The Likely Resolutions of Oliver Clock

by Jane Riley

  Jean nodded. ‘I have to say that was a lovely sales pitch – and I do like your dress,’ she added.

  ‘Thank you. It’s from my sister’s vintage clothing store.’ Edie let Jean touch her skirt and they had a moment admiring the fabric, which unexpectedly made me jealous. I could appreciate quality material as well as anyone.

  ‘I still think it’s a crazy notion,’ Jean continued, ‘but you’ve got me intrigued. I can’t imagine what I might smell like.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ Edie said. She got her pen poised. ‘All you have to do is tell us what you like.’

  ‘Pastries,’ I blurted, and winked at Jean.

  ‘I don’t always eat pastries.’ Jean fiddled with her brooch.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought: a buttery undertone with the sweetness of honey. Perhaps notes of vanilla and a hint of figs? Do you like figs?’

  ‘I do. I also like chocolate. Seventy per cent dark,’ Jean said. ‘I won’t settle for anything less than delicious, you know, and if I’m happy with the candle, I’d like to keep it once you’ve finished parading me around.’

  ‘Of course, thank you. You’re a star!’ Edie leapt up and gave her a hug.

  Jean accepted the informal acknowledgement of thanks and even patted Edie’s back, which must have meant she had made an impression. ‘On that note, I’m leaving for the day. Lovely to meet you, Edie. I look forward to your creation.’

  ‘Thanks, Jean,’ I said. ‘Can you swing the door sign to “Closed” on your way out?’

  We listened to the front door click shut and it seemed as if, for a minute at least, my office was now scented with figs and honey.

  ‘How lovely is she?’ Edie said.

  ‘Jean’s amazing; she’s been with us for years,’ I said. ‘If you can get her candle right, she’ll be singing your praises.’

  ‘No pressure, then?’ Edie laughed.

  ‘Well, if it’s anything like Marie’s . . . You captured her perfectly. Another biscuit?’ I offered her the plate.

  ‘I’d better not. I do a lot of baking and should really cut down my consumption.’

  ‘Baking?’ I said, my interest piqued.

  ‘Do you bake?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I’m better at eating it.’ I laughed. ‘What do you like to make?’

  Edie pulled out her phone and showed me a photo. ‘This is a favourite. It’s a three-layer hazelnut meringue with berries and mascarpone cream. I’ve made it a few times for friends for special occasions.’

  Edie was rapidly going up in my estimation: a woman with the nose of a sommelier and an expert baker. What an excellent business partner she was becoming. ‘Are you sure you’re in the right vocation?’ I laughed again. ‘It looks better than half the things at the patisserie down the road, and I should know, as I’m a valued customer.’

  ‘Pharmaceuticals pays the bills,’ she explained. ‘But I do prefer being creative.’

  ‘Let’s continue being creative, then,’ I said. ‘What do we do next?’

  ‘I thought we could have some brochures made, then go door-knocking at nursing homes and florists’. Take the samples. Try and sell them.’

  ‘I know just the person to photograph them,’ I suggested, telling her about Andy.

  ‘Great,’ she agreed, ‘and I’ve written some copy.’ She handed me a typed sheet.

  Send your senses down memory lane. Our Lumières by Edie Jones are bespoke soy candles handmade in memory of your dearly departed. The scent is made to your exact specifications in honour of the person who has passed away. The candle will embody scents of your beloved and be a beautiful reminder of everything they represented to you. The essence of your loved one will become a special candle with a burn time of 48 hours. We’ll keep your bespoke scents on file so the candles can be refilled as you wish. What better way to remember that special person who has passed than with Les Lumières by Edie Jones?

  ‘Excellent! This is what you needed to give me when you first came in. I might have signed up straight away.’

  She laughed. ‘Sometimes it’s easier writing things down.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I said, thinking of Dad’s very useful Folder.

  ‘Then I thought, down the track, if people are liking them, we could create a website, do PR . . .’

  ‘Morning television?’ I said, putting a hand to my heart. What suit would I wear?

  ‘That might be jumping the gun.’

  ‘Of course.’ I nodded, coming back down to earth. But it did sound gloriously enterprising. No one would want to die without having a candle made of them. I’d show the other crowd how to run a funeral home from the heart; how to be sincere not saccharine; how to be traditional with a twist. ‘And what about costs – margins and pricing? I can’t really buy them off you wholesale when they’re made to order, can I?’

  ‘I was thinking the best way would be for me to calculate the cost of production – which I have done, based on what I’ve made already – we agree on a retail price and then split the profit fifty-fifty.’

  ‘That sounds a very good plan,’ I agreed, the symmetry of her numbers proving most amenable. ‘I’m not familiar with bespoke candle prices so I’ll let you guide me.’

  ‘Well, we don’t want to make them too expensive or too cheap. I’ll email you a spreadsheet of the pricing I’ve done so far and you can let me know what you think.’

  I smiled and glowed from the inside, as if I had been lit myself. I had never thought of myself as an entrepreneur. Or should I be called a funereal-preneur? The thought made me laugh out loud, which was disconcerting for Edie. More so when I slapped the table in glee, juddering the teacups on their saucers.

  ‘Oops, sorry,’ I said, apologising for my enthusiasm, which sounded like an odd thing to do in retrospect. But thankfully my excitement only added to hers and we must have looked a right pair, high-fiving each other over the desktop when really we should have formally shaken hands.

  I just hoped the idea took off.

  The Beach

  There’s nothing like starting a new business venture to end the week. Or, I noted, shake up one’s year. Over the years I had thought about trying something new. Once, I was going to learn French cooking so I could impress Mum with the French theme or woo a girl I hadn’t yet met. But then I had visions of getting a call-out in the middle of whisking a roux sauce and the thought of congealed lumps forming as I was forced to abandon it made me never take it up in the first place. It’s there somewhere in my notebook from about two years ago, which is where it has remained in written form ever since.

  But now, thanks to Edie, I was starting something new and doing something for the business, and I hadn’t even written it down. It called for a spontaneous celebration with someone at the pub. But Andy was having a date night with Lucy, and my other friends who were reliable last-minute pub-goers, Terry and Simon, were tied up with babysitting (Terry) and a fortieth-birthday party (Simon). I didn’t feel I knew Caroline well enough to ask her for an unexpected Friday night drink, and anyway, I was seeing her on Sunday. I went home and decided to celebrate with Marie.

  What I also secretly wanted was Marie’s approval of Caroline. Not so much what she thought of her but to know that she didn’t mind me going out with her. After pouring myself a beer and lighting Marie’s candle, I broached the subject.

  ‘So, I’ve been asked out by Caroline again,’ I began. ‘It seems she still wants to see me – ha! The thing is, I don’t want you to be upset about it. It doesn’t change how I feel about you but Caroline seems good fun and it would be a shame to say no to a date when it’s being offered, don’t you think? That’s what I’ve been telling myself anyway.’ I drank some beer, enjoyed the scent of the candle. ‘You know I’ve always valued your opinion and it would be most reassuring if I knew you approved.’ I paused to gauge Marie’s response. It was always hard to tell but, as I was used to talking to cadavers, I wasn’t anticipating an obvious response. Eventually, the flame flickered and I took t
hat as a yes. ‘Thank you, Marie,’ I whispered.

  Happy that Marie had given me her blessing, I decided to clean the fridge.

  On Sunday, I met Caroline at our agreed meeting spot on the boardwalk by the third tree at the beach. The sounds of the sporadic squeals of children in the shallows and the sea licking the sand came to us in waves of warm air. Heat steamed the pavement and scorched our skin.

  ‘How great is this?’ Caroline said. ‘Look at it, what a view.’ She gestured to the vista and I thought she was about to break out into a dance twirl.

  It was a spectacular sight. Everything sparkled as if sprayed with glitter. I salivated at the thought of an ice cream.

  ‘How about a swim?’ Caroline said.

  I looked longingly elsewhere and then spotted an ice cream shop across the road. ‘Maybe an ice cream first?’ I suggested.

  ‘OK.’ She shrugged and hooked an arm in mine, and we strolled to the shop. I kept our strolling to a lazy pace to string out the length of time it took to buy a cone, eat it and let the food settle before swimming was mentioned again. Caroline smelled of coconut and sun cream and the shop of hot waffles. It was all far more enticing than what lay behind us.

  Once we had bought our cones, we walked back, linking arms again. I repeated the lazy stroll until a bench seat came into view. I veered us in its direction.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Caroline said.

  ‘I find it’s more comfortable looking at the beach than sitting on it, particularly when eating ice cream. All that sand, you know?’

  ‘You’re too funny,’ Caroline said. ‘But that’s what you do when you’re at the beach. You sit on the sand. Come on!’ she cried, and pulled me away.

  I lurched forward against her tug and watched in slow motion as my scoop of raspberry ice cream toppled from its beautiful perch on the delicately spun waffle cone on to the concrete before me. It splattered and dispersed, resembling, I noted with disconcerting accuracy, a freshly transplanted heart.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Caroline said. ‘Here, you can share mine.’ She shoved her choc-mint ice cream under my nose.

  I gave it a lick but it wasn’t the same. ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I’ve still got the cone.’

  ‘I insist we share,’ Caroline said. ‘Come on, let’s find a spot on the sand. We can sit on our towels.’

  I took a bite of my cone and reluctantly joined Caroline on the sand.

  As soon as her cone was gone, Caroline leapt up, as if the sugar had just hit her bloodstream. She threw off her dress and announced, ‘Time for a swim,’ with the enthusiasm of someone who loves swimming far more than their companion does. I watched her run down to the water, calling for me to join her. I swallowed a gulp of dismay. It’s not that I thought we wouldn’t go into the water, it was more that I had underestimated her love for it and my residual fear. Yet I didn’t want our Sunday ruined because I stayed stuck in the sand. Wasn’t I on an outing with a woman who was keen for me to accompany her in everything she did? I wasn’t spending my Sunday alone and lonely, but with a vivacious woman who was throwing herself into the experience. So I joined her at the water’s edge. Little waves splashed my ankles and chilled my broiled feet.

  ‘This is bliss,’ she said, raising her face to the sun.

  I made a non-committal noise, not wishing to let on that I was more of a stroll-along-the-promenade kind of a guy, despite the dangers of runners, cyclists, skateboarders and power-striders with pedometers attached to their arms jostling for space on the pavement. You couldn’t be too careful.

  ‘It’s swimming I love the most,’ she said. ‘Not that I swim-swim. It’s more floating around like a bloated starfish. I could probably do with swimming properly. I mean, I did tell myself I needed to get fit.’ She looked as if she was taking a moment to seriously consider the idea before shaking it off as if shooing away flies. ‘OK, let’s do it.’

  Then she was in, jogging until she was in up to her knees then diving. She emerged as if being spat out of a drain, water spraying as hair flew around her head and stuck to her face. She peeled it off. I waded in a little further. My knees didn’t object. She wallowed on her back, toes pointing to the sky.

  ‘You’ve got to get in quickly.’ She laughed.

  I edged in some more. A part of me really did want to dive in like she had but I couldn’t make myself do it. The depths unnerved me. You just don’t know what goes on under all that water. Things lurked. Invisible rips tugged and pulled and the surf ricocheted you around like a pinball in a slot machine. Then there’s the marine life.

  ‘Come on,’ she called.

  I waved. I didn’t want to be ungrateful for her encouragement yet I couldn’t help but think that Marie wouldn’t have been so bossy.

  ‘You’ve still got your T-shirt on.’

  I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply. It was now or never. I took off my T-shirt, felt the sting of the sun against the pastiness of my stomach, flung it back to the sand away from the sea and walked in. I should have made a running start, like Caroline had, but I disliked running more than I did swimming. An ice-cold tickle at my waist made me start.

  ‘It’s harder going in slowly,’ Caroline said.

  I bent my knees and slunk into the water, letting the sea sway around me, pushing and pulling, lifting me off my toes. For a second I forgot where I was, who I was with and what I was supposed to be doing. Or was that the point – that I was supposed to be enjoying the moment rather than worrying about what might happen next? I lay on my back, letting sunlight stick to my skin, salt settle in the creases of my lips and the sea gel my eyelashes together.

  ‘Yay, you’re in!’

  I gave her a thumbs-up.

  ‘Come and join me. You don’t need to stay in the shallows.’

  ‘It’s OK, I’m fine here.’ I was just happy that I was in the water with Caroline, together, even if there was a distance between us.

  ‘It’s more fun when you can’t touch the bottom.’

  I wished she wasn’t so persistent.

  ‘I’m not touching the bottom.’

  ‘Suit yourself. I’m going to swim out. It’s quite flat today but I want to try some body surfing.’

  I waved her off and splayed my arms and legs like a starfish to stay afloat. Closing my eyes, I enjoyed the heat of the sun on my face and the sensation of weightlessness. The tide tugged at my body, slowly coaxing me out of my depth. I let it. I tried to stay calm because I knew I could put my feet down at any moment. For a few minutes it was just me and the sea and the sky. Then a hand yanked at my swimming shorts from under the water. I swallowed a handful of sea and floundered. My arms flapped uselessly. I emerged as Caroline did, spurting water skyward like a dolphin.

  ‘It’s OK, I’ve got you,’ Caroline said.

  I couldn’t speak. I treaded water frantically and feared I resembled a heaving puffer fish.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a fright.’

  It’s impossible to shrug when you’re breathless beneath water. My feet flapped next to hers. Our chests touched, legs knocked. It couldn’t be helped. The sea was doing what I knew the sea could do best – taking control and manipulating us like puppets. Just as I got my breath back, Caroline planted a kiss on my lips. It was so quick and spontaneous that for a minute it was hard to believe it had happened and when my mind caught up it wasn’t sure what to think of it. Was it purely done for buoyancy or was it out of genuine romance? Or maybe both at the same time? Or was it merely the result of having been close – again – and Caroline couldn’t help herself and was now regretting such a forward, spur-of-the-moment decision? Right then, in the undulating sea, I felt unattractive and undeserving of her attentions whatever the reason for them and, even if I had wanted to reciprocate the kiss, her lips were now no longer where they had been, the distance between us having moved with the motion of the tide and our treadmill legs. My slow-to-respond, lingering pucker was captured by the salty air and blown away by the breeze. She smiled.
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br />   ‘Shall we get out?’ I suggested, unsure how to respond when all I could think about was the ache in my frantically treading legs.

  ‘Oh, come on, stay,’ she said.

  ‘I think I’ll head back.’ All I wanted was terra firma under my feet. The surety of damp, compacted sand under my soles and the dependability of gravity.

  ‘OK, I won’t be long.’

  I watched Caroline bob out to a breaker, then wave to me before I attempted a half-hearted breaststroke towards the beach. Finally, I had my feet on the sand, my body on the towel. I was spent. I flicked water off my face and squeezed the sea from the hem of my swimmers, then nestled into a dip in the sand and rested on my elbows and wondered, now that I could think more clearly, what to make of the kiss. Caroline emerged from the shallows, having taken a wave all the way to shore. She grinned at me and headed back out. How she loved it. How I didn’t love it. It was draining trying to love things that didn’t love me back. It suited me to keep my adrenal glands on energy save and my blood pressure simmering on low just as much as body surfing suited Caroline. Did it matter that we enjoyed different things? Didn’t opposites attract? Did the kiss mean anything?

  I was snoring when Caroline came back. I knew I was because I heard a snort erupt when she poked my shoulder.

  She laughed. ‘You’ll get sunstroke.’

  That was all I needed.

  We agreed to call it a day once Caroline was dry.

  But when a woman says she’s going to bus home and you’ve come by car, the only courteous thing to do is offer her a lift. Perhaps she’d been hoping for this all along, as Caroline didn’t hesitate to invite me back to hers for a drink. Buoyed by this unexpected date extension, I said yes. It was either that or going home to an empty apartment, soothing sunburn on my own, making tea for one and watching the six o’clock news by myself again.

  Caroline’s flat was all white – the walls, the floors, the sofa, the kitchen – glaring white with touches of pale pink and dove grey. On first glance it looked immaculate, until I spotted the papers shoved under the sofa, a basket jumbled with ‘stuff’ by the coffee table, magazines in a pile in one corner, a collection of used candles on the mantel. The smell of hours-old coconut suntan lotion still lingered in the air, along with the whiff of kitty litter.