‘Harry, you should have let Noah drive the Bentley,’ Flick says.
No, I know my friend well.
‘Not bloody likely,’ Harry says. ‘That car is like a child to me.’
‘This is good, healthy dirt,’ Noah teases Flick. ‘You came all the way down to Wales in it and didn’t catch anything.’
‘I’m sure I have flea bites,’ she protests. ‘And I keep finding bits of straw in my Prada.’
‘Prada.’ Noah rolls his eyes at me and I give him a sympathetic shrug.
‘I’ll have to fumigate everything.’ Flick brushes herself down with a shudder.
‘Operation Make Noah Love Me?’ I whisper in Flick’s ear.
‘Oh, yes.’ She grimaces as she whispers back. ‘Forgotten about that.’ Then, out loud, ‘It does have a certain rustic appeal, though.’
Noah laughs. ‘Too late now,’ he teases. ‘You’ve been rude about my wheels.’
‘Fuck,’ Flick whispers to me through gritted teeth. ‘This is going to be harder than I thought.’
I can only smile at that.
Ella has devised a long walk for us, taking in the clifftops, a pretty village and then a return route along the beach. I’m ready and raring to go. In preparation, I’m sporting denim shorts, red Converse, a white T-shirt and have brought a jumper in case the forecast day-long sunshine is a lie and it turns chilly. In the boot of Noah’s car, I have walking boots. I had to dig them out of the back of the cupboard in our flat as they now rarely see the light of day. It will be good to get them back on again.
In contrast, Flick has on silk harem pants and a gypsy top teamed with wedge-heeled sandals. She’s wearing Prada aviator shades. I look as if I am going on a hike. She looks as if she’s going on to a film set. I’m wondering if she misunderstood the ‘walk’ part of today’s activities. But, knowing Flick, some unsuspecting male will probably offer to carry her all the way round. It could well be Noah. Thankfully, the man in question is wearing a T-shirt now, which doesn’t show any of his skin at all. Something I’m very grateful for. Except his forearms and just a tiny peek of finely honed bicep. Gulp. If he peels the T-shirt off later, I’m a goner. As it is, I might just accidentally walk off a cliff. All I have to concentrate on is putting one foot in front of the other, nothing else.
Harry is very reluctant to go on this walk. He muttered darkly about the perils of exercise all the time while we were getting ready. This morning, even though he lay in bed for most of it, he still looks like death warmed up. Even by Harry’s standards, he had an awful lot to drink yesterday. Now he looks terrible and I know I should feel sympathetic, but I’m finding it so hard to be kind when it’s all self-inflicted. We’ve hardly spoken a word yet because everything I want to say sounds so judgemental that I’m better keeping my mouth shut. Then I feel awful. His drinking is clearly damaging him now and I can’t just stand by and let that happen. But what can I do to stop this? Should I take the bottle away from him? Treat him like a naughty child instead of the responsible adult he’s supposed to be? As I’m his life partner, is his excessive drinking my responsibility too? Do I become the difficult wife, if I monitor every drink he takes? Is that my role?
His face is puffy, his eyes red. He’s grumbling a lot. He’s only forty-four. That’s a man still in his prime. Once I used to think that was a measly twelve years older than me – hardly even classed as a May to December relationship now. But suddenly Harry is acting as if he’s twenty years older or more. Or am I the only one who’s suddenly noticed it? He comes up next to me.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask.
‘Yes, why?’
‘You don’t seem to be very happy.’
‘I’d rather be sitting in a deckchair with a newspaper than going for a walk.’
‘It’ll be nice,’ I assure him. ‘Ella’s working hard to make sure we all have a lovely time. Please try to enjoy it. For me.’
His face softens. ‘I’ll love every minute of it. Just for you.’
I smile at him. ‘Thank you.’ I slip my hand into his.
Ella and Art jump out of their Mercedes. ‘Right,’ Ella says. ‘This is where I’m planning to go.’
We all gather into a group and, on the bonnet, Ella opens the map.
Only Noah and I take any great interest as she outlines the route. Flick and Harry have wandered off already and are huddled in the corner of the car park, gossiping, no doubt.
‘Does that suit everyone?’ Ella asks.
‘Looks great.’ Noah seems keen. ‘Want me to take the map?’
‘Lead on,’ Ella says.
‘Ready, everyone?’ Noah says and we all set off walking along the edge of the cliffs.
I wave Harry and Flick to rejoin the group while we all fall into step behind Noah to leave the car park and head into the fields that lead down to the cliffs. It’s nice just to be tagging along for once and not be the person who’s doing all the organising.
The breeze is strong, refreshing. The epitome of the word bracing. But it’s the kind of day that makes you feel happy to be alive. We stride out – as much as we can with someone in wedge-heeled sandals and someone nursing a monumental hangover. We’re strung out now along the narrow path. Flick and Harry are already at the back, lagging behind.
The path, worn in the grass by the feet of the many walkers who have been here before us, follows the contours of the rocky cliffs. The sheer drops are dizzying, not a good place to be if you have vertigo. I stop to admire the view and fill my lungs with the dizzyingly fresh air. The coastal scenery is stunning, rough and untamed. I want to go as close to the edge as I can and lean out, feel the wind in my hair, the chill sea spray on my face. My hair is whipped into a wild frenzy and I give up trying to control it.
We wait for Flick and Harry to catch up, then Ella balances her camera on a rock and sets it up to take a photograph of all six of us.
‘Say cheese,’ she instructs.
‘Cheese!’ we all shout and the camera clicks. She shows me the snap. All friends together. We’re all beaming widely and it looks as if none of us has a care in the world. And they say that the camera can’t lie.
‘For posterity,’ Ella notes and I wonder if she’s had the same thought as me.
We set off again and Noah ushers Flick up next to him, so I drop back to be with Harry.
‘OK?’ I ask him.
‘Fine.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s all very… wild… out here, isn’t it?’
What he means is that there’s no Starbucks or Costa Coffee.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ Harry agrees. ‘In its own way.’ He peers reluctantly over the edge of the cliff. ‘Not sure I need to get quite so close to it.’
We carry on. I notice that Noah stops to hold out a hand to Flick to help her wherever he can as she minces along behind him in her ridiculous footwear. I get a pang of jealousy as Harry is only wrapped up in his own misery, stomping along at the back, determined not to enjoy himself. Even Art, who is far more at home at a rock gig than on a clifftop, is having a great time. He chases after Ella with aeroplane arms and picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder. She squeals with delight. I’ve never been a rough-and-tumble person, but I suddenly get a pang of regret that no one has ever thrown me over his shoulder to run along a clifftop with me. Again, I get the feeling that there’s a different person inside me just dying to break out.
I look at Harry. I want us to run together, roll in the fields, splash in the surf. Do crazy things. Harry looks as if he wishes he was anywhere else but here.
Birds of prey balance on the wind high over the sea.
‘Kestrels,’ Noah tells us. ‘I’ve got my binoculars if anyone wants a closer look.’ He pulls them from his rucksack and passes them around.
When it’s Flick’s turn, she declares, ‘I never know how to use these bloody things,’ and Noah instantly comes to her aid. She snuggles in close to him while he adjusts them for her and helps her to focus on the swooping birds.
‘Grace? Want a look?’
‘Yes, please.’ Then he does the same for me, standing close behind me, arms over my shoulders, pointing out the birds. I resist the urge to snuggle.
‘Look,’ he says. ‘There’s a kittiwake too.’
A dainty white gull with a bright yellow beak and black beady eyes hangs on the wind while we watch it. Its cry of ‘kitt-ee-waayyk’ leaves you in no doubt where it got its name from.
‘I’d forgotten that I like to watch birds,’ I tell Noah as I return his binoculars. I don’t think that the few scruffy city pigeons that visit my office windowsill count. ‘I haven’t done it for a long time.’
‘I could sit here for hours,’ he says with a contented sigh. But, of course, we can’t because Harry is whining and Flick now says that her feet are hurting.
We follow the cliffs some more, then turn inland, our backs to the sea. In a line we hike through fields where swallows swoop close to us, buzzing around our knees, and even Harry is momentarily transfixed.
‘They don’t normally come so close,’ Noah tells me. ‘We’re very lucky.’
‘I do feel lucky,’ I say. ‘I feel lucky to be out in the open air, in the sun, away from the office and spreadsheets and twelve-hour days.’
He smiles at me and I feel luckier still.
We pass lily ponds replete with fat, waxy flowers floating on the water. Then we come out of a wood into a pretty, quintessentially British village. The sun is high, trying to burn us with the best of its rays. Harry is hot and sweating.
Feeling guilty about my lack of sympathy, I drop back again and walk next to him. ‘Are you OK?’
‘You don’t need to keep asking me that, Grace,’ he snaps. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
Then we turn a corner and Ella shouts out, ‘Lunch stop!’ and a thatched pub, bedecked with flowers, comes into sight.
Harry brightens. ‘I’m OK now,’ he says, his smile broadening. ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’ He completes the next few hundred yards with a spring in his step. ‘I bet I could even get a phone signal here.’
Now I’m wishing that I’d pushed him off the cliffs while I had the chance.
Chapter Eighteen
We sit in front of the pub in its charming garden filled with summer flowers, bees buzzing lazily from one to another, and have lunch. Harry, Art and Flick get a bottle of red wine to drink between them, but the rest of us abstain and have soft drinks instead. We sit and eat our sandwiches, and I nick a few of Art’s chips as I find out what he’s up to on his next tour.
‘It’s going to be a long one,’ he says. ‘I’ve got a new band that’s making a big impression on the metal scene and they’ve got a string of festival bookings in the Far East and then across Europe. I can’t wait.’
‘That’s great.’
And while I’m genuinely pleased for Art that it’s all going so well for him, I’m also worried that it looks as if Ella will be home alone again for some considerable time.
Momentarily distracted by good food and wine, Harry has forgotten all about Twitter, and he and Flick are enjoying a bit of jovial banter, which is nice to see. But, the minute he’s eaten, he wanders off from the rest of us in search of a wretched phone signal. A few minutes later, Flick’s phone beeps.
‘Looks like Harry’s in luck. I’ve just got a text for the first time.’ She fishes it out of her pocket and reads the message, before quietly slipping it back.
By the time Harry returns, a few black clouds have appeared above us. ‘It’s going to rain,’ he says.
Noah surveys the sky. ‘Just a summer shower.’
But, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, a big, wet splot hits the table.
‘Shower, my arse,’ Harry says cheerfully. ‘There’s no way that I’m walking in the rain. Who says we retreat to the bar?’
‘Bar sounds bloody good to me,’ Art agrees. ‘Too much fresh air makes me dizzy.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I can’t sit inside on an afternoon like this. Noah’s probably right. It’s just a shower. It’ll blow over quickly, I’m sure.’
‘Let’s sit in the bar until it does,’ is Harry’s solution. But I know what he’s like. Once he’s in there, on a comfy sofa with another bottle in front of him, there’ll be no shifting him.
‘I’m for walking too,’ Noah says. ‘That was a long drive yesterday and I want to stretch my legs.’
Flick looks disappointed. ‘My feet are killing me,’ she says. ‘I think I’d rather stay here.’
‘You don’t mind if we carry on, do you?’ Noah asks her. ‘I’ve enjoyed my lunch, but I want to get moving again before I seize up.’
‘I’d rather you stayed here.’ She does her best coquettish look.
‘We won’t be long,’ he promises, oblivious to the batting of her eyelashes. ‘A couple of hours at the most.’
She tries a pout, but it looks as if Noah has made his mind up not to spend the afternoon in the pub. I see Flick glance at her shoes, and there’s no way that she wants to get those wet.
‘Free wi-fi inside,’ Harry says, as if that’s a clincher.
The rain is coming down a bit heavier now. Still a shower, but more insistently so. We huddle under the big umbrella over the table that had, not a few minutes earlier, protected us from the sun.
‘Ella? Are you up for walking or drinking?’
‘I think I’ll stay here with Art,’ she says reluctantly. I know that she’d love to join us really, but she still looks a little bit peaky to me, so it’s probably wise. ‘I can show you the rest of the route, Noah.’
So Noah spreads out the map on the table while she goes through it with him.
‘We can go and pick up the cars at the other end,’ Noah suggests. ‘Come and collect the rest of you. Then you don’t have to walk back at all.’
Harry and Flick clearly think that this is a marvellous idea. Ella hands me the keys to the Merc.
‘Trust me with it?’ I joke.
She kisses me. ‘I’d trust you with my life, sweetheart.’
‘Looks like it’s just me and you that are the stalwarts, Grace,’ Noah says.
The rain’s so fine that I don’t even bother to put on my jumper or take my light waterproof from my rucksack. I’m sure there’s an umbrella tucked in the depths of it too if I get desperate.
Noah goes to kiss Flick on the cheek, but she takes his head in her hands and gives him a lingering smacker. He pulls away, slightly embarrassed.
I kiss Harry too, on the cheek, and with less enthusiasm. ‘Watch how you go with that,’ I warn, nodding at the bottle. ‘I don’t want to have to pour you into the car.’
‘Don’t be a nag,’ he grumbles. ‘We’re on holiday, aren’t we? I thought the idea was that we’d have fun.’
That’s what I intend to do. And I realise it’s what Harry intends to do too. It’s just that our idea of fun isn’t the same any more.
Noah stands and hoists his rucksack on to his back. ‘Ready, Grace?’
‘Ready.’ My mouth has gone dry. Looks as if it’s just me and Noah blazing a trail. ‘Got the map?’
He holds it up. ‘Got the map.’
So, waving to the others, we stride out of the pub garden and set off down the path that will lead us back to the coast.
Chapter Nineteen
Noah and I fall into step, side by side, as we walk along the road and away from the pub. We say nothing until we’re out of sight of the others. The few spots of rain have eased off already and the sun has come out all guns blazing again, so it was just a fuss about nothing.
Then he turns to me and says, ‘Are you OK about this?’
‘Leaving our reprobate friends in the pub?’
‘Yeah. I’m the new boy here, I’m not sure how they’ll take it.’
‘I’m sure they’ll be fine. They can cope without us for an hour or so.’
‘I’m not really one for sitting in a pub all day. I’d rather be out doing something. Drink doesn’t really inte
rest me.’
Music to my ears. ‘Me neither.’
‘As long as they’re all happy.’
‘I think Ella would really have liked to come with us. But she’s a bit tired today and it’s good for her and Art to be together as they spend a lot of time apart.’
A Cottage by the Sea Page 10