by Jane Cable
In the mid-eighties graduates in dead end jobs were not uncommon and Izzie and I were in the same boat. The mathematician and the botanist discussing the relative merits of Tippex and Snopake, Biros and Bics, across a pine boardroom table, our filter coffee (brought in and served by a secretary, naturally) in chunky Denby cups and saucers. I had a habit of spinning the sugar bowl under my hand – it drove Izzie to distraction. The first time she touched me was to give me a slap to make me stop.
I was office manager for one of the biggest firms of solicitors in Southampton. My mum was so proud – watching me go off to work in a suit and tie. It was what graduates did in her book, but it wasn’t what botany graduates who’d dreamt of travelling the world did in mine. But it just wasn’t possible – the moment one of her more violent boyfriends had pushed her down the stairs and left her in a wheelchair, my horizons had narrowed too.
My situation led me into a duplicity that was not in my nature; it was Thatcher’s Britain, remember, a dog-eat-dog sort of place where I knew you wouldn’t succeed if you were encumbered by a disabled dependant. So I told no-one. But deception takes emotional energy – although I was too young to know it at the time – and that is the only reason I can think of why I didn’t see the tidal wave that was Izzie until it sent me cart-wheeling up the beach.
Solicitors use truckloads of stationery and our regular meetings gravitated first to Friday afternoons and then to the wine bar. And the second time this happened I found myself raising a glass to a beautiful young woman and…
I ran my finger around the damp collar of my shirt. “So what are you up to this weekend?” I asked. “The weather forecast’s looking good.”
“I hope so – I’ll be on the water.”
“Sailing?”
“No – rowing. It’s our big regatta in two weeks’ time so it’s non-stop practice.”
I gaped at her minuscule frame. “You row?”
“Of course I do.”
I must have looked embarrassed because she put her hand on my arm and continued, “I did get into it by being cox at uni, but when I joined the club at Hamble they persuaded me to have a go myself and I love it. Lesley and I are hot favourites for the ladies’ two-handed sprint I’ll have you know.”
I managed to recover myself enough to say, “I don’t doubt it – but you don’t look as though you have the build – unless you’re hiding your muscles under that dress.”
Izzie almost blushed, I am sure, but still laughing she rolled up her sleeve. “Tiny muscles – but they’re strong, so that’s enough.”
“It’s funny,” I mused, trying to drag my eyes away from the delicate skin of her upper arm, “I love the water myself, but I know nothing about rowing.”
“So do you sail?”
I shook my head. “I like to get closer to the sea than that; surfing, swimming, snorkelling – even scuba diving when I get the chance.”
“Lots of exotic holidays, then.”
“No – I’ve lived around here all my life and there’s plenty of coastline to explore.”
“But diving? And snorkelling?” Her perfectly shaped eyebrows arched.
“I don’t dive so much now because of all the kit, but you’d be amazed what you can see with a snorkel and mask, just within half an hour’s drive.” I plunged in. “If you want I’ll show you.”
I felt a moment of triumph as the grin spread across her face. “I’d love that.”
“Well if you’re busy this weekend, how about next Sunday?”
“That sounds perfect. My boyfriend will be working so I won’t have to hang around waiting for him to want to do something interesting.”
And my bubble burst – of course she had a boyfriend – all the nice girls did. But the way she spoke about him that made me think perhaps all hope was not lost.
Chapter Four
Eight days to wait; eight days to plan. The fact it was a Sunday made it easy because Mum always insisted that was my day off. Once I’d got her up in the morning she’d either kick me out of the house or have me wheel her to Auntie Jean’s so that I could go back to bed. She knew, far better than I did, what you needed to survive as a carer.
So Mum wasn’t the problem; it was the car – there was no hiding the fact it was adapted to take a wheelchair. And the problem wasn’t even the car – it was inside my own head. What I should have done was taken it along; used it as a way to let Izzie know about my situation. But by then I wanted her far too much.
If only I’d known then what I know now… I’m sounding like an old man but I’m only forty-three – it’s just you can learn a lot in twenty years if you have the right teacher.
Back in 1986 I lied. I phoned Izzie a few days before our date and told her my car was off the road, but it would be fun to get the train to Bournemouth instead. Of course then she offered to drive and I wavered, because all along I’d wanted to take her somewhere better than Bournemouth. And going in her car would have been OK – except she wanted my address to pick me up.
That was a real no-no. If I didn’t want anyone to know I cared for my mother there was no way I’d admit to living on a council estate. Even work had the address of my old student digs. But I managed to dream up some story about going out with friends the night before so it would be easier for Izzie to meet me in town.
There was only one place I wanted to take her for her first taste of snorkelling and that was Kimmeridge. I knew the traffic would be rubbish on a sunny weekend so I asked her to pick me up outside Southampton railway station at eight o’clock. Leaving the town and the docks behind us we drove towards the New Forest, a Beach Boys’ cassette playing in the background and the breeze from the open window wafting Izzie’s perfume past my nose.
“If I’d known you wanted to go surfing I’d have brought my board,” I teased.
She smiled, looking gorgeous in a red and white strappy top. “Maybe another time,” she said and I wanted to punch the air. ‘Maybe there’s a way to make this work,’ I kidded myself.
When we arrived at Kimmeridge the car park was already half full; children and dogs running around on the grass and groups of youngsters heaving ghetto blasters out of beaten up Fiestas and lugging them onto the beach below.
I looked at Izzie. “You up for a bit of a walk?”
“Of course I am.”
I pointed to a rock ledge way to the left of the bay, beyond the fishing boats on the slipway. “It’s a bit more peaceful around there and a better jumping off point to get into the water.”
She picked up her beach bag. “Come on then – I can’t wait to get in.”
To say that Izzie in a bikini was a distraction is understatement of the century. As I said, she was small, but she had a few curves and they were definitely in the right places. Up until then I’d always gone for the more buxom type, but watching Izzie pull off her top and jeans certainly re-educated me to the attractions of a taut stomach and small, firm breasts. My fingers fumbled as I tightened the mask I’d lent her, trying not to touch her skin, but somehow I managed it and then we were clambering across the boulders and into the bracing waves.
Kimmeridge is special because the fish hide between floating towers of sea-green vegetation and hunting them down is part of its charm. I had a moment of worry that Izzie would expect a clear blue tropical fish tank but she was transfixed and we stayed in the water for almost an hour, faces in the green for a while, then kicking onto our backs and gazing at the sky. Our outstretched hands touched as we floated, just for a moment until the current drew us apart.
Afterwards we sat on our towels on a rock ledge and let the sun dry us while we munched the sandwiches I’d made and drank Pepsi. Izzie’d brought a packet of Jaffa Cakes and we made serious inroads into those as well, and all the time we talked and talked and talked – kind of ‘getting to know you’ first date stuff. During our trips to the wine bar we hadn’t gone into histories, but that day felt different, somehow, like it was a beginning.
I learnt that Izzie
had grown up in Watford then gone to Bristol University. When she graduated she came to Southampton because her boyfriend had found a job in the dockyard. The relationship was obviously more serious than I’d thought.
“So you’ve been together a while?” I ventured.
She nodded, but she was looking away from me, tracing neat figures of eight onto the rock with her index finger. There was a silence.
“Look, I didn’t mean to pry, I was only…”
“No, it’s OK – it’s just, well – not that great at the moment. Paul’s started to talk about marriage and it’s made me realise it’s not what I want. Well, not with him anyway,” she blushed.
“Is there someone else?” More than one rival would be disastrous.
“Robin, I shouldn’t be talking to you about this, I…” She glanced up and I caught something in her eyes that made my heart beat ten times faster. But did I imagine it? Did I imagine that there was someone and it was me? It didn’t seem possible – and I didn’t find out because she leapt up and raced across the boulders, calling over her shoulder that the last one in had to do a handstand in the sea. I didn’t mind – I could do those quite easily.
Chapter Five
I said nothing to my mother about Izzie but it took her less than a week to guess. Coming downstairs freshly showered and changed into a new shirt at three o’clock on Saturday afternoon probably clinched it, but I suspect she had already realised something was up due to my unusual state of barely suppressed excitement.
She smiled at me, her eyes sparkling. “Robin – are you seeing someone?”
I fiddled with the car keys. “I’m not sure really, Mum. It’s early days and…”
“Well I’d be pleased if you were,” she cut across me. “I don’t want this,” she thumped her wheelchair, “to stop you having a life, so don’t you dare think it.”
I leant down to hug her. “Thanks Mum,” I murmured. “If… if it does work out I’ll bring Izzie to meet you just as soon as I can.”
“I’d like that. Now bugger off – and good luck.”
It was all very well Mum saying her disability shouldn’t stop me having a life, but I couldn’t see how it would work in practice. But then I thought of Izzie on the beach at Kimmeridge and my mood was already lifting as I put the car into gear and eased away from the pavement.
Hamble Rowing Club was based at the Jolly Sailor pub near the railway, so I was able to leave the car anonymously in the station car park. The Jolly Sailor – and Hamble as a whole – achieved a fair amount of notoriety in the 1980s as the setting for Howard’s Way, the British version of Dallas. As a result it was normally packed at weekends and I avoided it like the plague.
Today the pub was even busier with the regatta being run from its jetty. Large groups of rowers in their various club polo shirts stood around with glasses in their hands but I couldn’t spot Izzie so I got myself a beer and edged closer to the water. The fact I couldn’t get near the front didn’t matter – I could easily see over the tops of people’s heads.
It also meant that when Izzie and another girl emerged from a skiff she spotted me almost immediately. As soon as she could extract herself from the cheers and back-slapping she dodged through the crowd and hugged me. If there’d been room I’d have picked her up and swung her around.
“Robin – you came.” Her cheeks were pink from exertion and she seemed to glow.
I must have been grinning like an idiot, looking down at her. “I only just arrived – did you win?”
“No, we came second – but that’s good enough – most of these clubs take it far more seriously than we do.” She grabbed my hand. “Come on – I want you to meet everybody.”
It seemed she really did mean everybody as she hurled me from one group to another, absorbing me into the heart of all her friends. Almost inevitably they asked me if I’d like to row, but I joked that I’d never fold myself into a boat.
“Robin prefers being in the water,” Izzie explained. “Snorkelling, diving, surfing – that’s his kind of thing.”
“So is this who you went to Kimmeridge with?” Lesley, her rowing partner, asked and when Izzie said yes I felt myself the subject of her warm but thorough appraisal.
After a couple of hours I had to go and Izzie walked with me as far as the pub door.
“I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, Izzie, but, well, there’s a few things I need to do this evening.”
“I’m sorry you can’t too. It’s been lovely, I mean, you fit in so well…”
“Who wouldn’t? They’re a very welcoming bunch.”
She dropped her eyes. “Paul doesn’t like them.”
Before I’d even thought about it the words were out of my mouth. “Paul’s a fool.” I grasped her hand. “Sorry, Izzie – it wasn’t for me to say that.”
She didn’t look up but she said it was OK. “Look, Robin, you know things aren’t great between Paul and me. But we’re going on holiday in about ten days’ time and I can’t upset the apple cart beforehand.”
“Will I see you again before you go?”
Now she did look at me, her blue eyes huge. “I’d like that very much.”
Chapter Six
I used to ask myself ‘why the Faerie Tree?’ but over the years I’ve grown to understand. Back then it was mainly a case of finding somewhere we’d be unlikely to meet anyone we knew – with the bonus of being close to the Hamble which Izzie loved.
It took me two buses to get there and I arrived early enough to treat myself to a pint in the garden of The Horse & Jockey. I found myself a shady spot and allowed myself to dream of what the afternoon might bring, what it might be the beginning of.
Just after two o’clock Izzie pulled into the empty car park. I disentangled my legs from the picnic table and wiped the sweat off my hands onto my jeans. But I could feel my face crease into a smile as I walked towards her car and, pretending a little bow, opened the driver’s door for her. Her yellow sundress and tatty plimsolls were a mixture of sex and good sense which reduced me to stammering what should have been a confident hello.
We set off beside the narrow creek towards the Hamble itself. The path was framed by arches of green, and to our left the bank rose steeply towards the fences of the handful of houses with gardens long enough to stretch from the road. The buzz of a lawnmower faded until all we could hear was birdsong above us in the branches.
The track snaked away from the water and half way up a dusty incline I stopped. “Do you believe in fairies?” I asked.
“Fairies?”
“Fairies, elves, pixies… the wee small folk of the woods.”
Izzie was laughing as she replied. “I try to keep an open mind – but you’re a scientist – don’t tell me you do.”
“These ones convinced me. They write letters.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“Come on – I’ll show you.” I took her hand. “Now close your eyes and don’t open them until I say.”
I led her forwards, savouring the coolness of her skin as I helped her to navigate the tree roots crossing the path. The Hamble, less than fifty yards away down a steep bank to our right, was completely invisible.
When we were in front of the Faerie Tree I stopped. “You can open your eyes now,” I told her and prepared to drop her hand, but much to my delight her fingers stayed wrapped in mine.
“Oh Robin,” she breathed, “it’s magical.”
I tried to remember the first time I’d been here and to see the tree through Izzie’s eyes. The oak stood on a rise just above the path; not too tall or wide but graceful and straight, its trunk covered in what I can only describe as offerings – pieces of ribbon, daisy chains, a shell necklace, a tiny doll or two and even an old cuckoo clock.
“Why do people do this?” Izzie asked.
I winked at her. “To say thank you to the fairies.”
“For what?”
“For making their wishes come true, I guess. Look – I’ll show you.”
<
br /> On the right hand side of the tree trunk was an old wooden box in the shape of a Swiss chalet, filled with folded pieces of paper. I took out the top one and handed it to Izzie. She read it aloud.
“Dear fairies, thank you very much for looking after the woods because the trees are all things bright and beautiful like we sing at assembly. If I can have a wish please can it be to have a proper family? Lots of love, Amelia.”
“Oh, Robin – that’s so lovely but so sad.” There were tears in her eyes and I wished whole-heartedly that the child had had a less distressing request. To distract Izzie I led her around the back of the tree.
“The amazing thing is – the fairies reply.” And I showed her a plastic folder tacked to the trunk, full of letters from the fairies to the children.
Her chest heaved as she tried to stifle a sob.
“Izzie – Izzie – what is it?” I hugged her to me and after a few moments she sniffed and looked up.
“I’m sorry, Robin. I don’t want to spoil today – I’ll be fine in a moment.” But her voice was cracking again and I couldn’t help but touch her cheek. She tilted her face towards me and then we were kissing and I could taste salt and the inside of her mouth at the same time.
After a little while she pulled away. “That shouldn’t have happened – not now in any case.”
“Paul?”
She looked down at her right plimsoll, which seemed to be making circles in the dust of its own accord. “He thinks I’m at the rowing club. I never lied to him before I met you, but… but I just wanted to see you. Robin – I’m in such a mess.”
The roof of my mouth went dry. “It’s OK, Izzie. Take your time to decide what’s right for you to do about Paul. I’ll wait.”
She grabbed my hands again. “It won’t be long, I promise. I’ll use the holiday to…” But her voice was cut off by a yell for help from the river. We stood for a moment, listening – it was a child – just kids larking about? But no – it came again and it sounded like genuine distress.