One Lucky Summer

by Jenny Oliver

  The sky got darker and darker. The moon a thin white slice above him. Ruben rested his forehead on the rock above where the little crab was wedged, waiting for Zadie to come back with a rescue team.

  He stared at the crab’s tiny claws hugged tightly to its body. ‘What a fool your Uncle Ruben is.’ He thought how he would like to curl up tight. Wedge himself in a rock and disappear. Then he realised that was exactly what had happened – bar the curling up bit – and it was bloody awful.

  Just don’t think about the tide, he told himself, don’t think about it. He should have asked Zadie whether the sea was close enough to swell up under him in an underground cave. Was it his imagination or was the sound of the waves getting louder?

  Think about something else, he told himself. But what could he think about? He thought about Olive. Her smile. Her laugh. There was no doubt about it, Ruben surrounded himself with yes women. The more they giggled at his jokes, the more he kept them in his life. But he was beginning to realise the value of a real, proper laugh. When earned from someone like Olive, it was worth ten thousand little giggles.

  He thought about her face. The sharp angles of it. The statuesque beauty. You wouldn’t call Olive pretty. You’d call her striking. But actually, he didn’t really care. She could look like the back end of a bus and he’d still enjoy her company.

  Would he?

  He tried to imagine Olive really ugly.

  No. He’d have to be marginally attracted to her.

  He imagined her really old with no teeth and moles with hairs sticking out of them, and black hairs on her chin that she was too short-sighted to pluck. He’d pluck them for her, happily. ‘Give me the tweezers, darling Olive, and let me pluck your chin hairs.’ That must be a sign of love.

  Ruben grimaced. Love.

  Interesting.

  He looked up at the sky.

  Not all black but dotted with a trillion tiny pinpricks of light.

  He presumed Zadie and Marge were waiting for the others before launching a rescue plan. Were Dolly and Olive still out searching or had they given up, choosing instead to laugh at how old and bald and ugly he’d become? He was loath to admit it but he had the first sprouting of back hair. Imagine if Dolly had got a glimpse of that, how much worse her impression of him would have been?

  Ruben frowned. Who would pluck his back hair when he was too decrepit to contort himself and the tweezers into position? Maybe he wouldn’t need anyone to because he would be old and alone, having tried too hard to be young and single. Because, as Zadie had said, he was just a scared old – well, approaching middle-aged – man.

  Oh Ruben. What would Stormzy think of you now? Dangling between two rocks, wedged by your thickening belly. He’d demand those tickets back.

  ‘Shit!’ he shouted.

  The crab woke up and scuttled off.

  ‘Don’t go!’ he called, reaching out to try and stop the little crab and inadvertently knocking it off the rock down into the black sea. ‘Oh my God, I’ve killed it!’ Ruben could hardly breathe for shock. Was it dead? He’d never know. And to his surprise and horror, he felt tears well up in his eyes. Warm and hot, the moisture unable to be repressed as it spilled over onto his cheeks. He wiped it away but it kept coming. More and more. Big, heaving sobs.

  And, of course, he wasn’t crying for the crab. But he was seeing himself shivering on a garden bench, still reeling from the shock of being exiled from his own home. He was wincing from the good hard slap round the face when he’d tried to stand tall at the orangery and defend his love for Olive, questioning how it was any different from the fresh revelation of his father’s affair with Olive’s mother. The collective shame when Lord de Lacy had sneered, ‘She’s nothing. Just a common slag.’ The strength of his father’s hand on his collar as he’d frogmarched him away like a prisoner. Watching, helpless, the vicious punch-up with Olive’s father on the steps of the Big House when he’d demanded Lord de Lacy face him like a man. The doomed reunion with Olive at the cottage, ‘I can’t leave them now, Ruben.’ Her mother catatonic. Dolly desperate. It was all so muddied with hysteria. ‘I think it’s probably for the best, anyway,’ Olive had said, unable to quite meet his eye, his shocked pleading turning curt from battered pride. He saw himself waving goodbye to Geraldine, the de Lacy housekeeper, who made him shepherd’s pie and had been the one to hug him tight when he’d cried as a little boy. His mother sat next to him in the Bentley as they drove away. Didn’t even turn to look at the house. Staunch. No one mentioned the affair, brushed it under the carpet and set sail for new shores. He remembered looking at her thin, tanned arms and wondering if they had ever hugged anyone.

  Ruben stared at the cold, grey rock. Tears streaming of their own accord down his cheeks. He saw his father in his suit on a bed of satin, the cold grey face of a stranger who somehow managed still to be disappointed even in death.

  ‘Shit!’ he shouted again. He really needed to broaden his swear words. What was it Tatiana from the spa always said? Holy moly. Ruben laughed. Then a sob. There was snot everywhere and tears. He didn’t have a tissue. He used his hand. It was gross. He didn’t care. He put his head back, looked up at the starry sky and wept quietly, bottom lip trembling like he was a six-year-old boy alone in his boarding school bedroom.

  And what was it Zadie had said? That he was scared of being loved? No, he thought of all the cool stares of disdain, the sighs of irritation, it wasn’t being loved he was afraid of – Christ, to be loved felt like the pinnacle. What he was afraid of, he realised, dangling alone in a ravine, was the crushing disappointment of wishing to be loved in return.

  He was snapped out of his weeping reverie by icy water suddenly splashing at his ankles.

  ‘Shit!’ he cried. Then, ‘Holy moly!’ Then ‘HELP!’ at the top of his voice.

  The tide was most definitely coming in and it was coming in fast. His feet were soaked.

  Ruben was going to die.

  He was going to drown slowly like they do in the movies, head tipped back as water slowly rose around his frantic pleas. They would find him when the tide receded, dangling like a fool and somehow prise his limp body out. How would they do it? Especially if rigor mortis set in. Would they pull him out with a crane? Or a crowbar. Oh, it was so depressingly mortifying. He imagined all the villagers coming out to look.

  Jesus. This was no time for daydreaming about a humiliating death. This was real. It was dangerous. He didn’t want to die. He was a man in his prime. He had a young daughter. He was a new father. How would the headlines refer to him? Successful businessman and father of one – it had a nice ring to it. Would he make the headlines? Focus!

  ‘HELP!’ he bellowed again. He had living still to do. He’d only just got the Aston Martin for Christ’s sake.

  The water was rising.

  ‘Please, I don’t want to die.’

  He wanted to see Olive again, if only for her to berate him for his unfeeling behaviour.

  Then he heard Zadie’s little voice bellow, ‘He’s this way!’ as she led the charge for the rescue. ‘He’s stuck down here!’

  ‘Oh thank God!’ Ruben cried, hands together in prayer at the sound of his daughter. ‘Please, come quickly, the tide’s coming in! I don’t want to drown.’ Ruben swiped at his tears with his hands. The water splashed against his legs. His overwrought brain almost delirious, expecting the end but fighting the finality. To thine own self be true. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to be loved. He wanted to be a father. He wanted to see Olive again.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ The voice was distinctly lacking in emotion. Ruben opened one eye. There was Olive. ‘What are you doing down there? You complete idiot. You could have died.’ She was staring down the gap in the rocks, her hands on her hips.

  ‘I could still die!’ Ruben pleaded.

  Olive rolled her eyes. ‘You’re not going to die.’

  ‘But the tide!’

  ‘Ruben, you’re nowhere near the tide. You’re stuck in a gap in the cli
ff.’

  ‘But the water. I can feel it.’

  ‘The water is from an overflow pipe off the fields.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ruben paused, he wiggled his leg; now she mentioned it, the water did seem to be coming from one particular source.

  ‘Yes,’ said Olive. ‘Oh,’ she sighed, ‘how the hell are we going to get you out?’

  Half an hour later, Ruben had a rope tied under his armpits. The rope had been sourced by Marge from one of the sheds, who was currently staring down at him with unconcealed amusement. Fox had tied a bowline before chucking the looped rope down for Ruben to pass over his head and arms. Just the simple fact Ruben didn’t know how to tie such a knot himself added to his sense of humiliation and failure. Marge’s chuckling further exacerbated the feeling.

  ‘OK,’ said Fox. ‘The rope is secure, so you’re not going anywhere, Ruben. I’m going to abseil round’ – ’course he was, Ruben sighed – ‘and free your stuck foot, then we’re going to try and lift you out. That OK?’

  Ruben nodded. ‘Fine, mate.’

  Fox winked and chucked him a thumbs-up.

  Everyone seemed to be finding it all a jolly good laugh.

  He could hear Dolly saying, ‘You sure you’re OK doing this?’

  ‘It’s what I’m trained for,’ Fox replied gleefully. There was lots of clicking and unravelling and whatnot. Ruben imagined him knotting himself some expert climbing gear. Everyone would be very impressed.

  He heard Olive say, ‘Maybe we should just leave him there. Best place for him.’

  Ruben’s mouth fell open. He felt thoroughly sorry for himself. His shoulders sagged. Maybe they should just leave him there. Zadie hadn’t even really looked at him, just focused on the rescue attempt. Ruben stared dejectedly at the craggy rock face when suddenly a familiar little shape scuttled past. ‘Crab!’ Ruben gasped.

  There was the tiny green translucent crab, happily nestling itself into the crack in the rock. By all accounts it could be a completely different crustacean but Ruben wanted to – needed to – believe that this was his friend, returned in his hour of need. He could feel the tears again.

  ‘Pull yourself together, Ruben! Can’t keep blubbing like a baby,’ he said to himself. But Crab …

  And then he heard a voice from above, Zadie’s voice, cut through the melee, ‘Don’t say that, Olive.’

  Ruben strained to hear over all the talking and shouting and general abseiling noise.

  ‘You don’t have to defend him, Zadie,’ said Olive. ‘He’s been dreadful to you.’

  ‘OK! Stand back!’ he heard Dolly shout.

  Be quiet, be quiet, he urged. Trying to hear Zadie’s reply.

  ‘… and my mum said, “Zadie! I told you Ruben’s a prat. But you wanted him as a father and you can’t pick and choose a parent,” and when I said, “But he said he didn’t want to be my dad,” she said, “Zadie, I’ve never known you to give up so easily. I’m sure even Ruben has some good points. We all have our faults,” and then she said some other things that I can’t really remember. But she said, “You can’t expect too much of people.” Which is something that I know that I do. And she said, “Zadie, you know that’s something you do.” And she said, “Did you go in all guns blazing? I warned you this isn’t a Disney film! You’ve got to give people a chance to change. You’ve waited all these years, are you really going to write him off this quickly? You’re cleverer than that, Zadie, surely!” And I am cleverer than that and, I mean, I’ve had time to adjust to this. He’s had like, no time at all.’

  Ruben basked in the melody of her non-stop explanation. The irrational rationality of her reasoning. Her lyrical defence of his character. He allowed himself a small smile. He gave a nod of thanks to her mother, who he was going to have to work on getting onside asap.

  Zadie was still talking. ‘And then on the way here, Fox said there was this Tibetan proverb that went, “Nine times fail, nine times try again.” And I kinda liked that. You know, however hard it gets, don’t give up. I’d like to go to Tibet. Have you ever been to Tibet?’

  Praise be to Fox.

  Speak of the devil. ‘All right, mate?’ came Fox’s dulcet tones from below him.

  ‘Just dandy,’ Ruben drawled wryly. He’d never say a bad word about this guy ever again. He was true hero.

  Fox laughed. ‘Hell of mess you’ve got yourself into.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Ruben, closing his eyes with unmitigated relief as he felt Fox’s big hands free his stuck foot. And above him he heard Zadie asking, ‘Where even is Tibet?’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Olive had to admit she had drifted off a couple of times during Zadie’s explanation as to why she’d forgiven Ruben. But it was heartening to see them now, Ruben all scratched and bruised – both in ego and body – with his arm wrapped tight around Zadie, her salty hair tickling his cheek as he rested it on her head, closed his tired eyes and said, ‘I thought I was going to drown before being able to tell you properly how sorry I am.’ Zadie’s arms gripped tight around his waist like a toddler refusing to let go, so when they walked they walked as one, a three-legged race back to the Big House. Her grin as wide as anything Olive had ever seen. Victorious in her relentless campaign.

  Later, when most people were in their rooms and Zadie was fast asleep, Olive went to sit in the garden on her own. She couldn’t sleep, there was too much whirring in her brain. The dying embers of the fire pit glowed in front of her. She gazed, hypnotised, feeling strangely hollow. The feeling one gets from having wasted time.

  She could tell by the tread of the footsteps behind her that it was Ruben coming to join her outside. She turned her head. He was standing in the doorway with a tumbler of whisky in hand. ‘Want one?’ he asked.

  She shrugged. ‘OK.’

  He poured her a glass and came and sat down. He smelt of lavender bubble bath. His hair was still damp. He was dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt. More casual than she’d so far seen him.

  She thanked him for the drink. Their eyes caught. Just for a fraction of a second in the glow of the sitting-room lights. Olive immediately looked away. Neither of them spoke. The silence became so entrenched it felt impossible to break. Olive didn’t know what she wanted to say anyway.

  Ruben chucked a handful of kindling on the fire pit and gave it a blow. Tiny flames started to lick. ‘She’s a good one to have in your corner – Zadie,’ he said, coaxing the fire back to life.

  ‘Yeah!’ Olive laughed, surprised by the opener. ‘You’re damn lucky.’

  He caught her eye and smiled, broad and cocky and perfect white teeth. Immediately Ruben. ‘Forgiveness is a valuable trait, Olive.’

  Olive arched a brow but didn’t say anything.

  Ruben looked down at the floor like a naughty schoolboy. ‘I am sorry, you know. That I was such a prat with Zadie. It was unforgivable.’ He looked up from under dark lashes, almost testing the water. ‘Do you think it’s unforgivable?’

  Olive looked at him, face softening. She shook her head. ‘Who am I to judge?’ she said, ‘especially in the face of Zadie’s all-encompassing compassion.’

  Ruben smiled, sat back in his chair. ‘As I said, great one to have in one’s corner.’

  When Olive studied him closer, he looked tired. Bruised and scratched. His eyes were lined. He looked suddenly like he was stripped back to the Ruben of yore. He shifted position, wincing from the pain of various cuts and bruises. Having to move his leg with his hands because of the vicious wound on his ankle. In the end, he sat with one leg outstretched, the other bent and supporting his elbow. His chin resting on his palm. Like injury scaffolding. ‘I think I got my punishment,’ he said, glancing with wry amusement at all his ailments.

  Olive laughed.

  Ruben grinned like he’d scored a goal. Then he said, ‘So what happened with you and Dolly?’

  Olive looked down at her drink. ‘She just showed me how much I did wrong. You know, back then.’

  Without mi
ssing a beat, Ruben said, ‘I thought you did amazingly.’

  Olive glanced up. ‘You did?’

  ‘Hell yeah!’ he laughed. ‘Our families were a nightmare. Looking back, I don’t know what world they lived in.’

  Olive leant forward with her elbows on her knees and looked out at the dusky parkland ahead of them. ‘This world,’ she said. An owl hooted as if on cue. ‘It wasn’t real.’

  Olive could just picture her mother and father walking arm in arm through their secret paths in the grounds. Happily oblivious to the hierarchy of the place. When they were together, when he was home, blissful in their bubble.

  ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to deal with your mum the way you did,’ Ruben said. He looked at Olive, more serious now. ‘It was like you got one side of her and all the rest of us got the other.’

  Olive blew out a breath. ‘I don’t know, I don’t think I was very patient. I really remember wanting to hit her more than once. One time specifically when she was moaning about her life, about my dad never being there. And now I just feel guilty because I know she was struggling. But living with her, it was like you’re a rubbish truck and someone comes and empties all their rubbish in you and goes away happy, and there you are left with all the rubbish. Just churning it all up inside. That’s what it was like. All the time here.’ Olive glanced across at Ruben to check if he was judging her but he was just listening. She had a sudden memory of similar outpourings. Her pacing, him listening. ‘God, this is what we used to do, isn’t it? Me ranting on about my mother. No wonder we wanted to get away.’

  Ruben laughed, eyes sparkling. ‘Remember all those hours spent working out where we could go. Which countries we’d visit. Because stay here and we’d end up like them.’

  She remembered the planning. Lying on a blanket in the orangery, his fingers toying with her hair, and she’d say something like, ‘How about Greece?’ And he’d say, ‘Yep, Greece is good. Hot. Great food. Blue sea.’ And she’d say, ‘And me.’ And he’d say, ‘That’s all I need.’ She remembered the certainty of his voice, the smell of his skin, the security of him next to her. She remembered how talking to him was like talking to an exact equal – the very best friend she could have – who made her laugh, made her feel better. Made her feel worthy of her own emotions.