A promise to Allie, with her sparkly green eyes and her long limbs and her filthy sense of humour. Allie, whom we’d all lost. I glanced around the bar, and everything reminded me of her: the sun loungers where she’d first met Nurse Nancy. The stage where she did her karaoke. The shady spot in the garden where she did her Pilates. The restaurant where we’d sat together, talking about Max and Lucy and life in general. And mainly, the big man sitting opposite me.
‘There she is, the old girl,’ said Mike, producing a huge jar of Kenco from his rucksack. I stared at it, wondering what he was up to – I’d never seen Mike willingly drink anything other than lager.
He nudged the jar towards me with his finger.
‘You know, my Coffee-Mate,’ he said, winking.
‘No. Still no clue, Mike. Do you want a coffee? Is that what you’re saying?’
He leaned forward across the table, as far as he could get with his belly in the way. There was a lot less belly this year, though. The weight had fallen from the lines of his face, leaving folds of skin that made him look like an old man.
‘No, Sal. It’s her. It’s Allie – I smuggled her through Customs in disguise! Genius, eh? Couldn’t be arsed filling all the forms in.’
I leaped back from the coffee jar and stared at it like it might be about to sprout teeth and bite me.
‘Mike! Isn’t that kind of…macabre?’ And gross, and disgusting, and stomach churning. How could our beautiful, vivacious Allie be reduced to that? Dust in a pot. It made no sense at all.
‘It’s what she wanted, love. We had a long talk about it before she even went into the hospice – you know what she was like; always one eye on the next party. She didn’t specify the coffee jar, mind. She’d have preferred Fair Trade, now I come to think of it…’
She would, I thought. But at least she was here…in a strange way. I couldn’t imagine the Blue Bay without Allie, but if Mike was willing to give it a go, so was I. Besides. I’d made that promise, hadn’t I? A promise to a dying friend. It was sacred.
‘Earth to Sally,’ said Mike, waving his fingers in front of my face. ‘What were you thinking about? George Clooney?’
‘As if. Why would I think about him when I have a real-life sex god sitting opposite me?’
‘True enough, Sal, true enough. I’m so svelte these days I could pass for his better-looking brother anyway. You’re a bit on the skinny side as well, love. Been a rough year for you, hasn’t it?’
‘Not as rough as yours, Mike. I’m fine.’
Not quite fine. But alive. And definitely a lot thinner. James had succeeded where no man, woman or beast had ever succeeded before – he’d put me off my food. The kids had done their best – Lucy heaping sugars in my tea and hoping I wouldn’t notice, Ollie spending all his dinner money buying chocolate from the corner shop to tempt me with – but nothing had worked. The side of the sofa was now terminally stained from me hiding Mars Bars and pretending I’d eaten them, and I was half the woman I used to be.
‘So,’ I said, staring at Kenco, ‘what’s the plan then? Are we scattering…that…somewhere?’
‘Yes. Out at sea in the bay. She gave me very strict instructions, and even told me how to avoid the wind blowing it back in my face. What a woman. So we’ll be out tomorrow, then James and Ian are going to sail us to the island for a bit of a knees-up. It’s all sorted, pie and a pint, just how she’d want it.’
‘Um…did you say James? Is James here? I thought he was going to New York for the summer? God, I’m sorry, Mike – ignore what I just said, it doesn’t matter.’
The poor man was planning how to scatter his wife’s ashes, and I was acting like a fifteen-year-old drama queen. Self, self, self. But still…fuck. I’d counted on never seeing James again after the funeral. It was the only way I’d survived. The prospect of spending a fortnight up close and personal with him and Lavender was as appealing as brewing myself a mug of Mike’s coffee.
I’d worked bloody hard to scramble back to sanity, and I’d had help from the most unlikely of sources, but it was a sanity built on sand. Even the thought of seeing them was making my throat close up in panic. To my utter shame, my thoughts raced straight away from Mike and Allie, and back to seeing James. I couldn’t do it. I might actually die if I did.
I started to formulate a plan for catching an earlier flight home. Or a train. Or a very long walk – anything that got me away from the happy couple.
‘I think that was in July, Sal, the New York thing, and I’m not sure if he went in the end. You can ask him yourself when you see him later.’
I blinked steadily at Mike, trying not to sink under the tsunami of anxiety I could feel swamping me. I’d promised Allie I’d come back and, as far as I’d known, James was playing happy families in the States. It should have been safe. It should have been all right. But now, my pounding heart and cold sweat told me, it wasn’t.
I was glancing around nervously, wondering if I was going to need to do a drop-and-roll under the table any time soon.
‘Don’t worry, love, it won’t be as bad as you think,’ said Mike, reaching out to grip my hand. ‘She always hoped it would work out between you two, you know? She always did.’
I didn’t reply. I loved Allie – I was here because of Allie. But on that point, she was wrong.
‘How’re those nippers of yours anyway?’ he asked, changing the subject. ‘Your Lucy, you know, she’s a diamond. She’s stuck with Max through all of this. Lord knows I’ve been bugger-all use to him; too busy wallowing in my own misery. And he’s been a pain in the arse as well – but she’s never once lost that temper of hers. That’s ’cause she’s loyal, like her mum.’
Max had started at Oxford in October, even though he hadn’t wanted to. He’d wanted to put it off to be with Allie, but she’d insisted. So he’d come to the city, forlorn and lost, staying with us as much as in his college, and had made the trek back to Brighton every weekend. It was hardly the carefree undergraduate life Allie had imagined for him – but at least he’d done it. With, as Mike had said, the unexpectedly calm support of Lucy. It had been a crazy year for us all.
Mike gave my clenched hands a squeeze, and I relaxed them enough to stop my nails drawing blood from the palms of my hands. The grieving widower was comforting the fruit-and-nut-cake sitting opposite him. I needed to get a grip. And a wig. And a new hotel.
‘Right, Sal – I’m off for a swim,’ he said, standing up and stretching.
I was so shocked I thought my eyeballs might fall out and roll round the table. For the last two years I’d never seen him lift anything heavier than a tray of beer, or walk further than bar to chair.
‘Don’t look so surprised. It was one of those things she made me promise her – that I’d lose a bit of bulk and get fitter. Not keen myself, but I’m a man of my word. I’m going to start off with one width of the pool and take it from there. Get the paramedics on standby.’
As he ambled off, coffee jar tucked under his arm, Lucy scurried towards me from the opposite direction. She was less blonde this year, as her naturally fair hair grew back. My battle against the nose stud had been lost, and there’d been a trip to the tattoo parlour the month before. I knew this because she’d stolen my credit card from my purse to pay for it, having long ago detected the fact that my PIN number was her date of birth. I still didn’t know where the tattoo was. Either I’d see it on this holiday, or I didn’t want to know.
‘How’s Max?’ I asked as she sat down. I’d missed him since he went home at the end of summer term. I’d been doing his washing and feeding him and letting him store his sports gear in the garage. I don’t know what Lucy did for him – and I didn’t ask, as I respected her privacy as a young adult. Plus I was scared she might actually tell me.
‘Max is fine. Mum – do you know James is here? He’s looking for you. What the fuck’s that all about? Are you going to be okay? You’re not going to turn into little Miss Lobotomy again, are you?’
‘I wasn’t that
bad!’ I said, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. ‘Listen, I’ve got a few things to do. Unpacking and stuff. Will you be all right on your own?’
What a stupid question. Lucy had been all right on her own since she was eight and worked out how to use the TV remote control. Lucy would be all right on her own if she woke up one morning as the sole survivor in a post-Apocalyptic world.
She could drive as well these days, so I didn’t even have the privilege of her sitting next to me in the passenger seat, cross-armed and sullen, pretending I didn’t exist as I chauffeured her around.
Ollie was almost seventeen, and was never in the house unless he was hungry. I think he spent a lot of time at the library, and with his friends, and in the cinema. Or possibly roaming wild in the wastelands of Oxfordshire, turning into a werewolf on the full moon. I hadn’t got clue about either of them any more.
‘Yeah, I think I’ll cope,’ she said sarcastically, giving me a look that let me know I was about as necessary to her wellbeing as Bubonic plague.
I wanted to head for our room and lock myself in the wardrobe with the spare pillows, but it wouldn’t be safe. Too easy to find me there. I decided to hide out in the gardens for a bit while my brain simmered down from boiling point. I could cover myself with leaves and twigs and sit camouflaged in the corner for hours.
As I made my way over, Ollie lolloped up to me, out of puff and red in the face, a nervy gleam in his hazel eyes.
‘Mum! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’
‘I was at the bar, where I usually am, Ollie. What’s up?’
‘Do you know that James is—’
‘Yes! I do! And it’s no big deal. I’m fine with it. There’s nothing for you and Lucy to worry about. Now bugger off and play with your sister – I’ll be back down later.’
I don’t think he believed me, and looked so concerned it hurt my stomach – I didn’t want my kids fretting over me like this. It wasn’t right. I should be the one stressing about them.
There was a section of the gardens the reps used for storing equipment and stuff that needed repairing. You had to force your way through some fairly dense foliage to get to it, but it was the perfect temporary sanctuary.
I pushed through the greenery headfirst, clamping my eyes shut so I didn’t get blinded by a whiplashing branch, and emerged into a graveyard of punctured exercise balls and cracked paddles.
There was a hammock that still looked functional, so I grabbed a frayed yoga mat and climbed in, pulling the mat over me. I curled up into a foetal ball with my knees hugged in to my chest. Only my feet were poking out. If I stayed here long enough the grass might grow over me. Some archaeologist could dig me up in a hundred years and put me on display in a museum – scared English woman mid-panic-attack.
Truth be told, I was terrified of seeing James again. The only way I’d coped last year was to erase him from my memory. I’d cleared out the photos, put Jake’s fridge magnet away in the attic, and given the necklace to the charity shop. Okay, I went and bought it back the next day, but it was safely locked in a box now. I’d put James in a box, too, mentally. Ideally I’d have put Lavender in one as well – a pine one about six feet long – but I tried not to dwell on her too much.
I knew I’d have to face him at some point – if not before, then tomorrow, on our ashes-scattering trip. That wouldn’t be at all emotional. I might as well punch myself in the eyes now so they could swell up in advance.
I heard footsteps swishing through the grass and a few swear words as the bushes trembled. I was being followed.
‘Sally? Is that you? Are you all right?’
Shit. I stayed very still. I’d watched a lot of David Attenborough on the telly over the years. I knew better than to make any sudden movements. The predator would eventually move on to a softer target as long as I didn’t reveal my hiding place.
‘What are you doing under there?’ said James, pulling the yoga mat off me so the sunlight came streaming down on to my face. Bloody David Attenborough. Shows what he knows.
I blinked my eyes a few times, shocked by the sudden blast of light, and sat up suddenly. That was a big mistake. The two supporting poles of the hammock shook, then came crashing down, crossing over each other in the middle and slamming to the floor. It was a broken hammock, after all.
I was squashed inwards like a concertina, wrapped up in the string of the swinging seat so tightly that parts of my flesh were squeezing through the gaps.
I was lying in a hog-tied heap on the grass, with one foot and one hand poking out and waving. The rest of me was stuck. If the sun caught me I’d have stripes for the rest of the holiday. I couldn’t talk, because my lips were twisted up against the ropes, holding my mouth open like a horse baring its teeth.
‘Keep still, stop wriggling around,’ said James, kneeling down by my side and trying to untangle me. I did as he said and tried hard not to cry. It hurt, and it was uncomfortable, and it wasn’t the ideal way to present yourself to a former lover.
Bit by bit, he untied me, and I crawled out. I had grass stains on my shorts, my knees were bleeding, and I swear a pair of thrushes were sizing my hair up as the ideal starter home.
‘Thanks, James – and what a surprise to see you,’ I lied, smoothing my hair down and hyperventilating a bit.
He looked at me cynically and shook his head.
‘Those poles could have crushed you. What are you doing back here anyway?’
‘Erm…I saw a really interesting bird scuttling off into the undergrowth and I was just following it. I’ve taken up bird-watching as a hobby this year. I’m a twitcher.’
‘Really? And what did this bird look like?’
‘Like a…pheasant. Yes, like a pheasant.’
‘Right. That sounds likely. Are you hiding from me?’
‘What if I am? And how did you find me anyway?’ I asked, sitting down on the grass. The shorts were already knackered, and my legs were rubbery with nerves. James sat next to me. I tried not to notice, but he was looking as gorgeous as ever; jeans tight over his thighs and a pale blue T-shirt stretching over his shoulders. I fought off the image and replaced it with one of Dame Edna Everage naked in the shower.
‘Process of elimination. I checked beneath the sun loungers, and looked in the pool in case you were underwater and breathing through a straw. I even went in the ladies to check, which caused a stir. Here, I brought you some Turkish delight from the restaurant.’
He put a small plate in front of me.
‘Right. Great. Thanks – I feel so much better now. Did you think that was going to help? I don’t even eat stuff like that any more.’
He looked me up and down and nodded.
‘I see that,’ he said. ‘I noticed at the funeral, when you weren’t hiding behind Marcia. I can’t imagine you not eating cake…’
‘Well, this is the new and joyless life I lead, James. No cake. No Turkish delight. My only vice is crack cocaine, but hey, at least it keeps me thin.’
I was sounding like a shrew, and I didn’t care. At first I’d been scared. Now I was getting angry. I was here on holiday with my family – my whole bloody family – and to mourn Allie. Seeing him was simply not on the itinerary.
‘Look, what do you want, James? I didn’t know you were coming, and I’m not very happy about it. I thought you were in New York, or I wouldn’t have come. Can’t we just politely avoid each other? Can’t you and Lavender just…bugger off?’
‘Lavender’s not here. Just me and Jake. And I was looking for you because I need to talk to you. I would’ve been in touch earlier except you seemed to have gone under the radar like some kind of retired intelligence agent. Changed your phone, bounce-backs from your e-mail. I could’ve tracked you down through Mike, but in the end I decided it was better to see you face to face. Sally, we need to—’
What? What did we need to do? Drink Cosmopolitans on the beach? Have sex? Build seaworthy yachts from newspaper and balls of string? I never found
out, because we were very noisily interrupted.
‘Sal! Are you out there in that bloody jungle? Did you pack any insect repellent, this place is swarming,’ came an annoyed voice. A voice that I recognised, but James clearly didn’t.
He crashed through the trees as though he was Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen. Except he was wearing a white polo shirt and a pair of tennis shorts. He stopped dead and stared at us both, raising his eyebrows to ask me what was going on.
‘Simon, meet James. James, meet Simon,’ I said. They stared at each other warily, and James eventually held out his hand to shake.
‘Nice to meet you at last, Simon. I think we spoke once on the phone.’
Chapter 43
Rick had joined us for dinner. He was looking at Simon as if he was the second coming, and Simon was receiving his adulation like a benign deity. If he was at all disconcerted by the eye make-up, he didn’t let on.
‘So, what do you wear for work in the hospital, Simon?’ Rick asked, holding his chin in his hands, elbows resting on the table. I suspect he was hoping for ‘nothing at all, Rick – I go in stark naked and covered with baby oil’.
‘For consultations I wear a shirt and tie, and for surgery I wear scrubs.’
‘Oooh! Like in ER?’ said Rick, excitedly.
‘Yes, I suppose so. But honestly, it’s nowhere near as glamorous as that…the nurses aren’t as good-looking, for a start. There are some similarities, though – the tension, the life-and-death situations…’
I considered pointing out that Simon specialised in sports injuries – hardly a matter of life and death. If Simon had to hold someone’s intestines in after a gunshot wound he’d probably pass out, or call for one of those ugly nurses he worked with. He fainted when I was in labour with Lucy, and had to be propped up on the waiting-room chairs while I got on with it.
The Birthday That Changed Everything Page 22