Dropping my bags in the hall, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. What a sorry picture. My long blonde hair hasn’t benefited from being styled by the wind. It looks lank and lifeless. I used to get it coloured every eight weeks, cut every four weeks and would splash out on a professional blow-dry every week, but I can’t remember when last I went. Whenever I look in a mirror, I see Bill looking back too. He and I share the same looks and, as kids, we were often mistaken for twins. My brother is only eighteen months older than me, so we’re not very different in age – or outlook, or likes and dislikes. We’re both tall, slim and are strawberry blondes – though my hair is highlighted with blonde and Bill’s is now naturally highlighted with silver-grey. We both have green eyes – though there is no sparkle in mine any more. Once people used to remark on my eyes, including my husband. Now there are dark shadows beneath them and my skin looks as washed-out as the day. I’ve avoided mirrors for months. Now there is too much reflected there and I can’t bear to look. I trace the line of my jaw, the curve of my nose, run my fingers over my long black lashes. I see my past, my present, my future staring back at me and it’s all too much. When my eyes fill with tears, I tear myself away.
Going through to the main living area, I push all other thoughts aside and concentrate hard on appreciating it. There’s a lot to admire. It’s a huge space, flooded with light. On a sunny day, it will be incredible. The kitchen is fitted with white units and a huge Aga in a soft dove-grey colour - which does make me smile as I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bill cook. I’m sure that the majority of numbers in my foodie brother’s iPhone are for restaurants that he favours. The table is white, possibly a French antique, and has a shabby-chic finish. To go with it are a range of beautifully co-ordinated mis-matched chairs in soft seaside colours – pink, pistachio, duck egg blue, lemon.
I walk towards the back. Again, my lack of boat-based terms evades me. I don’t know if it’s the bow or the stern, but it’s the end of the boat that overlooks the sea. There’s a comfortable living room with an oversized pale blue velvet sofa with navy sail-stripe cushions scattered over it. There’s a range of accompanying eclectic accent armchairs and I remember Bill telling me that he’d sourced them through various up-and-coming designers, as we do with all of our work when we can. It’s what gives our interiors an original edge. Every piece has been hand-picked and placed with painstaking care – Bill’s forte – from the furniture to the artworks on the wall. There are giant sea charts on one wall and, on the other, a huge poster of Sean Connery and Ursula Andress on a beach. He’s catching hold of her slender ankles as she does a handstand in her bikini – it’s an iconic image and is perfect for the space.
In front of the span of bi-fold doors there’s a telescope set up and I put my eye to it, but can see very little as it’s all blurry. When I’m settled, I’ll have plenty of time to work out how to focus it properly. With a bit of fiddling, I open one of the doors and step out onto the spacious rear deck. The wind has dropped and the air isn’t quite as nippy as it was on the ferry coming over here, but I don’t think I want to hang about out here too long today.
The view is breathtaking. Sunny Days is situated right in the middle of the curving sweep of the harbour, so has an all-encompassing vista. Bill certainly knows how to pick his spot. Right now, the tide is high and I can see that, at the mouth of the harbour wall, there’s a circular, brooding fort ahead of us which is currently shrouded in low cloud. It looks as if it’s floating on the water like a mirage. To the left, there’s a line of moored boats, what looks like a sailing club and a shack painted bright blue that’s a café selling fresh seafood. To the other side, more sailing boats and houseboats, but not much else. Ahead of me, there’s just the sea, the gulls wheeling in the air and the sturdy fort.
Out on the deck there’s a dining table with four chairs which will be an ideal spot for breakfast or reading should the weather perk up. Beyond that is a small ramp which goes down to a wooden pontoon that extends out over the water and is home to two pristine, teak steamer chairs.
The only other human figure I can see in the harbour is a man out on a paddleboard in a wetsuit. Even looking at him makes me shiver. I guess these coastal types are more hardy than soft townies like me. Nothing on earth would persuade me into water that cold, that grey. I’m not even keen on venturing into the sea when the climate is tropical. I watch him for a few moments as he glides across the calm water of the harbour, before I retreat inside. Not my idea of fun, but he looks as if he’s enjoying himself, anyway. It takes all sorts, I suppose.
My cursory exploration of this floor over, I scoop up my bags again and head downstairs to the bedrooms. There are only two, but they’re both generously proportioned. The second bedroom is, as yet, empty, waiting to be finished. The master suite is, of course, beautifully furnished. My brother has impeccable taste and flair. He’s so fussy, though, which probably explains why, at the age of nearly forty-four, he’s still resolutely single. I don’t think anyone could live up to his exacting standards. He says he might rent out this place, but I can’t see him wanting to let strangers in here on a regular basis.
The main bedroom is the furthest away from the harbour road, facing the sea. Down here, all windows are traditional portholes and it does feel more boat-like. The theme is fresh, seaside-influenced without it being clichéd. There’s a white bed-frame and crisp white linen topped with pale blue tweed cushions and a couple that are hand-stitched with delicate shell patterns. A rich, royal blue throw is meticulously arranged in a casual style. The bedside cabinets are stripped-back wood with glass lamps and white shades. The white dressing table has a Philippe Starck ghost chair in front of it – no doubt an original rather than a copy. It’s all so pristine and wonderful.
Looking round, I like what I see. I can definitely be comfortable here, even if happy might be stretching it a bit. I can’t exactly say that I feel any better or lighter, but some of the weight that’s been pressing down on my heart and my head has lifted for a moment. Perhaps that’s what sea air and some well-placed designer furniture does for you. I haven’t lived on my own for years and it feels strange to be completely by myself without any detritus from another person in the house – or boat, in this case. All I can hear is the sound of the gentle waves lapping against the hull which is soothing, hypnotic. Perhaps I could learn to live again here. Heaven knows, the total solitude is appealing.
Then I hear the front door bang and a voice shouts, ‘Coooooeeeee!’
Chapter Three
‘What the f—?’ I say to no one but myself. That made me jump out of my skin. Bill didn’t tell me that anyone else had a key. Did I leave the front door open?
‘Only me!’ More shouting.
Abandoning my bags and any thoughts of unpacking, I take the steps two at a time to go and see who’s invaded my space.
In the kitchen, there’s a very buxom woman with bleach-blonde hair – as white as it possibly could be. Her red lipstick is also the brightest I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s positively neon. She’s wearing leopard skin print jeggings that give the impression of a boa constrictor trying to eat her. They’re topped with a white floaty number that has a perilously plunging neckline and exposing a good deal of her comely cleavage. The outfit is completed by a pair of vertiginous red heels. Her nails are an inch long and also an eye-popping shade of red. She makes me feel very drab in my black trousers and grey shirt, but then my interest in my appearance has taken a back seat for some time now. This woman is far more glamourous – in a slightly alarming way – though she must be twenty years older than me.
Currently, she’s determinedly loading shopping into my fridge from a carrier bag that states Shopping is my cardio.
‘Just a few bits, sweetheart,’ she says as if we’ve been friends for life. ‘I thought I’d get you going. Cheese, hummus, pork pie – food of the gods – and salad.’ She grimaces at the pack of three iceberg hearts. ‘Though I can never see the point of lettuce myself.’
She indicates her curves. ‘As you can tell, I’m a confirmed salad-dodger. You’re not vegan, are you? Joyless buggers. There’s a nice loaf in the cupboard. Get some carbs down your neck, lovely. You’re as thin as a chip.’
I stand there and gape. Who the hell is this?
‘Cuppa, sweetie? You look knackered.’ She bangs about with the kettle. ‘How do you take it? Black, white? I’ve brought milk and sugar.’ The woman holds them up for my inspection. ‘You don’t look like you take sugar.’
She gets two mugs out of the cupboard and crashes about with the kettle. All her bracelets jangle, dozens of them clanging together, setting my teeth on edge.
‘Sorry,’ I say, when I finally find my voice. ‘But who are you?’
‘Marilyn.’ She looks at me as if I should have known this. ‘I was named for Marilyn Monroe.’ Like Monroe, she does a shimmy and a pout. ‘My mother was a big fan. I’m a McConaughey, though.’
‘And you’re here because?’
‘I’ve been doing for Bill,’ she supplies as if it should have been perfectly obvious to me. ‘Cleaning up after the builders and such. He’s asked me to look after you while you’re here.’
‘Did he now?’ Wait until I get on the phone to him.
‘Probably forgot to mention it. He’s such a busy man. I’ve never known anyone dash about so much. He runs around like a headless pony. Here, there, everywhere! He’s done this place up lovely though.’ She gives an admiring glance around the room. ‘Asked my advice on most of it.’
I think if that had been the case there would be more considerably leopard skin print in evidence.
‘Well, Marilyn,’ I say. ‘It’s very nice to meet you, but I’ve actually come here to be by myself.’ I try to address this as politely as possible. ‘I don’t know what arrangement you have with Bill, but I’m sure that I can manage.’
‘You can be by yourself with me,’ Marilyn tells me as the kettle boils. ‘You won’t even know I’m here. I’m as quiet as a squirrel. All I’m going to do is pop in every day and have a little run around with the hoover and the like.’
The thought fills me with dread. ‘I’m really not intending to make very much mess and I’m perfectly capable of doing my own cleaning.’
‘I’m sure you are, honey, but Bill’s your big brother. He just wants to look after you. My kids are all the same. They’re protective of each other. That’s what families do.’
Yes, I think, but sometimes the people who should love you the most are the ones who cause you the most hurt. I sigh to myself.
‘How did you want your tea?’
‘I don’t actually want any tea.’
‘Of course you do. A cup of tea in time is as good as nine. White, no sugar?’
‘Yes.’ Some things in life you just can’t fight.
Marilyn McConaughey-channelling-Monroe hands me a mug of tea that I’m not sure that I want and sits down at the kitchen table with her own. She has a kind face and a tan that looks as if it has come from a bottle.
‘Come on, sit, sit.’ She pats a chair. ‘You must be tired after that long journey. Sit.’
There seems to be very little point in arguing about this too. Even though the trip here could hardly be classed as arduous, I realise that I am actually tired – emotionally as much as physically – and a cup of tea would just hit the spot. Running away, it seems, takes it out of you. I sit down opposite my new and somewhat unwanted companion. The tea, I have to confess, is a very good idea.
‘The tea’s wonderful.’ I try a smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m practically psychic when it comes to knowing what people want,’ she says with a sage nod.
I’m sure.
It looks as if I won’t get very far with convincing Marilyn that I don’t need her here, but wait until I speak to Bill. I’ll get him to call her off. He probably is trying to be kind, but I don’t want someone ‘popping in’ every day. Especially, not someone as chatty as Marilyn. I came here to be quiet, to see if I can find peace again.
‘I’ll tell you all about our lovely island so that you have a grand time while you’re here. I know all the best places to visit.’
‘I’m planning just to rest and read,’ I tell her. ‘Enjoy the tranquillity.’
Marilyn looks at me as if that’s a completely alien concept. ‘Nonsense. We have all of the things here. You’ll love it. We’ve a garlic farm.’
‘Right.’
‘They have garlic ice-cream.’
Where was I without that in my life?
‘That will put hairs on your toes.’
‘Chest, I think you mean.’
‘Why would you want hairs on your chest?’ she asks, askance.
I’m not entirely sure that hair on my chest or toes would make me feel any better. In fact, I’m pretty sure that an excess of bodily hair in unwanted places would only add to my woes.
Then her face softens. ‘Have you been through a rough time? I thought as much. Sure as eggs are peas, there’s some man behind it. I know these things. Why else would you come here on your own? You’re a beautiful young thing, but you look all frail and forlorn. There’s no light in those lovely emerald eyes.’
The tears that are never very far from my eyes these days spring up afresh. I swallow down the emotion that’s lodged in my throat. ‘I just need some time alone,’ I reiterate. ‘Completely alone.’
Marilyn reaches out and pats my hand. She crinkles her eyes and says kindly, ‘Don’t you worry, lovely. You can be alone with me.’
Chapter Four
Marilyn tells me about things to do on the island while I hurriedly finish my tea. She rattles them all off in a manner that the tourist board would be proud of. Apparently, as well as the must-see garlic farm, there’s Osborne House – one-time seaside home of Queen Victoria – the Needles lighthouse and many other essential touristy experiences that Marilyn insists I must do. They all pass through my brain but don’t stop. I’m not intending to spend my time sightseeing – although I’m not sure what exactly I’m planning to do with my time here. While she has a brief pause for breath, I seize my chance to speak.
‘I must unpack,’ I say, standing from the table. ‘And I need to pay you for the shopping.’
She waves a hand. ‘Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’m to send the bill to Bill.’ She laughs. ‘See what I did there?’
I do. ‘Well, thank you again for the tea.’
‘I could make you some lunch?’
‘I’m not hungry just yet, thank you. I think I might go out for a walk later while it’s still light.’
‘There’s a nice café on the beach at the end of the next bay, Sandy Cove. Tiny place. Outside and all that. Lovely food. Everyone goes there. It won’t take long to walk there. It’ll be a bit chilly today, but it will put some carnations in your cheeks.’
‘I’ll have a wander when I’ve sorted my stuff out.’ In truth that won’t take long as I’ve brought very little with me.
‘Right.’ Marilyn stands. ‘I must get on too.’
‘It really isn’t necessary. The place is immaculate. We’ve used two mugs. I can manage to wash those up.’
Marilyn ushers me towards the stairs. ‘I’ll do that, young lady. You unpack and rest for a while. I’ll be as quiet as a sausage. You won’t even know I’m here and I’ll close the door behind me when I’m gone.’
Resistance is clearly futile, so I say, ‘Thank you.’
‘Nothing is too much trouble.’ Marilyn frowns at me with concern. ‘You only have to ask.’
I take my leave while Marilyn is heading to the sink and retreat to my bedroom below deck – if that’s the right term.
As I lift my bags onto the bed, for the second time, I catch sight of myself in a mirror. This time it’s the one on the dressing table. Marilyn’s right, I do look frail and forlorn. My face is pale wan, and I realise that my grey shirt does nothing to enhance it. I’ve never dressed quite like Marilyn, but even I realise that I could do with a bi
t of colour in my life. No wonder Marilyn looked at me with such pity. I turn the mirror round to face the wall.
I can hear her clonking about upstairs, her tottering heels tapping on the wood floor. I’ll ring Bill as soon as she’s gone. I can’t cope with her. She’s too colourful. Too brash. Too loud. She never stops talking and I know from just one meeting that I won’t be able to turn her volume down to a manageable level. She has to go.
I’ve only thrown a few things in the drawers when I run out of energy and lie on the bed. I’ve a headache coming. A regular occurrence these days. Sometimes it feels as if I have too many thoughts in my brain and too little space in which to hold them. They clang against the inside of my skull, fighting for space, pressing against the back of my eyes ready to burst out in a shower of pain. I have some tablets, somewhere, but I feel too weighted down to get up and find them. Closing my eyes, I try to block out the tippy-tappy of Marilyn’s heels and tune into the soothing sounds of the seaside instead.
I’ve just got my breathing under control and my eyes are feeling heavy when Marilyn switches on the vacuum. Believe me, Bill’s boat doesn’t need hoovering. There’s not a speck of dust anywhere. She can only be a minute – five at the most. I’ll grit my teeth until she’s done. While she crashes and bashes about, I work on deepening my breath and, just when I think I might be starting to achieve a trance-like state, Marilyn starts to sing over the sound of the cleaner. ‘Jolene’. It’s not what I want to hear at the best of times and certainly not now.
With an exasperated tut, I reach for my handbag and pull out my earphones. I plug them into my iPhone and flick to the most soothing music I can find, but it’s no good, I’m still competing with Marilyn who’s joyfully murdering Dolly Parton. Giving up with the earphones, I lie there grinding my molars as she moves on to ‘Islands in the Stream’ at full blast, hitting almost one note in three. Then, when I think I’m about to turn into a screaming banshee, the hoover falls silent and so does Marilyn. I let out a relieved sigh and try to relax my clenched jaw.
Sunny Days and Sea Breezes Page 2