by Rosie Blake
She smelled like Mum – her floral scent, mixed with ginger and chocolate. She held me at arm’s length and then frowned.
‘You look tired,’ she concluded.
‘Mum, I’ve just travelled halfway across the world – of course I’m tired.’
‘Hmm…I’ll take this,’ she said, seizing the handle of my suitcase and taking my handbag from me.
‘Mum,’ I laughed, ‘I can carry something.’
‘To the Mum-mobile,’ she called over her shoulder.
‘Seriously?’ I said, following in her wake.
‘Ooh I am EXCITED you’re home!’ She threw me a massive smile over her shoulder and I returned it.
Me too.
She’d re-painted the kitchen cupboards a gorgeous duck-egg blue and had put up blue and white gingham curtains in the window. The room smelled familiar – of rosemary, lemons and home. Local pottery, blue and cream striped, lined the dresser which was crammed with scrawled postcards, old photographs of relations I couldn’t remember ever meeting, me as a child, a couple of small tacky plastic toys and a dusty silver tankard of my dad’s from his rowing days. Leaflets of local events, old newspapers and scribbled messages on a lined notepad had been hastily piled up to the side. The telephone was balanced precariously on top of the pile and the wall calendar hanging next to it all suggested that my parents had a far wilder social life in the back and beyond of Cornwall than I had had in LA.
‘It’s so good to have you home, darling. Your father is out doing a coastal walk with Bob who lost his wife last year. But he is under strict instructions to be home by 4 o’clock. We’re having cheese scones so I imagine he will be right on time.’
‘And I’m home after almost two years,’ I reminded her.
‘True, true, darling, but the cheese scones will definitely still play a part. They have Gruyère in!’
True to his promise, my father appeared with five minutes to spare and gave me a long, warm hug and told me he’d missed me. Both these events were pretty High Emotion coming from my lovely gentle dad and seeing him there – in his faded corduroys smelling of salt and fresh air, it made tears sting the back of my throat and I coughed and
looked away.
The cheese scones were so good we all had three and I sat, one hand on my stomach, marvelling at how my parents stayed slim. My limbs unfurled and my thoughts slowed down as I looked between both my parents. Mum then jumped up to show me a new infrared thermometer which had cost about a hundred pounds that she used to measure fudge and then my dad gave her a look and the air became fraught with an atmosphere, expectant. Both sets of eyes swivelled over to stare at me intently. I coughed and dabbed at a cheese scone crumb on my lip.
‘So, darling,’ my mother said, reaching out a hand, ‘why this sudden appearance?’
‘Oh, um…’ I didn’t feel like sharing my plan, realising I didn’t really know how to phrase things just yet. It all seemed rather extreme and I didn’t want the atmosphere to shift and for them to judge me. I didn’t want to tell them yet about my agent dropping me, about LA, about me being an uber Bitch to Stewie. I wasn’t ready yet to share all that stuff. ‘I just missed home,’ I said, biting into a fourth cheese scone and nearly groaning.
‘Nothing to, nothing to tell us?’ Mum said with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug.
‘Um…not especially,’ I said, wondering why Dad was avoiding my eyes.
‘No news, no…little surprises,’ she continued, leaning forward, her necklace dangling precariously close to her mug of tea. I could see all the whites round her eyes now.
‘Nope!’ I laughed.
Her shoulders lowered. ‘So you’re not pregnant?’
It was a moment before the words sunk in. ‘Pregnant? No, why would I be…? Why would you…?’
She waved a hand. ‘We would have supported you whatever, darling.’
‘Well that is a comforting thought,’ I said, ‘but no, not pregnant and there is no big mystery.’
My dad reached for another scone. ‘I told you, Jilly. Now who wants some Battenberg?’
Hours later, tucked under the eaves in my attic bedroom staring at the exposed beams in a white ceiling, I wondered whether I had been daft to come. Could I really start gallivanting across the country in search of him? How would this plan sound? ‘Oh, parents, I came home to chase a man I saw in the background of the news item Dad did so that I can meet him, marry him and have all the babies.’
Then I thought of his face on the television and the sure knowledge that I had finally found him after all these years of wondering about him and I knew I was so close. I had to try, I had to look. What was the worst that could happen? I stretched up and turned off the lamp by my bed, plunging the room into darkness. Through the thin strip of curtain I could just make out an enormous bright moon in the sky, its reflection bouncing off the ocean below making the water sparkle with promise.
Chapter 8
Polzeath
‘I am not speaking to you,’ said Mel after I answered Mel’s phone call.
‘I think we both know that’s a lie,’ I said, smiling as I sat in the window seat of my parents’ kitchen watching a seagull shit on top of our car.
‘Look, this has already cost me a hundred dollars so I am really only ringing to say COME BACK, I MISS YOU, WHY DID YOU LEAVE MEEEEE!’
I held the phone away from my ear. ‘MEL, STOP SHOUTING AT ME!’ I shouted.
Dad ran into the kitchen, a startled look on his face, holding the bellows in one hand as if about to brain an intruder.
‘Sorry, Dad,’ I said covering the phone with my hand. ‘Phone call.’
‘Ah,’ he said, stumbling out, relief palpable.
‘Mel, are you still there?’ I asked.
‘Er…yes, ABANDONNER.’
‘Okay, I am going to hang up now and we will Skype later, okay?’
‘Not okay. I only have Celine to talk to and I swear if she tells me any more about her new superfood powder diet, I am going to cut off all her hair and wear it as a
CLOAK.’
‘Okay, well that seems psychotic, so maybe you need to go and find someone else to talk to.’
‘I did find someone, I found you. And today we were superheroes. You would have liked this one. We wore catsuits and gave out doughnuts and all the fat people followed us around.’
‘Er…massive sad face that I missed that,’ I said, leaning my head back and watching the ocean shift from grey to dark navy as a cloud passed over it.
‘Look, can you just make sure you do this quickly, find the Andrew dude, make him love you and then come back pronto. Deal?’
‘You make it sound so easy,’ I said, fiddling with a cushion with a smiling squirrel on it. God, whose cushion was this? It was hideous.
‘Well get to it, woman, you don’t sound like you are getting to it.’
‘I totally am,’ I said, wondering whether to have a crumpet or a teacake.
‘Right, this phone call has officially made me re-mortgage my flat so…’
‘You don’t own your flat, Mel.’
‘OH RUIN EVERYTHING,’ she wailed.
‘Right, unbalanced woman, I am going and will Skype my progress soon, or email, or communicate somehow with you for free, okay?’
‘Okay, oh man, Celine is on the other line, she probably wants to tell me what I did wrong today. She is like Angry Barbie. I might kill her. Bye, babe.’
‘I’m not a…’
She’d hung up.
Dad was in his faded armchair in the sitting room, a fire flickering in the grate as he read the newspaper through half-moon glasses, a half-empty cafetière on the table beside him.
‘Where’s Mum?’ I asked, looking around the living room as if she might suddenly appear from inside the drink’s cabinet: ‘Ta da!’
‘Communing wi
th nature, I fear,’ he said, pointing to the window where I could see into the bay beside our house and my mother in a swimming costume plunging into a rock pool surrounded by normal people wearing wetsuits.
‘Crikey,’ I said, shivering at the thought of the icy cold water, even in July. ‘It’s England. Is she aware?’
‘Quite and perhaps not are your answers.’
I flopped onto the sofa opposite. Dad peered at me over his newspaper. ‘Who were you shouting at in the kitchen?’
I batted the question away with a hand. ‘Best friend.’
‘Right.’
Getting out my Kindle, feet up on a worn leather pouffe, there was no need for further talk as we sat in perfect companionable silence, glancing at each other every now and again with contented smiles.
Twenty minutes later, Mum appeared in the doorway to trash the calm. Wrapped in a hot-pink towel, she rubbed at her wet hair.
‘Darling, you’re up. I was about to come into your bedroom and drag you out.’
‘How was the water?’
‘Bracing but brilliant,’ she said, calling over her shoulder. ‘I just need to blow dry my nipples back to normal.’ I could see my dad’s cheeks glowing red as we both pretended we hadn’t heard.
Putting down the Kindle and picking up a notepad, I put my feet up on the worn pouffe and nestled into the hundreds of cushions. Doodling faces and stars, I started to form a plan in my mind. I had come all the way here and Mel was right, I had to find this dude. I would head to where they had filmed Dad and go from there. It looked like a small sort of place; he’d probably be easy to find. Not even a village, maybe, a hamlet. How many people live in an English hamlet? Twelve? Fourteen? It couldn’t be many.
‘So where did they film you for that car piece?’ I asked, smoothing my hand over the sofa.
Dad looked up, eyes round, surprised by my sudden interest perhaps. ‘Oh, um, a little village near Exeter, I forget exactly where,’ he said.
‘Nice place?’ I enquired.
He put down his newspaper. ‘Nice enough. Good fish and chips in the pub,’ he added with a nod.
‘Always important,’ I said and then, with a quick swallow, ‘so I was thinking of going there. To the village, I mean,
to um…see it for myself so if you could think really
hard…’
‘The car’s been sold now, Iz, did your mother not tell you? You can’t see it there.’
‘No, no, not to see the car, just to, get a feel for the place, where history was made so to speak. Ha, ha,’ I trailed
away.
‘Well we drove through a lot of places that day and…’
‘Hmm…’ I pondered his previous statement and then, sitting bolt upright, realised how I could find out.
‘Coffee?’ I asked, jumping up and making Dad twitch in his chair. Rushing back to the kitchen, hearing his befuddled ‘Okay then’, I pulled my laptop from its case, turned it on, sat at the table and started tapping out an email.
Hello people at ITV,
On a news programme for ITV West on 13th July of this year you ran a segment on the West’s Best Vintage Cars (14 mins and 38 seconds in from start). You interviewed a man – Mr Graves – about his car in a village. I am trying to find out what village this was near Exeter, with a pub that does excellent fish and chips. Please could you advise?
Best wishes,
Isobel Graves
Then I put on the kettle, waited for the water to boil and pressed ‘Refresh’ seven times. No email back. Gah. IT’S OVER. MY SEARCH IS OVER. Ooh, ASOS sale.
Returning to the sitting room and handing Dad a coffee, I jumped as Mum bustled in after me, dressed in turquoise leggings and a large white cotton shirt, a neckscarf round her hair.
‘Out we go, darling, you must come with me, I am in the mood to greet the day,’ she said, planting a kiss on Dad’s cheek and taking my hand.
I looked at my half-finished coffee and laptop. ‘Oh, I…’
‘Come on, we’re going to go and shout at the sea. You’ll feel completely marvellous when you’re done.’
‘Well I feel pretty marvellous already really.’
Dad was sniggering into his paper.
‘Nonsense. There is honestly nothing like it and you’ve come all this way.’
I threw my hands up in the air, relenting. ‘Okay, okay, I’m coming. Am I dressed appropriately for shouting at the sea?’
She eyed up my old university tracksuit bottoms and pale-blue polo shirt. ‘Perfectly.’
She strode out of the conservatory door, through the back garden and out into the field beyond. A startled sheep bleated furiously as she scampered away and Mum told me to face towards the ocean and assume the pose.
‘Follow my lead, darling,’ she called over one shoulder as she lifted both her hands in the air and exhaled slowly
out.
Feeling ridiculous, I did the same.
‘Right, now, after me we are going to take in a huge breath and scream loudly, “Good Morning, World.” It’s exhilarating. Ready?’
And, without waiting for a response, she began, ‘GOOOOOOOOD MOOOOORRRRNNIIING, WOOOOORRRL… Darling—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘You’re not joining in. You need to join in.’
‘Sorry, can we start again?’
We did the whole breathing out slowly thing and the arm lifting and I went to open my mouth as she screamed, ‘GOOOOOOOOOOOD MOOOOORRRRRNNNN—’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘Come on.’
I scratched my elbow. ‘Mum, I feel like a jerk.’
‘Prat, darling, jerk is so American. You feel like a prat.’ She turned back to face the ocean – a vast sheet of grey, squalls of white flashing intermittently over the surface, low, angry clouds in the distance threatening to spill their load all over north Cornwall. The morning sun quit trying to break through the bank hours ago and was probably off having a cuppa somewhere warm.
‘And you won’t if you join in. You’ll love it.’
I looked out and said, ‘Okay, I’m ready, Ma.’
‘After three,’ she directed. ‘One, two, three – GOOOOD. MOOOORRRNNIIING, WORRRRLLLD.’
I got to the ‘wor’ bit of world and then collapsed laughing. Scooping up the hoody at my feet, I went and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m off for a walk, not sure this is quite up my street.’
‘Well you tried that time, darling, that’s all I can ask for,’ she said, eyes closed, breathing in heavily. ‘Just heaven,’ she said to no one in particular.
I smiled and walked away, down a well-worn path that ran along the side of the house that led to a gate in a stone arch. Pushing it open and avoiding a verge of stinging nettles leaning over the path, I felt a little flutter inside at being home, at seeing my parents again, the wonderfully familiar landscape I conjured up whenever I thought of England. The stones under my feet soon gave way to tufts of yellowed grass and weeds and I tramped down to the path before heading across the top of Baby Bay.
It was mid-morning but hardly anyone was around. Across the beach I could make out a couple of figures: a woman gingerly picking her way over the rocks, a man in a Barbour throwing a ball at a dog which was doing excited spins in the shallows, water spraying up as he streaked off. A lone surfer was lying on his board a few waves out, waiting for a swell to pick him up. The air smelled of seaweed and seemed to fill my head. LA and my life there seemed a million miles away.
Picking my way down the path, I loped around the bay, paddling in the shallows and looking back at the house perched above the rocks. I headed back towards it.
Padding through to the kitchen, the sand still in between my toes, I flicked the kettle on. My mobile started ringing in my pocket and I frowned when I saw ‘Stewie’ on the screen.
‘Hello,’ I answered.
‘Where are you? I’m at the flat,’ he asked after a
second’s delay.
‘Oh I’m not at the flat, I’m um, I’m in England,’ I said.
‘You’re WHERE?’ he squawked. I didn’t know his voice could go that high. It made me start giggling and he sat on the other end in stony silence as I then apologised repeatedly.
‘England,’ I repeated as the kettle began to bubble in earnest.
Balls, had I really not told him I was leaving the country? I felt a fleeting moment of guilt picturing him staring at my empty doorstep, calling through the letterbox and then scratching his head and looking at his mobile phone.
‘It’s 3 a.m.,’ he said.
‘Well that’s not actually true here,’ I pointed out, feeling a bubble of laughter again. This was bad, poor Stewie.
‘But I brought you a bagel, and where am I going to sleep?’ he whined. I could hear the rustle of a bag in the background.
‘Oh well, that was nice of you. Um…I’m sorry, I sort of forgot everything in the rush really. Can you stay at yours?’ I said.
‘I’ll have to pay for a cab.’
‘Yes that will have to happen,’ I said, looking out of the window at the blurred line of the horizon.
‘Did someone die? Has your mom died?’ he asked.
‘What? Er…no, why would you think that?’
‘Well why else would you suddenly leave for England? Are you in actual England, England the country not like, New England?’
‘No, well it was a rushed decision and I just wanted to come home and, yes England, England.’
‘Well, thanks for telling me,’ he sniffed.
‘Look, Stewie, this isn’t ideal but maybe we need to talk,’ I said, gripping the phone under my chin as I reached up to get the teabags.
‘We are tal…Oh my god, are you breaking up with me from England at 3 a.m.?’
‘Well it’s not 3 a.m. here and the thing is, we really are different people and well…’
‘This is ridiculous.’
‘No, listen, I think you’ll see this is the right thing for both of us, I mean, our hearts haven’t really been in it recently have they and…’
‘La, la, la, la not happening,’ he chanted down the phone.