by Ruby Soames
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘And do –’
‘Henry is in a legal battle with his two boys because they say he has to give them and that blood-sucking ex-wife everything.’ Yuleka says. ‘He worked so hard all his life for them you know, and now he wants to enjoy himself, they don’t like it. The selfishness!’
‘I’m sure Sarah and Peter don’t want to hear about my problems.’
‘I’m sure they do. Don’t you darling? She’s interested. She’s just as disgusted as I am – aren’t you Sarah? Poor Henry. They call me – the woman he loves – they call me “blood sucking”, “money grabbing” and “fat”. Fat! Yes, they actually said that. Can you imagine how hurtful that is to Henry? People find true love and all you get is jealousy and suspicion.’
‘Don’t get yourself upset dear,’ says Henry, brushing away a crumb from her cheek. ‘Yuleka’s very sensitive – they don’t know her, that’s all. Anyway darling, I thought we weren’t going to talk about them on our honeymoon.’
‘I hate them.’
‘You are just too sweet for this world.’
‘I know, I know. I’m positive energy, a chi - they are negative, chang – chi - chang, yi-yang – whatever,’ she says. ‘So can we stay at the George V on our way back?’
‘I do paternity cases mostly,’ I say.
Yuleka takes out her make-up compact and puckers up her lips. Then she starts scrunching up her hair so that it stands out like antennae seeking more scintillating company.
‘What’s that?’ she mutters absent-mindedly.
‘It’s where the children of men who’ve been abandoned, trace their fathers and sue them for back payment, maintenance, damages –’ I let this hang in the air. I look at Henry, who doesn’t even appear to be listening while his new wife brushes away slivers of croissant that have collected on the top shelves of her breasts.
‘How do you find these fathers?’ asks Peter.
‘Oh, private detectives, banks, DNA profiles, tracers – we always get them in the end.’
‘Good for you!’ cheers Peter. He looks to Henry who taps at a breadcrumb on the table, then turns toward the beach.
Peter speaks directly to Henry, ‘Terrible thing that, to abandon a child. Don’t you think?’
‘Monstrous,’ Henry agrees mopping up the last of the crumbs.
Peter looks at me and we know this is the moment.
I put down my bread knife and sit up straight. ‘Actually, I was interested in this type of law because I never met my –’
A figure behind Henry’s head appears from behind the begonias. It waves at me while holding a plant in front of its face.
‘I never … met my –’ I try to say as the figure moves and a coconut comes crashing down. The person peers over the plant again and I see it’s definitely a woman – a blonde, wearing a hat and large square sunglasses. When I look again, she ducks back behind the plant.
‘Sarah, you were saying?’ asks Peter.
‘Yes … I was interested in Family Law because I –’
‘Because you –?’ Peter nudges me.
A hand wiggles its fingers, motioning me forward.
‘Excuse me a minute,’ I say.
Peter watches me, and I hear Yuleka saying, ‘Probably cystitis, hum, Peter? You naughty boy!’
I hurry towards the flowers where the body is crouched down. The face peers at me through the leaves.
‘Mum?’
‘I’m in disguise,’ she says in a ridiculously low voice.
‘Hence the dark glasses and the hat?’
‘Yes! Don’t I look good as a blonde?’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m going to be fifty next year!’ she says pushing a flower from her face, ‘and it’s time that – Ow!’ She leapfrogs in the air. ‘An insect bit me right on the –’
‘Mum, I know you’re going to be fifty. You came all the way to Barbados to tell me that?’
‘No. I came to see you – there’s something important I need to tell you – but I also came to see him.’ We both look out at the busy restaurant.
‘You know Sarah, I spent half my life believing we were meant to be together. I want to know if I was right – I don’t want to spend another fifty years always wondering.’
‘He’s that one … over there,’ I point to where Henry is slouched between two bowls of fruit, his mouth wide open so that Yuleka can throw grapes into it.
‘Really?’ She presses her fingers on my arm to keep me still while she concentrates on Henry.
‘Does he know who you are?’
‘I was just about to tell him when I saw you decimating the shrubbery.’
‘Is that her? The new wife?’
‘Yes. You know?’
Her wig slips forward as she looks at the ground. ‘I found out.’
I know too well how she must be feeling.
‘I read that he’d remarried – Alice saw it on the internet. His sons are suing. It’s all got very nasty.’
‘I can’t believe you’re here!’
‘You gave me a lot of money. I was worried. Then Joe told me you’d gone to Barbados. I did a little research. Apparently he left his wife for her … really? Her.’
Peter calls my name. ‘Sarah?’
‘Who’s the dish?’ mum asks.
‘He’s just a friend.’
‘I see,’ she stares again at Henry and Yuleka.
There’s a rustle in the bushes, and Mum and I both jump to see Ferdi standing behind us. ‘Miss Sarah, is everything all right?’
‘Yes, yes,’ I whisper. ‘Ferdi, this is my mum, Florence. Florence, Ferdi … my friend.’
‘Enchanted to meet you.’
They shake hands.
‘You didn’t tell me that your mother was staying with us. Here, let me add another place to the table –’
‘No!’ we both squeak. ‘She’s here … in secret. That’s why we’re whispering,’ I say.
Ferdi closes his eyes and shows me he has a full grasp of the situation.
‘I have to go –’ I say, gesturing toward my barely touched breakfast. ‘Ferdi, could you –?’
‘Leave your beautiful mother to me – and your secret. Come this way, Miss Sarah’s mum – though you look more like sisters.’
‘Thank you,’ she holds out her hand. ‘Sarah – go blonde! It changes everything,’ she says before Ferdi leads her out of the flower bed.
‘Ah! Here she is!’ says Henry when I return.
‘Sorry about that – just had to see if that begonia was real or plastic.’
Yuleka stabs at her eggs, ‘Probably plastic knowing this place.’ She’s seated so close to Henry that she’s crushing his hips. ‘This resort is so crappy. You know, they don’t even have a Hermes in the Arcade – and the towels, God, the bathroom towels are so small they don’t even go all around Henry, yesterday in the shower …’
While she lists the hotel’s deficiencies, Peter sees me scowling at the bush where Mum’s still talking animatedly to Ferdi.
He mimes ‘What?’
I smile, catching a glimpse of mum’s blonde wig and see Ferdi laugh in a way I never imagined he could.
‘Sarah, you were telling us about the scum who abandon their children,’ Peter says.
‘Well! That was ab-so-lut-ely scrummy!’ says Henry loudly as he puts down his knife and fork. He lurches out of his chair, scraping it across the floor.
‘Henry, where are you going?’ calls out Yuleka.
‘Enjoy your –’ he mumbles.
Yuleka leans over the table and squeezes herself out to follow him. ‘Toilet emergency, Henry can’t digest fruit very well. Flower girl and handsome Peter, see you later.’
She backs away from the table. ‘He shouldn’t have had that third Toulouse sausage – if you know what I mean! Oh, and –’ Henry’s almost out of the room as she twirls around and calls back. ‘There’s a picnic lunch on an island where friends of the Templeton-Crests have a private beach –
and a huge boat. It’s gonna be a wild parrrrrty! You gotta be there. No running away this time, eh!’
From the foyer we hear her calling, ‘Henry! Wait!’
Peter waves for more coffee and the rest of the cooked breakfast. A broad grin moves across his cheeks.
‘That’s your father. Running away,’ Peter smiles.
‘Don’t be silly, the fruit compôte disagreed with him.’
‘What did it say?’ smiles Peter.
‘Very funny,’ I smile back, despite myself.
‘No, really. You got him, Sarah.’
‘But I didn’t have the chance to say anything, I would’ve but –’
‘But – look.’ Peter points to where Henry was sitting. There’s a discarded camellia flower. Henry’d had the flower in his hands and dropped it when he left. All its petals have been removed, bruised and crushed, the little green leaves have been rolled back and forth repeatedly and are now like darkly stained silk. Each stamen has been separated, stripped and rolled into nothing. These are the remains of a cruel and deliberate mutilation.
‘Did you see the way his hands were shaking?’ asked Peter.
‘My mother said he drank too much.’
3
After breakfast, I hurry back to my room.
Ferdi is already there.
‘Where is my mum?’ I ask.
‘She’s staying at the RumBah Inn. I took her there myself. She’s a very funny lady, your mother, and so kind.’
‘She’s also completely mad.’
‘Mad, but in a good way,’ he muses. ‘I made her one of my mother’s special drinks. She had three!’
‘Did she say what she was doing here?’ I ask.
‘Yes, yes, marvellous answers. Let’s see … she wants to re-evaluate her life before turning fifty. She wants to appraise her goals, her values and to zip line through the forest.’
‘Couldn’t she do that at home?’
‘Zip lining?’
‘No! The reappraising!’
‘Why don’t you ask her tonight at dinner? The RumBah do the best grilled crayfish. She said about eight?’
‘Great,’ I groaned.
‘Is there anything else I can do?’
‘Keeping my mum out of sight and trouble is a fulltime job, believe me.’
‘I will devote myself wholeheartedly to the task.’
‘Thank you Ferdi.’ I notice that he’s bouncing on his toes. ‘Peter and I are going on this boat today … a party?’
‘Johnny Mansard’s party. He’s one of the richest people on the island – owns a chain of shops all around the world. You shouldn’t miss a chance to go to his private island.’ ‘Ferdi, you’re smiling an awful lot this morning.’
‘I must admit, finding you and your mother crouching in the bushes has tickled me a little. And I’ve had a glimmer of hope for my career in the movies.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Remember you were asking about a celebrity wedding on the island? I said that it would be Joseph West and Sylvia Amery’s wedding? Well, very near my village is a beautiful old colonial home that was hired two days ago at a moments’ notice. All the big hotels have been receiving bookings from very prominent names. It’s very exciting. Maybe … someone … It’s a hope, eh? You know who Joseph West is, don’t you?’
‘Yes. I know.’
‘I’m not a fan of hers but he’s a fine actor. If he’s here, maybe … it’s silly, but you have to dream.’
4
My emails contain a note from Deborah saying that she hasn’t left the office since being made partner – were it not for Happy she’d have no contact with living beings. Tash tells me that she has been forced to use my deposit to repaint my bedroom and replace a vacuum cleaner I apparently broke. And Kamilla says she misses me, and that Tom and she are going to visit a couples’ counsellor. But most emails are from the bank trying to sell various bonds and insurance schemes as well as newsletters from Animal Rights’ groups. While I’m reading about saving snow leopards, something arrives from Joseph.
Sarah, my love,
You haven’t answered any of the messages and letters I’ve written to you – no doubt all this shit in the papers about Sylvia and me. You probably saw the opening of the film this week – it’s grossed out so I’ve agreed to one last publicity stunt to ‘launch the Hollywood’ thing and get me established in the US. Sarah – this is all work for me, believe me!
I’m just writing to you to warn you that the press might be particularly bad over the next week or so. Please don’t believe anything you read in the papers – it’s all part of Rebecca’s show - hopefully you are somewhere where they won’t reach you. I certainly don’t seem to be able to. In two days I’m taking a month’s break until I start filming again. After that, yes, I am going to move to LA for my career, for the privacy and I can’t bear London without you.
I’m no longer going to make a fool of myself asking you to come with me. Rebecca says that you told her ‘you’ve moved on.’ Good luck in your life Sarah, I won’t bother you anymore. I love you forever and if ever you need me, I’m always here for you.
Joe xxx
PS Elvis is at your mother’s. Can you call her? She doesn’t seem to be answering?
PSS I reset her central heating thermostat – it was 42 degrees!
PPSS What happened?
What happened?
If I think about Joseph I would start crying and never stop.
Peter appears at the doorway. ‘Ready for lunch?’ He asks.
Inside, I groan but know I need to be positive. ‘You look happy,’ I tell him.
‘Yeah, Inside Hollywood has asked if I’ll cover the Joseph West and Sylvia Avery’s wedding. It’s not really my thing but –’
The sky is petulant, refusing to let the sun push through. There’s a taste of iron in the air which sticks to my teeth. I have a premonition of death.
Peter warns me, as we sit in the back of an old Bentley convertible, that cloudy days are the most dangerous for burns. He says that people don’t protect themselves enough from threats they can’t directly see. He dabs sunscreen on my nose. His movements are careful, gentle. In a few days Peter and I will say goodbye but I’m still waiting for us to meet.
We pull up at the Templeton-Crests’ hotel, and Bunny’s chauffeur jumps out. As the sound of his footsteps disappears, Peter and I absorb the silence. The hotel isn’t that different from the Paradise Beach Club, except the pool’s bigger and bluer, and the rooms are linked by glass pathways – and of course, a glass elevator that everyone talks about.
‘I’ll try and make sure that you get a moment with Henry alone, so you can say your stuff. I thought you were going to this morning but then you darted off … were you OK?’
‘Something came up.’
‘Remember Sarah, you’ve seen your dad now, you don’t have to confront him if you don’t feel comfortable about it. I mean, it’s for you, not him. Don’t put yourself through anything you don’t need to.’
I watch a young couple in tennis whites walk hand in hand to the courts. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to see two people in love and not think of what I had and lost.
Peter takes the ends of my fingers and presses them gently. ‘Really OK?’ he asks.
‘I’ve got to the point now that if I leave here without doing it, I’ll feel worse whatever happens.’
‘Just remember, his reaction has nothing to do with you.’
‘Wise words,’ I say, squeezing his hand back. ‘After all you’ve seen in wars and conflicts, you must think I’m so pathetic.’
‘No, Sarah, these private battles are what really test us. I know you’ll be great.’
Peter and I sit quietly again.
Something’s going to happen today.
When Bunny emerges from the hotel, she is propped up by the chauffeur and holds a cocktail in her hand. Seeing us, she goose-steps towards the car. The chauffeur runs alongside her, panicked. As she gets closer I
see that her mascara wand has missed her eyes – her cheeks look as if she’s slept on a Chinese newspaper. She has only done up a few buttons on her shirt so we can see her ruched skin dragging into her bra.
Peter opens the car door for her, but she shouts at him. ‘Do you know, my husband hasn’t fucked me for three years?’
‘His loss,’ Peter says and waves her into the car.
She trips over her skirt, lunges but then makes a swift recovery. When she sees me, she slurs, ‘Urgh. Her.’ She points to sit next to Peter. I jump out and take the empty seat next to the driver.
Peter helps bring her in from the inside while the chauffeur manipulates from behind so that, eventually, she is folded at Peter’s side. She snorts, rolls her head onto Peter’s shoulder and waves for the driver to move.
‘Roy not coming?’ asks Peter.
She pretends to be studying the scenery. ‘Pfft,’ she replies.
The chauffeur answers. ‘Lord T-C cannot go on a boat: it is not wheelchair accessible. Instead, he’s playing in a bridge tournament.’
‘Pfft,’ adds Bunny raising her hand up over Peter’s head where it hangs suspended like a chicken’s claw until she brings it down over his hair. ‘He hasn’t fucked me in years.’
Peter ignores this petting, and his indifference only exacerbates her. After a few minutes she is making circling motions with her finger around the outside of Peter’s ear.
He swats her off.
She looks out of the window again. ‘He doesn’t find me beautiful anymore,’ she slurs before a tear runs down her cheek.
5
At the harbour we spend a few minutes helping Bunny out of the car.
Once standing, she comes to life, rotating her arms and telling us to ‘Get off!’
‘Do you think she’ll be alright?’
‘Who cares?’ Peter puts an arm around me and points to where we will be spending the rest of the day. ‘That’s our ship! Fantastic isn’t she?’
The three-deck yacht bobs as if impatient to get on with its journey.
‘You sure Bunny’s all right?’
‘Nope,’ Peter replies, and then waves his arms in the air and calls out, ‘Hey, Johnny!’