Edie Browne's Cottage by the Sea

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘Would you be up for some extra furniture painting over the weekend to make this happen?’ He’s still there, looking suitably sheepish, then his face splits into a grin. ‘Double pay, and I’ll make sure there’s cake on Sunday, Edie B.’

  ‘You frigging well better.’

  As I swing my bucket up the steps to get on with my patchwork wall I’m more happy with myself for that fast comeback than annoyed. They’re Barney’s huts. As for which ones he chooses to sell, there’s more important stuff for me to give my fucks about. And I am happy Mary and Jim will be getting what they want.

  But so long as you overlook that I’m a sucker for unicorns and flamingoes, I’m not normally a pink person. I mean, hell, I’d take urban industrial over pansy petals any day. But now I’m up in the hut again, there’s something about the tiny glimpse of a triangle of sea from the window framed through the apple tree’s branches. I know that they’re totally moveable, and the view isn’t part of the hut anyway, so I’m being ridiculous here. But the way the light plays inside this one is kind of calm yet clear, and somehow the mismatch of patterns gives the sweetness an edge.

  So what am I saying here? Only that as I sit with my pasting brush and the shadows of leaves in the breeze flickering over me, the vintage radio tuned into Pirate FM playing Everything Eighties, sticking my paper rectangles to the wall, and thinking of how pretty the cupboards would look if we painted them apple green – or even the palest shade of dusty rose – I’m completely relaxed. Worse still, for someone who would have avoided this like a dose of chickenpox back in March, I have to admit that for this one tiny moment I’m enjoying myself. However unlikely it seems, Edie Browne is feeling the love here. And please don’t ask me which version of myself that is, because with every day that passes the edges are getting more and more blurred.

  I’m on my knees, trimming my pieces for the last row, when Dustin’s tail starts to thump on the lightly polished floorboards. As he looks up from where he’s lying in the doorway I can hear the sound of Aunty Jo’s chatting getting closer as she wanders across the grass. As her face appears in the doorway, her smile’s even brighter than usual and it’s funny to think there was a time when she didn’t smile at all.

  ‘There’s someone special here to see you, Sweetpea.’ There’s nothing unusual in this. She pops in several times a week to show off the huts to her new friends from the lunch club or the barn classes, and whoever they are, she always gives them the same build-up.

  ‘Lovely, come up and see.’ As I push my paste out of the way I know she’ll be as excited as I am when she sees where all those wallpaper samples she collected for me have ended up.

  ‘You might like to close your eyes, this is quite a big surprise.’ It’s a slightly odd variation, but I can tell from the low growl in Dustin’s throat that it’s a guy, and one he’s not totally sure of.

  ‘I’m probably okay.’ If she’s brought round some celebrity relation from the lunch club, I only hope I recognise them. I’d manage Ant or Dec, or Piers Morgan, or Graham Norton, otherwise I’ll be struggling. I mean, people say Simon Cowell’s tiny in real life. Not recognising people who think they’re famous is the most embarrassing thing, so as I turn around I’m screwing myself up for the biggest cringe moment ever.

  ‘Hello, Edie …’

  There’s a slight lurch as they step up into the hut, and in the moment before Dustin goes wild those two deep resonating words coming from behind Aunty Jo are enough to make my stomach drop through the floor.

  ‘M-m-marcus …?’ The triple flip my heart just did is making me feel like I’m about to throw up. Of all the fucks. For a minute the world stops turning. Even though we’re apart now, if only for all the happy years we spent together, I should already have leapt to my feet, thrown my arms around him and been pulled into a huge hug. But instead I’m frozen, glued to the white painted floor planks because the trauma of him turning up out of literally nowhere has sent my leg muscles into some kind of spasm. The whole point of spontaneous hugs is they’re impulsive, they work because you can’t hold them back. If you delay to consider they become impossibly laboured and awkward. By the time I shake myself back into the present enough to get hold of Dustin’s collar, the moment’s gone, and it’s too late. For both of us. Instead of a wild enthusiastic outpouring of waving arms and clashing bodies, it’s as if an invisible chasm has opened up in the hut floor.

  ‘What the hell happened to you?’ Marcus is running his fingers through his hair, even though it’s always so impeccably groomed and cut it only ever falls in the right place. ‘From what Bella said I was ready for a touch of Bohemian, not full-blown hippy-dippy native. You do know pale skin is the way forward, tans are well off-trend. I’ve got some great free samples of Heliocare factor 90 lying around at the office – if I’d known you were going to let yourself go this badly, I’d have sent sun block supplies.’

  ‘Lovely to see you too.’ I’d forgotten how full-on an onslaught from Marcus can be, and if I’m honest, as I finally manage to scramble to my feet and pull Dustin next to me to quieten him, the shock is two-way. Even in head to toe casuals, Marcus’s navy J. Crew shorts and matching maroon stripe polo are a lot more starchy than I remember. Now I’m more certain I’m not going to immediately bring up my lunch, I might as well ask. ‘What are you doing …’ I don’t want to sound like I’m assuming he’s here to see me. ‘… in St Aidan?’

  ‘You remember Devon?’ He’s flashing me his best charming smile, and even though I’m not picking it up, I know he’ll be doused in his favourite Christian Dior Sauvage body spray and smelling delectable. ‘I’m down for the usual week with “the olds”.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ I nod hard, and hope he doesn’t notice my shiver as I flashback to the annual rent-a-mansion-and-a-creek and think of all the seafood they’ll be chugging through. Even so, there’s a nostalgic twang in my middle for those nights we used to lie on the beach, just the two of us, the salt spray tangling our hair, our skin smelling of summer, trying to count the billion stars scattered across the sky.

  ‘They’ve chartered an ocean-goer this time. We’ve been out every day since Saturday, but the forecast for today was a bit blustery so I thought I’d drop by and catch up with you instead.’

  He’s been down for ages, he’s only here today because he couldn’t go out on his bloody yacht. It would have been a total waste to be sick, and my banging heart would do well to wake up to that message too, although I’m sure that’s more nerves than anything else. Then there’s another lurch of the steps, Dustin’s tail bangs against my legs, as guess who appears in the doorway.

  ‘I heard Dustin going bonkers.’ As Barney comes right on into the hut there’s sawdust in the dark waves of his hair and dust smears across his folded forearms. Next to the straight lines of Marcus’s sideburns, he’s looking achingly rough and rugged, and in the glint in his eye there’s a hint of that wicked we were talking about earlier. ‘Is everything okay in here?’

  ‘Barney, don’t worry, Edie’s fine, and isn’t this cosy?’ Aunty Jo beams, but as both guys seem to be taking up a ridiculously large amount of space, extremely crowded or horribly cramped would have been a better way of putting it. ‘This is Marcus, one of Edie’s friends from home. He arrived unexpectedly so I brought him across, I hope you don’t mind us disturbing Edie at work.’

  For some reason I’m pleased she’s making Marcus sound less significant than he once was and making it damned clear he’s turned up uninvited.

  ‘What the heck are you doing messing around in a shepherd’s hut of all places, Edes, we all know there’s only one thing you despise more in life, and that’s tree houses.’ Marcus wrinkles his nose as he stares around. ‘All these florals too, it’s like Edie’s body has been taken over by an alien force. Is this personality transplant down to the illness then, or did you get attacked by Cornish zombies?’

  So that’s what having all your secrets splurged in one breath feels like. It’s a relief I got that one
out of the way earlier or Barney might be looking even more gobsmacked. As it is, I know I haven’t been the biggest fan, but now my Dots and Daisies are under fire, the back of my neck is prickling and I’m coming over like a mama bear defending her cub. I know I might once have agreed with him wholeheartedly, but right now I’d happily claw Marcus’s face off for being so mean.

  ‘Sure, it’s a different area of the market to my usual one.’ I’ve no idea how that came out when what I meant to say was, And fuck you too, Marcus. ‘But at least I’m doing it with integrity.’

  Far from backing off, Marcus’s face lights up. ‘That’s my Edie, halting maybe, but still just as feisty.’ As he turns to look at Barney he’s crossed the invisible chasm and arrived in my personal space and, before I know it, he’s sliding his arm around me. ‘When we did up our house together, it was industrial all the way, she wouldn’t go within a mile of a flower. Good on her for coming up with the goods in a place that’s light years behind the cutting edge.’

  I’ve no idea why I feel like I’m dying here when Marcus is only telling the truth about the past. I’d rather not be lumped in with the insults though, or squished quite this tightly under his arm.

  Barney’s wrinkling his nose. ‘What can I smell?’ As a random way to show that Marcus’s barbs about St Aidan are completely flowing over him, it’s a great reply.

  I shrug. ‘No point asking me.’

  Aunty Jo sniffs too, then beams. ‘If you mean the man perfume, it’s very like my favourite one of Malcolm’s, Le Male by Jean Paul Gaultier. The bottle’s shaped like a body. Own up, who’s wearing it?’ It’s one of those questions we all know the answer to already. If Barney was the one asking it’s not going to be him.

  ‘Guilty as charged.’ Marcus puts his hands up.

  So not the Dior after all. This is the one that’s supposedly great for getting laid, so I could take that either way. Although it’s typical of upside-down-St Aidan that Malcolm uses it too. And, even stranger, Aunty Jo knows what the bottle looks like.

  ‘Malcolm is my friend’s dad. He’s in the over sixties club.’ It’s worth adding that last bit to see how far Marcus’s eyebrows shoot up in horror.

  ‘The surprises just keep coming today. First you working on cutesy caravans of all things, Edie, and now pensioners splashing on the Jean Paul G.’ Marcus is shaking his head, and laughing. ‘Well, we can’t stand here all day admiring polka dots and discussing male grooming, or you could break off early, Edie. I was hoping we’d find a better vibe further down the coast so I could take you out for dinner. I must admit I didn’t know you’d be working, I was hoping I could steal you away for the whole weekend.’

  I’m looking up at Barney and his face looks like a thundercloud just passed across it.

  ‘It’s your call, Edie. Whatever you decide, it’s fine with me.’

  ‘We could pull in some spa treatments, get you back in shape again.’ Marcus is staring down at me, and wearing his persuasive smile. Then, in the space where I’m thinking what the hell to say, some very familiar notes come from the radio, and as his smile melts to another level he turns to Barney. ‘Coldplay, Viva la Vida – they’re playing our song, Edie.’

  ‘Funny.’ There’s that wicked gleam in Barney’s eye again. ‘It just shows how wrong you can be. For months we’ve been thinking Edie’s favourite was All by Myself.’

  ‘Surely Edie must have told you about her Chris Martin crush by now, it’s all his fault she goes for blond and gaunt.’ Marcus glances at his wrist then back at me. ‘So are we good to go, Edes?’

  There’s a certainty about the way he’s just assuming I’ll agree. Who knows why, but all I can think of, as he taps the face of his latest Rolex, is his watch collection. How many rows of them he has, in special boxes. How we had to put a special lockable section in the wardrobe to keep them safe. And how I used to find it funny that he was always convinced he was the spit of Chris Martin, when he isn’t at all.

  ‘Don’t worry about Dustin, Sweetpea. I can always cover your walks.’ Aunty Jo is nodding, but her eyes are wide enough for her significant stare to be boring into me ‘You and Marcus have so much to catch up on.’

  ‘The dog’s yours?’ Marcus’s smile has flipped to high-pitched shock. ‘Since when did you want a dog?’

  ‘It’s a long story. Things change.’ What’s more, it’s wrong of him to roll up here thinking we can pick up where we left off without any seams. If he’d called ahead or arrived one conversation earlier, I’d have been completely free to go. As it is, whatever Barney says about letting me off, if I disappear for the weekend, Mary and Jim won’t get their delivery and it’s his reputation on the line. My loyalties are here. ‘And I’m sorry, Marcus, I can’t come with you, there’s a deadline.’

  ‘You are joking?’ It was worth saying if only to hear his shriek of disbelief. ‘You’re sticking pictures in a shepherd’s hut, where’s the urgency in that?’

  ‘I’ve got a client meeting, then an order to finish.’ And the way he’s reacting I’m even more decided, that’s what I’d rather do.

  ‘So you’re saying you can’t fit in a coffee between now and Sunday? There are important things I want to talk to you about.’

  ‘Probably best to leave it until I’m back home.’ I’m not meeting Aunty Jo’s eye because I know she’ll think I’m being stubborn to turn him down, that Marcus turning up could be serendipity offering me a second chance to grab a happy ever after, and I’m throwing it away. It’s not that I haven’t thought about what she said a while ago. But Marcus is a lot nicer on his own ground. Being all sneery and trying to play the macho man for Barney’s benefit is not the best look for him. And if he’s seriously got something significant to say, he’ll be prepared to wait a few weeks for me.

  It’s not lost on me – if he’d been willing to be even a tiny bit flexible at the time, the course of our lives might have been completely different. Not that I’m blaming him in any way, because I’m not. But if we hadn’t split up, I’d never have got to do the skydive to prove to the world – and possibly to him too – how great I was on my own.

  ‘Great, have it your own way, I’ll see you in Bath, then.’ Marcus is halfway down the steps when he hesitates, and turns. ‘Am I missing something here? When did you ever turn down dinner, Edie, let alone a weekend in a spa hotel, what are you not telling me?’

  ‘What … what?’

  ‘Thrown together, confined spaces, hearts and flowers … I should have known. You two, you’re an item, aren’t you?’

  ‘Hell, no.’ He couldn’t be more wrong. I’m glaring at Barney, then poking him on the arm because it might be helpful for him to back me up here instead of gazing vacantly out at the sea.

  ‘Absolutely not. I have no idea where you got that … er … idea, but it’s completely not true.’

  Marcus’s eyes narrow. ‘So what’s with the matching shirts then?’

  ‘Matching what?’ As I screw my head around and see what Barney’s wearing my gut collapses.

  ‘Work uniform.’ Barney’s expression is inscrutable. ‘You do know what the logos are? The seven deadly sins, in French. They’re ironic, by the way.’

  ‘Of course I bloody know, my Masters is in Modern European Languages for Chrissakes.’ However much of a dick he’s sounding, Marcus is determined to get the last word in here. ‘Way too sophisticated for a fishing village, and fuck all to do with caravans. If you and Poldark here decide to take some proper creative marketing advice, Edie, you know where I am.’

  We’re all still watching Marcus as he wrestles his way past the pear tree and back out onto the lane.

  ‘Well, thanks for that, Edie B. You giving up three days of luxury to stay here and work, means a lot. Mary and Jim will be very grateful.’ Barney’s clearing his throat. ‘In fact, we all are.’

  ‘Any time.’ I’d committed, I’m a professional, I couldn’t have made any other choice. I just hope everyone knows it’s for no reason other than because I wa
nt to finish the hut. I’m opening and closing my mouth, wondering how the hell to clear that one up, when there are more familiar notes on the radio.

  ‘It’s Raining Men.’ Aunty Jo is beaming at me. ‘How funny is that? They’re playing all your songs today, aren’t they Edie?’ She turns to Barney. ‘And you have to admit, it doesn’t get any better than being compared to Poldark, does it?’

  Somehow the hut is still vibrating as I turn to Barney. ‘Workplace … uniform?’

  ‘What?’ Barney’s grin is the width of St Aidan Bay. ‘There are seven of the damn things, we’re bound to turn up in the same ones some days, it’s the law of averages.’

  ‘Averages my arse.’

  As for holding my own with workplace comebacks, I reckon I’m pretty close to being back in the game.

  37

  Day 292: Monday, 20th August

  A night away …

  Epic Achievement: The last box.

  The next few weeks go by in blur, partly down to the heat haze, but mostly due to the fog on my sunnies. It’s a lovely change that everyone’s wearing them, not just me, but however much I wipe them my lenses steam up with a mix of sweat, sand grains, suncream and doughnut sugar. And mostly all four at the same time. The lotion is thanks to Marcus, who sent all the factors in a huge Jiffy bag the second he got back home, along with a note. The writing on his company compliments’ slip was so scribbly you didn’t need the Express Delivery sticker to tell he was in a major hurry. Everyone pitched in to help decipher the scrawl, but in the end not even the calligraphy experts could make out the words, so I’m none the wiser about what the message said, or the sentiments behind it.

  If we’re talking handwriting, it’s very encouraging that mine is way better than his. When I sent a postcard back, I made sure my Thanks for the factors, lovely to catch up again, Edie x note was super neat. These days I dash off the lettering on my signs without a second thought, but this took loads of tries before it was the kind of perfect that I wanted. It’s a good thing Plum gives me mates’ rates on her views of the bay. Loella insisted I should have sent him one of my own cards, but I didn’t want to lay myself open to being accused of stinting, or being too hippy-dippy or whatever it was he called me.