Turning the Tide

by Christine Stovell

  At first it was difficult to salvage anything. How could she reconcile the truth of a weak man who’d betrayed his close friend, but had been unable to live with the consequences of his actions, with the large, charismatic, fun-loving father of her childhood? Was this the man whose memory she had worked day and night to keep alive?

  But, just when she was beginning to feel that her heart was broken, another small voice reminded her that he was still her dad. Nothing would change the fact he’d been a father to her in every sense that really mattered. It was too easy to turn round and blame him for robbing her of anything any normal person would call a life for the last five years. As Harry was gradually realising, the truth was that it had suited her to use him as a pretext for railing against everything she didn’t like.

  For far too long she’d been judging anyone who presented her with an alternative view of the world, weighing it up and finding it wanting. Not because it wasn’t good enough for her father, but because nothing was ever good enough for her! Longing for him to be proud of her was natural. But by digging her heels in, acting in his name, pretending she was doing what he would have wanted, she had caused a lot of pain. And all for what?

  Harry went back to the bin and took out the envelope, feeling as if she was standing at a fork in the road. She could either take the view that she had fought the tide and kept the boat yard going for nothing but a fantasy – and give up. Or she could make up her mind to stand on her own two feet and start taking responsibility for herself.

  Taking a frank look at herself in the mirror, Harry stared at ruffled hair, long overdue for a proper cut, straggly dark brows, shadows under her eyes and a tired bare face. Surely even she didn’t have to look this bad? Telling herself that Carmen was probably fully booked made her realise that she would actually be disappointed if she couldn’t be fitted in. Having made the decision, she rushed round to Crimps only to find that the new stylists were all busy and Carmen was taking a half-day in order to prepare herself for the film festival.

  Pausing outside to shake her head at the change in the salon, which for years had sported an ‘Appointments not always necessary’ sign and now looked as if it would have to introduce a waiting list for prospective clients, Harry was reminded again of how rapidly the changes in the town were gaining momentum. Watling’s was now a world away from its glamorous neighbours. Well, no doubt that would all change too.

  ‘Who were you trying to kid anyway?’ she asked herself, looking at her pink and dishevelled reflection in the newly glazed window. When her reflection sprouted big hair and enormous breasts, Harry decided it was a sign she should give up and go.

  ‘Harry?’ Carmen said, trotting out.

  Harry waved her away. ‘It’s okay, Carmen. I’m too late, you’re busy.’

  Carmen’s chocolate-brown eyes examined her greedily. ‘Not for you, Harry.’ Hauled in before she could think twice, Harry submitted to being bound in a gown and led to a basin. Before the hiss of running water drowned out other sounds, she distinctly heard a triumphant murmur of ‘So long I wait for this day!’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Matthew fastened his silver cufflinks and shrugged on the white dinner jacket. Once, it had made him look like a young Bryan Ferry, but this evening he felt more like bruised, embittered Rick in Casablanca. He took a quick glance in the mirror and felt about as world-weary as Bogey too. In the past he’d been an arrogant bastard, always scheming, planning, and looking for the next opportunity to get rich. So hungry to get on to the next challenge that he’d sweep anyone who objected out of the way. Sometimes he’d missed what was really important.

  Jimi, in his chef’s whites, shook his head at the Levi’s that Matthew refused to swap for evening trousers and at the black bow tie, left unfastened round his neck.

  ‘It’s corny, Matthew – but, heck, it works for me.’

  Matthew turned to the younger man. ‘How about you, Jimi? How are you doing?’

  Jimi swallowed before replying. ‘Yeah, good.’

  ‘Just give her time. It’s been a shock, that’s all.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve waited all this time. I can wait some more.’ He pulled himself together. ‘And in the meantime I’ve got work to do.’

  Matthew slapped him on the back with a heartiness he didn’t feel. ‘Show time!’

  Harry had opted to hire a minicab rather than walk the short distance without the disguise of her dungarees. As she paid the driver and watched the car go off without her, she felt terribly alone. Inside the building she could see the flicker of lights on little tables, the bustle of waiting staff weaving through the gaps, the silhouettes of faces bent close in conversation. George, taking a turn at a baby grand piano, was sending the sweet, sad notes of ‘As Time Goes By’ through the open window into the rosy glow of the evening sun.

  Harry tried to think of all the horrible things she had to face on a regular basis, like taking the tender out on lonely nights to check on other peoples’ yachts when the sea lunged at her or threatened to capsize her. Even that seemed better than walking into the pit of terror that was the crowded restaurant. She checked her watch and hoped that she’d timed it right. With a bit of luck she could slip in just before the screening, during which she could practise everything she had to say to everyone afterwards. Right, all she had to do was put one foot in front of another; after all, somebody in there had wanted her to come, hadn’t he? Or else he wouldn’t have dropped an invitation through her door, would he? Concentrating on that thought, Harry lifted her chin and stepped forwards.

  At first she put the fact that the conversation seemed to die as she walked through the door down to extreme self-consciousness. But, as she stood there waiting to bolt, she realised that the room really was quiet. Carmen, seated at a nearby table and showing a perilous amount of cleavage, gave her an encouraging nod and beckoned her in. Harry couldn’t trust herself to look at Matthew, who, as she was only too aware, was standing by the piano; so she let her gaze rest on George, who gave her a wink and began a spirited rendition of ‘Some Enchanted Evening’.

  Recalling the lyrics of the song George was playing, Matthew realised that the woman standing across the crowded room was certainly a stranger to him. For a start she was wearing a dress. And what a dress. In some pale silky fabric, it was strapless with a tight bodice that clung to what was, undeniably, a pair of breasts, showed off a tiny waist before billowing out to a wide skirt that foamed just above surprisingly shapely calves. Matthew sucked in his breath. Harry’s dungarees had been responsible for the best-kept secret in town: Harry Watling was all woman!

  So who was the stranger across the room? Matthew hoped that George wasn’t about to continue his South Pacific theme with ‘Cock-eyed Optimist’. Harry didn’t look too optimistic right now; in fact she looked scared stiff. Just as it occurred to Matthew that he ought to do something about her plight, there was a movement from the side of the room.

  ‘For someone who doesn’t usually look anything like a dame,’ he heard Frankie say, ‘our Harry hasn’t done too badly.’ He and Trevor, resplendent in pristine white tee shirt and striped tee shirt respectively, closed in on her protectively, one on each side, leaning forwards to kiss her and murmur reassurances. And then it happened. Harry looked from Frankie to Trevor, and from Trevor to the expectant faces around her. But, instead of pursing her lips and pulling down the shutters on her emotions as Matthew would have predicted, she let her wide, expressive mouth curve slowly into a smile that lit up the whole room. Matthew, watching in wonder, felt as if the breath had been knocked out of his body. Before he could register what had struck the blow, she was gone, spirited away by Frankie and Trevor to sit at their table.

  ‘You look beautiful, Harry, simply stunning,’ Frankie told her, raising his glass. ‘Here’s looking at you, kid.’

  ‘And that dress is divine. Not quite what I would have anticipated in your wardrobe!’ Trevor added, topping up Harry’s wine, which seemed to have disappeared qu
ite fast.

  Harry felt herself blushing. ‘This old thing! I’ve had it for years. Actually, you’re right,’ she whispered, leaning forwards. ‘It’s Carmen’s, from her younger days.’

  ‘Not to mention slimmer,’ added Frankie. ‘My, didn’t she grow up to be a big girl! Still, I suppose you’re about the same height. Take my advice, Harry, don’t have whatever she’s having – you don’t want to go the same way. Now where did you get those shoes? They’re not Carmen’s too?’

  Harry stretched out her foot and admired her newly varnished toenails. Thank goodness for Little Spitmarsh’s charity shops and the person who hadn’t been able to squeeze their feet into the glamorous silver evening sandals. ‘Oh,’ she said casually, ‘they’re vintage.’ She just caught the look of surprise on Trevor’s face as the lights went down and everyone was transported to war-time Casablanca.

  Bogart promised Ingrid Bergman, once again, that they’d always have Paris. The lights went up and Harry laughed to see the waiting staff scatter as the inhabitants of Little Spitmarsh rushed for the buffet.

  ‘Harry?’

  An elegant woman in black trousers, a black silk shirt and a multi-strand pearl choker was smiling at her with tears in her eyes.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘I didn’t say anything when we spoke on the phone, because I wanted it to be a surprise. Matthew warned me in advance that you might not feel up to coming, I just hoped you would,’ Maeve said in a rush.

  Before Harry could decide what to say, her mother pulled her close.

  ‘Harry, darling! Oh, it’s so good to see you again!’

  She was still a beautiful woman, Harry observed, when they finally let go of each other. Her parents had made a striking couple: her father larger than life, ruggedly handsome, and her petite mother, with that classic bone structure and an expressive mouth that was always poised on the brink of a smile. Well, the laughter had stopped many years ago and her mother wasn’t smiling now. Agitation clouded her wide grey eyes and worry creased her brow.

  ‘Mum, don’t,’ said Harry, ushering her over to a quiet corner of the room and feeling her own mouth quiver as her mother started to cry. Reaching out for her, Harry drew her into her arms, marvelling that she was still capable of comforting another human being when her heart was thumping so hard it seemed about to break. ‘Hush,’ she said, as Maeve sobbed quietly on her shoulder. ‘It’s all right.’

  But it wasn’t all right, was it? It would never be all right again.

  Maeve’s hands were shaking as she wiped her eyes. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,’ she said, through her tears.

  ‘So why didn’t you?’

  Maeve sighed. ‘I don’t know. I was too scared, I guess. I thought you were better off not knowing, so it was easier to stay in France and pretend that the rift between us might miraculously heal itself than tell you the truth.’

  Harry rubbed her temples. If she had known the truth about her father, she might have made a different choice. Perhaps she would have been free of the boat yard, free to be young, free to be frivolous. As it was she’d worked night and day, all these years, for what?

  ‘Your father loved you so much. He was thrilled to have a daughter. And when he died, when he decided to take his own life … well, I’d already lost him. I didn’t want to lose you too.’

  Maeve shook her head. ‘You’ve got so much strength, Harry. You were brave to come here tonight and looking so beautiful too.’ Taking her hand, Maeve smiled at her. ‘You’ve been alone for so long, holding the fort, that I was worried you’d never give in, never admit that you needed company,’ she said, stroking Harry’s fingers. ‘You’re so like your father in that respect; once he’d made up his mind, he wouldn’t budge either. I worshipped him, but it wasn’t an equal partnership. I know it’s tough for you to hear this, Harry, but I’m a far happier woman now, with Don.’

  Harry reached for her and wondered how they’d got in such a mess. Was it her father’s fault for storming his way through life, daring anyone to challenge him? Had she and Maeve loved him so much that without him they were totally bereft and completely rudderless? No, that wasn’t right; you couldn’t love someone too much, not a living breathing person anyway, but you could let the past get in the way of the present. Harry sighed. Maeve had moved on, George had tried to move on, but Harry had only wanted to stop the clock.

  ‘Where is Don, Mum?’

  Maeve looked anxious. ‘Don’t worry, he’s not here. He stayed at the hotel. We thought it would be best.’

  ‘Oh, Mum.’ Harry shook her head. Goodness, she’d made everyone miserable. ‘I’m so sorry for what I put you through. I was wrong. I thought I was saving the boat yard for Dad. I thought I was the one keeping him alive in some way and that you had turned your back on him. In the end it wasn’t about Dad, though, was it? I put Watling’s before all the truly important things in life, like looking after you and George.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘There’s some putting right I have to do, if it’s not too late. Maybe I could start by finding out about your life in France? I’ve decided to make a few changes here and I’m planning to take some time out. I’d love to come and visit you both, if you’ll have me.’

  ‘You’re my daughter, Harry,’ Maeve said, clasping her hand tightly. ‘You don’t need to ask. Come when you like. Stay as long as you like. But come as soon as you can.’

  ‘So common,’ sniffed Fabian as Roy Moult, wearing a black shirt, white tie and trilby, elbowed his way past. ‘Just like a provincial wedding reception.’ After the success of the Dirty Dancing screening, a space had been cleared for anyone who wanted to show off on the dance floor, also to Fabian’s disgust.

  Harry, returning with more drinks, squeezed past Roy and perched on the chair next to Carmen.

  ‘Nice to see you and your mama happy again,’ Carmen clucked approvingly. ‘Just like me and my Lola.’

  ‘Thanks, Carmen,’ Harry said, hugging her. ‘I couldn’t have faced any of this without you.’

  ‘Like a fairy godmother, eh?’ Carmen’s face fell. ‘Aye yi yi! I suppose you are back to the ugly dungarees tomorrow?’

  Harry got up. There was someone else to see. ‘Maybe,’ she said, winking. ‘Tomorrow’s another day.’

  George was sitting quietly to one side of the room, nursing a glass of water, his shoulders slightly drooping; but his face brightened as Harry positioned herself in front of him.

  ‘Hallo, Miss Harriet,’ he smiled. ‘You don’t ’alf look a picture.’

  ‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ she said, pointing at his suit. ‘George,’ she added quietly, ‘would you do me the honour of dancing with me?’

  ‘Don’t know why I should,’ George grumbled affectionately, ‘seeing as you can’t dance.’

  ‘No, but you can, George, and no one will know I’ve got two left feet if you don’t let me show myself up.’

  ‘Come on, then. But for once in yer life just trust me to know what I’m doing, will you? Or I’ll tip you right on yer arse.’

  Harry, being very careful not to do anything that could be misconstrued as a refusal to take orders, let George lead her confidently in a waltz. He was such a good dancer that soon she felt as if she could glide across any ballroom. Once she was able to stop concentrating so hard on what her feet were doing, Harry had a chance to look at George; he was still thinner in the face and sadder looking, but he had shed his grey pallor and his eyes were bright.

  ‘Oh, George, I’m so glad you’re all right,’ she began. ‘I was so worried when you were ill. I wanted to come and visit you, but I was afraid. I’m never going to make that mistake again.’

  ‘Hush,’ said George. ‘Ain’t no harm been done. Leastways, not by you. That’s what I told Matthew. I said you was a scared little girl who misses ’er dad. I know how much you loved him.’

  ‘A tad more than he loved me, apparently,’ she said, airily.

  ‘You know how much he loved you, Miss Harriet. You
could see it all over his face from the minute he clapped eyes on you, so don’t start any of that old nonsense.’

  She felt a lump in her throat. She wasn’t sure if she wouldn’t have preferred George to tell Matthew that she was every bit as scary as her reputation. Anyway, it hardly mattered now.

  ‘And what about yer mum?’ George asked. ‘Are you sorted out with her?’

  ‘Yes. Yes I am, funnily enough. It’s easier, in a way, knowing why she kept her distance from me.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on her, will you?’ George pleaded. ‘She was so young, so innocent. Sometimes I felt that your father took advantage of her complete trust in him, just to try to forget his own demons. And he managed it too, for several years. You mustn’t lose sight of that.’

  ‘I know,’ said Harry. ‘Look, George, I’ve been doing some thinking and …’ She faltered, feeling quite choked about the boat yard.

  George’s firm hand on her back reminded her to keep moving.

  ‘There’s plenty of time to talk about tomorrow, tomorrow.’ He told her. ‘But, if you keep pulling on my arm like that, you’ll ’ave us both over. There, that’s better.’ He grinned. ‘If only you would do as you’re told more often. You wouldn’t ’alf save me a body of work.’

  Harry rolled her eyes, but kept her mouth shut. She’d been fighting everyone for far too long. As the music stopped, Harry became aware of a ripple of applause which grew louder and louder. Blushing, she looked around to see that everyone was on their feet. Frankie put his fingers to his lips and whistled loudly, Carmen was clapping her hands at nineteen to the dozen and Matthew nodded, his dimple creasing his cheek as he smiled at them both. Harry leaned over and planted a kiss on George’s cheek.

  ‘Getting soft in yer old age, you are,’ he grumbled.