The Last Piece of My Heart

by Paige Toon

  ‘I know,’ she replies casually, flicking her indicator to the other side.

  ‘You’re a nightmare,’ I mutter, rolling my eyes.

  She giggles as she pulls out onto the road.

  Marty doesn’t feel like walking all the way to another beach, so we grab fish and chips and stick with the original plan. The sun is still warm as we sit on a bench overlooking the Camel Estuary, watching the tide roll back in. The air smells a bit pongy, but the view makes it worth it.

  ‘Oh, God, I forgot to say about your Beau account!’ Marty exclaims. ‘Those comments were incredible – you got so many!’

  I’m tense as I top up our disposable cups with Prosecco. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Bet you were beside yourself,’ she says, when I hand one over to her.

  I posted Beau’s account earlier in the week, and Sara texted me a couple of days ago to congratulate me on the response from my readers. I haven’t been able to bring myself to look at what people have said. I’m still struggling to come to terms with everything.

  ‘What is it?’ Marty asks, seeing my face.

  ‘I didn’t want to write about him.’

  ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t really thinking. It read so well that I almost forgot it actually happened.’

  I don’t say anything.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says again. ‘I should have called you.’ Her self-reproach has abruptly kicked in. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t. I’m a bit caught up in my own life at the moment.’

  ‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it. It’s just. . . Beau’s death was unexpected, that’s all. Sara persuaded me to put it all out there, but I wanted to let him go quietly.’

  I fill her in on our conversation.

  ‘She has a point,’ Marty says when I’ve finished.

  ‘I know,’ I reply. ‘It didn’t make it any easier, though.’

  We both stare out across the water as we eat in silence.

  ‘I never knew Beau,’ she says after a while.

  I let out a deep breath. ‘I’m not sure I ever knew him either.’ My voice is laced with sadness.

  She reaches over and squeezes my hand.

  ‘How did that happen?’ I ask after a moment. A minute ago it seemed we were looking at sandbanks. Now the estuary is full of water.

  ‘The tide comes in quickly, doesn’t it?’ Marty goes along with my change of subject.

  ‘I guess so. I haven’t been paying attention.’

  ‘I wonder how Ted’s getting on,’ she says.

  ‘Are you missing him?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She flashes me a soppy grin.

  ‘Can I be your bridesmaid?’ This makes her laugh. Surely it’s only a matter of time.

  ‘You can be the matron of honour,’ she replies buoyantly.

  ‘Don’t you have to be married to be matron of honour?’ I gather together our rubbish and stuff it into a bin.

  ‘No chance of you and Elliot beating us to it?’ she asks.

  ‘Not when he’s on the other side of the world and we’re both up to our ears in work.’

  She gets up and pats my back empathetically, before grinning. ‘Chief bridesmaid, then. Anyway, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. He hasn’t proposed yet.’

  ‘But you think he will?’

  ‘I think so.’ She nods, smiling bashfully.

  ‘How are things with Elliot?’ Marty asks on our walk back to the campsite, and there’s a familiar undertone to her voice that always comes into play when she talks about my boyfriend.

  ‘Fine,’ I reply. ‘Obviously, I miss him.’ Although not as much as I was missing him, I realise. ‘It’s a bit of a bummer because we can’t even FaceTime in private here.’

  ‘Ooh-er,’ she says.

  I smirk at her.

  ‘Yeah, it sucks that you guys have to do the long-distance thing,’ she says. ‘How long do you think you’ll be able to keep that up?’

  ‘As long as we have to, I guess. There’s no way I’ll make it back to Australia this year and he’s so busy at work that he can’t get away to come here. Mind you, I wouldn’t have time to hang out with him if he did. I’m pinning all of my hopes on Thailand.’

  ‘Thailand?’

  ‘I need to go there in November. In fact, can you look into flights?’ I ask.

  ‘Sure. Email me your dates when you know them.’

  ‘I will. Anyway, Elliot is hoping he’ll be able to meet me there.’

  ‘That would be cool. I’ll cross my fingers for you.’

  ‘Thanks. It’ll only be for a week or so, but it’s better than nothing.’

  She frowns. ‘Can’t you persuade him to chuck in his job and move here?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll ever persuade him to do that, but I’ll keep trying. If anyone cracks, it will probably be me.’

  ‘No!’ she cries. ‘Don’t do it! You can’t!’

  I smile and wrap my arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze.

  It doesn’t matter how deep in Ted’s pockets she is or how little time she even has for me these days, Marty still detests the thought of my moving abroad. She’s always been jealous of my boyfriends – even the ones who live here in the same country, the same city, even. The fact that Elliot resides in Australia is a big problem.

  She hasn’t even met him, but I know she’d love him if she did.

  She’s not the only one who’s worried I’ll emigrate. Dad is terrified, too.

  To be honest, I don’t want to move. I loved Australia, but England is my home and it is so much easier to travel and see the world from here.

  But Elliot, who grew up in this country, has no intention of returning here permanently. He loves his Sydney lifestyle, the harbourside bars, the beaches.

  It’s a tricky one, that’s for sure.

  Chapter 32

  I’m sorry to see Marty go the next day – much earlier than I was hoping.

  ‘I really don’t want to get stuck in traffic,’ she says with regret.

  ‘It’s okay, I understand. Say hi to Ted for me.’

  He called her last night when we were up on the hill, finishing off our bottle of Prosecco. He was right smack bang in the middle of his stag do, but was clearly missing her madly.

  She went up the hill again this morning – couldn’t go another minute without touching base with him. She came back beaming. They’re clearly besotted with each other, and I’m happy for them.

  I spend the rest of Sunday doing my washing and trying to get a bit organised, before heading up the hill to catch up on my own work. I haven’t bothered checking my emails since Friday, so I’m surprised to see one from a girl at a production company – a former colleague passed on my details. She wants to know if I’d be interested in going on daytime TV later this week to talk about my blog. A romantic comedy with a blogging storyline is about to hit cinema screens and the show wants to do a piece on relationship blogs, generally.

  I really don’t have any interest at all, but Sara has been urging me from the beginning to do talking-heads stuff, so I write back and say yes, knowing I should feel a whole lot more grateful and excited than I do.

  ‘Good morning,’ I call out to Charlie as I let myself in on Monday.

  ‘Hey,’ he calls back.

  I walk into the kitchen, where he’s tidying up a bit.

  ‘How was the rest of your weekend?’ he asks.

  I tell him what Marty and I got up to. ‘I’ll have to check out Padstow Beach another time,’ I say eventually.

  ‘Maybe we could head there one day for lunch.’

  ‘That would be nice,’ I reply with a smile. ‘This week might be difficult, though. I have to go to London. I need to be there on Thursday, so that will probably mean leaving Wednesday afternoon and coming back Friday morning. Do you mind? I can make up the time at the weekend.’

  ‘What, you’re not going to be here for pizza night?’ He sounds mortally offended.

  ‘Oh, shit!’ I exclaim. He might be teasing, but
I’m a bit gutted.

  He smiles. ‘Of course, that’s fine. Remember it’s April’s birthday party on Sunday, though.’

  ‘As if I could forget. . . Oh! You’ve got Nicki’s family staying, haven’t you? I can work from Hermie on Saturday, obviously.’

  ‘You don’t have to. Kate and Valerie want to meet you, actually.’

  ‘Do they?’ This makes me nervous.

  ‘Don’t worry, they’re not going to bite.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He smiles at me. ‘So why do you need to go to London?’

  As I fill him in, I become aware of a shift in the atmosphere.

  ‘I don’t want to do it, to be honest,’ I admit when I sense he’s not impressed. ‘But Sara would kick my arse if I said no.’

  ‘You don’t have to do everything Sara tells you to do.’

  ‘Well, it’s done now. I’ve said yes,’ I reply in a slightly snappy fashion.

  We fall into an awkward silence. I notice his toolbox is on the kitchen table.

  ‘Did you find a drill bit that worked?’ I’m relieved to land on another topic of conversation.

  ‘Yeah, I did.’ He’s still not quite back to his affable self.

  I go over to the kitchen table and after a moment he joins me.

  ‘Shattered a couple of pieces,’ he reveals, picking up a piece of yellow glass with a perfect, tiny hole in it. ‘Might have to go back to the beach. I’ll do what I can for Sunday,’ he says. ‘I can always add more glass.’

  ‘Don’t forget my offer to help paint the driftwood. Unless you want to do it all yourself. . .’

  ‘Not at all. I was thinking about starting on that tonight.’

  ‘Want some company?’

  ‘Yeah?’ he checks.

  ‘Yeah.’ I nod.

  We smile at each other for a long moment.

  ‘Right, better crack on, I say at last.’

  ‘See you later,’ he replies quietly as I walk out of the room.

  On Wednesday, Charlie looks harassed when I remind him of April’s music group, so I offer to take her again. He feels guilty about it, but I assure him I’m happy to go, and encourage him to crack on with his work.

  When we get back, he greets us affectionately.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says to me, in such a sincere way that it prompts a bubble ofjoy to pop inside me.

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ I reply.

  And then, to my surprise, he pulls me into his arms. The air in my lungs escapes in a rush of breath as he squeezes me against his hard chest.

  ‘Aw,’ I say after a moment, extracting myself when my pulse shows no sign of stabilising. ‘Are you going to miss me tomorrow?’

  ‘I will, actually.’ He looks down at me quite seriously, even though his lips are tilting up at the corners.

  ‘You’re used to having me around now. What are you going to be like when I leave?’ I clap my hands onto my cheeks and widen my eyes at him in horror.

  ‘I’m dreading it, actually,’ he admits, laughing lightly as he gets April out of her pram.

  My insides are practically fizzing now.

  ‘Drive carefully this afternoon,’ he says, placing his daughter on the floor. She sets off at a crawl towards the living room. Charlie frowns at me suddenly. ‘Actually, don’t you think you should leave soon? You’ll get caught in traffic.’

  ‘Now he can’t wait to get rid of me!’ I exclaim, mock-affronted.

  ‘Why are you driving at all?’ He ignores my attempt at humour. ‘Wouldn’t the train be easier?’

  ‘Probably. I couldn’t be bothered with the bus and the hassle of getting to Bodmin. Just thought it’d be easier to drive the whole way there.’

  His frown deepens. ‘I would’ve taken you to the train station.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ I brush him off.

  ‘Seriously, I still can. Want to have a look at train tickets?’

  ‘Really?’ I have been dreading doing the return journey, if I’m honest. Dad thought I was crazy to not just stay in London for the weekend, but I didn’t want to miss April’s party.

  ‘Yeah, come on,’ he urges.

  I’m perfectly capable of checking out my own train times, but I think he enjoys my company as much as I do his.

  I go straight from Wembley station to the pub. Dad is working tonight.

  ‘It’s my little girl!’ he cries as I walk through the door. Several of his punters turn to stare at me.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ I reply with affection as he comes out from behind the bar to gather me up in his arms.

  ‘Ooh, I missed you,’ he grumbles into my hair.

  ‘I missed you, too.’

  ‘How’s Hermie?’ he asks, pulling away and looking at me expectantly.

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Really?’ His eyes light up.

  ‘Yeah, really,’ I laugh. ‘I’m used to him now. I kind of like my mini home on wheels. The only thing that’s missing is a toilet.’

  ‘I knew it!’ he erupts, clapping his hands together once and pointing at me. ‘You want to take it back with you?’

  I laugh at the eagerness of his offer. He really does love his portable loo. ‘Still not quite there, thanks, Dad. It’s all right. I won’t be in Cornwall for much longer.’

  Charlie and April come to mind and I realise how very sad I’m going to be to leave them at the end of the summer.

  Dad finishes up soon after I get there, driving us home to the house where I grew up. We moved here when I was eight, when he was still married to Mum, but, although she came here on and off during the next couple of years leading up to their divorce, it never felt like it was hers at all.

  There’s a photograph of her in a picture frame on my windowsill. She and I are standing cheek to cheek with nothing but the cold blue of the ocean behind us. She’s wearing her assistant cruise director’s uniform and I’m wearing my cruise-coordinator get-up. She has dyed honey-blonde hair, groomed neatly into a topknot. My dark hair is flowing freely. You can see the resemblance in our navy blue eyes and cheekbones, but, when I smile, people say I look more like my dad.

  I still remember the early years, after Mum went back to the cruise ships. At first I cried for her a lot. I was only six, and she was gone. If I fell ill, got picked on at school, or toppled over on my bike, she was the person I called out for. It must’ve broken Dad’s heart.

  Eventually I learned that he was the only one who would dish out medicine, talk to my teachers or hold me until I stopped crying.

  He was there for me, while Mummy was somewhere in the Adriatic Sea giving manicures and pedicures to rich pensioners. And, what’s more, she wanted to be there.

  I soon learned who my primary parent was.

  Despite her lack of maternal instinct, I think Mum struggled with that when we first started joining her during school holidays. I remember one time when I must’ve been about seven and I had cut my knee slipping down some steps near the pool. She came running, but I didn’t want her. I wanted Dad.

  It was his name I wailed as she tried to pick me up. As soon as I saw him coming, I stretched out my arms and she had no choice but to step aside and let him be the one to comfort and mollycoddle me.

  I looked at her from over Dad’s shoulder – I genuinely remember this as if it were yesterday – and she was crushed. I’d hurt her.

  I was glad.

  Mum and I have always had a complicated relationship. But she’s a complicated person.

  Sometimes I wonder if I’d be any different if I’d grown up with two stable, happily married parents. Would I have settled down myself by now?

  The parallels between Nicki and me are intriguing. Her parents are also divorced, and her father moved to another country when she was younger. Her relationship with him was challenging, just as mine is with my mother.

  And there are other similarities between us: her poem, for starters. She willingly gave pieces of her heart to her boyfriends, but she apparently had no issues with commitment when it came
to marrying Charlie.

  ‘If it’s right, it’s right. . .’ That’s what Charlie said to me when we had that conversation about my blog – about my desire to love wholeheartedly.

  It was obviously right between him and his wife.

  But so much is right between Elliot and me, I remind myself. He’s gorgeous and smart and we have a great deal in common. Fate surely brought us back together for a reason. I miss what we had in Sydney – and I miss what we had with our friends, too. My pining for him hasn’t been as intense recently, but that’s probably just because I’m getting used to being apart from him.

  Right?

  Dwelling on it now is futile – there are no easy answers. As soon as this book is out of the way, I need to make some serious life decisions. That much is clear.

  Dad and I have a nightcap and sit and chat in the living room for an hour or so before I tell him I’d better call it a night. I need a decent sleep if I’m going to be on TV tomorrow.

  When I head upstairs, I see a text on my phone from Elliot: ‘Are you FaceTiming me or what? I’ve got to go to work!’

  Shit. He knows I’m at Dad’s tonight, and obviously that means we can finally catch up – properly – but I’m absolutely knackered. I couldn’t be less in the mood.

  ‘So tired,’ I text back. ‘Tomorrow night?’

  ‘Disappointing,’ he replies and my heart plummets.

  ‘On TV tomorrow. Don’t want suitcases under my eyes. Please don’t be angry,’ I implore.

  He makes me wait for his reply. ‘Fine. Tomorrow then.’

  I toss and turn for ages after that. I should’ve just called him and got it over with.

  I’m still feeling shattered and a little all over the place the next day when I trek into the television studios on the outskirts of London. I’m sure the make-up artist spends longer on me than the previous one did when I last went on TV. That must’ve been a couple of years ago now, and it was at a different television studio. I’ve been out of the loop since I went to Australia. It’s another reason I should be thankful they asked me to come and do this today. I don’t know why I’m so reluctant.

  At least I’m not too nervous – it’s live television and I don’t stumble over any of my answers. I get a bit emotional when I talk about Beau, so I try to steer the subject away from him and onto my other exes. The tone lightens substantially after that.