We Are Family

by Emlyn Rees

  ‘So?’ Sam said, eventually. ‘Fancy a picnic? Isabel, our nanny, packed us one. We might as well have it now.’

  He stretched, jumping down the three steps into the cabin. A moment later, he slid the picnic hamper into the cockpit. Then he was back up the steps, crouching to unfasten the wicker basket’s leather straps.

  ‘Christ. Champagne,’ Sam said, before rooting through the rest of the hamper. Laurie slid forward towards the edge of the cockpit. She could see that, apart from the bottle, there was a loaf of bread, a saucisson, Manchego cheese, some tortilla wrapped in greaseproof paper, crisps, home-made almond cakes, cutlery, plates and glasses. ‘Looks like there’s nothing else, so I guess it’s champagne,’ Sam said, unwrapping the foil, before glancing at the label on the perspiring bottle. ‘It’s a good one, too. Sorry.’

  ‘You don’t have to apologise.’

  ‘When there’s nothing to celebrate, it seems a waste.’

  It was the nearest either of them had come to speaking the truth. Laurie braced herself, wondering whether Sam would be brave – or stupid – enough to say more.

  ‘We should toast our new lives.’ She’d meant to sound enthusiastic, as if she were making an effort, but maybe Sam thought she was being bitchy. She watched him pop the cork, twisting it into his hand with a muted hiss. He poured a glass for her and handed it over.

  He filled his own glass and stared at it, clearly unwilling to make the toast she’d proposed. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re happy,’ he said, eventually.

  ‘Yes, I am.’ She’d said it more brightly than she intended.

  And it was right then, at that very moment, as Sam hunched down and put his elbows on his knees, that she realised that she’d inadvertently punctured whatever pretence was between them.

  She swallowed hard, as he took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. She could tell that she’d hurt his feelings, but she had to keep things on track. She had to back her words up . . . and fast. Surely she had so many new things in her life to celebrate, so many things she should be able to brag to Sam about: James, her career, she even had Rachel and a new family to be pleased about.

  But sitting here now, faced with Sam’s beaten and defeated expression, she couldn’t help feeling beaten and defeated, too. She searched for something to say, but there seemed to be nothing she could cling on to, to hold up as a mascot to prove her happiness. She felt as at sea as they were. She forced herself to remember her strategy on the jetty. She must concentrate on the present. She must concentrate on Sam’s wife and child.

  ‘We’re different people,’ she said, trying to sound philosophical. ‘Life moves on, doesn’t it? There’s a lot to celebrate. I mean . . . there’s Archie . . . you’re a father now, which must bring you so much . . . I don’t know . . . fulfilment. And I’ve got things going with my paintings, which was what I always wanted . . . and . . . well . . .’

  The champagne remained in her glass. There was a long silence as they both stared at the bottom of the cockpit, her words having fallen like invisible drops of acid between them. If she said any more, she’d sink them both.

  Eventually, Sam raised his glass and looked at her directly for the first time. Laurie felt a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. The sadness in his eyes made her want to cry.

  ‘I think we should toast the past. To who we were. Now that we’ve really left those people behind, I can’t see any harm.’

  ‘To who we were.’ She dared herself to say it and then took a hasty sip of champagne, holding the bubbles in her mouth. She knew that she could so easily betray herself by crying, but she willed herself to be strong. She wouldn’t show him how confused she was. She wouldn’t let him see inside her, or let him think that she was vulnerable in any way. But she could feel her resolve slipping, she could feel her emotions beginning to slide away from her control.

  Sam turned his head and looked inland. In the distance, the city of Palma rose out of the heat haze like a proud Spanish dancer, the cathedral with its balustrades like a majestic proud face, the white boats in the harbour below like the ruffle of a skirt. She followed his gaze to the view, the sight they’d come to see together. There was no need to mention the postcard he’d sent her, or her jibe at dinner about it. She knew they were both thinking of it.

  ‘Telling you I was sorry wasn’t good enough.’ He said it as a bald statement of fact, not a question. He didn’t look at her. ‘You’re still angry, aren’t you?’

  ‘Not angry. I’m over it,’ she lied, forcing her voice to stay level. ‘I think I understand a bit better why you did what you did. But you still broke . . . you still ended it. Anyway, it’s a long time ago now.’

  Sam nodded. Immediately that she’d said it, she’d wanted more than ever to reach out and touch his face. Having experienced the power of Sam’s family for herself, she knew that however hard it had been for her, perhaps, just perhaps, it had been worse for him.

  ‘So . . .’ she said, desperately trying to brighten up. They mustn’t discuss the past. If they did, then she would become completely unstuck. ‘Sailing . . . this boat is wonderful, isn’t it? I had no idea that it would be this, um –’

  ‘Shit, that would cover it, wouldn’t you say? Embarrassing, excruciating, awful.’

  He was holding his champagne glass in his hand, his face so open and honest that she felt completely rumbled. He was batting away her attempts at social graces, like false serves.

  ‘We should never have done this,’ he said, with a sigh.

  Laurie could feel her pulse as she stared at him. ‘So why did you?’ she asked.

  ‘Because I wanted to see you.’

  Again, his honesty floored her. His statement hung in the air, like the echo from the chime of a church bell. This was too real. Too painful. Too dangerous. She stayed silent, but Sam wasn’t put off.

  ‘I think it was the same for you, Laurie. You came because we need to do this. And this is pretty much as neutral a territory as we’re going to get.’ He gestured to the expanse of sea around them. He had a point.

  She still couldn’t look at him. ‘We can’t –’

  ‘Talk. That’s all we need to do.’

  She flared for a second, annoyed that he was being the adult and she was being such a coward.

  ‘What exactly do you want to talk about, Sam?’ she snapped, her surliness a warning shot. He’d asked her to talk once before and it hadn’t worked out. Why should she do it again? Why should he have it his way?

  But when she looked up at him, his eyes seemed to bore right through her.

  ‘You don’t want to talk to me?’

  Laurie felt herself deflating inside. She couldn’t fight him. She couldn’t fight whatever it was that was still between them. The temptation was just too great.

  She could feel him looking at her.

  ‘So. How have you been?’ he asked. His voice was soft as he asked her the most simple, yet most complicated question in the world.

  Now she remembered that the one thing that had set Sam apart from everyone she’d ever known in her life was exactly this. It was this feeling that she was the only person that mattered in the whole world.

  For a second Laurie thought about lying, about saying something glib, to revert back to her earlier tactics, but despite being virtually stationary in the water, they seemed to have travelled vast oceans in the last few minutes. They were in another country altogether.

  ‘Honestly?’ she asked, although there wasn’t any other choice. ‘Not great.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  Laurie laughed, tipping her head up to hold back such an overwhelming flood of relief that her eyes had filled with tears. At the same time, she wanted to hit him for so effortlessly prising her open like an oyster. It felt insanely intimate. More shocking than if he’d reached out and touched her skin. ‘Oh God, Sam,’ she said, finally letting go. ‘Oh God. All right. Let’s do this.’

  And then, it was as if the last three years had never happened. The floodgate
s opened and she told him everything – about her mother dying, about her recent quarrel with her father, about her friends, the private view at the gallery, about Rachel and being in Mallorca.

  ‘I’d love to see some of your new stuff,’ Sam said, after she’d told him how much she’d loved working in the boathouse. ‘I remember the sketchbook you kept when we were in France. I thought your drawings were beautiful. Have you still got it?’

  She paused. ‘We’re being honest, aren’t we?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I threw it away. I couldn’t keep it. It was too . . . hard.’ She remembered now with regret that the book had contained some of her best ever sketches and some of her best ideas. They’d all been inspired by Sam and the places she’d been with him. Now she realised that she’d spent the last three years trying to get back to that standard and to that feeling of spontaneous creativity.

  Sam nodded and she felt relieved to have told him the truth, even though she knew it was hurtful for both of them. And buoyed up by her honesty, she took a deep breath and before she knew it, she was telling him the details of what had happened to her when she’d received his postcard.

  And she told him without holding back. She told him about her confusion and her anger and her eventual acceptance. And Sam listened, taking none of it as a recrimination. And as she told him, she realised that it didn’t matter any more. That it was all in the past. That she didn’t feel bitter about it. And then they were on to her life now, about how she felt about this last attempt at making a go of her art, about her homelessness.

  The only thing she held back was her new relationship with James. Why? she wondered, as soon as the opportunity had passed and Sam had started talking. Why? She wasn’t sure. Because she was enjoying this? Because talking to Sam felt good? Because she wanted to keep her and Sam separate from the real world and all its waiting complications for a precious while longer? But why worry about it? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was right here, right now.

  Instead, she listened as Sam told her about Tony dying, about Ararat. He told her about Claire’s pregnancy and his hasty marriage. He told her about how he felt when Archie was born. He told her about his guilt, his terror at seeing Laurie at Tony’s funeral, his shock that they’d been reunited.

  And gradually they drank the champagne and picked at the picnic. It was then that Laurie brought up the subject of her father’s visit. She explained to Sam about Rachel wanting to meet him again and their plan to surprise him.

  ‘I feel a bit hoodwinked,’ she admitted, relieved to have someone to confide in at last. ‘I’m really not sure I’m doing the right thing. Rachel wants to see Dad again so badly, and now I feel like I’ve agreed to something I can’t get out of.’

  Sam laughed and shook his head. ‘That’s Rachel for you. She tends to get what she wants.’

  ‘I know she means well, but I feel like I’m about to betray Dad. And he feels betrayed enough by me already. He’ll freak out when he finds out I’ve been staying at Rachel’s all this time.’

  ‘You’re a good person, Laurie. Your dad must know that. He’ll know that you have the right motives at heart.’

  Laurie wasn’t sure what her motives were any more, but she felt reassured to voice her fears.

  ‘Will he?’

  Sam smiled at her, his face kind. ‘Whatever it is between Rachel and your dad, you have to let them sort it out. You can’t live other people’s lives for them, or protect them from pain. Same goes for children, same for parents.’

  Later, they were still bobbing about with no wind, but rather than feeling cursed, Laurie felt blessed. She’d been hiding out in Rachel’s villa avoiding this very situation, but now that it had happened, she wished she’d saved herself the heartache. Lying side by side on their backs in the cockpit, looking up at the bottomless blue expanse of sky, Laurie felt happier than she had done in years.

  ‘What do we do if the wind never picks up?’ she asked. ‘If you’re still determined not to use the engine . . .’

  ‘I am. It’s cheating. Well, unless we get run down by a ferry, tanker or powerboat, we could drift for days, until we bump into dry land.’

  ‘You mean like a deserted island?’

  ‘It’s possible. I’m sure there are a few around.’

  ‘What would we do?’

  ‘We’d have to sit it out until we got rescued.’

  Laurie smiled. ‘Sounds like fun.’

  Sam raised himself on his elbow, so that he was looking down at her. ‘We could use the boat for shelter and I’ve got some matches, so we could make a fire and keep warm.’

  ‘Wouldn’t we get bored?’

  ‘I could think of ways we could amuse ourselves. Dozens of ways, as a matter of fact.’

  She turned her head to face Sam, her hair scrunching underneath her. His eyes were dancing, as he smiled at her. His face was just a few inches away. She remembered now the row of freckles above his left eyebrow, wondering, now that she saw them, how she’d ever forgotten such an important detail.

  ‘You mean, we could sing songs?’

  ‘Sing songs, yeah. Or practise tying knots.’

  ‘Knots? That’s what sailors do, is it? Tie knots?’

  His lips were so close. She could feel herself being encompassed by him, as if she were sinking into him, like osmosis. But then, in less than a breath, something in their eyes connected and the world tilted. He was silent. His smile fading from his face.

  ‘The problem is, some of us sailors tie such huge knots, we don’t know how to get them undone.’

  Her eyes didn’t leave his. It would only take a tiny movement to move her head enough to kiss him. It would take less than a second to change their lives for ever.

  But then Laurie saw her face reflected in Sam’s eyes. She saw who she was and remembered where she was, and with whom. And no matter what kind of a knot Sam had tied himself in, she wasn’t the solution. Sam was married. He had a son. He and Laurie were bound by a family that would be destroyed if she acted on the easiest impulse in the world.

  This, she realised, feeling leaden with the responsibility of it, was her biggest test yet. She stayed very still, holding his gaze. Then she forced herself to take a deep breath.

  ‘I guess the problem is that big knots can get even more complicated over time. And then you just have to leave them, or you make them worse.’

  ‘You can’t undo them at all?’ he asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  For a second she pressed her cheek into his palm, as he touched her face. It felt like the softest pillow in the world. She closed her eyes.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ she whispered.

  She felt Sam touch her hair lightly. ‘We blew it, didn’t we, Laurie Vale?’

  She nodded mutely. He held her hair at the front, twisting a strand of it around his finger. ‘For what it’s worth, I’ll always regret it.’

  And then, above them, the courtesy flag fluttered and then the mainsail started to fill with wind.

  Much later, after Sam had made her sail the boat back to Palma, jibbing all the way, Laurie was exhausted and yet strangely calmed. As Sam gave her a lift back to the villa in his Porsche, she felt as if she’d undergone some sort of catharsis.

  Having cleared the air, they chatted easily and freely about Archie and how Claire wouldn’t probably be home until much later, Sam making Laurie laugh with his impressions of Claire’s friends. He talked, too, about Ararat and the challenges he faced at work.

  It was only as they drove towards the village and up the hill to the gates of the villa that Sam slowed down.

  ‘Thank you for today,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise how much I’ve missed you. I mean . . . talking to you . . .’

  Laurie turned to face him. She wanted to tell him that she’d realised the same thing. But it wasn’t just the talking that she’d missed. It was being together that had refilled her like a cup that had been dry for a very long time. For one crazy second, she thoug
ht about telling him precisely that, but she’d never be able to tell him how today had made her feel.

  ‘But that’s good, isn’t it, that we can still talk? That after everything we’re still friends.’

  She thought he was going to say something, but instead, he leant across her and took a small electronic key out of the glove compartment and pointed it at the gates of Sa Costa. The gates swung open automatically and they drove in silence up the drive. A minute later, they came to a stop and Laurie busied herself with her bag, nervous about how they were going to say goodbye. But when she sat up, Sam was staring at the villa.

  ‘The front door’s open. You didn’t leave it open, did you?’

  ‘No, I’ve got keys. Rachel’s gone back to London.’

  Sam’s hand was on the car door, opening it. ‘Christ, I’ve been dreading this,’ he muttered. ‘Rachel’s so lax about security. I hope it’s not a burglar. There’ve been so many around here. Stay here, I’ll go and check it out.’

  Laurie watched Sam run towards the front door. She breathed in, letting the scent, the atmosphere of him soak into her.

  Then she came to her senses. What if there really was a burglar? What if he got hurt? And she was sitting here like a sentimental fool, wishing the day wasn’t over.

  She sprang out of the car and raced after Sam. It wasn’t until she was near the open terrace doors that she heard shouting.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Sam was brandishing an umbrella, held aloft as a weapon.

  ‘Hey!’ James clambered off the sunlounger, holding up both hands, a beer in one of them.

  Laurie ran to Sam’s side. Her cheeks were burning. ‘James! What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘You know each other?’ Sam’s face was incredulous. The umbrella fell to his side.

  James glanced warily between Sam and Laurie. ‘James Cadogan. Pleased to meet you.’

  He dropped his stance of surrender and tentatively stepped forward to shake Sam’s hand. Laurie watched the two men side by side: Sam, towering above, with his blond hair ruffled and salty from the day’s sailing, James’s dark hair wet from the swim in the pool, his trendy glasses perched on his head, his body honed and toned in his swimming shorts. Next to Sam, he looked like a boy.