with possibilities, I feel a creeping anxiety about all the new decisions I’m going to have to make once I get home. I turn to the workbench and see a coin on the table. Maybe I should let fate decide. Heads, I walk out of here right now, pack up and go home. Tails, I stay. I spin the coin on the work surface, waiting for it to fall, but it comes to a stop on its side; even fate thinks I’m a lost cause.

  When Ted eventually returns, I’m sitting on the bed in the cottage.

  ‘You’re here,’ he says, standing in the doorway.

  ‘Did you think I wouldn’t be?’ I ask, mustering a sad smile.