Sunny Days and Sea Breezes

by Carole Matthews

  Marilyn steers me to the kitchen table and presses me into a seat. Then she sits next to me and, still holding my hand, instructs, ‘Spill the peas.’

  That makes me smile through my tears and blow a snot bubble out of my nose. Marilyn produces a clean, folded tissue which she shakes out for me and hands over. I duly blow my nose.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t be,’ she chastises. ‘A good cry never did anyone any harm.’

  ‘It’s all I seem to do these days,’ I tell her.

  ‘Then you must have good reason,’ Marilyn decides. ‘This isn’t just about this husband of yours. I can tell that. It goes deeper.’

  ‘I lost a baby,’ I say, flatly.

  It seems pointless trying to keep this all in. My heart and my head are too full of pain to hold it all in any longer.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  ‘Oh, lovey.’ Marilyn sighs with concern.

  ‘It was a few months ago now.’ I could tell you the exact amount of days, of hours, but that would be too sad. I will say that Chris and I spent the bleakest Christmas I’d ever known. We’d planned to celebrate in style as it was to be our last as a couple. How true that was, but not in the way intended. We didn’t go out, we didn’t even put up a tree. Presents we’d bought were left unopened. I bought everything for a Christmas dinner and then threw it all in the bin, uncooked. The start of the New Year which was to be such a fabulous and exciting one for us now held no hope. ‘I’m struggling to come to terms with it.’

  ‘Of course you are.’ She pats my arm. ‘The loss of a child is one of the most devastating things that can happen to you. Why wouldn’t you be in pieces?’

  It seems like a reasonable question.

  ‘You need time to heal, to grieve,’ she continues. ‘Sounds like you’ve been trying to burn the handbag at both ends.’

  ‘I think I have.’ I give her a watery smile. ‘I think that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.’

  ‘You could have done a lot worse than to come to the Isle of Wight for a restorative break. It’s God’s own country.’

  ‘I thought that was Yorkshire?’

  ‘That, too,’ Marilyn agrees, dismissively. ‘I’m taking it that it’s caused a moan of contention between you and your husband?’

  ‘Yes. He doesn’t seem to have felt it in the same way. Hardly at all.’ I can’t even bring myself to tell Marilyn that Chris actually went into the office the day after his wife miscarried, the day after his child slipped away from them. What kind of man does that? How could he leave me when I could barely put one foot in front of the other?

  ‘Men are hopeless with emotions,’ is her verdict. ‘They handle them in very different ways, but that doesn’t mean they don’t feel exactly the same.’

  Chris was the one who had to tell all of the family, all of our friends what had happened. I couldn’t face anyone. I wonder if he resented that more than he said. Again, neither of us gave voice to our feelings.

  ‘We didn’t even give her a name,’ I confide. ‘I wanted to call her Charlotte after my mother. Chris never met my mum, so wasn’t keen. He wanted to call her Beth for no good reason and we couldn’t agree. I don’t even have a photo of her or anything. I’ve only got the picture of her first scan.’

  ‘You won’t get over it,’ Marilyn says. ‘You’ll just learn how to live with it. My boy’s been gone for twelve years now and he was the apple of my pie. I still chat to him every single day. He might not come through my front door any more, but he’s still lives on in my heart and always will.’

  ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever stop wondering how my baby would have grown up.’

  ‘You won’t. You’ll see something and you’ll think how they would have enjoyed it. You wonder where they are and what they would look like.’

  ‘That’s why I’ve stopped looking in mirrors because I wonder if she would have grown up to look like me.’

  ‘Trust me, it will become less painful with time.’

  I hang my head. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to bear it.’

  ‘You will. It’s early days yet. And you can have another child,’ Marilyn says bullishly.

  ‘I’m on the wrong side of forty, Marilyn. Let’s face facts. This one took three rounds of IVF and now I don’t even have a husband.’

  ‘It’s definitely over between you?’

  ‘I’m pretty certain that he’s seeing another woman.’

  She purses her lips. ‘It’s hard to forgive, but maybe he’s just not thinking straight either.’

  ‘You think I should give him another chance?’

  ‘Depends if he wants one.’ She shrugs. ‘If he keeps on denying it or blaming you, then bin him. If he confesses all and asks for forgiveness, then you’ll have to see if you can make it work.’

  I put my head in my hands. ‘I can’t even bring myself speak to him, at the moment, let alone think whether I want to repair our relationship.’

  ‘Children are a blessing and a heartache,’ she says. ‘You’ll have far worse to face than this when you have a family. It’s how you deal with it will tell whether you’ve got a future together or not.’

  ‘You’re lucky you’ve had so many children.’

  ‘Luck?’ Marilyn laughs. ‘I didn’t plan to have so many kids. There were things that I wanted to do for myself, but my husband only had to take his trousers off and I was pregnant.’

  I guffaw at that. ‘I don’t think that’s how it happens, Marilyn.’

  ‘You don’t say?’

  Then we both have a good giggle together.

  ‘That a good sound to hear,’ Marilyn says. ‘Laughter is the greatest healer.’

  ‘Time,’ I correct. ‘Time is the greatest healer.’

  ‘Time and laughter.’

  She’s probably right.

  ‘I’ve dedicated all my life to my kids,’ she adds. ‘You’ve had your fantastic career too.’

  ‘I’m not sure that was the best thing. If I’m honest, Chris and I never really prepared for the baby to change our lives.’ Oh, we bought pretty things, painted the nursery in pastel shades of Farrow & Ball, but we never really had a clue how it would affect us. We always assumed that any child would just fit in with our lifestyle. How foolish to think that. Was the baby trying to tell us that we just weren’t ready to be parents? The hospital could offer no reason for why I’d miscarried. In my blackest moments I wonder was it the baby sensing that we weren’t fit to care for her. I don’t know.

  As we’re talking, I hear Ned’s door bang and we both watch him make his way towards the shore. I wonder if he remembers that he invited me to go to the beach to do yoga with. If he has, you think he might glance this way. I kind of will him to. But he doesn’t.

  So much for my psychic powers.

  ‘You should go with him.’ Marilyn is clearly better at reading minds. ‘I thought you were going to give that yoga thing a go?’

  ‘Not today. I’m emotionally drained.’ I smile at her.

  ‘I brought you a present.’ She goes to one of her many bags and delves in. A moment later, she puts a carrier bag in front of me. ‘Ta-dah.’

  I give her a puzzled look. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘You won’t know until you open it.’

  Now it’s my turn to dip into the bag. I pull out the contents. ‘Wow,’ I say, slightly stunned. ‘Wow.’

  ‘I knew you’d like them,’ Marilyn says, proudly.

  ‘Wow.’ In my hands there are silver glittery leggings and a neon pink vest top. ‘Wow.’ There really are no other words.

  ‘Just the thing for your yoga sessions.’ She looks more excited than I feel.

  ‘I don’t know if I’m going to do it yet,’ I hesitate to point out.

  ‘You are,’ she says in a tone that brooks no challenge. ‘That Ned won’t know what’s hit him when you turn up on the beach in those.’

  I think we can both agree on that.

  ‘This is very kind, Marilyn.’ And it is,
despite the fact that I’ll probably look as if I’m emulating Jane Fonda, The Early Years.

  ‘Go and try them on,’ she urges. ‘I can’t wait to see you in them.’

  I’m really not going to get out of this, am I? Still, I look at the silver glittery leggings and can’t help but smile.

  ‘There,’ she says, satisfied. ‘You look better already.’

  ‘Thank you for that chat. I think I needed it.’ I’ve been like a pressure cooker building up a head of steam, ready to blow at any moment.

  ‘My pleasure. I’m always here for you.’ Marilyn stands and plants a noisy kiss on top of my head. ‘You’ll be OK. I can feel it in my bones.’ Then she goes and hefts the rest shopping onto the work surface. ‘My only degree is from the University of Life, but it comes in handy sometimes.’

  ‘I’m sure it does.’ Marilyn might be able to talk for England, but she’s proved to be a very good listener too and I’m grateful for that.

  She cheerfully bangs about with the kettle and stacks more food in the fridge. If I do ever go home from the Isle of Wight I’ll be about ten kilos heavier and will have to up my gym game. I wonder what the good people of LifeStyle gym in Shoreditch would think of my new workout gear?

  ‘I saw Ida leaving Ned’s boat this morning,’ she says over her shoulder.

  ‘Yes, so did I.’

  ‘She looked a bit worse for wear. I hope they weren’t up to what I think they were up to.’ Marilyn shakes her head in dismay. ‘That poor girl’s always carried an umbrella for him.’

  ‘Yes. I’d gathered.’ You only have to see the way she looks at him to realise that. I’m also slightly worried that I, too, might be carrying an ‘umbrella’ for him.

  ‘Shame as it would be nice to see them both settled,’ Marilyn continues. ‘Ida might think he’s the bee’s elbows but I’m not sure Ned feels the same about her.’ She gives me some side-eye. ‘I think our Ned’s got other fish to chip.’

  That as might be, but it didn’t stop him from spending the night with her though, did it?

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  I am feeling positive and energised after my talk with Marilyn. Plus two well-aimed coffees and a fresh Danish pastry haven’t hurt either. These were also courtesy of Marilyn – who I may now refer to as Saint Marilyn. She really does have a heart of gold despite having seen a good deal of heartache herself. I should aim for that too. I feel she understands me when no one else does.

  It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the sea is sparkling like diamonds and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Thanks to Marilyn, I have a fridge full of food, not a speck of dust anywhere, new glittery workout pants and some small hope for the future. On a day like this I should count my blessings. I’m not going to mope around. I’ll walk into town or along the coast. I might even sit down later and actually read some more of George’s book. I feel more positive already.

  When Marilyn has nearly finished banging around with the hoover accompanied by her singing ‘A Million Dreams’ from The Greatest Showman at the top of her voice, I emerge from downstairs modelling my new yoga outfit. I give her a twirl.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Oh, my,’ she says. ‘You look like a little princess. You like them?’

  ‘I love them.’ That might be stretching it a bit, but the leggings actually fit me very well and, while the vest top is rather more plunging than I’d normally choose and doesn’t really cover all that much, it will do perfectly well for any future yoga session that I might or might not attend on the beach.

  I go over to Marilyn and give her a big hug.

  ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘To say thank you for being you.’

  ‘I’d have trouble being anyone else. Are you going to do some yoga?’

  ‘I think I’ve missed the boat on that one,’ I say. ‘Seaside pun intended. I thought I’d pop down to the café. I’ve been reading George’s book and have really enjoyed it. I might bump into him and tell him so.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ Marilyn says. ‘It’s a lovely day.’

  It is. So much about it is right.

  I put my sensible clothes back on, topped with my cheery jacket. If Marilyn carries on like this, there’ll be no black or grey left in my wardrobe. As I leave Sunny Days, I kiss goodbye to Marilyn and set off down the seafront, a tiny kernel of lightness in my heart.

  Chapter Forty

  The walk down to the Beach Hut Café is bracing. The sea air is cool, gusty and blows me along the front.

  George is on his podium and, even more than usual, is struggling to stand still.

  ‘Hi, George.’

  ‘Hi, Jodie. How’s it going? I’ve had a terrible morning. There’s hardly anyone around due to the wind and then, when someone finally did come along, her cockerpoo did a wee up my leg.’

  ‘Oh, George.’ I try not laugh. ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘Hazard of the job.’ He sounds very doleful. ‘Its owner had some Wet Wipes, so she cleaned it off. She was terribly apologetic and put five pounds in my box. But it wasn’t very nice.’

  ‘You must have been doing a very good job of being a statue, if that’s any consolation.’

  ‘Do I smell of wee?’

  ‘Not that I can tell.’ Though I don’t think I want to sniff too closely. ‘Want to abandon your post and join me for a coffee?’ He looks forlornly at the one fiver in his box. ‘I’m buying.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone would miss me for a short while,’ he says and jumps down to join me, bringing his money box and podium with him.

  ‘Short cut across the beach?’ He nods in agreement. ‘I’ll carry your podium. You might need a hand free to hold onto your hat.’

  He gives it to me and I tuck it under my arm. We drop down the nearest steps and walk together along the sand towards the café.

  ‘I’m enjoying the book immensely,’ I tell him. ‘So many twists and turns. It’s a triumph.’

  Even beneath all the metallic make-up I can see that he’s pleased. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yes. Have you sent it off to any agents yet?’

  ‘I have a list of six and I’m going to be sending off three chapters and a synopsis later today. That’s what they ask for. It’s nerve-wracking,’ he admits. ‘Part of me doesn’t want them to see it in case they don’t like it. If it comes bouncing straight back, then I’ll have to re-think my career plan.’

  ‘Think positively,’ I say. ‘It could be just the thing they’re looking for.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. It’s horrible when you really set your heart on something only for it to be thwarted.’

  ‘I know.’ More than George can imagine. ‘But life goes on. If it doesn’t happen this time, then you can try again.’ It’s good advice that I should take myself.

  George smiles and then says, ‘Oops. Mustn’t crack my make-up.’

  We laugh together and that only makes it worse and George clutches his face to try to stop it moving as we giggle.

  By the time we reach the café, we’ve managed to get ourselves under control again. There are only a few customers and Ida is in the hut, slumped on the counter. When she hears us, she lifts her head from her arms and, tentatively, opens one eye. She looks pale and as if much wine was taken and very little sleep was had. She’s still wearing last night’s clothes.

  ‘Late night?’ I ask, even though I know. I don’t want Ida to think that I’m spying on Ned. Especially when I am.

  ‘More like an early morning,’ she says, sleepily. ‘Your neighbour is such a bad influence on me.’

  ‘I’m glad you had a good time.’

  ‘We should have asked you to join us,’ she says, sweetly. ‘I didn’t think.’

  The implication being that Ned didn’t either. But that’s OK. I’m cool with that.

  Ida yawns. ‘Usual latte, George?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘To drink in or take away?’

  ‘We’re staying,’ he says.

/>   ‘And for you, Jodie?’

  ‘I’ll have the same. Throw in a couple of flapjacks too, please.’

  Ida stands up and looks as if she regrets the sudden movement. While we watch, she makes our coffees, scowling at the coffee machine and the amount of noise it makes. She hands over a tray bearing the coffees and flapjack.

  ‘Thanks.’ We go to my favourite table and we tuck in together.

  It’s funny to see George eat as you get a peek of his white teeth and pink tongue which look incongruous in his bronze face.

  Delicately, he wipes a crumb from his lip. ‘Don’t want to smudge the make-up. People are very quick to point out if there’s a bit missing.’

  When he’s finished, he drains his cup, folds his flapjack wrapper and tucks it inside, then replaces the lid. Finally, he pops it back on the tray. All done as methodically as one of his statute routines. ‘Thank you. I’d better get back to it. I’ll probably just set up here.’

  George takes his plinth and goes to stand at the entrance to the beach.

  ‘Good luck with the book,’ I call after him. ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed.’

  I finish my own coffee, pick up the tray and take it back to the counter. Ida has returned to her head on hands position. ‘Thanks.’

  She looks up, reluctantly opening one eye. ‘No worries.’

  Her head goes down again, so I put the tray on the nearest table. Not chatty at the best of times, clearly Ida is in no mood for conversation.

  As I leave, George is already back in statue mode. He nods to me before striking a pose. So I head off back towards Sunny Days wondering what to do with myself today but, for the first time, the thought doesn’t fill me with dread.