‘Please don’t look like that.’ He comes over to sit beside me and puts an arm around me, pulling my head to his broad shoulder.
‘How do I look?’
‘Like a sad puppy.’ Ted presses a palm against my cheek.
‘Your wife coming back kind of rained on my parade,’ I admit, leaning into his hand.
‘She’s not “back”, Laura, and she’s no longer my wife, she hasn’t been for a long time. She only came to serve me with divorce papers and to see Gerry.’
‘Do you want to divorce her?’
‘Laura, trust me, I do.’
I turn to look at him and feel a flicker of hope. ‘Where is she now?’ I ask.
‘I left her with Dad. She was upset to see he’s got so frail.’
Reaching up for Ted’s hand, I’m unsure of what to say. Ted takes it, his fingers entwining in mine, and with the other, he slowly rubs my back.
‘I know we haven’t known each other long, Ted, but…’ I sigh. ‘Well, someone like Belinda casts an intimidating shadow. She was the love of your life, your dad adores her, she’s so beautiful and—’
‘And she broke my heart,’ Ted cut in. ‘She left me, without allowing me the chance to even discuss it.’ He takes my hand in his and pulls it onto his lap. ‘Besides, I don’t believe you only get one chance at love in a lifetime, I hope not anyway.’
He pulls my face up to meet his and kisses me tenderly, and I feel how much he wants me to believe him.
‘Look, things weren’t right in our marriage for a long time before she left. We both changed a lot in our thirties; we both hit this life junction, and we went different ways. When she left, I felt I’d failed her, failed us – but when we spoke on the phone on Saturday’ – he pauses, thoughtful for a moment – ‘I realised I’d been clinging on to an idea, to two people who don’t even exist any more.’
‘That makes sense,’ I say quietly, trying to sound mature and understanding.
‘But still the sad face,’ he says, needling his chin into my shoulder.
‘I’m just – I’ve never felt like this before and I’m jealous that you have.’
‘I’ve never felt like this either,’ says Ted, turning to hold me by both shoulders. ‘How could it be the same? Laura, from the moment you got into my cab and shouted at me, I’ve done nothing but think about you.’ I cringe at the memory, but smile despite myself. ‘Like it or not, you do make the world a prettier place for me, and when we started talking in the car, well – it was kablammo central for me.’
I smile up at him because he’s saying all the right things.
‘I think for me, it was when I saw you coming out of the sea in your wet clothes.’
‘Oh, so you’re just after my body rather than my sparkling conversation, are you?’
‘Am I allowed to say I enjoy both?’
And then he kisses me again and I don’t have any more doubts.
Chapter 32
The next morning, I wake to find an empty space in the bed next to me. I walk up to the main house, wearing one of Ted’s shirts as a nightgown, hugging it around myself against the cool wind coming up from the sea. I assume Ted must be doing a last bit of cleaning in the house. The skip is being collected this morning, and then he’s handing the keys over to the estate agents this afternoon.
There’s a smell of fresh coffee coming from the kitchen and I find Ted in the living room, looking at the memory cabinet, which he’s hung on the wall. I move to stand next to him, and he puts an arm around me, then notices I’m wearing his shirt.
‘Do you ever wear your own clothes, Laura?’ he asks, a teasing smile on his lips.
‘Not if I can help it,’ I say, resting my head on his shoulder. ‘You hung it up.’
‘I wanted to see what it looked like. It fits perfectly here.’ He points out what he’s put into each compartment: his mother’s scent bag; the hairslide Gerry picked out as one of the memories he had of his own mother; a piece of sea glass; a snuff box his grandfather James brought back from the war; and even an old collar tag with Scamp’s predecessor’s name on it.
‘I didn’t know what to put in for Dad. I thought maybe his old guitar pick – something to symbolise all the things he used to take joy in under this roof.’ He opens one of the small doors in the cabinet, and there’s a miniature gin bottle inside.
I look sideways at Ted and realise he’s Benjamin Buttoned on me again; I swear with his bright eyes and his bed-ruffled hair, he’s verging on early thirties now. Just looking at him makes my stomach drop. My body feels like a sunflower, drawn towards the sun.
‘Perfect. I’m glad you like it,’ I say, wrapping an arm around his waist.
‘Knock knock,’ comes a voice from behind us, and we turn to see Belinda standing in the porch, her hair cascading over her ridiculously attractive shoulders. She’s wearing a silk tiger print kaftan over jeans so skinny they could be chopstick holders. My balloon of happiness instantly turns into a bowling ball and hits the ground with a thud.
‘I thought you’d left?’ I find myself saying, trying to pull Ted’s shirt down to cover my luminous white thighs.
‘Grrrr,’ says Belinda, making cat paws with her hands, ‘you’re jealous, that’s good, it means you like him.’
I have never felt such a strong desire to wrestle another woman to the floor and strangle her with her own ridiculously expensive-looking kaftan.
‘Bell, don’t,’ Ted says, taking a step towards her.
‘It’s OK, I’m on my way to the airport, I’ve done what I needed to do here.’ Belinda looks serious for a moment. ‘I’m pleased I got to see Gerry, and I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I won’t leave it so long next time.’
What, she’s coming back? She disappears for years, not a trace, and now she’s planning her next visit like some tanned, toned spectre. She’s going to be like that scary girl in The Ring, showing up whenever I’m half naked, just to show me how much browner her legs are than mine. The disappointment must show on my face, because Belinda turns to me with a sharp smile.
‘Don’t worry, little bear, I won’t be getting in your way.’
‘Why are you calling me little bear?’ I ask, giving her my best Paddington Bear stare.
Belinda gives me a cryptic smile.
‘It’s your inner animal.’
‘My what?’ I ask. She sounds as though she’s quoting Tiger Woman.
‘Laura, don’t engage with this—’ Ted starts to say, but I bat him away with a wave of my hand.
‘No, I want to know.’
‘Well,’ says Belinda, inviting herself in and pacing around the empty room, ‘I am a tiger, Ted here is a bear, as are you, so you see you two are far better suited; your auras match. You’ll enjoy doing beary things together.’
‘I’m not a bear,’ I say, through narrowed eyes. ‘If it’s my “inner animal”, I get to choose, and I don’t want to be a bear. I’ve read Tiger Woman too, you know.’
‘You’ve read it?’ Belinda looks pleased and steps towards me, peering into my eyes as though trying to find something inside. ‘Well, don’t go changing, Ted doesn’t need another tiger in his life.’
‘I am not a bloody bear, OK,’ I explode. Something about her tone has pressed all my buttons, her territorial pacing around the room, as though she’s about to spray the house with her musk. ‘You don’t get to say what animal I am.’
‘Whoa,’ says Ted, stepping between us. ‘OK, let’s just take the animal aura conversation down a notch. Belinda, what did you want to say before you go?’ He pauses, looking at her pleadingly. ‘And I do think you need to go.’
Belinda waves a hand between us.
‘I like that she has fire in her belly,’ Belinda gives me a smug smile, ‘and that she’s read my book.’
‘Wait. Your book?’ I say after a beat. ‘You wrote Tiger Woman?’
‘What’s Tiger Woman?’ Ted asks, looking between us in confusion.
‘Only the bestselling self-help
book of the year,’ I say, unable to hide my amazement.
‘We don’t use the term “self-help”,’ says Belinda, wincing, ‘but thank you. We’d describe it as a memoir, of a woman throwing off the reins of the patriarchy, of societal oppression and expectation. It’s about reclaiming your base nature, finding your inner Tigress.’
Ted’s face is screwed into a knot of confusion.
‘What?’ he says.
‘You’re a bear, you wouldn’t understand. Anyway, the long and short of it is, until all this paperwork is filed, we’re still married.’ She pulls a wad of papers from her bag. ‘So technically some of my tiger riches will come to you.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Ted says, looking between us both.
‘This book has sold like a billion copies,’ I explain to Ted, feeling my eyes bulging from their sockets.
‘I have two more book deals in the pipeline: Tiger Woman Eats and Tiger Woman Sleeps.’ Belinda gives a little yawn, then turns to Ted with a more serious expression. ‘I would like to pay for Gerry’s care. He is family to me.’ She pauses, serious for a moment, talking only to Ted. ‘Look, I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I’ll never forget what we once were to each other, but my path is now a solo one. I didn’t know how to extract myself from us, except by cutting the thread.’ She looks guilty for a moment, her gaze dropping to the floor. ‘I was selfish – thinking what would be easiest for me.’
‘I was worried when you disappeared,’ Ted says, his voice firm and controlled. ‘But I don’t need you to come in and fix anything. I can look after my own father.’
‘I know, and I know I have amends to make, but— He’s so upset about you selling this house because of him, Ted. Please let me help.’
Ted sighs, and Belinda goes on, ‘Just have my half of the London house, if you’d rather do it that way; you put down the initial deposit, so it’s only fair. However we work it out, don’t sell Sans Ennui, please.’
‘Fine, I’ll keep the house.’ Ted gives a short, sharp nod. ‘Congratulations on your book success.’ He smiles briefly at Belinda then turns back to me.
Belinda claps her hands. ‘I think this is a group hug moment,’ she says, reaching out her arms to me. I definitely do not consider this a group hug moment – I’m sceptical of group hugs at the best of times – but before I can stop her, she embraces me with her long, lean, tigery arms.
Chapter 33
Dad’s box sits unopened on the floor of the cottage for several days. I don’t get to it because I am too busy exploring the island, spending time with Ted and meeting the rest of my Jersey family. My great-uncle Graham and his children are warm and welcoming, interested in me – everything I could have hoped they would be.
It is not until Thursday morning, when I am due to leave that afternoon, that I finally get round to opening the box. I owe it to my dad to at least look through some of the paltry remains of his life on this earth. Helping Ted with the house, sorting through my mother’s things; it’s made me wonder what I want the world to remember me by. It might be morbid to think about death, but losing both my parents has made me conscious of how short life can be; it’s made me think about what kind of legacy I’d like to leave.
Then again, maybe Gerry is right; there’s no point worrying what the future holds or looking back on the past. Today I am happy. Today I feel lucky. Today the world is a good place to be. Maybe the only real legacy any of us can hope to leave, is to be a link in the chain that keeps love flowing through the generations.
I take a photo of everything in the box. I’ll hold on to the letters Mum wrote, but there is nothing else here I want to keep. At the very bottom of the box, I find a padded envelope hidden between two crime novels. Inside the envelope are two cassettes. They are mix tapes, identical, and written on the spine of each tape case, in Dad’s handwriting, is ‘The Soundtrack to Your Life’. There are some great song choices, and even two Phil Collins tracks. I smile – maybe Dad really did love Phil Collins after all.
Underneath the tapes is a card.
Dear Laura,
Welcome to the Soundtrack to Your Life! I’m going to record a mix tape for every one of your birthdays from now on. I’ll send one to your mum for you to listen to and keep a copy, so you’ll have a complete collection when you’re eighteen. When you’re old enough to appreciate it, you can sit back and listen to your life as I heard it. I might not see you as much as I’d like, little one, but I’ll be damned if you grow up having shit taste in music. This is the first tape – twenty of the best songs from around the time you were born. Songs that make me think of you, songs me and your mum listened to the summer we met. Can’t wait to see you when I’m back from Morocco, precious girl.
All my love, Dad
He never sent it. He made the tapes, wrote the letter, but he hadn’t addressed the envelope. I know I shouldn’t need this proof. I know now that love can’t be measured in objects or shared tastes, but, reading his words addressed to me, seeing the songs he chose – ‘Another Day in Paradise’, ‘That’s Just the Way It Is’ – it’s like he knew exactly what I needed to hear; the epilogue to my parents’ story. I hug the tapes to my chest; the music, at least, was real.
Sandy is hosting a goodbye lunch for me in her garden before Ted takes me to the airport. I’ve been in Jersey a whole week now, yet it feels as though I’ve been here for months. Perhaps Jersey is like Narnia in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and I’ve been here for years, but in London time, only a few minutes have passed.
Ted has brought Gerry to join us for lunch, and he’s full of stories about some of the other residents in his assisted living community.
‘There are a group of women who call themselves the Miss Marple Club,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘They watch murder mysteries together every Tuesday, stopping them before the end, and then placing bets on who they think the murderer is. They’ve all seen the episodes a hundred times, but they forget who did it, so the game never gets old.’ Gerry lets out a cackle.
‘So, you’re making friends, then?’ says Ted, hugging a cup of tea between his hands. He’s let his stubble grow back over the last few days, and truth be told, I sometimes miss the beard.
‘It’s like the first day at school again, except no one can remember anyone’s name, least of all their own,’ Gerry says.
‘Oh Gerry, stop – he’s exaggerating,’ says Sandy, rolling her eyes.
‘You wouldn’t rather have a carer at home, then, now that money’s not so tight?’ Ted asks.
‘No,’ Gerry says, picking up a mug and moving it, shakily, towards his lips. ‘I’m happy enough where I am; the food is great and I like having people around me again. Plus, it’s nice to see this house full of you young people.’ Gerry looks across at me. ‘I hope you’ll be back, Laura, that we haven’t scared you off with our island ways.’
‘Oh, she’ll be back,’ says Ted, reaching across to put a hand on my arm.
In the last few days, we haven’t really talked about the future, and I haven’t wanted to ask. Ted took the house off the market; I spent time in the workshop making jewellery. We swam in the sea, and I explored more of the island. I even made a bean crock for Ted, Ilídio, and Sandy following Maude’s recipe.
Ted is taking the ferry back to England next week. He has a meeting with the hospital about resuming work. He also got a call about an offer on the house in London; he’s closing books, opening new ones. I don’t know where our story goes from here, but I know that even if we only had this one week, I would not do anything differently.
‘What about you, Laura?’ Sandy asks. ‘What are you going to do when you get back to London? Are you tempted to make peace with your boss?’
I shake my head. I’ve already spoken to Suki. She was remarkably open-minded about discussing my role going forward. Something about her feels different, but I couldn’t put my finger on what.
‘I’ve said I want to go freelance, choose the articles I feel passionate about, maybe free u
p some time for jewellery making. I know I don’t want to do the “How Did You Meet?” segment any more; I’ve had enough of chasing other people’s love stories.’
Ted squeezes my shoulder.
‘I’m sure you’ll find a way to find passion in your work again,’ says Ilídio, giving me a wink.
As we’re talking, a green car covered in hedgehog stickers pulls into the drive at Sans Ennui.
‘We caught you – you haven’t left yet!’ Monica calls, as she climbs out of the driver’s side. I see Sue sitting in the passenger seat and I jump over the wall to meet them.
‘You didn’t need to come and see me off,’ I say.
Sue opens the passenger door, and I help her out.
‘Have you got it?’ Sue asks Monica, who hurries around the car holding a small wooden box. She hands it to Sue, who presses it into my hands.
‘We wanted you to have this,’ she says, nodding her head towards the box. ‘Our father’s tools – his engraving kit. When you said you made jewellery, well, we thought it would be nice for them to be used again. They’ve sat unloved in this box for eighty years.’
I open the lid to find a set of wooden and steel tools: pushers, burnishers, and gravers, all perfectly preserved.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘They look too precious to use.’
‘They’re tools, they were made to be used.’
‘Thank you, thank you both,’ I say, wrapping an arm around each of them. Then I pull back, remembering I have something to tell them: ‘I found something, in Dad’s box – a letter he wrote to me, a mix tape he made. He was planning to make me one every year.’
‘That sounds like him,’ says Sue, nodding slowly.
‘And the coin,’ I say. ‘He did mean for me to have it. Gran said he sent his half to me. He wanted both parts to stay together.’
Sue reaches out to find my hands. I take them, and she squeezes my fingers gently. It’s as though she’s telling me she doesn’t need to be convinced.
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