‘I’ve no idea! I just got a call from Bob, the harbour master, asking me to get down here right away, I thought you might be able to shed some light on it … weren’t the ice-cream vans one of your things to organise?’
‘Um, yes they were. Hold on a sec.’ I duck into a tiny alcove next to a nautical-themed gift shop and pull out my mobile. Annie answers right away and confirms that, as far as she is aware, the ice-cream vans are all in place at their designated spots, she checked first thing this morning, and each one has a plentiful supply of regatta brochures and is stocked up with the special regatta ice-cream flavours that she and Lauren chose when they went to the factory – bubble gum, mulberry and cinnamon crumble, Eton mess (strawberry with mini-meringue pieces in), lemon parfait, a traditional Neapolitan and the one that Jack chose – chocolate with Smarties sprinkles. She sounds so pleased with herself for having pulled it off, after I forgot to even visit Tom’s Uncle Marco, that I don’t have the heart to tell her what’s going on here. I hang up after thanking her.
‘Right. I’m going in!’
‘Are you mad?’ Matt bellows.
‘Probably. But someone has to stop them!’ I head straight towards the van that has the guy with the spider tatt inside, and tap firmly on the plastic screen. A few seconds later, he appears and slides the screen open.
‘Please can you tell me what the hell is going on?’ I say, ducking quickly, but I’m too late – a lump of vanilla ice cream hits my shoulder and slides down my bare arm.
‘You’d better hop in, love. Come on,’ he says in a lovely Northern accent as he flings open the door for me to climb in. He hands me a paper napkin.
‘Thank you.’
‘Hang on.’ He slides the screen closed. ‘That’s better. Bloody fools. They’ve ruined it for us all now …’
‘What do you mean? Why are you all here? You were supposed to be dotted around the town,’ I say, wiping my arm.
‘And they were. I was the one supposed to be here at the entrance to the marina – it’s the prime spot, you see, and seeing as how I organised everything, then fair dues. But they didn’t like it – ice-cream vendors can get very territorial, you see, if their pitch isn’t doing well. Hence they took it upon themselves to move here looking to up their takings. They’re all self-employed, love, and times are hard I guess … But none of that excuses this behaviour, fighting like kids in a playground, it’s blooming embarrassing.’ He shakes his head.
‘Ah, so you must be Tom’s Un—’
‘Marco,’ he says, holding out a hand for me to shake.
‘I’m Georgie.’
‘You’re our Tom’s lass! Well, lovely to meet you at last. And don’t look so surprised … I’m not what you were expecting, eh?’
‘Um, err …’ I start, not wanting to be rude but he’s right – he isn’t at all how I imagined a relative of Tom’s to be.
‘Don’t worry, love, I get it all the time. I’m from the normal side of the family. My brother is the one who married into the money, the Rossi dynasty – not that they always had it, mind you. Wouldn’t think so, though, where Isabella is concerned, not with all her airs and graces.’ And he laughs, while I wonder what he means. ‘Anyway, I guess we had better get this riot stopped.’
‘Yes, it’s madness. It needs to stop right now or I’ll have to call the police,’ I say, really hoping it doesn’t come to that – knowing my luck it’ll be the same police officer who shut down the carousel, and I’ll be deemed doubly incompetent.
‘Trading standards, more like! Here, tell them.’ And with a mischievous glint in his eye, he hands me a megaphone. I take it and, after flicking a switch, I pull back the plastic screen, lean my head out and bellow as loud as I can.
‘Trading standards are on the way! I repeat, trading standards are on the way!’ And a few minutes later, the vendors miraculously leap into their vans and drive off, convoy-style, towards Wayfarer Way.
‘Thank you.’ I turn to Marco.
‘Ah, don’t thank me, love; I’m just damn sorry they caused such a scene. And if you don’t mind me saying so, you sure gave it some – petrified, they were. Petrified!’
22
I’ve managed to find Sam’s stall, it’s next to the new bakery one, but she’s busy packing up cakes into huge white cardboard boxes when I arrive.
‘Georgie!’ she says, looking taken aback. I step forward to give her a hug but she carries on packing.
‘How are you?’ I start awkwardly.
‘I’m fine,’ she replies. But it’s obvious she isn’t.
‘I can see you’re busy, I, um, maybe I should go,’ I start, desperately trying to keep my voice even, but I can’t bear the way things are between us. It’s as if we’re strangers. I know I’ve let her down, but she shut me out too.
‘OK.’ Silence follows while I scan the marquee nervously, feeling unsettled and unsure of what to do next. And then I remember Dad’s advice in the hospital that day. Whatever it takes …
‘Sam, look, I’m really sorry; I know I’ve let you down … But please, let me apologise. At least hear me out …’ She stops packing and I hold my breath, willing her to give me a chance to somehow fix things between us. Another silence follows.
‘I’ll be finished in a bit. Why don’t you come back in half an hour?’ Sam keeps her head down as she places the last cupcake into a box.
‘Um, sure, I’ll do that.’
I wander off into the crowd, hoping the bubbly party atmosphere will lift my mood while I wait for Sam to finish up. I find a gap at the railings overlooking the finishing line and watch in awe as four speedboats race through the waves making the water jet up and spray all over us. The hooters sound out as the sleek silver boat wins – the two women crew cheering and hugging each other as Bob, the harbour master, hands them their prize bottle of champagne. I glance around, relishing in the smiles, the laughter, the perfect blue sky, the warm sun glistening on the sea and feel pleased, relieved, this is exactly how I imagined Mulberry-On-Sea would be on regatta weekend. Everyone seems to be having a brilliant time, the boat races are exciting and exhilarating, and that is the whole point of a regatta after all.
*
Sam and I are at the Hook, Line and Sinker pub, sitting either side of a wooden bench table outside on the beach, when Cher appears with two glasses and an enormous jug full of Pimm’s with sliced cucumber and mint leaves sloshing around inside.
‘There you go, girls. You look as if you could both do with this.’ She puts the jug in the centre of the table. ‘Who died?’ Chuckling, she wipes her hands on a cloth that’s slung over her left shoulder. ‘Right, I’ll, err … sod off and leave you to it then,’ she adds after clearing her throat when neither of us replies, and heads back over the beach towards the pub.
Sam lifts the jug and pours us both a drink while I watch the iridescent green waves swooshing and swaying back and forth, nudging the brown pebbles like a giant penny slot machine.
‘Thank you.’ Sam hands me a glass and I take a sip of the fruity mint concoction before placing the glass back on the table and pushing my hands under the sides of my legs, unsure of where to start. We’re both studying our drinks when we say,
‘I’m sorry,’ in unison. I glance at Sam, feeling relieved that we are at least talking now, it’s a start; but she keeps her head bowed. I reach a hand across the table and gently touch her arm.
‘Sam, I’m so very sorry for abandoning you when you needed me most. You’ve always been here for me, and the one time you needed me … I disappeared to New York. I don’t blame you for hating me …’ My voice trails off, and then I’m horrified to see silent tears snaking a path down her face before collecting in a little pool at the groove above her collarbones. I saw Sam cry when Alfie died, and then when she had the miscarriage, but those were both major, massive things. Sam doesn’t cry easily. I jump off the bench and dart around the table to sit next to her. I put my arm around her and, after a while, her shoulders soften as she leans in
to me.
‘Oh Sam, please, I can’t bear to see you like this … tell me what to do to make it better. Please … I’ll do it, I’ll do anything.’ She rests her head on my shoulder and we sit together in silence, in the still-warm evening air, for what seems like an eternity, with just the sound of the seagulls caw-cawing above us and the laughter in the distance from the last few revellers enjoying a drink before closing time.
Sam starts laughing. It throws me. I don’t know what to do. But for some unfathomable reason I start laughing too.
‘Why are we laughing?’ It’s Sam who recovers first.
‘I have no idea … Um, that’s actually a lie, I know why I’m laughing …’ I hesitate.
‘Go on.’ Sam nods, swilling her drink around inside the glass.
‘Relief, I guess. A bit. That we’re here, talking, sort of … I thought I had lost you … you know, when I was away and, well, it’s never been like that between us, has it? And I know I messed up, but we’ve always been so close. I’m really, really sorry.’ I look away.
‘Me too,’ Sam says, quietly.
‘You have nothing to be sorry about – I was the one who buggered off when you needed me most; I should never have done that.’
‘And I shut you out. I should never have done that either.’ We sit in silence; it’s me who breaks it.
‘What’s going on, Sam? Well, I know a lot has gone on, with Christy turning up and stuff, but what I mean is … something has changed, and it changed a while ago. You’re …’ I pause to choose my words carefully; I don’t want to upset her even more. ‘Not like your old self.’
‘Oh Georgie, how long have you got?’ she sighs, wearily.
‘All night! And longer, if that’s what it takes.’ I give her hand a squeeze.
*
Sam lets out a long breath. She’s told me all about it. How she always thought she knew what she wanted, how being a mother with lots of children was her destiny, to have a big family, something she never had as a child and always dreamed of, to be a part of something, to be the perfect mum, the mum she never had … or so she had imagined. Only it didn’t turn out that way. And it changed everything – what she had always believed turned out to be something entirely different.
‘Oh Sam! I thought you were blissfully happy. OK, I knew you were tired, but aren’t all new parents? I had no idea, I’m so sorry … Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘For a while I was in denial, I guess. I tried to ignore it, hoping the feeling would go away. And then, we seemed to be going in different directions – our worlds seemed so far apart. How could I? You were loved up with Tom while I was crying from sleep deprivation at four in the morning. And then when you cleared off and didn’t look back …’ I feel my cheeks flush, but quickly decide to keep quiet, knowing that what she’s saying is true. I did leave her when she needed me, but not on purpose … It just sort of panned out that way; but still, I didn’t hesitate in going, and for that I’ll always feel bad. Not for actually going, but for going when I did. The timing couldn’t have been any worse. ‘It made me feel that you were taking everything for granted, everything you have here in Mulberry-On-Sea, including me – like it wasn’t enough. And somehow that made me feel insignificant. Like I wasn’t important to you …’
‘But Sam, you’re the most important person in the world to me – you, Dad and Nancy, and Tom. You’re everything. You’re my family.’
‘But you were having the time of your life in New York, sending me selfies from rooftops with breathtaking views, while I was stuck here with two babies, feeling inadequate and frustrated because I’ve always been in control, been good at stuff, felt important I guess … and that had all gone. I was muddling through, making it all up as I went along – babies don’t come with a manual, and for the first time in my life, I had no blooming idea what I was supposed to be doing. And part of me was jealous, too. I wanted to be having the time of my life in New York, not be scraping poo off my beautiful kitchen counters because one of the twins had ripped her nappy off and decided to lasso it around the joint. And that in turn made me feel as if I was failing all the time.’
‘Oh God, Sam, I didn’t realise. I had no idea. And there was me wishing you were there with me. I didn’t stop to think how you were feeling … Or just how impractical the notion was, I understand now – you can’t just pack a suitcase and jet off … your life is different now.’
‘Please, it’s not your fault. Like I said, it’s my fault. That part of it started way before you went away – the feeling of not being a good enough mother, and then when I saw the mums in the café, seemingly perfect, doting over and all-consumed by their babies, discussing the virtues of blending up purple broccoli over sprouting broccoli – broccoli is broccoli, for crying out loud!’ She lets out a long breath. ‘But deep down, I felt guilty, because it doesn’t interest me – and it just got worse when you went away. My only outlet, besides baby talk, had gone, and that’s why I couldn’t talk to you on the phone. I was cross and confused – I just wanted my old life back; the one where we laughed together and gossiped, and basically had a good time … Does that make me a bad mother?’
‘I don’t think so. Do you feel the same way now? Because, if you do, then I’m here now, I’ll help you in whichever way I can … We’ll go out, we’ll do spa days again and go shopping, clubbing, have lunch at the swanky bistro, just like we used to. We could even do stuff together, you, me and the twins – the cinema or one of those soft play centres.’ Sam grimaces. ‘OK, maybe not that … but I’ll babysit them, so you and Nathan can have time together. How about that? I’ll set aside a weekend once a month, it’ll be my way of making it up to you.’ And the minute the words are out of my mouth, I feel even more terrible – like the worst person on earth – because I made that promise once before and didn’t follow it through. But I will now, I definitely will. Things have changed for me too – going away, ruining Tom’s surprise, and then Dad being ill; it’s all just made me realise what I really want, what’s most important, and it’s the people closest to me. That’s what matters.
‘It’s all right,’ Sam says, graciously. ‘Not sure I’d want to babysit a pair of teething toddlers unless I really, really had to. It’s hard work, and I realise now that I’m just not the earth mother I always thought I would be. Baking is my passion, not eco nappies and broccoli blending! Don’t get me wrong, I love the twins, I adore them with every fibre of my being, I really do. But I’m just not cut out for childcare – I get bored. No, that’s a lie; I don’t just get bored. I get scared. Scared of what I might do.’ Sam pauses and finishes the last of her Pimm’s.
‘Go on,’ I say gently.
‘Oh, please don’t look so worried, it’s not so bad now.’ She manages a wry smile before lifting the jug to pour us both another drink.
‘So what’s changed then?’
‘Talking to Christy. My own mother, the one who ran away when I was a child! Because, Georgie, since having the girls,’ she pauses to take a deep breath, ‘I’ve felt exactly the same way on occasion. I’ve wanted to run away. Hell, one night I even packed a suitcase and drove off for a few hours or so along the coast, leaving Nathan on his own wondering what was going on – it was the night before the nanny interviews and I had convinced myself employing a nanny meant that I was a rubbish mother. A failure.’ Oh God, it all makes sense now. No wonder there was tension between Sam and Nathan on that day. No wonder Sam was hypercritical of the candidates, convinced one of them had bruised Ivy’s little cheek – she was feeling vulnerable and inadequate. ‘And that really scared me … because I could so easily have jumped on a plane and gone far, far away.’
‘But you didn’t. You came back, and that’s the difference.’ My mobile rings. I ignore it. This is important. Very important. And if it’s Tom calling, I’m sure he’ll understand when I explain later. But right now, I have to be here for Sam. ‘I’m so sorry for disappearing when Christy turned up out of the blue like that,’ I continue,
unsure of what else to say.
‘Don’t be. I should have told you,’ Sam says.
‘What do you mean?’ I crease my forehead.
‘I asked her to come!’
Whaaaat? I had no idea.
‘But how? When?’ And why didn’t you tell me? Is what pops into my head. But I quickly figure this isn’t about me – it’s like Dad said, we never really know what is going on in someone else’s life.
‘Well, I had been pondering on it for some time. Being pregnant made me think a lot about my own childhood, which naturally led on to Christy and how she could have left me. Anyway, I got a private investigator to track her down,’ Sam says calmly, and I feel terrible that she went through all this without telling me. She senses how I feel and adds, ‘Nathan didn’t know either … it was something I just had to do on my own. I was worried that if you or he were involved, got to know her, then she’d have a connection, a hold if you like, a way to reach me later, if I didn’t like her or want her in my life after all.’
‘It’s OK,’ I say softly. ‘The most important thing is – how do you feel now?’
‘It’s strange, but Christy and I get on really well. I don’t hate her, or feel any resentment. We’ve talked so much and she’s been really honest with me. She says she tried really hard too, to be a good mother, but felt inadequate. She says at the time, all those years ago, she thought I’d be better off without her, which is why she went.’ Sam stops talking and we sit together in silence for a while, just sharing unspoken thoughts.
‘Oh Sam …’ It’s me who eventually speaks.
‘It’s OK. I was in a bad place but I did something about it. I made changes; I got some help, at home and at work. It’s all good now. Promise.’ She grins.
‘You got a nanny?’
‘A manny! He’s called Benedict, or Ben, as he prefers …’
‘Mmm, well, that’s a bonus,’ I say, as an image of Benedict Cumberbatch instantly springs to mind.
Carrington's at Christmas Page 78