The Perfect Present

by Karen Swan

  Kitty had thrown the stories at her like clothes from a window – the two women’s shared escapades intertwined into a single narrative like a plait – and their sound and colour filled Laura’s head as she drove along the motorway with all the speed of a pensioner who’d left the handbrake on. By the time she parked the car in the little garage behind the cottage, the sun had long ago sunk below the watery horizon. She locked the car door quickly and jogged down the back garden path, dodging the icy patches and knowing Jack would already be in the kitchen waiting for her, the bath run and their dinner on.

  The moon was full and low on the water tonight, casting a bright, lambent glow across the entire bay. But for once Laura wasn’t watching the horizon. Her eyes were following the condensation beads dripping slowly down the windowpanes, one after another, in a meditation, like counting rosary beads.

  She pulled her cardigan tighter around her, shivering as she watched the first prickles of frost begin to creep up the outer sides of the window glass. She looked back at Jack – his face slackened with sleep but still so handsome – in their bed. He always slept so deeply. He had half kicked the duvet off him so that one leg was free, and he was breathing so lightly she could barely hear him at all. He’s even considerate in his sleep, she thought, watching him.

  Her eyes scanned the room, falling first – as always – on the polished walnut box on the mantelpiece, then on their clothes folded neatly on the bedroom chair in the corner, on all the drawers pushed fully into their cavities, the water carafes freshly filled each night before bed. Everything was in order and absolutely just so. This was the perfect life Fee envied and wanted for herself; so why didn’t Laura want it too? Why couldn’t she feel the gratitude she ought to for living this life? As Fee was always at pains to tell her, Jack was Mr Poppins – practically perfect in every way. She couldn’t ask for more. She didn’t want to want more. And yet every night after he fell asleep, she lay in the dark, straining against the despair that threatened to suffocate her.

  She hadn’t missed the expression that had swept over him like a breeze just an hour ago – exasperation; weariness. Again? it had silently asked as she’d jump-started them both awake. She didn’t blame him – precious few men would come home every night to a girlfriend who struggled to find enough appetite to swallow the food he cooked, who found smiling a physical exercise, who cried almost every time they made love, who screamed every time she dreamed.

  She turned back to the moon, her old confidante, and rested her head against the wall in contemplation. How many nights had she spent gazing at it from this spot? Night after night, as it fattened and thinned and tugged along the tides that shaped her own days, it showed her that life works in cycles: what had been lost would, in time, be returned to her, it seemed to say. But she had never believed it, no matter how many nights she tracked its progress in the overarching sky. What she had lost she knew she could never get back.

  Except that now . . . now she was in a different cycle. One that she had never asked for, and had never wanted. The sudden realization that had woken her so suddenly tonight was still a mystery to her. Twelve days late. How could it have happened? They were always so careful – she insisted on it, and Jack, sweet Jack, knew better than to push the issue.

  But he would push her on this if he knew about it.

  If.

  Chapter Nine

  Laura hugged her knees in closer and rearranged the blanket, tucking it under her bare toes, the chair rocking slightly on the rickety veranda. They were still pink and throbbing from the stinging cold water, and the easterly morning breeze, scarcely impeded by the confines of the beach hut, kept making her shiver with its unexpected breaths.

  She watched the sea take another run-up at the beach, spreading heavily for a few moments before gravity dragged it back like a stern mother. The heavens had opened overnight and now the sky was busier than it had been for weeks, with billowing clouds jostling against one another like sale shoppers as the laughing wind zipped between them.

  Arthur was sitting beside her, watching a split purple tennis ball bobbing madly on the surf. He gave a low, desolate whine as it buffeted the sand, but his mistress didn’t hear. She was lost in her own thoughts.

  Laura couldn’t take her eyes off the light dancing over the water’s skin, those malted, silty waters that rippled from mink into dazzling caramel with every exuberant dash the sun made from behind the clouds. It was one of those days when the view was more hindrance than help, teasing her in the studio with its capricious moods and whimsical lights, and given that she couldn’t focus on work after last night’s shock realization, she figured it was better to be in the weather than watching it. She wanted to melt like butter in the heat spots; she wanted to pitch herself against the gale-force gusts and be blown through from the inside out. Cleansed. Cleared of this mistake.

  Along silhouette moved over the sand, differentiated from the others somehow, and a low growl rumbled through Arthur’s body. The vibrations beneath Laura’s hand caught her attention and her eyes flickered down towards him and then followed his gaze. A man was walking in front of the huts, his back to them as he scanned the beach.

  ‘Rob?’ she asked, startled, standing up so that the blanket fell to her feet. ‘Are you looking for me?’

  The man turned, apparently astonished to find her wearing just an oversized man’s jumper on this freezing-cold November day. ‘Hi!’

  He looked odd standing on the beach in his suit and overcoat. His shoes were covered in wet sand, but she could tell he wasn’t the type to roll up his trousers.

  ‘How did you know I was here?’ It was more of an accusation than a question. How on earth had he tracked her down? Only Fee had been here with her so far.

  ‘You left your studio open and—’

  ‘I did what?’ She shook her head. She was all over the place today. How the hell was she going to keep this a secret from Jack if she couldn’t even shut a door behind her?

  ‘The door was open,’ he said, watching the disbelief on her face. ‘I went in and saw you from the windows, walking down by the water. I dashed down here and knew you couldn’t have gone far.’ He looked at the forlorn structure barely protecting her from the elements. ‘I didn’t know you had one of these.’

  You didn’t know you paid for it either, she thought to herself.

  ‘Have you had it long?’ he asked, running an admiring hand along the timbers.

  She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve only just bought it. As a Christmas present for my boyfriend,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s a surprise.’

  Rob walked around the hut as though inspecting it for his own purchase. Laura waited for him to reappear. ‘I read somewhere that these are hard to come by,’ he said finally.

  ‘I caught a lucky break. But it needs a lot of work doing on it, obviously,’ she said, moving around a bit. ‘Most of the shiplap’s rotted, so I’m getting that replaced, and the floor’s going to be ripped up.’ She pushed down with one of her feet as if to show him, catching sight of her bare legs as she did so. ‘Oh God,’ she said, looking up in horror and pulling the jumper further down her thighs.

  ‘I did wonder if you were, uh . . . cold,’ he murmured.

  ‘I forgot,’ she said, twisting round to see if her jeans were any drier than when she’d wrung out the hems five minutes earlier. Hmph. Barely. ‘Paddling,’ she muttered, pulling them on anyway. ‘I get done every time.’

  ‘Well, at least now you have somewhere to shelter afterwards,’ Rob said, politely turning towards the sea.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does it have power?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. But it will have running water once some new pipes have been put in at the end of this week. The old ones are completely blocked. I’ve got a bottled-gas camping stove for boiling the kettle and things.’ She pulled up her zip and clattered the kettle to indicate it was safe for him to turn round.

  ‘It’s great. I can’t wait to see what you do to it. I
helped my father renovate an old gypsy caravan in our garden when I was young. You know – one of those “father and son” projects that are so fashionable now? It was great. It’s left me with a bit of a fascination for quirky bolt-holes, and a misguided belief in my abilities with power tools.’

  Laura chuckled. It was hard to see him as a lumberjack.

  ‘My uncle bought one of those Silver Bullet caravans – you know, those 1950s American ones?’ she said.

  ‘I love those!’ Rob remarked, enlivened. ‘They’re so hard to find now.’

  ‘Well, he did it up. We stripped it back to a shell and rebuilt it. All I did was pass him the hammer or his cup of tea, but I felt like I was helping. I sat out with him all day long, while he’d tell me about the places we’d go to in it – Scotland, Cornwall, France . . .’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Yup, and every campsite we went to, it was like we were rock stars or something. All the other campers would come and stand around, watching my poor uncle reversing fifty times trying to get it into the pitch.’

  ‘That’s pressure,’ Rob grinned. ‘Nobody wants an audience for that.’

  ‘It had these amazing wooden bunk beds, and I used to lie on them, reading a book and looking out of the window as we trundled up the motorways. That was in the days before seat-belt laws, of course.’

  ‘I remember those! My parents had a Volvo estate, and we used to sleep in sleeping bags in the boot on the way to Cornwall.’

  ‘Whereabouts in Cornwall did you go to?’

  ‘Well, not to Rock, although we must have been the only people in Cornwall not there. We used to go to a tiny place called Gunwalloe Church Cove on the Lizard. My father went as a child. No one’s ever heard of it.’

  ‘I have.’ Laura stared at him in astonishment. ‘That’s where we went. ’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘Every June half-term.’

  ‘But that’s when we went too.’

  Laura grinned. ‘Who knows? Maybe you nicked my bucket. Or ran through my sandcastle.’

  ‘Hey! Why the bad rap? Maybe I gave you my cornet.’

  ‘Actually, a boy did give me his cornet once,’ Laura laughed. ‘I was walking back from the little café at the back, and—’

  ‘A seagull swooped down and took it?’ Rob finished for her.

  They stared at each other in amazement. Had their paths crossed before?

  Laura looked at him, eyes bright and hair ruffled on the beach, and could so easily imagine what he had looked like that she could almost believe that she was actually remembering. But it could only be a fantasy. Her life didn’t work like that.

  ‘No, it couldn’t be,’ Laura murmured, pulling herself back in, her smile fading. ‘A nice idea, but it’s the kind of thing that happens all the time down there, isn’t it? I mean, the gulls are such a nuisance.’

  He took in the change of her tone and nodded. ‘Yes. The councils are really struggling with it. It’s particularly bad in St Ives, I believe.’

  ‘Yes . . .’ They fell silent, back to being awkward again. ‘We didn’t have a meeting scheduled, did we?’ she asked after a moment.

  ‘No. But I have a client nearby and I thought I’d drop in on my way back from seeing him.’

  ‘Oh. Where’s your client based?’

  He coughed. ‘In Norwich.’

  ‘But that’s fifty miles away. I’d hardly call that nearby.’

  Rob cracked a grin. ‘I know. But I was on the M11 when I had an idea. I’ve thought of a way to make your life easier.’

  ‘You’re going to clone me!’ she deadpanned.

  ‘Not quite. You can come to Verbier with us.’

  ‘W-what?’ she stammered. ‘Who’s us?’

  ‘Everyone on the list, pretty much. Me, Cat, Kitty, Orlando, Sam and her husband, and Alex and his girlfriend.’

  Laura stared at him in disbelief. She didn’t even know where to start with that statement. ‘But how can I possibly go if your wife’s going to be there? You said you wanted it to be a surprise.’

  ‘It’s fine. We’ll tell her you’re Orlando’s plus one. He’s the only person not bringing someone so it’ll even out numbers anyway.’

  ‘Look, it’s a kind offer, but I really don’t think it’s going to be necessary. I’ve arranged to see Orlando tomorrow, and I’ve just done Kitty. So I’m two down already.’

  ‘But what about Sam and Alex? They’re both overseas. You’d have to make separate visits to see them in Milan and Frankfurt instead. This way is far more time-efficient.’

  ‘Couldn’t they come over here?’

  ‘I tried, but they can’t – or won’t. They were miraculously free when I suggested meeting up at our chalet in Verbier, though.’ He shrugged lightly. ‘Cat and I go there every year, usually for New Year, but I thought we could go for opening weekend this year – they’re predicting record snowfalls; plus, as it’s Orlando’s fortieth, we’re going to have a surprise party for him and stay for a long weekend.’ He shook his head. ‘Although God only knows how that’s going to pan out. Orlando’s been on the brink of a midlife crisis since he turned thirty. But it would give you plenty of time to talk to everybody. There’s no reason why Cat should suspect anything.’

  ‘And . . . and . . .’ Laura’s head was spinning. ‘And when were you planning this for? I mean, it’s December tomorrow,’ she said, planting a bare foot on the floor. ‘It’s party season. I might have plans. It’s highly likely I do,’ she lied.

  ‘The weekend after next. The ninth to the twelfth.’ He looked at her. ‘Can you make it?’

  She didn’t need to check the diary to know that the pages were still stark white and empty. They always were. It was only ever her, Jack and Fee. ‘I’ll have to check with my boyfriend. I’ll get back to you.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, looking at her evenly, so that she saw the copper clouds reflected in his eyes. His face was kind, and she knew he was just being considerate, doing what he could at his end to ensure she met the deadline. It wasn’t unreasonable. In fact, most people would consider a free trip to Verbier as far from unreasonable as it was possible to get. But then she wasn’t most people. She was a riddle that only Jack knew how to answer.

  He patted the hut again before folding his collar up and turning into the wind. ‘Your boyfriend’s a lucky man, Laura,’ he said, beginning to walk off. ‘I hope he appreciates it.’

  ‘Right, so that baby’s bracelet is ready to go out, yes?’ Fee asked, as she brushed the last sandwich crumbs off the sofa.

  Laura looked up through her goggles and grunted her assent.

  ‘It’s very cute,’ Fee purred, spinning the wheels on the tiny pram.

  ‘Just be careful with it, will you?’ Laura said snappily. ‘It’s very delicate too.’ She carried on soldering.

  Fee pulled a face at her grumpy friend as she silently retrieved one of the pale pink leather boxes and set the intricately crafted bracelet delicately inside, along with the handwritten note card Laura had written, detailing the story for each charm and giving a key quote. Then she packed it in a snug cardboard box, finally writing out the recipient’s address in her very best gold wannabe calligraphy.

  ‘There!’ Fee said, pulling back to her admire her handiwork. ‘Pretty good, even if I do say so myself.’

  ‘Gee, thanks,’ Laura drawled. ‘Your best handwriting was just the finishing touch needed for my thirty hours’ worth of work!’

  ‘Sarky,’ Fee muttered, privately dying to draw a daisy in the corner. ‘We can’t all be creative geniuses, you know.’

  ‘And remember that needs to be out before the end of the day, or it won’t be guaranteed for delivery by tomorrow, and the christening’s on Sunday. To be safe we really need it to get there before the weekend.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Fee yawned, watching her friend manipulate a strand of gold into a tiny fret-worked birdcage. ‘What’s that, then?’

  Laura looked up through her
lashes. ‘It’s for the golden-wedding couple.’

  ‘What’s it gonna be?’

  ‘I’m putting an enamelled nightingale inside the cage,’ Laura murmured, concentrating on the task in hand. ‘The motif is “songbird”. The husband said he fell in love with his wife when he overheard her singing.’

  ‘What, in the bath?’

  ‘No. He used to have his lunch in the same café every day and he could hear her singing in the back. He started sitting closer and closer to the kitchen door, determined to catch sight of her when she came out. But she never did.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Fee gasped, sitting bolt upright, hands clasped above her heart.

  Laura took in her friend’s melodramatic posture. ‘It’s all right, Fee. We already know there’s a happy ending,’ she said drily. ‘This is for their golden wedding anniversary.’

  ‘Ugh, just tell me already!’

  Laura rolled her eyes. ‘After several months of waiting and listening, he couldn’t bear it any longer and one day he just marched into the kitchens. They were engaged by the end of the day,’ she said, watching a dreamy smile creep across her friend’s face.

  ‘That is one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard,’ Fee sighed, rocking back into the sofa, hugging her knees tightly to her chest. ‘Although he’d have had to do a quick U-y if she’d been a moose,’ she added earnestly.

  Laura chuckled in spite of herself. ‘Quite.’

  ‘Hey!’ Fee exclaimed delightedly. ‘That’s the first smile you’ve cracked since you got here all blue-lipped and frosty. Finally the Ice Queen melteth.’

  Laura scowled at her. ‘Melteth?’

  ‘Yeah. You’ve been in a foul mood since you got here. Wassup?’

  ‘Nothing is up. I’m simply concentrating on my work.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Fee said, disentangling her long limbs and walking over to the kettle. She noisily tapped the instant coffee into the two Emma Bridgewater seconds mugs and slopped milk on to the work surfaces. She set the coffee mug down in front of her friend. ‘Want to talk about it?’