by Anna Bell
‘I’m pleased we went for this walk now,’ says Rach.
‘Me too, even if it did nearly kill me.’
‘At least it’ll be easier going downhill.’
‘Yes, speaking of which, I’m starving; those croissants didn’t fill me up at all. Shall we go and see if anyone’s up and get some proper breakfast?’
‘Yeah,’ I say.
We thank the kind mum with the bubbles and lead Sasha back down the hill. When we get back to the tent, we find Max sitting outside drinking orange juice.
‘Ah, there you all are. I was thinking about breakfast.’
‘Me too,’ says Rach.
‘Bacon sandwiches?’ I say, realising I’m starving from missing an evening meal last night.
‘Toasted, brown sauce,’ say Max and Rach together.
I pull a face; it’s tomato ketchup all the way for me.
‘Is anyone else up?’ asks Rach.
‘Gaby is. I haven’t seen Owen or Claire.’
‘Claire’s here,’ she says, strolling out of the tent in a short pair of PJs. She slips on a fleece and pops on her flip-flops. ‘Did someone say breakfast?’
‘Yeah, we were just going to get some.’
‘I’ll come,’ she says.
‘We can get it for you if you like?’
‘Um, no, I heard you mention brown sauce, which is all kinds of wrong,’ she says, grabbing her purse out of the tent.
‘I’ll stay here with Sasha,’ I say, and they head off towards the food stalls.
I fumble around the tent looking for a saucepan and I come across a colouring book for Sasha and some crayons that she’ll probably try and eat rather than use. I hand them to her and at least she takes them, which increases my odds in being able to drink a hot cup of tea.
I pop Sasha on her blanket whilst she grips onto her crayons for dear life as if I’m about to prise them out of her hands, and I settle into my camping seat while the water boils on the hob.
Owen crawls out of his tent on all fours and collapses on the edge of Sasha’s blanket.
‘Bloody hell, that was some night,’ he says, groaning.
‘I hear Jess Glynne was good.’
‘So good,’ he says, groaning again and shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘We were right in the middle of things. I don’t think I’m going to be able to properly hear ever again. All Claire’s fault.’
‘Things seem to be going really well with you two.’
‘Yeah, they are,’ he says, nodding, but he’s not really smiling.
‘Is everything OK? That didn’t really sound very convincing.’
‘Trust you to pick up on that,’ he laughs. ‘I guess it’s just odd being with someone new. I was with Sarah for such a long time and I knew her so well. It’s just hard starting from scratch again, getting to know each other’s quirks and how they’re going to react to something. I’d forgotten how exhausting it is in the early days when you don’t really know each other that well and you have to put in so much effort.’
‘Um, hello, welcome to my world.’
‘But at least with Max he’s still the same person. I’m just finding it really hard that Claire doesn’t react the same way as Sarah did to things.’
‘And that’s all it is? You’re not still hung up on her, are you?’
‘Oh no, definitely not. And it’s not like it’s a bad thing that Sarah and Claire are different either, and I’m really enjoying finding out more about her. The more I do, the more I feel like this is really right. But I guess I’m looking forward to when we’re further down the line and we’re fully relaxed with each other.’ With a final groan he rolls over and props himself up on his elbow.
‘Tell me about it,’ I say with a laugh.
‘Hopefully he’ll get his memory back soon.’
‘Hopefully,’ I sigh. ‘I’m starting to lose hope that he’ll ever remember. I’ve been trying to fill him in, trying to jog his memory with places, but nothing seems to work. Has he spoken to you about the year before I met him?’
‘No, why?’
‘Because he wants to find out as much as possible about his missing year; I’ve been interrogated more thoroughly than I would have been if I was a suspect in Line of Duty.’
Owen laughs and immediately winces in pain.
‘He was asking about the woman he was dating before me – Anne, I think her name was. I told him I didn’t know much other than that they’d dated briefly. Just be prepared for your cross examination on the subject,’ I say, laughing.
‘I don’t know why he thinks he needs to know about her again. That’s ancient history,’ he says, firmly.
‘Oh yeah, I know, but he’s just trying to get things straight.’
‘Then you and his mum should be telling him about his dad leaving. Surely that’s a bigger thing to happen to him than dating Anne. He doesn’t need to know about her.’
Owen sits up straight and, considering that he’s been wincing at any movement he makes, it seems a little strange.
‘I think you should just focus on doing more of your date ideas, and not look backwards,’ he says, leaning over Sasha and taking a great interest in her artwork, which is largely her tagging each page with a big black crayon mark.
There was something not quite right about the way he reacted when I mentioned Anne. The trouble is, with him not wanting to talk about her and Max not being able to remember her, I’ve got no hope in working out what that was all about.
‘I’m going to nip to the loos before the guys come back with the sandwiches.’
I watch him hurry off and it makes me even more suspicious, but I don’t have time to dwell on it as the smell of bacon wafts towards me and Claire and Max walk up, chatting away animatedly.
Max hands me one of the boxes and I open it to find the biggest breakfast bap ever.
‘I’m not really eating for two, you know.’
‘Yes, but you’ve got to keep your energy up. It’s going to be a big day. Lots to see,’ says Rach. ‘And dancing to be done. The only person allowed to nap today is Sasha.’
‘Righto,’ I say, tucking in and looking forward to the rest of the day, trying to put the odd conversation with Owen out of my mind.
When Sasha shows signs of being sleepy, Max and I tell everyone that we’re going to walk her round in the sling whilst she sleeps. Although we actually head back to the tent and take a 45-minute tactical nap, without having to face Rach’s wrath or to have a repeat of Owen and Claire’s soundtrack from the day before.
‘Why is the main stage so far away?’ I say with a groan. We’ve only walked about fifty metres from our tent and I’m already pooped. All the walking round the festival site for the last twenty-four hours has caught up with me.
‘Because otherwise it would be too noisy to nap,’ he says with a smile. ‘Are your feet hurting?’
‘Everything’s hurting,’ I say, plonking my chair down and sitting in it.
‘Hang on,’ says Max, ‘I’ve got an idea.’
He dashes off to Owen’s tent, with Sasha giggling on his back in the sling. He shouts ‘hello’ to make sure they haven’t snuck in while we were sleeping. Satisfied that it’s empty he dashes in and reappears with Owen’s wheelbarrow.
‘What are you going to do with that?’ I ask.
‘You’re going to get in it.’
‘I’m going to what? No way.’
He leans into our tent and pulls out one of the inflatable cushions that I’d been wedging between my legs to help me sleep and places it in the back of the barrow.
‘You’re serious about this, aren’t you?’
‘Uh-huh, come on, hop in.’
I look at it, relieved that it’s reinforced plastic and not metal. At least I’m not risking piles.
‘You’ll go gently, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will.’
He pulls me up and helps to gently lower me in. Actually, it’s not that uncomfortable. He folds up the chair and puts it next
to me, before he takes the handles.
‘Ready?’ he says without waiting for my reply as he starts wheeling, causing me to squeal a little.
We bound along and I cradle my bump, people cheering us as we pass, and I start waving like I’m a carnival princess, secretly lapping up all the attention. Max picks up speed a little and we rattle along, making it to the main stage in a much quicker time. We meet up with Claire and Owen on the pre-arranged spot where we’d watched Vengaboys. Max gently tips the wheelbarrow and Owen pulls me out.
‘I hope you didn’t mind,’ I say.
‘Of course not. It’s your housewarming present, after all.’
I giggle and settle into my chair as we wait for the band to come on.
I marvel as Owen spins the wheelbarrow round so that it’s balancing on the handles rather than the wheel and then he sits on it like a deckchair.
Max pulls Sasha out of the sling and she starts toddling about us.
‘Holy shit, look, there’s Rach and Gaby,’ I say, pointing to the big screen. They’re easy to spot with their sombreros on. They’re both sat on two random guys’ shoulders, at the very front of the crowd.
‘Bloody hell,’ says Max, suitably impressed by his sister.
‘And I thought we did well last night,’ says Claire, ‘but we didn’t get anywhere as close as that.’
The image changes from Rach and Gaby to a shot of the main stage, and a scream goes up as Pilot Dawn step out on to it. The crowd goes wild and we all stand up. They break out into one of their recent hits and I start pretend-strumming my bump like an air guitar.
Sasha goes back onto Max’s shoulders, much to her delight.
‘Is this song new?’ he says, spinning Sasha around gently. ‘It’s great.’
‘Yeah, it was out earlier this year. We played it a lot.’
He nods and it still amazes me that there’s not a teeny tiny bit of his brain that doesn’t recognise it, but he’s clearly hearing it for the first time as, once you’ve heard the lyrics, there’s no way that you can’t not sing along to the ‘da da das’ in the middle of the chorus. It sounds epic with the crowd roaring it back at them and my heart starts to race. There’s always something so magical about going to a gig when the crowd’s chanting in unison and moving to the rhythm as one. It feels soul-affirming. I’m no longer noticing my slightly puffy ankles, or the weight of my stomach; I’m just in the moment.
Max edges closer to me and his hand brushes mine and causes it to tingle. We’ve often talked about this moment of absolute gig-love and I know he’ll be feeling it too, so I reach over and take his hand.
He squeezes it back and tears prickle at my eyes. It finally feels like we’re getting somewhere.
Our hands drop when we feel them getting sweaty and we both clap and air-guitar along as they break into old hits, starting to play the classics that even Max knows. Every so often, when a softer song comes along, he grabs my hand and, even though we’re only in the pre-school level of intimacy, it’s still giving me butterflies.
When the final song comes on, the band breaks out into a melodic beat, with guitar notes being played as fast as lightning that send the crowd crazy. Max looks at me. ‘This is one of my all-time favourite songs,’ he whispers, close to my ear.
‘Me too,’ I say, my heart aching for how many times we’ve danced to this together in the past.
We start to join the rest of the crowd jumping up and down and Sasha is tipping her head back in delight as Max waggles her arms. I do my knee-bobbing to lessen the movement of my bump and the baby starts kicking wildly.
‘Feel this,’ I say, gesturing at the bump, and Max secures Sasha with one hand while touching my stomach with the other. The baby seems to be kicking harder than a cage fighter.
He looks at me and he doesn’t need to say anything; it’s written all over his face. The look of sheer amazement and love for our unborn baby. I can see tears in his eyes.
‘Looks like both our babies love Pilot Dawn.’
‘They have good taste,’ I whisper into his ear.
He turns to me and in that moment, the thousands of people screaming around us seem to fade away and it’s like we’re the only two people there. He takes a hold of both my hands and leans down to kiss me as I reach up to meet him. Our lips begin to brush when I feel a tapping on my head and I step back. I look up and see Sasha. She’s giggling and babbling away at me, and Max and I nervously laugh, slightly embarrassed by what just happened. We were so close. But the spell’s been broken now.
It feels like our near kiss was a metaphor for our relationship: so close yet still so far.
Chapter 17
For me, the worst part of going to a festival is not the toilets, but the post-festival blues you get when you arrive home and fall back into the daily grind. The euphoric highs that I felt watching one of my favourite bands – those moments with my friends that I know we’ll all treasure as memories for ever – they all seem so far away as I rush to drop Sasha off at nursery.
After watching Pilot Dawn, we all went back to the campsite. I tucked Sasha up in the tent and the rest of us sat around drinking (fizzy water in my case) and listening to the faint sound of the old rock group who were headlining the last night. The next morning, we’d mooched around the kids’ field, letting Sasha have her face painted and trying out as many of the activities as she was old enough for. Then we packed up the kit and headed home last night.
It all seems like a million miles away now, the heady mix of disinfectant and sweaty feet at nursery grounding me back to real life.
I give Sasha a big kiss and a cuddle and I try not to get too offended that she runs off to play with the toy kitchen without even giving me so much as a backward glance. I thank the staff and head out, hurrying to make sure I’m on time to meet Anneka, seeing as Helen will most likely be late and Polly can’t make it as she’s working.
I arrive at the coffee shop with one minute to spare and spot her in the corner.
‘Hey,’ I say, leaning towards her and giving her a quick air kiss.
‘Hi, hi,’ she says. ‘So glad you could made it on time. Of course, Helen is nowhere to be seen.’
I slip my handbag off my shoulder and sit down opposite her. I’m quite nervous being here just Anneka and I; she still slightly terrifies me.
‘I’m sure she’ll be here soon.’
The waitress comes over, and knowing Helen will probably be late, we order some herbal teas. Anneka also orders us some date squares, which sound like a poor substitute for the cakes that I’m eyeing up at the counter.
‘How was your weekend?’ I ask.
‘Good, thanks. We had a dinner party with some friends of George’s. There were twenty of us so it was quite lively.’
‘Twenty,’ I gasp in shock. ‘Blimey, I couldn’t cook for that many people.’
‘Oh, Ellie, you’re so funny. I got the caterers in,’ she says, laughing like I’ve said something hysterical. ‘Then, yesterday we went for a big Sunday roast with George’s children.’
‘Oh yes, you mentioned he had kids. How old are they?’
‘Liam is sixteen and Lyla is fourteen.’
‘Oh, proper teenagers. Do you get on well?’
The waitress pops our drinks and date squares in front of us.
‘I was the evil stepmother for a while and they would do nasty things to me. Put cling film over the toilet seat, empty out my expensive moisturiser and replace it with stuff from Poundland, scorching iron marks into my silk blouses. You name it, they did it.’
‘Oh, Anneka.’
She shrugs her shoulders.
‘To be honest, I can’t really blame them. George and I, well, it wasn’t long after he and his wife split when we moved in together. It was a shock for them and a shock for me to have his children in my life. I’m not proud of how I handled it either. I kept buying them presents and it took me a while to realise that I couldn’t buy my way in.’
‘And are they better now?�
��
‘Mostly. It turned out that they just wanted someone to take a bit of an interest in them. Now I go to dance classes, and I watch my stepson shout into a headset whilst he kills zombies on video games.’
‘I’m glad it’s worked out.’
‘Yeah,’ she says, tucking into her date square as if it’s actually nice. I take a nibble of the corner of mine and I’m surprised at how good it tastes.
‘See,’ she says, with a smug look on her face. ‘You don’t need all that refined sugar nonsense.’
‘I still think that double chocolate fudge cake looks pretty good,’ I say, trying my best not to look at it.
She shakes her head.
‘So, how was your weekend? The big festival?’
‘Yeah, it was amazing,’ I say.
‘Amazing?’ she says, raising one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows. ‘Does that mean Helen’s going to be pissed off she arrived late and missed the saucy details?’
‘Ooh, sounds like I’m right on time,’ says Helen.
‘You’re only ten minutes late,’ says Anneka.
‘And hello to you too,’ she says, giving us both a quick hug before sitting down next to Anneka. ‘Now this sounds like something juicy.’
‘I was just talking about the festival.’
‘And?’ she says, arching her eyebrow in anticipation.
‘And we held hands.’
Helen’s face falls and she asks the passing waitress for a decaf latte.
‘At this rate I’m worried that the first time Max is going to see your fanny is when you’re giving birth,’ she says.
Anneka drops the tea bag she was dunking in her cup in shock and it spills over onto the saucer.
‘What?’ says Helen. ‘Fanny isn’t a swear word.’
‘No, but it’s not a word for a café in the middle of Fleet on a Monday morning,’ she hisses whilst shielding her hand in front of her eyes in case anyone recognises her.
‘What if that’s true?’ I say, starting to freak out. ‘I hadn’t even thought about it. He’s going to have to be in the room when the baby is born, and what if his memory hasn’t come back, and we haven’t done it?’
Anneka throws Helen another glare before she turns back to me with a more reassuring look.