by Rosie Blake
Luke was clutching his sides again. Arjun seemed quiet next door to him, one hand on his chest as he lowered himself into an armchair. His turn seemed to have wiped him out.
‘Come on, Lottie.’
Dragging my eyes away from Arjun I stood on the rug in front of the electric fire trying to summon an original thought. Book. Film. TV Show. It was like I had never heard of these phenomena. I swallowed, my mouth dry. I was devoid of all thoughts. Only Amy.
I closed my eyes briefly and then opened them again.
‘Is it a film?’ Howard called out loudly.
‘Let the girl start, Howard,’ Grandad said quietly.
Time ticked on and I felt the whole room staring at me, waiting for me to move, to come alive.
‘Is it a book?’ Geoffrey asked in a kindly voice, prompting me to begin.
I nodded. ‘It’s sort of both—’
‘She’s talking,’ pointed out Arjun in an accusatory tone. ‘You told me we couldn’t do that,’ he said, turning in his chair to glare at Luke.
‘You can’t.’ Luke laughed, swigging at his drink.
‘Cheat!’ Arjun said with a low rumble.
My mouth snapped shut and I felt strangely exposed, sweat dampening my palms.
It was horrific. I went through torturous motions, desperately trying to make Howard and Geoffrey understand what I was getting at. How hard was it to act out Pride and Prejudice, which I soon realised was a book, film and TV series? I tried to add TV series halfway through but they just kept shouting ‘Square’ at me. I felt sweat bead in my hairline and it was only after a ridiculous amount of time that Luke quietly came to the rescue, whispering the correct answer across to Geoffrey.
‘Hey, that’s not fair,’ shouted Arjun, suddenly absurdly competitive after his High Noon success.
Grandad had got up to get more drinks and I was simply glad to be moving away from the rug and all the eyes following me, back to the pouffe, taking a grateful gulp of gin, the tonic flat and the ice melted. I had to get out of there. I needed to look over the brief for the next day in court. I needed to think about how to fix things for Amy.
My phone vibrated in my pocket as Luke got up to have the next go. I looked down at the screen, feeling a renewed wave of sickness swell up inside me.
It was from Amy. Thanks sooooo much for today. You’re a total lifesaver.
‘Film, film . . . ’
‘Four words.’
‘First word.’
‘Film.’
‘We’ve already said that, Teddy. Keep up.’
Oh God, what was I going to do? I hated myself. I hoped for all the bad things I normally wished on others to happen to me. I should step on every upturned plug. I should lose all my teeth bar one and that one should be the tooth that gets the toothache. I was a shit friend, a shit person.
Luke was gesturing behind him, the others calling out answers. They were arguing over his use of two fingers to denote the word ‘to’.
‘I thought we couldn’t do that.’
‘It’s just a preposition, don’t sweat it.’
‘It’s vital. It’s a quarter of the whole thing.’
The answer was clearly Back To The Future but it took Luke’s team about fifteen minutes to get there, by which time I had collapsed into an even deeper gloom, the gin long gone, shoulders drooping, my body slumped on my pouffe.
Luke, returning to his seat, stopped by me, noticing my expression. Placing a hand on my knee he leant down. ‘Everything all right? Worried you’re losing?’
‘God, Luke, don’t be so obnoxious,’ I snapped, shoving his hand away, redirecting all the anger I felt at myself and firing it at him like bullets.
He stepped back quickly as if I really had shot him, mouth pursed, eyes dark. The room fell silent, just the quiet tick of the carriage clock, the odd muffled cough. There was shuffling in the room as Howard, Geoffrey and Arjun’s eyes flitted, never resting, Arjun inspecting his nails as if there was something under one, Geoffrey scuffing at the carpet and Howard blinking at the ceiling lights, window and mantelpiece, eyebrows twitching.
Only my grandfather was looking at me, the expression on his face making me feel even worse. His eyes sad, his mouth turned down: a look of utter disappointment.
‘I’ve got to go: work,’ I explained, standing up quickly and stumbling towards the door, not even bothering to apologise as I opened it, feeling hot, shamed tears filling my throat.
Luke didn’t follow me out as I moved down the corridor, fishing my coat off the hook, thrusting my phone in my bag.
Grandad emerged in the corridor, the room still hushed behind him, aware his voice was carrying.
‘That wasn’t like you,’ he said, moving towards me.
I stayed turned away from him facing the rack of coats, feeling the same anger, tiredness and confusion swirl in me. ‘I’m tired,’ I snapped, clutching my bag to me. ‘I just need to get back and work.’
‘Not everything can be about work, you know,’ he said.
‘God, Grandad, I don’t need a lecture from you now, all right?’
‘I’m not, that’s . . . ’ He tailed away.
‘I’m heading home.’
Grandad didn’t reply, just watched as I opened the front door. Rain had created a misty sheen on the pavements and the streetlamps glowed orange. I stepped outside.
He didn’t call me back.
Darling Cora,
Oh dear. Since the rather awkward end to our charades evening Luke has been a bit down. Lottie rather took things out on him, the poor boy, and he left that night dreadfully quiet and sad. He hasn’t said anything since, of course, but normally he bounds in, a ball of energy, launching immediately into a forensic breakdown of Liverpool’s latest game, keeping me updated as to what he’s been working on and, when he thinks I’m not looking, quietly getting on with scrubbing coffee cups I’ve left around the place, wiping down the table, sweeping the kitchen floor.
This week, though, he’s been lacklustre. I’ve been prompting conversation when it seems he has disappeared into his own thoughts, when his smile seems slow to come and a little too wide, not reaching his eyes. I know if it was you you’d simply ask him, bustle him to the table, foist on to him the largest chocolate cake slice you could cut and look him in the eye directly. I can’t do that, of course, and I’m frightened, too, that the reason for his mood is all down to Lottie – and I know really that’s none of my business, not that it would have stopped you.
So I thought I would take him fishing. A lake seemed like a good place for two men to chat, the only snag being that, as you know, I can’t fish. But how hard could it be, I thought? Geoffrey had the equipment we needed, he’s talked me through how to put on the bait and cast off, and he’d given me some fishing lingo so that Luke wouldn’t suspect I was an amateur. It should have been fine, I thought. Geoffrey rarely returned having caught anything anyway, so I just hoped for a similar outcome.
I picked him up reasonably early, unsurprised to hear that Lottie had already left the house to work on a brief in the library. I hadn’t realised how many weekends she spent preparing for the week ahead. I so admire her work ethic, but I can see why it would be a strain. Luke was quiet as he sat staring out of the passenger seat next to me. I was a little uncomfortable in my fishing outfit. Geoffrey told me to wear sand or khaki and had lent me a rather ugly floppy hat. Luke was simply dressed in jeans, boots and a sweatshirt and I felt about one hundred and five.
I tried to look confident as we pulled up into the car park, relieved as Luke took the rods and bag from me. I’d already forgotten how to extend the rod but fortunately Luke worked it out without me having to admit the fact. I had borrowed a couple of low folding canvas chairs and realised as I sank into mine that I would probably never be able to get out of it again. Proud to have remembered my Thermos of tea, I offered Luke the larger of the plastic cups.
Things seem to be going remarkably well. We had got the bait on, we had propped up t
he rods and the lake stretched out before us, its surface largely uninterrupted, the odd ripple caused by a landing insect. The lake was edged with trees that cast dark shadows in the water on the other side and above us the clouds were lifting, turning the water of the lake even bluer. I was beginning to see what Geoffrey saw in the activity, my head resting back against the canvas, warm tea in my hands and the promise of a whole day of calm.
I was just gearing up to ask Luke one of my questions. I had a few planned in the hope that they would lead us to a suitably deep conversation. The opening question was to be a simple ‘How have you been?’, followed by a second question, ‘You’ve seemed a little quiet recently, has anything changed?’
‘So, Luke, how have you b—’
Before I could finish there was a disturbance in the water and I could see my rod vibrating a little.
‘Christ.’
I jerked forward, grabbing the end of the rod in time and giving Luke a rather too panicked glance. I hadn’t really covered with Geoffrey what to do in the event of actually catching a fish, and I was fast descending into a full-blown panic attack.
‘Oh God.’
Luke looked across at me. ‘All OK?’
‘Oh, oh yes, fine,’ I said, attempting to bluster my way through but really struggling just to get myself out of the chair. I had seen enough films to realise that I probably needed to start winding the line in but whatever was on the end of it was making it hard work. My hands, arthritic at the best of times, couldn’t get to grips with the damn thing.
‘Can I help?’ Luke was hovering above me, a concerned look on his face. I suppose it was fair enough – I was currently twisted half in and half out of the chair, clinging to the rod with an expression on my face that did not exude confidence.
‘Er, if you could’ – I tried to remember a few of the lines Geoffrey had taught me – ‘bring in the tackle, wind in the reel, you know, land the fish, that would be excellent.’
Luke took the rod from my hands and, as if he had been doing this all his life, wound in the line with apparent ease. Emerging from the water was a silvery flash of fish and I realised with renewed horror that I would have to put this thing out of its misery. I had not thought this fishing trip through. I still couldn’t even get out of the chair but the wriggling fish was almost upon us and, as the senior member of our party, I would surely be expected to dispatch it. I’ve never been of farming stock, purchasing all my meat and fish from the deli counters of Waitrose, and I had a distinct memory of fainting as a teenager when forced to dissect a frog. I was staring at the end of the line, dread building inside me.
Geoffrey had run me through the items in the fishing bag, which included a small wooden mallet. Was this the instrument of death I was expected to wield? It would really help if I could get out of the chair.
Why hadn’t I taken Luke to a bar like a normal man? We could be sitting at a table, two beers in front of us, the light strains of some popular music being piped around us. Or a football match, we could have talked in the car on the way there. Curse Geoffrey, he definitely didn’t prepare me well enough. Who doesn’t talk through what you’re meant to do with a fish when you catch a fish when you’re going fishing? I really must get out of this chair.
Luke, who by now had done literally everything, was holding the wriggling silver muscle on the grass and awaiting further instructions.
‘I’m just getting the mallet!’ I called, tipping forward and nearly breaking both my wrists as I tumbled headfirst onto the ground.
With shaking hands I tore through the bag, emerging with the item, which immediately seemed heavier in my grip.
‘Right then.’ I approached the fish with about as much enthusiasm as I had approached Paula on the dance floor of the recent 1970s themed disco night. ‘Best do it.’
Why had I had the bad luck to actually catch a fish? Once I’d hit it, what then? I hadn’t exactly bought the wherewithal to start smoking fish.
‘I’ll hold on to it, you hit it,’ Luke called, energy in his voice as he watched me with no short amount of respect. Oh God, he expected it. I must get a hold of myself and put the poor thing out of its misery. It seemed to be staring at me out of its one wild eye. Beseeching.
I brought the mallet down on its head, missing it by an inch, smacking the grass with the blow and relieved to have narrowly avoided Luke’s other hand.
‘Er, should I?’ he offered.
Nodding pathetically we swapped places and Luke in one swift, humane swipe had done the deed.
I felt impossibly relieved, sinking back on to my ankles and hearing the crackling of bones. My hat was set at a jaunty angle in all the excitement. I felt I had run a marathon in the last ten minutes. Now, however, staring down at the catch, I felt a swell of satisfaction.
‘How extraordinary,’ I said, admiring the subtly shifting rainbow of colours on its scales.
Luke offered a hand and we both sat back in the chairs, staring again across the water. What had I been meaning to ask him? It all seemed rather distant and confused now.
‘I can’t believe you caught one, that was amazing.’ He seemed more enthused now than in all the times I’d seen him recently. I realised I had missed his energy, coming to rely on his visits, looking forward to them. You had always had that same spirit, that same desire to live in the present. I think it’s what you so liked about him and what you felt Lottie really needed in her life.
‘So,’ I said, the lake in front of us calm once more, a couple of dog walkers passing on the other side, ‘is everything all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
I bit my lip, knowing this wouldn’t really cut the mustard. There’s no way you’d let him off this easily. But I didn’t want to ruin this mood, this post-triumphant daze we were both in.
‘I just thought . . . ’ I cleared my throat, determinedly staring straight ahead. God, why was this emotional stuff so difficult? Since you died I have realised how much of this I had left to you. When we spoke to Geoffrey about his wife, it was always you probing with the trickier questions. I would leave the room to make more tea, veer off into comments about the weather or Geoffrey’s recent concert trip.
‘I thought, maybe, you’ve seemed a little, that is . . . oh look, a hummingbird. Oh no, no it’s not, it’s a duck. More common, ducks.’
‘Are you all right, Teddy?’ Luke was looking at me, his face etched with concern.
‘Me. I’m excellent, thank you! Excellent.’
‘Well, that’s good. Thanks for bringing me fishing. I’ve never done it before. I get it, though. It’s nice, peaceful.’
I thought then of his father, who might have introduced him to fishing. So easy to forget sometimes that Luke didn’t have as many people in his life as he might have liked.
‘What I really, well, I thought . . . ’ I really had to get the words out, this was getting ridiculous, soon he would assume I was having some kind of stroke. ‘I hoped you haven’t been too down about anything recently. You’ve not been quite the same,’ I said in a rush, staring at the duck as if I was addressing it. It did turn to look in my direction, as if it was glad I recognised he had been a little low too.
There was a momentary silence and I was half tempted to glance across at him. I heard him sigh and the sound was a small, sad sound.
‘Perhaps a little. Sometimes . . . ’
He tailed away and I held my breath, waiting for more.
‘I worry, about Lottie and me,’ he admitted, ‘that we have changed. That we want different things now.’
It was my turn to fall silent.
‘Things seemed to have got so much better recently, old Lottie was back, all these outings we went on together, the dates, but . . . ’
He tailed away again and I scuffed my toe into the grass, desperately wanting to say the right thing.
‘She can be’ – I scuffed at the grass again, not wanting to be disloyal or critical – ‘I think she can forget sometime
s what makes her truly happy. She is so incredibly clever and ambitious and talented but I want her to be sure that she is living the life she really wants. I suppose that was why the old-fashioned courting idea so appealed. A way to get her to focus on something else for a while, on your relationship. I thought it was working . . . ’
Luke settled back, looking out across the water glumly, ‘I thought so too.’
We both sat like that for a while.
A small bird dipped into view, hovering for a second before skimming the surface of the water and leaving as quickly as it arrived. It seemed to have woken Luke from his thoughts.
‘Thanks, Tedd— Oh my God,’ he said, sitting up with a jerk, twisting in his chair, ‘I think something’s biting.’
I stared at the mallet, my stomach turning over, ‘Oh . . . great,’ I said, watching him turn the reel. ‘That’s excellent.’
The things I do, Cora, honestly. I’ll have nightmares for weeks . . .
Teddy x
Chapter 19
Love is . . . enough
MAX, 80
I should have been desperate to see Amy. I needed my best friend, needed to spill out my worries about things at the moment. Ask her about work and stress and Luke and listen to her advice. Instead, though, I was dreading seeing her. Somehow I still hadn’t told her about the brooch. Every time we’d texted or spoken I had distracted her with excited, wedding-related squealing: ‘Soooon’, ‘Future Mrrrrrsssss’, ‘NOT LONG NOOOOOOOW’, cutting her off like a bridesmaid on speed. She didn’t seem to suspect and I felt worse as we worked each other up into a fever of hysterical excitement. Maybe I could get her so excited she wouldn’t remember at all? Brooch amnesia?
Even on the way to meet her, the supposed handing-over of the beautiful antique family heirloom brooch, I didn’t have a plan. Like I somehow thought the brooch might magically appear in my hand, as if I was suddenly a character in Harry Potter and could just summon it from the air. I closed my eyes and muttered, hoping when I opened them to see it lying on the chewing-gum-spattered pavement, twinkling. ‘Hello, Lottie,’ it would sparkle, ‘you haven’t screwed up completely: here I am to save the day.’