by Jenny Oliver
Zadie grinned.
Three more attempts. Three more catastrophic wipeouts. But on the fourth attempt, Ruben got it. He caught the wave just after it reached its crest and was carried with it like a gliding mermaid right up to the shallows. He felt euphoric. So much so that he jumped up with a genuine whoop! One of the dudes sniggered, but Ruben didn’t care. He was a convert. He had potential to be a pro. He was thirsty for more.
‘Fun?’ asked Zadie.
‘Brilliant,’ he replied, unable to mask his delight with any form of subdued cool.
Zadie clapped. Then rushed off to where the gang of teenagers were lolling on old towels, listening to music, comparing notes on their phones and came running back with another board. ‘We can do it together,’ she beamed.
Ruben didn’t care who he did it with, he just wanted to get back out there in the waves.
Together they raced, side by side, into the dark blue water. Ruben, eager for another ride, kept flinging himself on every wave that came his way, ignoring Zadie when she told him to wait. After one too many disappointing rides, desperate for his euphoric high, he finally conceded that she might know better and decided to listen.
‘Leave this one,’ she said.
‘Really? But it looks great.’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
Ruben had to force himself still. He watched it rise up and up to a beautiful crest. He was about to shout, ‘See, it’s a good one,’ until it suddenly fizzled out into nothing and he was glad he kept his mouth shut.
Then suddenly Zadie was turning on her board, shouting, ‘This one! This one! Dad, get ready!’
And Ruben did exactly what he was told, waiting, poised for more instruction.
‘Hold on, hold on,’ she called. Then, ‘Go!’
And they both paddled like daemons. Side by side, powering forward as the wave rose and rose behind them, hung suspended in the air and then crashed into the perfect rolling galloping white horse propelling them faster and faster towards the shore. Ruben found himself whooping. Zadie was grinning. Spray splashed into their faces. He didn’t care about his flowery shorts. He didn’t care about being watched. He cared about that exact moment. Just him, her and the elements, free of all pretence, united together in this wild ride. He hadn’t even minded when she’d called him Dad. He looked over and saw her laughing. He was laughing too, both giddy with enjoyment. She caught his eye. Her round little face and equally round eyes, excitable, exhilarated. In that moment he caught a glimpse of himself in her. In the way her mouth quirked when she smiled.
And the recognition made his whole body go rigid. His chest tightened as if crushed. He couldn’t get his breath. He wasn’t looking where he was going and his board hit a rock in the shallows, jarring his head and neck with a crick, pushing him over into the water so his back scraped along the sand.
He tried to right himself but the shallow water made it clumsy and awkward. His foot got caught in the cord of his board. He stumbled getting up. Zadie was there next to him, her arm outstretched to help.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, concerned as he coughed and spluttered.
He waved her hand away. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Fine.’ He stood up, rolled his shoulders, trying to iron out the pain in his neck. ‘Stupid rock,’ he laughed, fake and forced. ‘Well, I think that’s it for me.’ He unstrapped the Velcro cord from his ankle and handed Zadie the board. ‘Great fun. Yes. Jolly good.’ Ruben wondered why he suddenly felt like his father. All brittle and reserved. Zadie was watching, confused. ‘OK then. You carry on. Take your time with your new friends. I’ll see you up at the beach.’ He was still doing it, talking in clipped monotone. ‘Good,’ he added for pointless good measure.
Zadie stared at him in puzzlement for a second then one of the surfer kids – the one who’d been trying to impress her earlier – came over and asked her if she was going back in, gesturing for the spare board. Zadie seemed torn, on the cusp of trying to persuade Ruben not to call it quits yet but also flattered by the blond guy’s attention.
‘Great, yes,’ Ruben said. ‘You go. Have fun.’ He thrust the board in the boy’s direction and added with a slightly menacing whisper, ‘No funny business, I’ll be watching you!’ to the lad, before walking backwards for a couple of steps up the beach then turning and increasing his pace to a jogging stroll.
His brain was in overdrive. One half urging him to run away as fast as he could, the other half desperate to turn around and watch his daughter carve up the waves.
He could almost see his lovely easy life being sucked away from him like the tide. What if something happened to her, if she got ill, would he suddenly have to sit by her bedside at the hospital, life grey with worry. What if she got pregnant? Did he have to go and hunt down the culprit? What if she wanted to live with him? It wasn’t like some bad Tinder date that he could bat away with a casual, ‘Believe me, I’m really not worthy of you.’ But maybe he didn’t want to bat her away. Maybe he’d just had more fun than he’d had in as long as he could remember.
He felt his chest tighten again. Did Zadie know CPR?
Calm down, Ruben, it’s fine, he told himself. He had the best of both worlds; it was just two weeks and then he deposited her in Hove or Brighton or wherever it was she lived before any of this started. It was all fine. So why did he feel like he had something caught round his neck, desperate yet strangely reluctant to shake it off?
Chapter Nineteen
Dolly and Fox found the clue in a small red plastic box wedged into the nest of stones encircling the base of the huge heart-shaped stone. The box was cracked, water had leaked in over time and half the writing was obscured. Dolly had spent a moment or two staring at the remaining handwriting before she was able to speak over the lump in her throat. Seeing the words was like momentarily having the person back. It made her remember the letters he’d sent that her and Olive would argue over. Dolly had snuck one into her room and slept with it under her pillow until Olive found it and took it away.
‘So what does it say?’ Fox asked, his clothes still damp from their foray into the waterfall.
Dolly read out what was legible of the clue: ‘I am the only thing stronger than fear. I am treasure worth more than gold.’ She had no idea what that meant. She looked up at Fox. ‘Sounds like your kind of thing – are those Buddha’s words?’
Fox huffed a gentle, tired laugh. ‘No. Not that I know of.’
Dolly frowned. She had really wanted to nail this one. ‘OK, well let’s head up to the house, see if they know.’
But by the time they navigated their way through the tropical valley, through the gorse bushes and back to the Big House there was no one there. It took another ten minutes circling the house trying to find a spot with at least two bars of signal. Olive’s phone went straight to answerphone, so Dolly called Ruben, who had a vague grainy connection where he was down at the beach.
Ruben repeated the clue to make sure he’d heard it correctly, then huffed and said, ‘Sounds like a bloody Hallmark card. I don’t remember the clues being this difficult in the past.’
The unconscious ease with which she’d called Ruben wasn’t lost on Dolly. Just twenty-four hours ago, her palms would have been sweating at the very idea of dialling his number. Before she could think much about it, in the background she heard his daughter’s voice squeaking with excitement. ‘I know what it is!’ she shouted, ‘I know! I had a pencil case with it written on. It’s hope. Hope is the only thing stronger than fear!’
‘Blimey, well done!’ said Ruben with obvious astonishment. Then he thought for a minute and said, ‘Could it be the Hope and Anchor?’
‘Oh yeah, possibly,’ Dolly replied, still marvelling at the fact she was chatting so casually with Ruben. ‘Is it still here?’ The Hope and Anchor had been the only pub in the village.
‘Let’s hope so!’ said Ruben. ‘We’ll meet you there.’
Dolly tried Olive again, then sent her a text updating her on their whereabouts. Part of her
was quite relieved she hadn’t been able to get through.
They got to the village to discover that the Hope and Anchor was still in existence. Not only that, the whole place had been given a facelift. Still charmingly old-fashioned, but it no longer smelt nostalgically of stale beer and salt and vinegar crisps. Dolly remembered sitting curled in the window seat with a colouring book and her Barbies, while her parents chatted to everyone they knew. It was all raucous and animated and people would always slip her and Olive a pound each for the fruit machines. Now the tables were polished rather than sticky, and the floor was gleaming wood rather than swirling cigarette-burnt carpets.
Fox went to the bar to get the first round. Dolly, Ruben and Zadie found a table in the corner by the mottled window. Where there had once been fraying fake carnations in white vases on the tables, there were now fresh-cut posies of wild flowers. But the newly painted dark red walls still had the black-and-white pictures of shipwrecks and comfortingly there was still scampi in a basket on the menu. An old toothless sea dog in dirty blue overalls, a relic of the past, snoozed into his pint at the bar and a middle-aged couple in the corner sipped quietly on gin and tonics.
‘Not quite like it used to be,’ said Ruben, glancing around at the polished wood and artful displays of classic hardbacks and coils of fishing rope.
Dolly shook her head. She tried to conjure up old images of him as they spoke. Him leaning dark and louche against the oak trees in the rain, tendrils of cigarette smoke in the air as he bitched about his father. Olive straddling a tree branch, stretching forward to pluck the fag from his fingers. Dolly perched on a crumbling picnic table in awe.
She tried to overlay the image with the one sitting next to her now, trying to sort Zadie out with the Wi-Fi code so she could play a game on his phone, while at the same time trying to make polite chat with Dolly. He looked remarkably dad-like. He’d filled out, no longer the sinewy skinny rake, still no muscle tone. His clothes were quite showy. All labels that Dolly had never heard of. His phone was top of the range. His watch looked like it weighed a tonne. His car keys had an Aston Martin fob. As much as Dolly wanted it to, none of it chimed with the way she lived her life. The hours she spent in the gym. The hours she spent working. To her, his car was just a police report waiting to happen.
‘And so how have you been, Dolly? I hear you’re in the police. It must really suit you, you look great,’ he was saying, half distracted by Zadie, who couldn’t get what she wanted to download.
This was exactly what she’d dreamed of, Dolly thought, the admiration, the clear appreciation. But in reality, the feeling inside was like the deflation after unwrapping all the Christmas presents; however good the gifts inside, nothing could ever live up to the anticipation.
Zadie suddenly put the phone down and said, ‘I have to go to the loo, I’m bursting!’ Ruben helped her clamber out of the window seat. Dolly found herself struck by a realisation that was far stronger than the feeling of deflation. It was relief. The heart-tightening humiliation and adoration was gone. She was free from the grip of the crush. It made her want to laugh. It did in fact make her giggle.
‘Are you all right?’ Ruben asked, sitting back down with a bemused frown, uncertain of the joke.
‘Fine,’ said Dolly, trying to wipe the smile off her face.
‘What’s so funny?’ Ruben asked, self-consciously checking his shirt and hair. ‘Is it something to do with me? Do I have something on my face?’
‘No.’ Dolly held up a hand to stop his paranoia. ‘No, sorry, it’s nothing.’
‘No, go on, say what it is,’ he urged.
Dolly had got her giggles under control. She shifted in her seat and said, ‘It’s nothing, seriously, it’s just, all these years you’ve been there in my head as like the perfect guy. And now I’m here with you, I don’t fancy you at all!’
She watched Ruben’s face fall.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘good to know.’ Then sitting back, he added, ‘Christ, I didn’t realise I’d aged that badly.’
Dolly cringed. ‘No! I didn’t mean it like in a bad way. You’re very good-looking and stuff.’ She felt her face get hot as she floundered. ‘It’s not an insult. Just, you know, for me it’s a good thing that there’s nothing there, no attraction …’ She could feel herself digging further and further into a hole as he looked more and more hurt and offended. ‘Oh God, sorry Ruben, I didn’t mean …’ Dolly scrabbled for words, her cheeks crimson.
Ruben held up a hand. ‘It’s not a problem, Dolly. Think no more about it,’ he said, seeming to visibly lift himself up and force his jovial charm back in place. ‘I am delighted to be of service.’
Fox came over with the drinks, putting them down on the table. Aware he’d missed something by the awkward silence in the air, he looked from Dolly to Ruben. ‘All good?’ he asked.
‘Tickety-boo,’ said Ruben, reaching for his pint and taking an extraordinarily long sip.
Dolly nodded, now suppressing awkward, nervous giggles.
Fox sat down, clearly deciding to rise above it all and lifting his glass said, ‘Well, cheers, here’s to the next clue and finding a needle in a haystack!’ just as the door flew open and in bustled flame-haired, gold-lamé-clad Aunt Marge.
‘Hello, darlings, darlings. We’re here, we made it. Darned phone signal.’
Dolly jumped up, frowning. ‘Marge, what are you doing here?’
‘Oh, I came to keep an eye on my girls.’ Then she turned around like she’d lost something. ‘Where’s Olive gone?’
‘I’m here,’ said a tired and slightly exasperated voice from behind her as Olive entered the pub.
Dolly looked away.
Olive looked at everyone but Dolly. ‘Anyone need a drink?’
‘I could murder a port and lemon, darling,’ said Marge, then spotting Fox at the table she gave a little whoop of glee and snuggled down next to him in the booth. ‘Oh, I’m glad you’re here!’ She gave his arm a squeeze. ‘I do like a man with muscles,’ she winked, which in turn, across the table, seemed to make Ruben look even more dejected.
Oblivious to any tensions, Marge settled herself down, leather leggings crossed, hot-pink talons thrumming the table. ‘So the clue is somewhere in this pub, is it?’ she asked, looking round pleasantly surprised at the updated interior. ‘May as well give up now,’ she chortled.
Zadie trotted back from the toilet and took her seat again next to Ruben.
‘And here’s the pretty young thing!’ said Marge. ‘Look at those fabulous shorts!’
Zadie beamed, dipping into an almost curtsy to show off her blue striped shorts printed with giant roses. ‘We’ve just been in the BEST waves. They were like higher than us! Da— I mean Ruben did a massive wipeout, it was so funny!’
Marge said, ‘That sounds tremendous. I still can’t believe you have a daughter, Ruben.’ Then to Zadie she added, ‘Do you know I took on Dolly and Olive when they were not much older than you? How my life changed. It was quite eye-opening, I can tell you. All those hormones. Phew.’
Olive came over with drinks for her and Marge and took a seat on a spare stool.
Marge took a gulp of her port and lemon. ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’
Dolly said, ‘We weren’t that bad, Marge.’
Marge reached over and squeezed Dolly’s hand. ‘No darling, you weren’t bad at all, it was me. I was used to living the single life. Girl about town. Man in every port, you know, nudge nudge, wink wink,’ she elbowed Fox, who couldn’t help but good-naturedly grin. Marge put her glass down. ‘It was a baptism by fire to suddenly have two teenagers in the flat. Squabbling away. I’d never had to get up so early. I remember I’d haul myself awake and there was Olive making breakfast and getting school uniforms ready.’
Next to her, Olive was picking at a beer mat and she glanced up briefly. Dolly wasn’t certain if they made eye contact or not.
Marge carried on. ‘I was dreadful,’ she said over the table to Zadie, ‘didn’t know whether
I was coming or going. But I got there in the end. I worked out what I was doing, didn’t I, Dol?’
Dolly nodded, more to make Marge feel good rather than it being true. Remembering Marge in her satin dressing gown, packet of Benson and Hedges and a black coffee, head in hands over how early it was, while Dolly scraped mould off the strawberry jam.
‘We had fun, didn’t we?’ said Marge.
Dolly said, ‘Yeah, we had fun.’ Because sometimes it had been fun. Like living with a socialite. All sequins and feathers and pink gin. Just a little bit less cosy than home had been, and a little bit more lonely.
‘Kids,’ Marge added, scrunching up her nose and patting Olive on the leg, ‘they turn your life upside down but always in a good way.’
Across the table, Ruben had paled. ‘Actually, Zadie’s just staying with me for the fortnight. While her mother is—’
But Marge cut him off. ‘Oh no, it’s never just a fortnight, Ruben. You might think it is, but oh no. It’s for life. Like puppies,’ she added. ‘Not just for Christmas and all that.’
Ruben was looking significantly less jovial than he had been earlier that day when Dolly and Fox arrived. He patted his trouser pockets, clearly looking for his phone, a safety-blanket to dive into, then realised Zadie had it. He excused himself to go to the bathroom.
Just as Ruben was going, Fox stood up and said, ‘I’ll get another round. What d’you want, mate?’
‘A gun to the head,’ Ruben replied morosely.
Fox gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm. ‘I’ll get you another pint.’
Ruben nodded and sloped off to the loo.
Dolly watched him go. She felt like she was having an out-ofbody experience. Being in a pub with Ruben de Lacy, unconsciously having dealt him a blow similar to the one she’d experienced years earlier. Validating Marge’s attempts at parenthood. No interruptions, bizarrely, or contradictions from Olive. Dolly felt weirdly powerful. ‘So where do we think the clue’s going to be, then?’
Zadie put Ruben’s phone down and said, ‘It could be anywhere.’