Well, it wasn’t dawn or dusk so Lucy wasn’t going to see deer, was she? What she did see, though, was a skein of kayakers being led along close to the shore. She thought about waiting until they got nearer in case the leader was Ross, but decided against it. She didn’t think he would have time to kayak this far, but then what did she know about how far and fast a skilled kayaker could travel? But she waved anyway, just in case it was Ross, before walking off. No one waved back. No matter.
By the time she arrived at Berry Head there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t ache. Her face was hot and glowing from the exertion and she knew she’d caught the sun on her cheeks as well. Thank goodness, then, for a café serving ice-cold lager. It went down well, sitting outside shaded by a sun umbrella, and it barely touched the sides of her throat as it went.
Time for the bus which was another twenty minutes’ walk away.
‘Tarraway Road, please,’ Lucy said to the driver. She knew that was where her car was parked and it was only a fifteen-minute walk or so to her chalet from there. ‘Will you tell me when I’m there?’
‘I sure will,’ the driver said.
Lucy found a seat at the back and sat down. She was finding it hard to keep her eyes open after the exertion of her walk, together with the stuffy atmosphere on the bus, and the steady rhythm of it as it crawled along in fairly heavy traffic.
‘Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty.’
Lucy came to with a start. An elderly man was jiggling her arm.
‘Oh!’
‘Tarraway Road!’ the driver shouted.
‘Coming,’ Lucy said, gathering up her bag and jacket, which she’d taken off because it was warm on the bus.
And then she was out on the pavement. She suddenly felt disorientated. Which direction did she have to go in? How far was her chalet from here? What time was it? Lucy took her smartphone from her pocket and checked the time. Just after seven o’clock. She’d missed lunch – well, apart from a sandwich she’d taken with her – and now she was running late for supper. She saw a train chugging over a bridge and knew the sea was on the other side of that. She walked in the direction of the bridge. But she must have veered too far south because the road she came down opened out onto the road that ran parallel to the sea, right beside the Buccaneer, which she knew was a good ten minutes’ walk from her chalet.
The Buccaneer. Would Ross be in there tonight? And if he was, was he there with someone? Was that why he’d said ‘Not tonight. Things to do’ earlier?
Well, Lucy wasn’t going to spy. While she found Ross undeniably attractive, she knew nothing about his private circumstances. And then there was the on-the-rebound syndrome she was keen to avoid – too many mistakes could be made going down that route.
She knew the way back to her chalet from here and hurried on.
Lucy was glad she’d brought her car because it meant she could travel further afield. The lanes leading to Berry Pomeroy Castle were narrow, with flowers and grass spilling out onto the roadway. She had to stop and reverse into gateways a couple of times, and found another beautiful view to look at for her pains. The brochure she had said there was ghostly activity in and around the castle but she couldn’t detect anything that sent a shiver up her spine – only peace.
She explored Scadson Wood, which was on the other side of the road from the promenade and a world away from seaside life. Lucy heard a ‘peep-peep’ noise, quite loud and overhead. She looked up to see a buzzard looking down at her. How big they were, how beautifully feathered.
Her little tourist map showed a pond in the middle of a park so she walked there, picking up sandwiches from a deli en route. She fed the crusts to the swans, even though she remembered reading somewhere that bread wasn’t good for wildfowl. Were swans wildfowl? Too late now because the swans had eaten every scrap and one of them had rewarded her with a Swan Lake-style back-arching of its wings.
From time to time Lucy felt a pang that she wasn’t sharing the views, the scents and the experiences with someone. But not Ben. He would have hated it all. All far too parochial was what he would have said. No brand-name goods anywhere, no designer beers.
She thought about asking Ross if he had a day off and, if he did, if he’d like to join her on a trip somewhere – Dartmouth was said to be more than worth a visit, and then there was a train to Exeter with glorious sea and river views that Lucy thought she might go on. But then she changed her mind about seeking him out and asking him – she had to get to know who she was now in her changed status before she could begin to think about being with someone new, didn’t she?
And then she went mackerel fishing.
‘I cannot believe I’m doing this,’ Lucy said to no one in particular although there were seven fellow anglers and two crew on the Sparkle. But no one commented so she assumed her words had been yanked away with the wind, much as her hair was being yanked this way and that, across her face, high in the air. But how very exhilarating, especially when she caught two mackerel on her one line. What to do with them now?
‘They’re lovely soused in vinegar,’ a woman sitting – her back to the sea – knitting, said. ‘My Bill will have that lot filleted and ready to be done in no time.’
Lucy liked the way the woman said ‘my Bill’ as though she knew exactly where he was on the boat without having to look. She thought about asking why the woman was knitting in a fishing boat that was rocking like crazy but decided not to. Whatever it was she was knitting looked like it would fit King Kong. Navy blue. Mostly plain but with bands of fancy pattern on the shoulders. The woman seemed to be knitting down the sleeve, rather than up, which Lucy remembered was how her grandmother had made jumpers.
‘Do you think,’ Lucy asked, ‘your Bill would fillet my two for me?’
‘Or dusted with flour and pan-fried in a thumb-sized nub of butter,’ the woman went on as though Lucy hadn’t spoken. Lucy thought she much preferred the butter option to the vinegar.
‘Dusted with flour and pan-fried it will be then,’ Lucy said. ‘What are you knitting?’
‘Sorry, love?’ the woman said. ‘Can’t hear you very well. What with the wind and the boat’s motor and my cloth ears. Did you say something?’
‘What… are… you… knitting?’ Lucy yelled into the wind.
‘A gansey. Like the Guernsey jumper everyone’s heard about but peculiar to this area. Not that my Bill’s a proper fisherman now he’s retired but he likes to look the part and keep his hand in.’ She gestured towards a very large man who was reeling in a line with at least six hooks that had bagged six mackerel.
‘Do… you… think… your… Bill… would… fillet… my… mackerel… for… me?’
‘Try and stop him!’ the woman laughed. ‘Can’t resist a damsel in distress, can my Bill!’
A damsel in distress? Is that how others were seeing her? She didn’t feel like one. With each passing day and each different activity, Lucy was feeling liberated.
In the end, Bill filleted two of his own mackerel to go with Lucy’s two. She left the harbour with her head buzzing with the ways Bill’s wife – Lucy never did get around to asking her name – had told her she could enjoy the fish.
‘Now that’s a smell I can’t resist.’
Ross. Sitting on her deck as the sun sank slowly behind her, and just about to eat her supper, Lucy knew who it was without having to look.
‘Hi,’ she said, turning towards him. She couldn’t stop a smile of pure pleasure flooding through her.
She’d bought a jar of cornichons and two tomatoes and the wherewithal for a quick veggie pickle on the way back to 23 The Strand, and now here she was about to tuck into to her pan-fried mackerel on the deck. And Ross seemed to have pitched up. Did she want his company? Did she?
And then she noticed a skein of kayakers going across the bay in front of her.
‘Shouldn’t you be out there?’ she asked.
‘Nope. Got to cut my boy’s apron strings and let him take a bit of responsibility.’ Ross t
ook one step up the flight of wooden stairs – a little nearer Lucy. She didn’t feel threatened in any way but still wasn’t sure she wanted him there.
‘Your boy?’ Lucy asked. It seemed rude not to, especially as Ross’s forehead was furrowed with little worry lines.
‘Toby. Eighteen. Should be going to uni but he’s bailed out before he even got there. Says he can’t imagine being cooped up in some academic building learning stuff when he can be earning a wage and getting fresh air and exercise out there.’
Ross waved an arm towards the kayakers.
So, Ross had a son. And presumably a wife. And yet he’d invited Lucy – very cheekily – for a drink the first time they’d met.
‘How does your wife feel about that?’ Lucy asked.
‘If she were here – which she’s not, because she bailed out ten years ago when she fell in love with someone else and has had scant contact since – I’d say it was Toby’s decision, not hers. New Zealand isn’t conducive to weekend access, but that was her choice. I didn’t put any pressure on Toby to choose between us but in the end his mum didn’t want him cramping her style, as it were. Sorry, I’m sounding very ‘violins time’, aren’t I?’ Ross gave her a broad grin she was sure he didn’t feel.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Lucy said. She knew she’d come across a bit snippy with that question, letting him know she didn’t go much on married men who invited other women for a drink. There were lots of questions she wanted to ask, like how Toby had been with all that, but now wasn’t the time. ‘Really sorry. I… I can put another mackerel in the pan if you fancy one? And I can do another bowl of instant pickles. If you’d like to join me?’
‘I knew my nose was right to lead me here!’ Ross laughed, and bounded up the steps.
‘You can tell me if you want or you can tell me to mind my own. Why you’re here, on your own, I mean. It’s kind of niggling at me the way you said you needed the experience of seeing a seal in your life right now. Sorry. Shut up, Ross. Been too long on my own.’
Lucy put a hand over her mouth. To tell him or not? She felt like laughing at his funny way of saying things and yet she felt like crying too, that he’d been concerned for her.
‘When I’ve cooked your mackerel and sorted the pickle. I’ll get another glass.’
Ross was leaning back in his chair, his head turned to the evening sun, eyes closed. He looked vulnerable to Lucy and she had a sudden urge to protect him although she had him down as a coper.
‘Here you go,’ Lucy said. She placed the mackerel and pickle in front of him. She’d also cut a chunk of foccacia and spread it liberally with butter. ‘I’m no Nigella Lawson though.’
‘Fine by me,’ Ross said. ‘She doesn’t float my boat, as it were.’
Ross ate hungrily, raising his glass in between mouthfuls towards Lucy.
‘Happy hols, whatever,’ he said, as he finished the last mouthful and placed his knife and fork neatly together on the plate. ‘Shall I wash up?’
‘No. It’s fine. I’ll do it later. But thanks.’
‘So…’ Ross spread his arms wide – inviting Lucy into them, or her confidence, she wasn’t sure which. She wouldn’t have minded the former but settled for the latter.
‘So…’ Lucy began. ‘Single. No children. Pushing forty. Should have been married by now and holidaying in Bali but my fiancé bailed out. He’s there, and married to someone else now.’
‘Bali’s not all it’s cracked up to be,’ Ross said quietly. ‘Give me this bay and the river just ten miles away to kayak on in the winter when it’s too rough out at sea any time. But it must hurt.’
‘Not as much as I thought it would now I’ve been here a while. Oh, and I was made redundant soon afterwards. I’m using this fortnight to sort out what I want to do with the rest of my life. And I’ve surprised myself – I quite like my own company and I’ve enjoyed sightseeing and also just sitting doing nothing. I’m managing.’
‘Same here,’ Ross said. ‘Managing. Do you miss the guy?’
Now that question Lucy hadn’t been expecting. Did she? If she were honest she would have to say ‘Not really’. She was plagued by a deeply uncomfortable thought that she had said ‘yes’ to his offer of marriage because time was running out for her to have children, and Ben had asked her to marry him and said having a family was definitely on his agenda. Just not with her, presumably.
‘Miss Ben?’ she said.
‘If that’s what he’s called, yes.’
‘I thought I did. I was humiliated in the beginning. I felt like some sort of Victorian spinster who’d been put back on the shelf. People pretended they hadn’t seen me when I was walking towards them and they’d cross the road or nip into a shop rather than have to think of something to say to me.’
‘That sucks,’ Ross said. ‘Now this will make you laugh. My Gran actually said I’d been cuckolded. Cuckolded! I had to look it up in the dictionary. Another Victorian expression or somesuch for a husband whose wife has done the dirty on him.’
‘Oh, Ross,’ Lucy said. She didn’t feel in the least like laughing.
‘So, here we are,’ Ross said.
‘Did you never want to find someone else?’
‘Not in the beginning, no. Toby was only little and I had to give him every ounce of my time and love. I did date – quite a few times actually – but it was more for comfort than anything else. If you get my drift?’
‘I do.’
A much younger man – Guy – with whom Lucy had worked had invited her for a drink after she’d broken down at work and told everyone what Ben had done. The drink had moved on to supper and then back to Guy’s where he’d put on a DVD of Elvis Presley ballads, and it was the combination of the food and the alcohol and Elvis’s distinctive and beautiful voice, and the romantic words, and another man desiring her that had led to sex – satisfying but merely comfort sex, and both Lucy and Guy had known it.
There was no need to tell Ross that though. Not now. Not yet.
‘We all go there!’ Ross grinned, as though he knew exactly what it was she had done without her having to tell him, and that he wasn’t judging her. ‘There were one or two I thought I might have been able to get serious about but they both commented – after a silly squabble about something that didn’t really matter in the scheme of things – that I only wanted them as a substitute mother for Toby. And I began to have misgivings about my motives for dating anyone. Plus, I set myself a rule that I didn’t want Toby to see a succession of women in my kitchen for breakfast, having spent the night in my room. I didn’t want him to get to know someone, perhaps like her very much, only for her to disappear again. So I haven’t. Dated. For ages.’
Lucy wondered why it was that Ross was being so very open with her, seeing as this was only the third time they’d met and spoken, but she was flattered he was. It had to mean he trusted her to keep his confidence, didn’t it?
‘But then you asked me out after my kayak lesson and I said no.’
‘And then you asked me, and I said no, and I was just a bit petty about that.’
‘I did think it had a bit of touché about it,’ Lucy laughed. ‘No hard feelings. I was raw, you were wary. Stuff happens.’
‘Yeah. So, I came over this way tonight to say sorry about that. I’ve been wondering if you’ve been avoiding me, ’cos I haven’t seen you about.’
‘Not consciously avoiding you, no,’ Lucy said. ‘I’ve got my car with me so I’ve been going further afield.’
Lucy gave him a brief resume of where she’d been and what she’d seen.
‘And you’re not lonely doing it all on your own?’ Ross asked.
‘I’ve been on my own, yes, but I’m not lonely. Not at the moment, but as times goes on I might be. I’ve set myself the task of doing things on this holiday that don’t require another person to do them with. We can’t always have someone do the things we want to do, so sometimes we have to do those things on our own.’
‘Hmm,’ Ross said. ‘I’v
e never thought of it like that. I just assumed any woman I went out with would love watersports as much as I do and that they’d understand I’m not into getting totally rat-arsed at live music events, even though they might love to get the gladrags on and party the night away.’
Again, Lucy wondered why he was being so open with her.
‘I’m with you on the latter,’ Lucy laughed. ‘And the other day my kayak trip was my first experience of watersports, apart from swimming and a bit of scuba diving, but I did really enjoy it.’
‘Got any plans for tomorrow?’ Ross asked.
‘I have. I’ve got a ticket for the round robin steam train, boat trip, bus tour. Ten o’clock start. It takes most of the day.’
‘Ah,’ Ross said. ‘I’ve only got the morning free. Or I might have asked if I could join you. I’ve lived here all my life but I’ve never done that trip, can you believe?’
‘Really?’ Lucy said.
‘Not even with Toby when he was little. But if I suggested it now he’d probably think I’d turned into an OAP overnight! And talking of Toby, I’d better go. He’s a good lad but sometimes he gets carried away and forgets to lock up properly. I’ll have to check. Better go. Thanks for letting me gatecrash your supper.’
‘It’s been lovely,’ Lucy said.
‘Night then, Luce,’ Ross said. He stood up, towering over her.
And she found she didn’t mind Ross calling her Luce one little bit. Well, there was a surprise.
So, here she was, alone again. The very delightful steam-train journey along the coast had taken about an hour and Lucy had taken copious photographs of the glorious views. And now she was on a riverboat chugging its way up the River Dart. Although she wouldn’t have said no to Ross’s company had he been free to join her. Lucy was on the top deck, surrounded by people she didn’t know and who she would probably never, ever see again, and yet she felt part of something… the holiday mood perhaps. It felt good.
Lucy took a small sketch pad from her bag, and a pencil. She began to draw. The boat was going so slowly she was able to sketch quite big stretches of the bank and the hills of Dartmoor in the distance before the view changed.
Summer at 23 the Strand Page 12