I looked at my watch. ‘How long have we been travelling?’
‘Just over two hours,’ he said, meeting my eye in the rear view mirror.
‘We’d better stop soon. Grace will need her feed, and you could do with a rest. We can grab some lunch there too.’
He nodded. ‘We just passed a sign - there’s a services in ten miles. They’ve got a Marks and Spencer. We can stop there.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, meeting my eyes again in the mirror.
‘Sorry. For what?’
‘For springing this on you like that. I know you normally don’t like surprises, and it wasn’t really fair of me to just go and book it at such short notice.’ He glanced at me with concerned eyes.
‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’ Maybe he was worried that I was hiding my true feelings; burying any anger I felt about the last minute holiday until the weekend was over. But in truth, it wasn’t like that at all. Yes, it wasn’t my normal way of doing things. However, I could understand why he had done it. He’d been stressed recently, I could tell. A large part of that was probably the hangover from my problems, part was no doubt down to Margaret’s illness, and maybe the rest was just life getting to him. Whatever, this weekend away could surely only do us good.
Unless of course what I’d heard on Thursday evening had been real. I shook that thought off once again.
But as if reading my mind and deliberately choosing to mess with my head, James said. ‘It all ends this weekend.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Oh, it’s okay,’ he said, indicating as we approached the services. ‘I was just talking to myself really.’
But I couldn’t let it go. Not those words. It was just too creepy to leave it hanging like that. ‘I don’t understand what you mean. What ends this weekend?’
Grace began to stir, woken by hunger or possibly the tone of her mother’s voice as I struggled to sound nonchalant in the face of my fears.
James was concentrating on our approach to the service station, and didn’t appear to have really heard me as he negotiated the slip road and turned first right, then left, into the parking area. We pulled to a stop, just as Grace opened her eyes and began to cry.
My question hadn’t been answered.
We headed for the main building, queued up at the buffet style restaurant for some overpriced food, and I warmed Grace’s bottle.
‘You still didn’t tell me what is ending this weekend.’ I waited until we had almost finished the meal before raising the subject again – trying my best to make it sound as relaxed as possible.
James finished the last of his toasted bagel, before washing it down with his coke. ‘The stress,’ he said. ‘And negativity. I was making a promise to myself that it all ends this weekend. I want to get back to how things were.’
I wasn’t sure I was totally convinced by his explanation, but it sounded reasonable. He had though given himself almost half an hour to come up with that answer. I decided to probe a little more. ‘How things were before what?’
His pause was slightly unsettling, as was his serious expression. Maybe he just hadn’t understood the question. ‘Before things went wrong,’ he said, finally.
I think I understood. I couldn’t help but look away. My eyes met those of an older woman who was sitting at the next door table, pouring a cup of tea.
James surprised me by reaching out and taking my hand. ‘Don’t you dare blame yourself – none of this is your fault.’
I looked back at him, feeling a little uneasy that we were having this conversation in a public place, and in front of Grace, who was watching me from the high chair. I was sure that she could sense tension, but she didn’t look upset yet. ‘I can’t help it, James,’ I said, in as low a voice as I could. I glanced across at the older lady. She had been joined by a man who was probably her husband, and they were chatting. There was no one else within earshot. ‘I know I’m not to blame, I know it was an illness, and I was a victim. But you were a victim too, and Grace, and it was all just so unfair on you both.’
‘Grace is fine,’ James replied. ‘Just look at her. She’s a beautiful, happy, thriving little girl. Who do you think that’s down to?’ Grace smiled a big two front teeth smile at me, right on cue.
‘You, mostly,’ I said, taking Grace’s hand. ‘And Sophie.’
James shook his head in frustration. ‘No, George, it’s mostly down to you. Even in the worst of times, you refused to abandon her. You were there for her, George, when a lot of people in your situation might have crumbled.’
I shrugged. ‘There were times when I wanted to curl up and die.’
‘I know, but you didn’t.’
‘Because of you and Sophie. Without both your support, I might not be here now.’ I’d always been a strong person, but the illness had stolen that from me. I really wasn’t sure what I would have done, if I had been without those two.
‘You think too much of me,’ he stated. Now it was his turn to look away.
‘How can you say that?’
He ran a hand across his face. And suddenly, he seemed the person in need of support.
I thought he was going to say something, but he seemed to stop himself. He made to stand and I grabbed at his sleeve. ‘Let’s talk about this properly.’
‘Not here,’ he stated sadly.
I looked around. He was right. This was not the place to have such discussions, even if he had been the one to initiate it. Another couple of tables near to us were now occupied, and I suspected that the old lady had been taking an interest in our conversation during the past few minutes, judging by the way she averted her eyes as she met my gaze. ‘Then as soon as we get back to the car.’
‘Let’s just enjoy this weekend,’ he said. ‘Please,’ he said, looking to where I was still holding his sleeve. ‘I need to go to the toilet before we set off again.’
I let go and he gave a small, solemn nod of appreciation. I watched as he crossed the floor, heading for the toilets. He had looked so sad. I reflected on how good things had been in September on our first trip to Devon. James and I had revelled in being happy again. Everything was looking brighter. And yet now, it was as if we had regressed; slipping back into the mire.
What had happened to us to cause such a setback?
Maybe James had been hiding his true feelings back then. It was plausible that he could have been putting on a brave face for my benefit – desperate for me to continue my recovery. In that way, the holiday happiness would have been a sham. Except it had never felt like that. I really didn’t think that James had been faking it.
So something had changed between then and now. The question was, what? Maybe Margaret’s cancer diagnosis had been the final straw.
And then, yet again, the conversation over the baby monitor came back to haunt me. The words that I thought I had heard weren’t that dissimilar to the things that James had said to me over the past hour.
Certainly the talk of things ending…
‘I’m getting paranoid again,’ I said to Grace. She looked at my quizzically. ‘Your mummy is just being silly,’ I explained. ‘Tell her not to be so silly.’
But then I had a thought. I mused over it for a minute, then pulled out my mobile.
Less than a minute later, the deed was done.
8
Just two hours later, with one more short comfort break, and we were nearly there. We exited the motorway and travelled cross country on increasingly narrow roads. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about approaching the coast that builds up a sense of anticipation like nothing else. And the first glance of the expanse of water stretching out as far as the eye can see, flooding the horizon. It never fails to excite me. It’s probably from childhood, when my parents would take me on regular holidays down to the south coast resorts of Brighton and Bournemouth.
But maybe it’s also that sense of difference. For a girl growing up in the g
rime, clutter, and sheer pace of London, the coast offered something of great contrast. Space for one, bracing sea air, and an element of the unknown.
‘Almost there…I think,’ James said, as we came to a stop at a T-junction which had come minutes down a single track lane, flanked on either side by tall hedgerows. He squinted at a small, worn signpost that seemed to sprout from the hedge. ‘I think it’s right,’ he said, none too convincingly.
‘Fifty-fifty chance,’ I said, turning the next page of the picture book that I was showing to Grace. She’d been awake since the services, and I was glad I’d brought what seemed like a whole library of books with us. She loved books, even more than her cuddly toys, and would gladly stare at words and pictures rather than grab at bears and bunnies that squeaked and rattled.
‘I think it’s right,’ he said, and we started to pull off.
‘James, stop!’
He slammed on the brakes as a tractor rumbled past from around the blind corner, almost skimming our front bumper as it crossed our path. The force threw me against the locked seat belt. Immediately I turned to check on Grace, but she was fine.
‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered, leaning against the steering wheel. He looked back. ‘Are you two okay?’
I nodded. ‘It’s got my pulse racing a bit. Grace is none the wiser. She just wants me to turn the page.’
‘I’ll try not to crash before we get there,’ he said, deadpan.
‘If you can manage it,’ I joked back in a similar deadpan fashion. James had returned from the toilets a different man to the one who had walked off, just five minutes earlier. If anything, for the rest of the journey he’d appeared overly happy. I hadn’t mentioned any more about our conversation. He had wanted to leave things, so that’s what I had decided to do.
The lane headed down steeply.
‘Aren’t cliffs usually high up?’ This time I was only half-joking. It did seem that we may have chosen the wrong way.
James didn’t avert his eyes from the twisting road, probably still all too aware of how close we had come to crashing into the tractor. ‘I must admit, they looked pretty high on the picture.’
But within seconds, we had begun to climb again. And then the lane opened out from between the hedgerows and in front of us, a wild expanse of sea.
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘What a view.’
‘There she is,’ James gestured, off to our right, as he increased the gas slightly with a clear road in front of us. Now out in the open, the wind gusted stronger and buffeted the car. But it was bright with the breeze. At least the storm hadn’t arrived.
Yet.
I had to admit that the location was stunning. ‘It looks beautiful,’ I said, looking across at the place that was to be our residence for the next forty-eight hours. The white cottage was even closer to the edge of the cliffs than it had looked on the website. It appeared to be balanced precariously at the point of two cliff faces - although I presumed that our angle of approach, from behind, made it seem that way. I peered off down the coast as far as I could see, and then back along the coast to our left. There were no other buildings to be seen.
Talk about secluded.
I couldn’t help but be reminded of my dream as we neared the cottage. But unlike then, there was no light on, no smoke from the chimney. And James was with me, not lying in wait inside, plotting our deaths.
We parked up next to the cottage, and James made a point of cranking the handbrake up more than usual. We had stopped just twenty metres or so from the cliff’s edge. I must admit it made me nervous, particularly being with Grace. There was no fence, no safety rail, just a long, lonely drop down to the rocks and waves below.
Certainly if you were looking for a place to end it all, without witnesses, or mess, then this was it.
James cut into my morbid, treacherous thoughts. ‘I hope this cliff doesn’t suffer from coastal erosion. You remember a few years ago, that hotel somewhere up in the North East – Scarborough I think – just fell into the sea overnight. Metres of cliff side slipped away in a bad storm. They just had time to evacuate.’
‘Thanks,’ I replied. ‘That’s made me feel lots better.’
‘Sorry.’
We climbed out and found the key in the secure safe just beside the front door. I held Grace close to me as the wind whipped past, while James fumbled with the lock.
‘Got it,’ he said, pushing open the door and stooping to pass through. I followed inside, short enough not to have to duck. The door slammed shut behind me, caught by the breeze. I half-expected the cottage to rattle, but it seemed pretty solid. It was also beautifully furnished. The front door led right off a small but lovely kitchen, whose window looked right out to sea. The kitchen was modern rustic, with a variety of appliances including smart cooker, washing machine and dishwasher. We walked through the low height doorway and into the living room. It too was beautifully presented, with a lovely ornate fireplace.
‘The wood burner,’ I said. I smiled as I imagined snuggling down on the plush, ruby red sofa with the fire roaring, watching a movie from the collection of DVDs that I could see by the television.
James rubbed his hands together. ‘We’ll get that going when we’ve unloaded. It’s pretty chilly in here.’
I nodded, then went to check out the remaining rooms. There was the bathroom, and two bedrooms; a master bedroom, and a smaller room that contained the cot.
We grabbed the bags from the car, and within twenty minutes had unpacked and made ourselves at home, with the kettle on and the fire lit.
‘So, you like it?’ James asked, cupping his hands around a mug of tea as he perched on the edge of the sofa next to me, both of us enjoying the warmth of the fire.
‘It’s lovely.’ I watched the flames flicker. ‘Do you like the colours, Grace?’ Grace was on my lap, and although there was a fireguard – an ancient, heavy iron affair that looked like it posed a danger of crushing should it fall - she was going to stay within my grasp for as long as the fire was burning. She reached out longingly, from a thankfully very safe distance, and I saw the reds and yellows dance in her mesmerised eyes.
James glanced across again. ‘A good decision then? To book the break?’
‘As long as we don’t slide into the sea overnight.’
‘Of course. That would really spoil things.’
We both laughed, holding the gaze between us.
‘I wonder if the storm is still going to hit,’ I mused. ‘Maybe we’ll be spared. What does it say on the weather app?’
‘When I last checked, back at the services, it said definitely overnight. But we won’t be able to check now.’
‘Why?’
‘No signal.’
‘No internet on the phone? What about Wi-Fi? Don’t these places usually have a Wi-Fi router?’
He looked apologetic. ‘Not this place. I meant to tell you. It’s out of the way – there’s no broadband for miles. There’s no mobile reception either.’
‘What? Not even for normal calls?’
‘No. It mentioned something on the website. I thought it might be network dependent, and ours is usually pretty good. But I checked my phone when we were unloading, and there’s no reception at all.’
‘Oh.’ I know it shouldn’t have bothered me that much. Ten years ago the majority of the population didn’t have mobile phones, and internet on demand. But that might as well have been a lifetime ago in terms of how we now feel about being connected. To contact, and be contactable, now seemed as necessary as air, food and water. It was sad, but true. ‘But there’s a telephone?’
‘Half a mile down the coast. There’s a small provisions store.’
‘But what if something happens, and we need to ring for help?’
‘We drive?’
‘What if it’s the middle of the night?’
‘We still drive. Look, George, I’m sorry. I should have told you. As I said, I thought, naively, that our phones would work. If you don’t want to stay here, I’ll co
mpletely understand.’
I put a hand to my head and thought. ‘Okay, I get it. It’s a retreat away from civilisation. It’s only two nights. Half a mile you said, to the nearest phone box?’
‘Yes. I know exactly where it is, too. Checked on Google. You just go back the way we came, but turn left and it brings you out at the store.’
‘I’d feel better if we checked it out before it gets dark,’ I said. ‘And we could do with picking up a few extra supplies. We’d been warned to bring food with us, and the owners had left some fresh items in the fridge, but there was only a pint of milk. I’d also forgotten to bring any tea bags. I could have lived without both until morning, but I really wanted to know where this place was.
‘We’d better get going now then, it will be getting dark in an hour or so.’
The store was easy to find. Although I did wonder just how easy it would be in the dead of night, with no lights except the headlamps. The store stood on the corner of two intersecting lanes, all on its own. I noted the phone box outside, and actually checked that it was working by lifting the receiver and listening for the dialling tone. I wasn’t so paranoid that I actually tried to call somebody on it, but I thought about it.
Inside the store was on the small side, but packed with all manner of products. A bespectacled woman behind the counter said hello as we entered, smiling as she spotted Grace wrapped up on my front in the fabric baby carrier. We returned the greeting and perused the stock. I found the milk and added two pints to my basket, and I got the tea bags, deciding to splash out on a local Devon brand. James was obviously feeling hungry, dropping a large bag of sea salt and malt vinegar crisps into the basket.
Be Careful What You Hear Page 5