by Laura Elliot
‘Most people don’t.’ He smiled ruefully and tried to remember why the man looked familiar.
‘Liam Brett’s the name,’ he said. ‘I used to work with your wife. Is she still in Alaska?’
‘Yes.’
‘She was good. Pity she took off like that. How are things with Shard these days?’
‘We’re happy.’
‘I was at your come-back gig with Karin Moylan. I believe you two know each other from Shard’s previous incarnation.’
Jake remembered him now. That night in The Bare Pit, the sinuous dance steps as he moved around Karin, his eyes never leaving her face. Karin only ever referred to him in throwaway remarks that made him sound like a pet dog. But Liam Brett was no one’s pet dog and his expression as he eyeballed Jake had the aggression of a rutting stag.
‘She’s still a dedicated fan.’ He reached for another glass of champagne and moved closer to Jake. ‘No offence, mate, but her taste in music is something I don’t share.’
‘None taken, mate. Enjoy the night.’
He walked away before Liam could reply. The stoic harpist was still playing, her music lost under the chattering voices. She smiled in appreciation when he moved closer to listen.
The clanging of a bell startled the crowd into a momentary silence. A voice informed them it was time to move into the main hall where dinner was about to be served. The decision of the judges would be announced at the end of the meal.
‘There’s Karin Moylan.’ Eleanor craned her neck and waved across at one of the tables. ‘She mentioned she’d be here with the crowd from Lustrous tonight.’
He followed her gaze and saw Karin sitting beside Liam Brett, her face turned attentively towards him. As if aware of Jake’s gaze she looked over and waved.
‘How lovely she looks,’ said Eleanor. ‘She did a wonderful job on Lustrous. Have you seen the new layout?’
‘No,’ said Jake.
‘Are you talking about the woman with the blue necklace?’ asked Brian.
‘We are,’ said Eleanor. ‘I’m working with her on the new logo for First Affiliation.’
‘She’s been to my studio,’ Brian said. ‘She bought some pieces from the Willow Passion collection.’
‘When was that?’ Jake tried to hide his shock.
‘Last week,’ said Brian. ‘She’s really into my work. Pity she’s not on the judging panel.’
Jake had lost his appetite by the time the first course was served. Why had Karin never mentioned visiting his son’s pottery? Slí na hAbhann, where the craft centre was located, was not somewhere convenient where customers could drop in on a whim. It would have taken Karin almost five hours to drive there. He wanted to question Brian further but his son was talking animatedly to the young silversmith sitting next to him.
Tension rose as the meal drew to a close. Speeches followed and the competitors sat stiffly to attention as they awaited the judges’ decisions. Jake’s eyes stung when Brian’s name was called and his son walked across the stage to receive the ceramics award. He wanted Nadine to share this night with him but she was on Alaskan time and her day was only beginning.
Brian was right about the overall prize being awarded to the goldsmith but the delicacy of the glaze on the Willow Passion collection received a special commendation from the judging panel.
‘Brian, I’m so thrilled for you.’ Karin came to their table when the ceremony ended and shook his hand. ‘Not that I’m surprised. Your work is beautiful. You must be so proud of your grandson, Eleanor.’
‘I’m proud of all my grandchildren but tonight is very special indeed.’ Eleanor rubbed her hand affectionately along Brian’s beard. ‘I’m only sorry his mother isn’t here to share this wonderful night with us.’
‘I’ll send her the video,’ Brian said. ‘She’d be here if she could. Looking after Great-uncle Stuart is far more important.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Eleanor conceded this point. ‘Poor unfortunate man. He should be back in London receiving proper medical attention. I’ve never understood his fascination with ice when all it ever does is melt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long night and I’m off to my bed. I’ll be in touch soon, Karin. Goodnight Jake. Congratulations again, Brian.’ She blew kisses at them and swept towards the exit.
‘Karin, can I buy you a celebratory drink?’ Brian glanced enquiringly at her when she slipped into the chair vacated by Eleanor.
‘Thank you, Brian. A glass of prosecco would be lovely.’
‘What about you, Dad?’
‘Nothing for me, thanks.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely.’ He folded his arms and stared across the table at Karin.
‘Nice engineering,’ he said when Brian walked towards the bar.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Brian said you’ve visited his pottery.’
‘Yes, I have. They’ve quite a nice setup in that craft centre.’
‘And you just dropped in purely by chance.’
‘No, not by chance. I was meeting a client in Tralee and saw the signpost for Slí na hAbhann. Brian brought me on a tour of the studios. Such talent. Quite remarkable in such an out of the way location.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been there?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about tonight? Were you afraid I’d expect to come with you?’
‘It wouldn’t have been an appropriate occasion.’
‘I agree.’
‘So, now you’ve met my son and my mother. What next?’
‘Why are you angry?’
‘You’re manipulating me.’
‘I love you, Jake. Your family are an extension of that love. I want them to accept me on their own terms and if this is the way I do it, why should you object?’
‘Here we are.’ Brian put the drinks down on the table and clinked glasses with Karin. The cut glass ceramic award in the centre of the table glinted and reminded Jake of ice splintering in sunlight.
Stuart’s illness had broken Nadine’s resolve not to contact him. He was dying, she said when she rang him last night. Her voice had quavered then strengthened. He would die in Alaska and she would stay with him until the end.
The news shocked him. He had seen the recent photographs that Nadine had taken – Ali always forwarded them to his laptop – and Stuart, muffled in a parka jacket, his padded trousers tucked into mountain boots, looked so fit it was impossible to believe his time was limited. Other photographs charted Nadine’s life in Alaska. Ice skating on a lake with Daveth Carew, admiring an ice sculpture with Stuart, standing beside him in front of a small stone church. Each photograph spawned another dozen images in Jake’s mind. Why was Daveth Carew in so many of them? Why was he on dry land when he should be on his boat encouraging whales to surface from their icy depths? What right had Jake to feel jealous when he saw a photograph of Daveth and Nadine tucked under rugs on a dog sled ride? And could this heart-sinking sensation be classified as jealousy? He had no idea how he felt about anything anymore.
CHAPTER 36
He was loading the last amplifier into his van outside The Bare Pit when his phone bleeped. A text from Karin. She was waiting for him in Sea Aster. He sat into the driver seat and read her text again. How had she entered his apartment? The windows and door were securely locked. There was only one answer. She must have taken a spare key from the drawer in the kitchen and had her own copy cut.
Scented candles blazed on the dressing table. A bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice sat on the bedside locker. Karin was sitting up in his bed, pillows plumped behind her, the duvet pulled to her chin. She looked pale in the candlelight, defenceless as he closed the bedroom door. Her expression reminded him of a naughty child who expected to be punished yet the air was musky, vibrating with expectation. He had a sudden urge to shake her and demand his key back. What right had she to break into his apartment and assume everything would be okay with candlelight and champagne?
�
�What a face.’ She shuddered in mock apprehension. The duvet slid from one shoulder as she uncurled her hand and revealed the key. ‘You’re mad at me again. But I knew Eleanor wouldn’t mind if I had my own key cut.’
‘But I mind – ’
‘Why? You claim to love me yet you lock your door on me. Are you angry because I took the initiative?’
‘Yes. This should be my decision.’ The sense of unseen strings pulling on him intensified. He had to keep thinking ahead, to try and anticipate what she would say or do next. Her moods veered from fun-loving and sexy to hurt and petulant. He never knew when an inadvertent remark would cause her eyes to harden, her lip to swell.
‘I want to celebrate our relationship, not hide it.’ She grasped both his hands and pulled him towards her. ‘It’s time you took the commitment we made to each other as seriously as I do.’
He filled their glasses with champagne but the feeling that he was participating in a ritual over which he had lost control persisted. She untied the ribbons at the front of her bustier. She stroked her breast, her fingers trailing from the nipple downwards. He responded, as always, a rush of blood, a hardening. Was she like an addiction, he wondered; the longing to consume greater than the satisfaction of consuming? Her lingerie was becoming more provocative. Ribbons strategically placed, heart shaped buttons straining to be opened, alluring slits within folds of lace or brazenly apparent. They drank champagne and made love slowly. Her eyes were pooled in blue but nothing he saw there related to the heat of her body, the promise in her seductive voice. The realisation that she was faking came and went, blunted by the force of his passion.
She fell asleep immediately afterwards. The room was stuffy, the bed too hot. His head ached from the champagne. It had fuelled their lovemaking. What alarmed him more than her possessiveness was the effect it was having on him. He felt as if he was ravaging her with the force of his desire, yet every moan and breathless gasp told him otherwise. He had seen her eyelids flutter and stopped, afraid he was hurting her but she had urged him on. Had the passion he believed they shared been an illusion? He must have misread that unnerving awareness in her eyes. The feeling that he was being observed. Circus tricks. The clown in the ring. No, he refused to believe their relationship was based on such a dangerous lie.
CHAPTER 37
NADINE
I awaken during the night, my senses alert. Stuart is rigid with pain. I administer morphine but it makes no appreciable difference. He is still coherent when he asks me to contact his oncologist in London. He hands the phone to me and I answer the oncologist’s questions. Stuart believes this is a glitch but I know by the oncologist’s voice that it’s the end game. I call an ambulance and fight back panic as I await its arrival. I knew this time would come but I’d hoped he would have another Christmas with me and sometime… way way down the line… I would deal with what’s happening now.
Stuart is hospitalised, hooked to tubes and monitors. The ward bleeps, pings and rings with sound: voices, footsteps, flickering television screens. Still resolute, he holds up his mobile and calls out the phone numbers of people I must ring to inform them of his death.
Jake snaps from sleep when I ring him. Over four thousand miles separate us but I can tell he’s alone.
‘I’ll catch a flight,’ he says.
‘You’ll be too late. I’m okay… really. I just wanted you to know. Will you prepare the children?’
‘Of course I will. Nadine… is there anyone there to support you?’
‘Daveth’s on his way. He and Stuart became good friends. He’s helped us a lot.’
The pause that follows lengthens. These days they punctuate our brief conversations.
‘I’m glad he’s there,’ Jake finally says and we bid each other a formal goodbye.
Stuart’s eyes are closed when Daveth arrives. I’m not sure if he’s in a coma or in a morphine induced sleep. Our breathing seems unnaturally loud, an affront to his ragged inhalations.
Three days pass before he releases a final shuddering sigh. The relief of tears, of letting go, is overwhelming. Outside the window seagulls lift into the frozen air and scatter into a drift of snow.
Little evidence of Stuart’s presence remains when Daveth drives me back to the lodge. He had arranged for a charity organisation to collect his clothes. Only his medicine gives any indication of the struggle he endured. I feel both grief and relief at his passing, freed from the responsibility of normalising an abnormal situation yet bereft. The space he left behind is too vast to fold over.
I find a letter on the dressing table.
* * *
My dear Nadine,
The last fight is the longest but now I’m at peace with myself. We’ve shared much together these last few months and I’ll always be grateful to you for bringing me such comfort. Thank you for all the Christmases we’ve shared and for making me part of your lovely family. Do you remember what the chaplain said to us when Sara’s life support machine was switched off? Her soul was free to fly to God. I’m about to take that flight and am comforted in the belief that she’s waiting for me.
I’ve left you a token of my gratitude. My solicitor will be in touch with you to discuss the details. I hope it makes a difference to the new life you’ve chosen.
Goodbye my beloved niece.
Stuart
* * *
The day is clear but cold when we sail down the Gastineau Channel and scatter Stuart’s ashes over the side of Eyebright. Daveth reads a passage from the bible and I recite a poem by Emily Dickinson. Because I could not stop for death. He kindly stopped for me…’
Unlike Jake, I lack the courage of the atheist or Eleanor’s self-assured convictions. I’m an agnostic, clutching at straws, and, so, I imagine Stuart’s spirit freed from all earthly yearnings as he floats towards my mother’s welcoming arms.
Afterwards, I enter the cabin where I slept alone during those weeks when we were immersed in ice. Daveth comes to me, as I knew he would. I’ve no sense of guilt that our passion should exist alongside the grey immobility of death. I don’t think of Jake or Karin. Nor do I sense Stuart’s presence. Nothing dents our pleasure and when it is over we rest in my narrow bunk, which should cause us some discomfort but manages to mould itself effortlessly around us.
CHAPTER 38
JAKE
He was dreaming about snow, chasing Nadine through mountainous drifts that slowed his footsteps while she ran on ahead. He had no idea why she was in danger but he had to catch her before it was too late. The snow cracked and they fell together into a white crevasse. He moaned her name as they reached for each other but the snow heaved and she slid from his arms. He awoke with a start, unaware of where he was until he realised Karin was shaking his shoulder.
She lay on her side, her chin propped on her hand.
‘What’s wrong?’ He was filled with the relief of being released from a nightmare, aroused, also, he realised, but that desire was already fading.
‘You were talking in your sleep,’ she said.
‘I never talk in my sleep,’ he protested.
‘How do you know?’
‘Nadine would have told me…’ He stopped, pulled back too late. He had upset her again.
‘You were dreaming of her.’ The bedside lamp, angled directly at him, reminded him of an interrogative spotlight. ‘You called me Nadine and then you tried to kiss me. How do you think that makes me feel?’
Did she have a sixth sense? Were her fingers capable of probing his unconscious? They probed everywhere else. He touched her shoulder. Her flesh was warm but unyielding.
‘This is ridiculous, Karin. You can’t hold me responsible – ’
‘Can’t I?’ A surly, almost childish expression crossed her face. Her bottom lip swelled. It’s just blubber, he thought. A muscle containing too much fat. The image was vaguely unpleasant. She flung back the duvet and flounced from the bed. ‘It’s time you realised I’m not a surrogate for Nadine. You’re always talking about h
er. And now you’re doing it in your sleep.’
‘That’s a lie.’ He readjusted the lamp and rubbed his eyes, too tired for an argument. ‘Do you want me to apologise? Okay, I apologise because my wife’s name inadvertently passed my lips when I was in an unconscious state.’
‘Were you fucking her in your unconscious state?’ She sat in front of the dressing table and brushed her hair with fast, furious strokes. Strands of hair bristled, charged by her anger.
He hated her casual use of the word and its application to Nadine. ‘What if I was? Am I to be punished for my dreams now?’
The hairbrush struck his forehead before he could duck. His shock was so great he hardly noticed the pain. She lifted a bottle of perfume, raised her arm to fling it at him. He sprang from the bed and forced it from her fingers.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he shouted. ‘You wake me up with some crazy accusation than start attacking me. Are you trying to wreck this relationship? If so, full marks. I’m out of here.’
She grabbed his clothes, flung them at him. ‘Then go, right now.’
He dressed quickly. His forehead throbbed. He touched it gingerly. A lump was already rising on his temple. He needed to calm down. This was a game and it had been played before. Rows that erupted out of nowhere, tantrums followed by passion on the edge of violence.
He reached the bedroom door and stopped, alerted by her cry. She was slumped at the dressing table, her face buried in her arms.
‘Karin… what is it?’ He stood behind her and drew her upright until their eyes met in the mirror. The rush of blood to her face had subsided and she was pale, almost ashen.
‘Hearing her name like that… all those memories you have. I’m jealous of them.’
‘Are they also part of my punishment?’ He pressed his fingers into her shoulders, his knuckles braced against her supple flesh. ‘I’m with you, not Nadine. How often must I convince you of that?’