The Summerhouse by the Sea

by Jenny Oliver

  Tom had already walked off.

  She followed, hauling the heavy bucket and the bike, the boats beside her clacking like teeth in a crocodile’s mouth. ‘Which one’s yours?’ she asked. ‘I was trying to guess.’

  ‘Which one did you pick?’

  She looked at his back, his washed-out black shorts and equally faded grey T-shirt, his flip flops and cap, and knew immediately his boat wasn’t any of her choices.

  So instead of pointing to one of the colour-changing mega yachts, she did a really quick scour of the shabbier boats on the dock. ‘I went for that one at the end,’ she said, relieved to have spotted the small paint-chipped turquoise motorboat with a faded canopy and a red cool box sitting on the bow.

  Tom looked to where she pointed. ‘Interesting choice,’ he said in a tone nicer than she’d been expecting. ‘I kind of wish it was mine.’

  ‘Yeah?’ she asked, tentative. Like she’d broken through a tiny crack.

  ‘Yeah,’ he nodded with a fraction of a smile. ‘Damn it. I like that version of me.’

  Ava chanced a laugh. ‘I actually thought it was that one,’ she said, pointing to where the uniformed crew were polishing the mega yacht.

  ‘OK, that makes me feel better.’ Tom nodded. ‘But still, mine feels a bit schmucky now. I might not be that guy,’ he said, pointing to the mega yacht, ‘but I’m still not that guy,’ he said, nodding to the little turquoise dinghy.

  She laughed more freely. ‘I don’t even know what you’re talking about now. Go on, where’s your boat?’

  He nodded in front of them. ‘Down the end.’

  ‘There are quite a few down the end.’

  ‘The very last one on the right.’

  She looked. She could hear the hint of pride in his voice, even though he’d feigned embarrassment.

  ‘Oh wow,’ she said, unable not to. She took a few steps forwards, the bucket of water bumping against her legs, the bike pedal scraping her ankle. ‘That’s stunning.’ Glossy wood shone bright like treacle in the moonlight. A thin red stripe ran the length of the amber hull. ‘It’s like a pirate ship.’ Ava looked back at Tom. ‘But more glistening and yacht-like.’

  ‘She’s alright, isn’t she?’ he said, walking to the end of the jetty where he dumped all the stuff he was carrying on the ground.

  ‘She’s OK, yes,’ Ava said, following along behind, one brow raised as if it was the understatement of the year. She put the bucket down next to him and rested her bike against one of the mooring posts.

  ‘Jump on,’ he said, pulling the boat level with the jetty.

  Ava was about to jump when she paused and said, ‘I actually came to say sorry, you know, about the message.’

  He half-smiled. ‘I know.’

  She nodded and stepped on to the bobbing stern. Tom followed, pointing for her to sit on one of the blue cushioned benches that ran either side of the hull in front of the little cabin as he ducked his head and went inside.

  Ava perched herself on the edge of the seat, looking around, wondering how she was going to bring up her apology again, and whether Tom would let her. That couldn’t be it. It was too awkward to gloss over.

  He came out of the cabin with a bottle of brandy and two glasses.

  Ava watched him as he sat down on the seat opposite hers. Further away than they might sit as friends. He’d taken off his cap and pushed his hair back with his hands, the salt making it stay off his face. He looked more rugged, weather-beaten, like he’d been out on the water since he’d seen her phone.

  ‘I really am sorry, you know,’ she said, launching in as he was about to offer her a drink. He poured anyway. ‘It was just stupid WhatsApp stuff, you know what people are like in messages? More uncaring, I suppose. Trying to be funny. You weren’t meant to see it.’

  ‘So I gathered,’ he said, handing her a glass, the fumes strong, the liquid gold. He swirled his own brandy round in his glass, elbows resting on his knees, looking at the floor.

  ‘Oh God, can you just be angry with me?’ Ava said, sliding her drink on to the table.

  ‘I am angry with you.’

  ‘So can I explain and we can move on?’

  Tom turned his head to look at her, a strand of shaggy hair falling over his eye. ‘Thing is, Ava, it was about my daughter, and for you maybe it was funny but for me, it just made me feel shit.’

  ‘I know, I know, and if someone said that about Max and Rory, I’d be furious, but if it makes any difference, the whole chat started before I knew you. It was all based on you as a famous person who, and I know this sounds really bad, but who isn’t really real.’ She winced at her own explanation. ‘Look, I mean, I didn’t have a poster of you on my wall, whatever Rory says, but I did sleep on your face when it was on my best friend’s pillowcase, for God’s sake. You weren’t real when we started messaging about you. You were a pillowcase,’ she said, exasperated.

  Tom looked back down at his drink and she thought maybe she saw the hint of a smile.

  She tried to tuck her hair behind her ears but the curls wouldn’t stay. She did it again, holding it back with her hand. Above her the sail rope tinged against the mast like a bell ringing. ‘OK, not actually a pillowcase but . . . you know? I would never talk about you like that now. Well I would because it’s gossip and I like gossip, but I wouldn’t let the conversation be said the way it was said, so you’d just have to get cross with me for gossiping and knowing that your daughter might not be yours but that you still look after her, which is actually really lovely.’ Ava bit her lip, mainly to stop herself from talking.

  Tom didn’t say anything, just looked down at his drink.

  ‘If you have a mother like mine,’ Ava went on, ‘who to be honest I’m now realising probably wished that we hadn’t been hers, to find a person who loves someone regardless is really touching. And I haven’t rehearsed this part of it because I’ve only just thought it. But I think if Louise, she’s my friend, knew you a bit, she’d have written something like, Oh and he still loves her, it’s so sweet, with loads of kitten and heart emojis.’ Ava drank her brandy in one big gulp. ‘I’m not going to say anything else.’

  Tom stood up, fiddled with something on the boat, which Ava presumed was to buy himself some time, then sat down again. She watched his calf muscles, the lines flexing and relaxing.

  ‘It wasn’t something I liked reading,’ he said.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, her throat still burning from the brandy. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I was most annoyed because I was starting to like you,’ he said.

  Ava swallowed. ‘Please still like me.’

  He laughed. ‘I do still like you.’

  She felt a bubble of pleasure rise. She exhaled, shoulders relaxing, not quite aware how tense she’d been until the relief of knowing that he didn’t hate her.

  ‘I’m just annoyed with you for being the same as everyone else, I suppose. And usually I wouldn’t care. But for some annoying reason, I care.’ He glanced up, eyes almost smiling. ‘I blame you for that, by the way.’

  ‘I’m not the same as everyone else,’ she said, frantically shaking her head, hair going everywhere. ‘I promise. Tom, I know what it’s like to be in the public eye. I know what’s it’s like and I hated it. I used to be dressed up like this mini version of my mum and taken round to everything. Every opening, every gala dinner. I’d stand on those bloody red carpets that were always dirty and smelt of damp, with all these stupid cameras everywhere. I hate having my picture taken. I hate it. I hate people looking at me. I hate having to perform. And I don’t know if it’s because of the pressure or if it was there in me in the first place, but I hate it. And I could never admit it because I didn’t dare disappoint her.’ She chewed on the inside of her mouth as she thought about what she’d just said. The fact that she’d never said it out loud to another soul, and here she was saying it to a guy she quite fancied, who in the past would have been the last person she’d say it to.

  Tom looked acro
ss at her. Seemed to see the difficulty she’d had admitting what she’d said. He nodded. ‘The thing is, I think it’s quite lucky it all stayed out of the press – up till now anyway,’ he said, resigned. ‘And it wouldn’t even be big news any more. What’s that bit called in the Daily Mail?’

  ‘The sidebar of shame?’ Ava offered.

  ‘Yeah,’ he laughed. ‘We’d be right at the bottom of that. I think the problem is that I spent so many years protecting that right to be her father that it’s a shock to see it written down as otherwise. To me she is mine and I don’t want the world to know she isn’t.’

  ‘I can see that.’ She nodded.

  He went to top up her brandy.

  ‘Any chance I could have a cup of tea?’ Ava asked, beginning to feel a little ill from the effects of sangria, sherry and now brandy.

  Tom raised a brow like she was asking a lot for someone who was meant to be grovelling. But he stood up and went downstairs to make her a cup of tea.

  Ava leant back against her seat. Tipped her head and looked up at the clouds moving fast through the darkness, like sliding doors across the smattering of stars.

  She realised that unlike most of the guys she’d ever dated, she didn’t have to remind herself why she liked Tom, remind herself of the list of good points and bad, because she didn’t even have to think about it. She was well aware that nothing had actually happened between them, but she liked his presence. She wasn’t worried about him as a reflection of her choices because he existed so completely on his own. And maybe the safety of being on holiday meant she didn’t have to worry about the best time for it to end before it had even begun. It just was.

  The notion made her feel both excited and a little bit sick. A sick that had nothing to do with all the alcohol. Rory’s flippant ‘fear of being left’ comment was lit up neon in the night sky.

  Tom came back out with her tea. ‘Sugar?’ he asked.

  ‘No thanks.’ She took the mug, smile overbright.

  Tom narrowed his eyes like he could see her smile was fake. Looked a little puzzled about what had happened while he’d been down in the galley.

  Ava wanted to change the subject and said the first thing that came into her head, no thought of decorum or sugar-coating. ‘Did you always know she wasn’t yours?’

  Tom seemed surprised by the bluntness of the question.

  Ava didn’t shy away. She wondered if she was attempting some kind of strange self-sabotage.

  But he wasn’t biting, seemed almost relieved to be able to answer, to get it out in the open. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I thought she was mine. And conversely, for most of the time I thought she was mine I didn’t want anything to do with her.’ He blew out a breath, sat back against the blue leather seat with his hands on the back of his head.

  Ava thought about the Google images she’d scrolled through. From glassy-eyed band-T-shirt Tom holding the baby to bespectacled grown-up walking hand in hand with his kid. ‘What changed?’

  He smiled. ‘My ego, I think.’

  The smile made Ava’s stomach tighten. It made her want to edge her way along the seat so she was right there next to him. But she didn’t. She stayed where she was, sipping her tea.

  Tom stood up, went over to the jetty side of the boat to haul in all the boat stuff he’d left on the worn wooden boards. ‘I came back from LA having royally messed everything up and pretty well aware that acting was not my vocation, and then suddenly there was this great, funny little girl who made none of the other stuff matter and I really loved being her dad. I wasn’t her mother’s favourite person because I’d been pretty useless up to that point.’ He went to lean the anchor against the side of the cabin and coil up some of the ropes he’d brought on board.

  Ava felt guilty for staring at the muscles in his arms as he was telling his heartfelt tale.

  ‘But it was great for a while,’ he said, winding the rope from hand to elbow in a neat loop. ‘Then Mia met someone else and suddenly denied paternity.’ He shook his head. ‘Then it was fucking awful. Sorry,’ he waved an apology for his language.

  Ava put her cup on the table and watched him. She almost didn’t want to know this stuff. It was as though he was handing her something that came with the requirement of something in return. A closeness. A friendship. A tethering.

  ‘Did she set you up?’ she asked. ‘You know, about being the father?’

  ‘Her lawyer claimed it was a genuine mistake, but I, er . . .’ He searched for the polite words. ‘I find it hard to believe. I was pretty easy pickings at the time – I had a lot of money and zero guidance. She liked being famous and at the time I was. And I had a manager who was more than happy to get a bit of cheap publicity anywhere possible.’

  She felt sorry for him. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him. She wanted him to remain the cardboard cut-out of himself. It was all much easier if he was just a token famous person and this was just a filmic fling.

  ‘Was it really hard?’

  Tom looked up from the rope. ‘Yes,’ he said, with simple conviction. ‘Because she was my kid and I didn’t want her not to be. We had this great little relationship. I loved her. I still love her. Then suddenly I’ve got lawyers on the phone saying none of it’s true. It was, I don’t know, the worst time of my life,’ he offered, before going to lift the bucket of water on board and put it down on the glossy wooden floor.

  Then he came to sit next to her in silence. Close.

  ‘Hence why you’ve axed all stress,’ she said.

  ‘Hence why I’ve axed all stress.’ He grinned.

  ‘How did it end?’ she asked. ‘The case.’

  He turned and looked at her. ‘Money,’ he said. ‘And I moved to Spain. I bought the vineyard because I needed something to do, and a little flat in Barcelona so during the week I could walk Lola to school every day.’

  ‘So you moved away from everyone you knew?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ he nodded. Shrugged like it was no big deal.

  Ava laughed. ‘You’re such a saint.’

  He put his hand on his heart. ‘Aren’t I just.’

  He watched her for a second, eyes smiling, satisfied, confident.

  Ava tried but couldn’t hold the gaze. She looked away. Out past the sleek yachts to the pitch dark water. To cut the tension she asked, ‘Can we go for a sail?’

  Tom glanced out to sea, a little dubious. ‘Now?’ he asked.

  ‘Now,’ she said.

  He laughed. ‘OK, why not?’ Then jumped up and went over to untie the jetty rope.

  CHAPTER 25

  Outside the confines of the marina the water was rough. Rougher than Ava had expected. White horses cresting black waves and crashing into the darkness. The clouds had closed over the moon. The distant lights from the restaurants danced like silver snakes in the water.

  ‘Is it safe?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Of course it’s safe,’ said Tom, jumping all over the place to readjust the sail. ‘You’re with me.’

  Ava held on a little tighter to her seat.

  When they were finally cruising, Tom sat, hands on the wheel, the wind streaming past them, the boat thwacking up and down on the waves. ‘Do you want to come and sit up here?’ he asked through the smattering showers of spray.

  Ava shook her head.

  ‘Come on,’ he called.

  She edged her way gingerly to join him.

  ‘Nice, huh?’ he said, turning to look at her, the wind blowing their hair and skin like an overzealous shampoo ad.

  ‘Sort of,’ she said, clutching on to her seat.

  ‘You want a go?’ he asked, pointing to the wheel.

  ‘No thank you,’ she said, trying to sound stoic.

  He laughed.

  The waves danced and licked around them, crashing with almighty bursts of energy, like planes taking off overhead. The boat yawed, the sail billowed like a giant white ghost. Ava thought of whales and sharks sliding through the black water beneath them.

  ‘Shall we
go back now?’ she said.

  Tom looked down at her and laughed again. ‘I thought you wanted to sail?’

  ‘I did, but now I don’t,’ she said, more seriously than she’d meant to, more openly afraid.

  Tom paused. ‘Are you really scared?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  He studied her face for a second, then said, ‘Hold the wheel,’ and went to do whatever it was he did with the sail, the great white ghost screeching and flapping till it was safely away and Tom was back in place next to her. He turned a key and the engine roared to life. They turned in a wide circle and motored slowly back through the tumbling white water, the waves like punches on the side of the hull. He had to shout now they were facing into the wind. ‘I didn’t think you’d be scared.’

  ‘Why not? This is scary. It’s dark. The waves are ginormous.’

  ‘Yeah, but you don’t seem the type to scare easily. You slept on your own at the house.’

  ‘I was terrified at the house,’ she shouted.

  ‘You still slept there,’ he shouted back.

  Ava thought about it for a moment. ‘That’s true,’ she said, wondering if, as Flora had said, she was a little braver than she’d thought. It wasn’t an adjective she’d have used to describe herself. Brave people didn’t hide and she was beginning to fear that she had hidden a little from life; stayed put and edged back when things got serious. But maybe brave was something she was learning how to be.

  Then the boat sliced into a massive wave and she screamed.

  ‘Try to enjoy it,’ Tom yelled, carving them diagonally through the choppy water.

  Ava did some deep breathing in an attempt to relax her muscles, but every time they hit a wave she tensed again, holding on for dear life. ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she said, feeling her face whitening like the sail. She could taste the sangria, the brandy, the octopus . . .

  ‘OK, think about something else,’ Tom said. ‘Talk to me. Tell me about your job.’

  ‘That’s not going to help. I’m going to be sick. I ate octopus for you.’

  ‘I don’t know what that means.’ He laughed, then saw the serious expression on her face and made himself stop. ‘OK, just try and talk about something else. Tell me about your mum. When did she leave?’