Morgan had just turned thirteen when his mother left. He hadn’t felt sad because he’d been too angry, with her, with both of them. His father’s apparent calm acceptance had frustrated him. It seemed to Morgan to be a sign of weakness. He had wanted to have it out with his dad, ask him why he wasn’t fighting for her, compelling her to give up this…other person and stop being so stupid, but he possessed neither the emotional or physical vocabulary. It took several years and a whole lot of growing up before he understood that it was strength, not weakness, which stopped his father from chasing after her.
Strength, and pride. That, and the peculiar circumstances of the situation.
Whatever battles there were – and there must have been some – were conducted in muted tones behind closed doors until eventually, without fuss, Ellie moved out of the family home and into a dinky plastic-windowed new-build on an estate full of other dinky plastic-windowed new-builds, halfway to Bury St Edmunds.
The place was totally wrong for her, Morgan thought at the time. Once his anger had cooled, his pubescent mind had focussed on this almost exclusively, as if it was the most important aspect of the whole thing. He couldn’t see how his mother could ever be happy there. Where would she do her paintings and practise her alternative therapy stuff, for a start? But it was where her new lover lived, so he supposed it was obvious that’s where she would go.
And then it was just Morgan and Nick left to rattle around in the big old weather-boarded house, with Ellie’s paintings haphazardly decorating the walls, her early attempts at pottery gathering dust on top of the cupboards, hummocks of salt-crusted thrift in the front garden, and the beach exactly twenty-eight steps from the front door.
But the real tragedy of the situation hadn’t been that his parents were headed for the divorce court. He felt sad about that, it was true, and he missed his mum, especially at bedtime. She phoned him every other night and came to see him once a week, and gradually his dad stopped pretending that nothing had changed, and this new reality became the norm. And it was all right, kind of. Besides, there were tons of other kids at school with separated parents, three in his class alone, and none of them seemed to think it was that big a deal.
No, the real tragedy – at least he’d thought so at the time – lay in the twist that Morgan had discovered quite by accident.
His mother was still living in their house at the time; she and his father keeping well away from one another, the flight paths of their days intersecting only through Morgan, like warring wasps around the same pot of honey.
It was the first day of the summer holidays. The blue-skied heat made the ground tremble if you stared at it for long enough. Morgan had been on the beach with Jamie and Glenn, two of his best mates. Not the beach directly in front of his house, but the one half a mile further along, opposite the ice-cream place, the gift shop, and the minuscule apology of an amusement arcade. They’d been in for a swim and were hunkered down on towels in the semi-shade of the wooden breakwater. Morgan’s towel, he remembered, had red, white and blue stripes and was so threadbare it was almost see-through. Jamie produced a Kit-Kat from his bag and had begun to break it into sections when suddenly he stopped and nudged Morgan.
‘Hey, isn’t that your mum?’
‘What? Where?’ Morgan had shaded his eyes and peered along the beach.
‘No, look. In the sea.’ Jamie pointed a chocolaty finger.
It was. It was Ellie. She was chest-deep in the water, head thrown back like a sun-worshipper, making slow sweeping movements with her arms but not actually swimming. It was strange, because Morgan had seen her pack her easel and all her art stuff into the boot of her car right after breakfast, and when he’d asked her where she was going she’d ruffled his hair and said she was going to a farm to paint an old barn or something.
He’d thought that perhaps she’d changed her mind at the last minute, decided on the beach instead and her swimming stuff was already in the car. It seemed unlikely, but even more unlikely that she’d lied about where she was going; the need for subterfuge had long gone. It made no sense.
A long, cold finger of anxiety had probed Morgan’s insides. He ducked his head and shrank back into the shade of the breakwater. The last thing he wanted was the embarrassment of his mother waving to him when he was with his mates or, even worse, coming over and striking up a conversation.
He drew his knees up and watched her cautiously over the top of them. She was coming out of the sea now, wading towards the shore, her long dark hair trailing like seaweed across her tanned shoulders, and, oh God, she was wearing a bikini! An orange bikini. And there was precious little of it. Ellie never wore a bikini; she wore a black, all-over swimsuit which she called a costume.
As he watched, she stopped the swimming movements and turned so that she was facing out to sea. Morgan saw someone swimming towards her, another woman, powering through the water as if she couldn’t get there fast enough. Ellie bent forwards and playfully scooped up water with both hands, splashing the swimmer. The woman stood up unsteadily. She was tall – a head taller than his mother – and wore a swimsuit so white it glowed against her light brown skin. Her blonde hair was tied up in a pony-tail darkened by the water. She looked like a Bond girl.
The two women were close to the shore now, knee-deep in the surf, splashing each other and squealing with laughter like children. Morgan seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. He glanced at Jamie and Glenn. Their eyes, narrowed against the glare, were trained on his mother and the other woman, their mouths hanging open in lascivious wonder.
Stop it! he’d wanted to say. Stop looking at my mum like that! At the same time, he tried to think whether he’d ever seen the other woman before. He decided he hadn’t. Before it all went wrong, Ellie’s friends used to come to the house and they’d sit round the kitchen table for hours on end, talking and laughing, drinking wine or stinky herbal tea and being in the way whenever Morgan or his dad needed to get to the fridge. Morgan knew most of them by sight, if not by name. This one, though, was a complete stranger.
‘What a stormer,’ Jamie said, suddenly turning to Morgan as if he’d only just remembered he was there. Then, seeing Morgan’s face, ‘Not your mum, you cretin. The blonde one.’
‘She’s more than a stormer. She’s totally fucking gorgeous,’ Glenn had said, still watching, stretching out the syllables in ‘gorgeous’ in a way that made Morgan want to hit him.
He turned to Morgan. ‘Your mum’s friend, is she?’
‘I dunno,’ Morgan muttered. ‘Are we going or what?’
He pulled his t-shirt from his bag and struggled into it, working it down over his damp, shivering torso.
Then, as he was fumbling his way into his shorts with one eye on the scene in the water, something terrible had happened. Something even worse than his mother cavorting about and making a holy show of herself in front of his mates and everyone else on the beach.
It was, in fact, the most appalling thing he’d ever witnessed in his whole life.
The woman in the white swimsuit stopped splashing, reached out to his mother and took hold of both her hands, and they stood there in the shallows, laughing and laughing, their heads thrown back and their shiny wet bodies only as far apart as the length of their linked arms. And then the laughter stopped as suddenly as if a switch had been thrown, and they pulled one another close, so close there was no daylight left between them. And then they’d kissed. Properly. Heads tilted. Mouth-on-mouth and everything.
‘Holy shit,’ Jamie breathed.
Morgan couldn’t move. His heart raced. Black spots tangoed in front of his eyes.
‘Would you credit that?’ Glenn’s voice was full of delighted wonder. ‘Hampshire’s mum’s a lezza. Would you friggin’ credit it?’
‘No way,’ Jamie said slowly, like he meant the opposite.
‘No, she isn’t!’
Adrenaline fired Morgan into action. Forcing his damp feet into his trainers and shoving the rest of his stuff in his b
ag, he stood up and half ran, half lurched his way up the beach to where his bike stood against the end of the breakwater.
‘Fuck off!’ he yelled, as he pedalled away. ‘Fuck off!’
***
His head was beginning to throb now – short, stabbing bursts of pain, beating at a new memory as if trying to drive it out. But it wasn’t ready to leave yet. The sun through the window was hurting his eyes, flooding the room with harsh, angled rays. And there was Kate, silhouetted against the light, impatiently jiggling the key in the lock then flinging the glass door wide open and stepping out onto the balcony. Their first moments in the flat, the two of them bright and shiny with love and hope.
Bright and shiny as the sea.
‘Come quickly!’ she’d called, as he’d worried two rucksacks and a bulging plastic bin bag through the door and into the living room. ‘Look! Isn’t it brilliant?’
Dropping the bags, he had gone over and stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders as she gazed across the single row of rooftops opposite, towards the beach and the rolling waves. Her rapturous expression had made him laugh, and he’d lifted her hair and kissed the warm, soft nape of her neck.
‘Brilliant, yeah,’ he’d agreed, nuzzling into her neck and making her giggle.
He’d looked back at the sea and tried to rouse in himself some of Kate’s excitement, but all he could see was his mother emerging from the waves like a mythical goddess, hand-in-hand with her lover. She was smiling as she came towards him. She seemed to be moving above the surface of the water rather than through it, and as she drew closer and closer to him, Morgan felt himself cowering as his inner thirteen-year-old took charge.
When Kate had finished admiring the view, she’d found him standing in the flat’s empty, echoey kitchen with no idea as to how he got there.
Morgan got up and closed the blinds. Back on the sofa, he listened to his own rasping breath penetrating the silence in the room. He must have drifted off to sleep, because ten minutes later he awoke with a jump to the jangle of his mobile. Ten minutes? No, according to the time on the muted TV, he’d been asleep for two-and-a-half hours. Groping down the side of the sofa, he retrieved his phone and spluttered into it before firing a round of explosive coughs.
‘You sound as rough as a bear’s backside,’ Connor said.
‘I feel it, mate, I feel it.’
Why was Connor phoning? He never phoned. Sometimes he texted, but usually there was nothing that couldn’t wait until Morgan’s next trip to Maybridge. He had a thought.
‘Is it Ted? Is he all right?’
‘Grandad’s fine, or as fine as he’ll ever be. Plaguing the life out of me, as it happens. Keeps saying I’m keeping him out of things, which is true as it goes. Actually, I’ve got a message—’
‘I’ll be up on Saturday,’ Morgan cut in, ‘if you need help with the boats or anything. I can catch up with the writing here, so it’s fine.’
‘No, it’s not that. Listen, someone gave me a message for you, well a kind-of one. Only I thought I’d better pass it on in case it was important.’
‘Wassat?’ Morgan’s voice struggled out through his mucus-laden throat. He was so tired, and so not in the mood for a chat, even with Connor. His brain finally caught up. ‘Did you say a message? For me?’
‘I did. Hang on a sec.’ Morgan heard Connor shout to someone in the background. He came back to Morgan. ‘Idiot driver’s backed a delivery lorry right into the yard and now he can’t get out again, wouldn’t you know? Anyway…’
Morgan waited while Connor, obviously distracted, remembered where he’d left off.
‘A girl. She got on the boat with a little boy. Didn’t give her name. Said to say hello next time I saw you.’ Connor laughed. ‘I sincerely hope you’re not toying with the affections of the legendary Kate.’
‘Kate’s… Never mind.’ He didn’t have the strength to go into that now. ‘What did she look like, this girl?’ As if he had to ask.
‘Beautiful, mate. Beautiful. All eyes and long dark hair. Nice assets, too.’
‘Was that it? Was that all she said?’
‘Yup. “Hello.” That was the sum total.’
Morgan caught the grinding rev of an engine and a series of reversing beeps.
‘Sorry, I’ve got to go,’ Connor said, and ended the call.
Layla. She had asked after him, passed on a message. She hadn’t forgotten about him. As the days trickled by, he’d begun to doubt his version of their meeting in the boathouse. Now, the feeling returned with full-blown clarity, the feeling of something beginning.
He reached for his phone, changed his mind and fetched the laptop instead.
Chapter Fifteen
Wednesday 23.25
No, it’s fine, I like the emails. Keep them coming. I’d phone you but not a good idea as my sister’s asleep in the same room. Don’t like that you’re ill, though. Is it terminal? (joke!)
L.
BTW not expecting to hear more from you tonight given it’s getting on for crazy o’clock.
Wednesday 23.32
Crazy o’ clock it may be but I’ve been asleep all day so now I’m totally wide awake but a bit out of it on the antibiotics. Yes, it is terminal – terminally boring. No, just a chest infection. I’m coughing my g… Never mind. Did you enjoy your boat trip?
M.
Wednesday 23.35
I did, and so did Finn (my nephew). Your friend Connor did the business. He’s not as good as you ;-) It’s been a bit of a nightmare at home (families – you don’t want to know!) so it was nice to get out for a while. You didn’t say much about your family before – probably because you couldn’t get a word in edgeways! What are they like?
L.
Wednesday 23.38
OK. They never interfered much while I was growing up, so I guess that counts as OK. My father’s a retired academic but he keeps a foot in the door of a couple of universities. He has a humungous collection of fossils, a legful of steel pins (result of falling off a cliff, silly bugger), and a girlfriend called Fiona. My mother is a reflexologist, aromatherapist, and an artist, and has a girlfriend called Judy. I call them Nick and Ellie, not Mum and Dad. So all pretty standard stuff ;-)
M.
Wednesday 23.40
Did you say girlfriend?!?! Wow! Are you cool with that?
L.
Wednesday 23.42
I am now. I wasn’t at the start but it was a long time ago and everyone’s friends again, even Nick and Ellie and their respectives. You said I wouldn’t want to know about your family. Well I do. I want to know everything about you including what you had for breakfast. Sorry, that’s the medication talking. Don’t answer if you don’t want to.
M.
Wednesday 23.47
Cold pizza left over from last night. Moving swiftly on, Dad died when I was 15. Mum’s a domestic goddess by day and karaoke queen by night. It’s how she lets off steam and believe me there’s a lot to let off. My younger sister Jadine has just discovered Sex with a capital S. Rowan (Finn’s mum) thinks she’s a woman of the world but runs home at the first sign of trouble, which is where she is now. More of that another time, if you can stand it. Not sure I can. ☺
L.
Wednesday 23.54
Interesting sisters! You must tell all. Sorry about your Dad, though. That’s sad.
M.
Wednesday 23.55
Thanks. Yes, it was a sad time. Mum copes pretty well. It’s what she does best.
L.
Wednesday 23.58
How about we meet up again in Maybridge? We could actually go for that coffee this time. Have to say, as I write this I’m thinking I’ve got a nerve even asking since I failed to keep in touch before. Pressing send while I still have the courage.
M. x
Thursday 8.02
Yes, OK.
L. x
Chapter Sixteen
‘I don’t feel as bad as I look,’ Morgan said hurriedly, correctly interpret
ing Layla’s expression.
Her first thought was that he wasn’t being truthful; her second that he was either used to being around women with stereotypical nurturing tendencies or those who were phobic about catching germs. She wondered which category Kate fell into.
She had felt guilty from the moment the café door opened and she’d seen him striding towards her, in crumpled jeans and a blue t-shirt, a black leather jacket slung over his shoulder. He looked in no fit state to be out and about. His face had the cheesy pallor she associated with really old men, his eyes peering over-brightly from it like an animal peering out of a hedge. Dark stubble outlined his chin – not unattractively – and he’d lost so much weight that his cheeks had a sunken appearance and his midriff was almost concave.
‘Yes, well, you probably shouldn’t have come out in the rain,’ she said, then laughed. ‘I’m turning into my mother.’
‘As long as you’re not turning into mine.’ Morgan winked.
Layla was puzzled for a moment, until she remembered. She gave a little embarrassed laugh, felt herself blushing a bit. Morgan laughed, too, until it degenerated into a coughing fit, and after that everything felt easy and natural, as it had in the boathouse.
They walked along the riverbank in the opposite direction from the boathouse, past the road-bridge and the backs of the high street shops, to where a clipped expanse of grass gave onto the site of the old priory ruins.
The rain had stopped and the great slabs of flint stood out against the brightening sky like broken teeth. As they left the towpath and crossed the grass, Morgan held her hand. As he did so, he glanced at her, smiling a question, checking that she didn’t mind. She smiled back and hoped he hadn’t noticed the tightening of the muscles in her shoulders, the momentary break in her stride.
Never Coming Back: a tale of loss and new beginnings Page 11