Lottie nudged her. ‘When did you say they said they were going to be finished? Christmas? More like next Christmas,’ she said.
‘Oh ye of little faith,’ Sara said. ‘You know what effect they are having, though? They’re making me feel positively young.’
‘It must be something in the air here,’ Lottie said, gazing at the row of sleeping builders. ‘Gradually, the pace of life slows all your bodily functions right down to zero and then you just – stop. They may even be zombies. It’s a good sign they are eating.’
‘One thing’s for sure. I’m going back to work. All this mess is going to drive me mad and once they get started it’s impossible to hear yourself think, let alone make phone calls,’ Sara complained.
Jim briefly opened his eyes and reached up into his mouth to very slowly dig out what might have been a piece of trapped ham from between his teeth, with the edge of his fingernail. Sara watched him with appalled fascination. ‘I can’t see him and Helen together,’ she remarked.
‘What?’
‘He’s a widower. Apparently he fancies Helen. Keeps asking her out. Actually, I think he seems an absolute sweetheart but perhaps not the most dynamic of men.’
‘Poor her. It would be like being kissed by a fossil.’
Sara laughed. ‘I’m going into Fowey. Do you want to mooch about while I do some work? Or perhaps you could call in a few places and enquire about the possibility of a summer job. Honestly, the summer is going to be over before you earn any money.’
‘I’m an artist,’ Lottie said dramatically. ‘I don’t do menial labour.’
‘My arse.’
‘Mother!’
‘Well, you’ve lazed about long enough. If you get a job you really like then they might take you back during your university holidays so you can earn some extra money. I’m not funding a party lifestyle at uni, you know.’
‘Da . . .’ Lottie caught the look on her mother’s face and stopped. ‘OK, OK, I’ll try to get a job. I’ll just spend my last days of freedom washing pans, if that makes you feel better, you mean person.’
‘a) You are unlikely to be washing pans and b) this is not your last summer of freedom. You’ve got three years of university ahead of you, and trust me, it’s not exactly hard labour. That comes when you get out into the real world of work. Most jobs only allow you five weeks’ holiday a year.’
‘Five weeks a year!’ shrieked Lottie. ‘That’s inhuman!’
As they drove towards Fowey Lottie said, casually, looking out of the window away from Sara, ‘Actually, do you mind if I go on holiday? I had a call from Katie. She’s going inter-railing around Europe. I wouldn’t be gone long, no more than three or four weeks.’
Kate was the friend with whom Lottie had travelled to Thailand.
Sara glanced over at her. ‘Of course I don’t mind, as long as you can earn enough to pay for it.’ Lottie groaned. ‘Well, I’m not simply handing over money for you to drift around Europe. If you want to go you must pay for it, and don’t you dare ask Dad.’
‘Slave driver.’
‘Hardly.’
‘You know, I might go and see Catherine when you’re away,’ Sara said. The thought had just occurred to her. ‘I ought to catch up with old friends, I can’t hide down here for ever.’
‘Good idea.’ Lottie nodded approvingly. ‘You know Em’s going away with Dad?’
‘Yes, she told me.’
‘What do you think? Sounds like hell to me,’ Lottie said, sliding a CD into the player, adjusting the volume so they could talk. ‘I mean, the hotel will be fantastic, you know what Dad’s like about luxury, but oh, being with him and Karina would be murder.’
‘Does Emily talk about her much?’
‘A bit, not a lot. They don’t like each other at all, obviously. And I bet Karina’s not that thrilled, either – imagine going on holiday with your new bloke and his daughter.’
‘It is a bit odd,’ Sara admitted.
‘I think Dad feels really guilty about Emily. He’d probably feel guilty about me too if I was still living in London, but I’m not as in his face as Em. I’d love to have been a fly on the wall when he told Karina their fabulous luxury holiday was going to include Emily.’
Sara laughed. ‘It’s up to him, though, isn’t it? He’ll be paying.’
‘Maybe I’ll ask Em if she’d rather come with me and Katie.’
‘That’s a good idea. Although Dad’s going to have paid for the room and the flights by now, isn’t he?’ Sara was worried that Emily’s relationship with her father was becoming a little too close. It was as if Emily felt she had to guard Matt, had practically taken on her, Sara’s, wifely duties of looking after him. Perhaps that’s why she was being so dramatic about his health. Emily needed to spend more time with people her own age, Sara thought. Live a normal life.
‘How long have I got?’ Lottie asked, leaning on the ticket machine in the car park in Fowey. They’d had to wait for a parking space – the streets of the little town, since the beginning of July, had been transformed into a sea of tourists and all the shops and cafés were doing a roaring trade. Sara felt absurdly resentful of the cheerful holidaymakers in their shorts, sunhats and flip-flops, browsing around the shops, taking up space choosing things they didn’t really need, simply fancied. Don’t you know some of us have to actually work here? she thought, crossly, as she queued for the ticket machine.
Sara pushed the pound coins into the slot and then pressed the green button for her ticket. She turned back towards the car. ‘About two hours,’ she answered Lottie. ‘That should be enough, so many people seem to be away it’s almost impossible to get anyone to commit themselves to anything at the moment. You could have brought your own car, Lots.’
‘No petrol,’ she admitted cheerfully. ‘Two hours is cool. I’ll see you back here. Don’t work too hard.’ She span on her heel and disappeared into the crowds. Grr, Sara thought, trying to walk the half mile from the car park into town above a dawdling pace.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Are you sure you don’t mind me just dropping by like this?’
Ricky was standing by the wall at the front of the cottage, shading his eyes from the sun, as Sara bent over the border, trying, with a great deal of effort, to pull up the roots of the elder and bindweed which invaded the flower beds. She knew this was not her best side – Lottie said that when she bent over it was like a total eclipse of the sun. From behind them came the muffled thump of falling masonry.
‘Not at all,’ she said hastily straightening up, pushing a lock of hair behind one ear, her hands in thick green gardening gloves, smearing soil on her forehead in the process. ‘It’s nice to see you.’
He smiled, and, reaching down to place a hand on the wall, he vaulted athletically over the top. ‘It’s great to get some peace. At work we are just crazy, they’re queuing for tables down the street. What the hell are they doing in there?’ He turned to look in the direction of the noise, the hair by his forehead darkened with sweat. He had been out for a jog, he had told her, and was desperate for an excuse to stop.
Pulling out one of the garden chairs he sat down, easing off an old pair of white and blue trainers, flexing his rather grubby bare feet in the sun. He had a curious ability, Sara thought, to make himself at home wherever he was, like a cat. Sitting at her table, he seemed as relaxed as if this were his home.
‘Man, my feet hurt,’ he said, rubbing the sole of his left foot. Amidst the tangle of love beads and copper bracelets on his wrist he had added several leather shoe-laces. ‘I’m shit at jogging. I’ve got such a stitch, I really must get fit.’
‘Doesn’t surfing keep you fit?’ Sara asked. She felt very self-conscious as she was wearing a pair of shorts and they did not hide much. But really, what did it matter? He was only being friendly, and he’d probably called in on the off chance of meeting Lottie. Her thighs, she told herself, were not an issue. She slid the gloves off and laid them on the wall.
‘Surfing?
Not really. You need a lot of strength, but it uses energy in short bursts, not real stamina.’
‘It must be lovely to be able to surf, it looks so graceful when you’re standing on the board. I wish I could have a go, but I’m sure I am way too old to learn now.’ She laughed.
‘Rubbish. I’ll teach you. I’m lucky. I learnt as a kid, and it’s like riding a bike, you never forget.’
‘Have you lived here all your life?’ she asked, and then remembered that Helen had told her he’d only moved into the village about a year ago. ‘I mean, have you always lived by the sea?’ She paused, also remembering that Helen had said he didn’t like to volunteer much information about himself. She sounded, she feared, like a nosy old woman. ‘Did your parents teach you when you were young?’
His easy smile disappeared as he looked up at her. ‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘I’m adopted.’
She stared at him. What a curious thing to say. ‘You learnt on holiday, then . . .’ Her voice died away, embarrassed, as she pulled up a chair to sit down, pulling her shorts as far over her thighs as they would go.
‘Yeah. We used to come to Cornwall when I was young. I was an only child, and I used to wander off on my own, bought a board one day and taught myself. My parents were kind of old, I can’t imagine my dad surfing.’
‘That must have been difficult,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘What?’ His eyes searched her face.
‘Having much older parents. As well as being an only child.’
He looked at her gratefully. ‘Yeah. It was. I used to look at these families on the beach . . .’ He shrugged. ‘There were these kids jumping about in the sea with their dads and mine was sitting in a deckchair with a rug over his knees.’ He shook his head. ‘I used to lie. I used to say they were my grandparents.’
‘Did you ever . . .’ Sara stopped suddenly, aware it was a very personal question to ask someone she had really only just met.
‘Go on.’ He was looking at her curiously.
‘Try and trace your real parents?’
He looked away from her, out to sea, and when he turned back Sara was astonished to see his eyes had filled with tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I really shouldn’t have asked you, it was thoughtless . . .’
He reached up and ran the back of his hand over his eyes. Then he grimaced, his eyes full of a distant memory. ‘That’s OK. Really, man, it is. I did, but . . .’ His voice tailed off and he twisted in his chair to look back at the cottage. ‘So tell me, what are you doing to this poor little house? It sounds as if it’s being knocked down.’
‘I am slightly worried the whole thing might fall down,’ Sara admitted. ‘But the builders seem to know what they are doing. I’m knocking the two front rooms into one. The views are so lovely the plan is to make the windows much bigger so you get the best views, and also put a big fireplace at one end.’
‘That’s a very good idea, those rooms are way too small,’ he said. ‘Last time . . .’
Sara glanced at him swiftly. ‘Last time?’
He looked away from her, his face flushed underneath his tan. ‘When it was on the market I came and had a look,’ he said casually. ‘But there was no way I could afford it.’
Sara smiled. ‘I see. No wonder you seem to know so much.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘That’s it.’ He looked out over the sea again, then tilted his head back, staring up at the aquamarine sky. Sara thought how sharp his jawline was and how beautifully long his neck, before it met the grubby white T-shirt. She examined him more closely. Oh dear, she thought, he really could do with some tender loving care. His T-shirt was filthy and full of holes, and his shorts, she had noticed before he sat down, were torn. His feet, one of which was resting on the wall, had very long dusty toenails. She had the sudden urge to run him a bath, and smiled to herself. She was turning into an old mother hen. She pulled her shorts even further down her thighs, and saw him glance over at the sudden movement.
‘I like your hair,’ he said suddenly. ‘It suits you.’
Sara put her hand up, touching it, surprised he had noticed. ‘I went to the hairdresser’s in Fowey. They’re really good. It’s a younger style, but I do think it suits me.’ She smiled. ‘Not that I care so much, at my age.’
‘What age?’ he said. ‘You’re what, late thirties? That’s not old.’
Sara looked at him steadily. No one would mistake her for being in her late thirties. Not even in the dark. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Although I don’t believe that’s how old you think I am for one moment.’ Do you always flatter, Sara found herself thinking, as a way of keeping people at arm’s length?
‘So how old are you, then?’ he asked, leaning forward, his eyes holding hers.
‘What a personal question,’ she replied smiling.
‘You asked me one,’ he replied. ‘Fair do’s.’
‘OK. I’m fifty,’ she said.
‘No!’ He seemed genuinely surprised.
‘How old are you?’
‘I might not tell you,’ he said, teasingly, twisting one of the shoe-laces of his discarded trainers around his finger. ‘Guess.’
‘This is a bit silly,’ Sara said, grinning to take the sting out of her words. ‘OK. Twenty-nine. Thirty.’
‘Not far off. I’m thirty-one,’ he said. ‘And still a waiter. Impressive, huh?’
‘It’s not a bad job. I mean, the lifestyle down here is wonderful, isn’t it, you can surf and it sounds as if there are a lot of parties . . .’
‘Oh, there’s no shortage of women and parties,’ he said.
Sara felt a sudden pang in the pit of her stomach.
‘I just don’t know what to do next,’ he continued, his smile fading.
‘How did you come to live here?’ Sara asked curiously. ‘Where are your parents from?’
‘Somerset. Not so far away. I don’t see them, though . . . we . . . well, they think I’m kind of drifting about. Wasting my life. I guess I never turned into the son they wanted.’ He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Did you go to university?’
‘Yeah. Didn’t last though, I kind of got into the drug thing and then I just dropped out and went off travelling. I only meant to travel for a year but then I found work and one year turned into three or four. I lived in Canada for a while – I met a girl there. But she wanted to settle down, have babies, all that shit. I realized I didn’t love her so I moved on.’
‘What did you study at university?’
‘Architecture.’
‘How interesting. Couldn’t you go back to it?’
‘I guess I could. I just . . .’ Sara noticed a movement under the table, and realized it was his knee moving rapidly up and down. He lifted his hand to put his fingernail into his mouth, and she saw how bitten they were, the skin around them raw. ‘It was easier to pick up jobs here and there. I couldn’t face going back to university, couldn’t afford it, anyway. I came to Cornwall because . . . I guess I was looking for someone.’
‘And did you find them?’
He drew his dark eyebrows together. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I was too late.’
‘They’d gone?’ Sara asked, her heart touched by the pain on his face.
‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘They’d gone. Long gone. But it was so beautiful I stayed. I like the job. It’s easy, the people are fun, there’s a good craic. I don’t have to think too hard and I can surf.’ He lifted his head and stared at her. ‘What about you? What brought you here?’
Sara bit her lip. ‘It’s rather . . .’
He leant towards her. ‘What?’
She sighed. Why not tell him? ‘My husband left me,’ she said simply. ‘He was having an affair with a much younger woman and I found out and then . . .’
‘You kicked him out?’
‘Not exactly. You could say I ran away. I ran here, miles away from home. We lived in London . . .’
‘I remember you saying.’
‘I suppose I wanted to put as
much of a distance as I could between him and the pain. No, not pain, really. Anger. Humiliation. You know, everyone whispering and saying, “Poor Sara,” and it drove me mad. I wanted to be somewhere new. Be someone new, I suppose.’
‘That’s brave of you. To start a new life . . .’
‘At my age?’ Sara smiled.
He smiled back at her. ‘Touché. Had you been married a long time?’
‘Twenty-six years.’
‘Wow.’
‘I know. I have two daughters, my eldest, Emily, still lives in London. She’s twenty-three – Lottie is nearly twenty.’
‘How did they take the split?’
‘It’s been hard,’ Sara said. ‘But we’re coming through it now. I love living here, it’s so peaceful . . . well, usually,’ she added, laughing.
‘Kind of spiritual?’
She looked at him, surprised. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is.’
‘The sea gets in your blood,’ he said, looking over at the headland, which cast a long dark shadow over the water. A fly landed on his hand, and instead of brushing it away, he watched it march across his skin, and then jump off on to the table, where it paused to wash its face with spindly front legs. He smiled. ‘I don’t normally talk this much,’ he said. ‘You’re a good listener.’
Sara laughed. ‘Thank you.’ They sat in silence for a few moments, and she was surprised how easy she felt in his company. He had a scar, she noticed, running across one black eyebrow, a thin white line, like an arrow.
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