by Alex Morgan
“Slainte mhor.” She clinked her glass against his. “What did I just say?”
“Cheers more.”
“Fair enough.” She sipped the wine. “This is really nice. It tastes like plums and vanilla.”
“Better than our last toast.”
“Toasts don’t really work with tea.”
“They don’t.” He swallowed some wine. “I read the article. I’m really sorry about your brother. This must be a terrible time for you.”
She looked away. “That’s no excuse for taking it out on everyone around me.”
He touched her hand. “It’s okay. There are no rules for this kind of thing.”
Paula’s eyes welled up again.
“Can I do anything to help with dinner?”
She blew her nose on a square of kitchen towel. “I was just going to boil a few potatoes and make an avocado and tomato salad.”
“That sounds fabulous. Shall I do the salad while you organise the potatoes?”
Paula took another mouthful of wine. It really did taste good. She pointed to the fruit bowl. “The avocado nearest you should be ripe.”
He helped himself to a chopping board and knife that were lying on the work surface.
She watched him slice the tomatoes with neat, economical strokes. She was so clumsy these days that if she picked up a knife, she either cut herself, or whatever she was slicing flew across the room. Andy didn’t look like someone who ever cut himself.
“Do you enjoy cooking?” she asked.
“I love it.”
She felt herself smile again. “So do I.”
As they ate, they chatted about food and restaurants, films and books, and both said a little about their work, but that was it. Nothing significant was discussed – and that felt fine.
When they were finished, they took the second bottle of wine to the sitting room. Paula sat down. She felt slightly drunk, her senses a little blurred.
Andy wandered through to the study and began examining the piles of CDs she had dumped on the bookshelves. His hands moved slowly as he picked up the discs one by one. Mesmerised by his movements, she knew she was staring but was utterly unable to turn away. Every time he lifted a box or turned it over to read the track list, she felt his long fingers were caressing her skin. Her mouth was dry and she longed for a glass of water but she couldn’t move to get one. Her breathing grew shallow. If she didn’t pull herself together soon, she would pass out.
“This is your chance to get revenge for my musical taste,” he said without looking up. “What shall I put on?”
She took a gulp of wine. “What about The Chimes? They’re great chilled, evening music.”
“I haven’t heard them for years.” He selected the disc and glanced around. “Where have you hidden the stereo?”
“I use the laptop. I’ve got decent speakers so it sounds as good a stereo. At least it does to me. I know the music I like but I’m not into all that stuff about woofers and tweeters.” Shut up, Paula, she told herself sharply, you’re jabbering like an idiot.
Andy slid the CD into the laptop and came back through. He hesitated in the centre of the room. She guessed he was deciding whether to sit beside her or on one of the armchairs.
She patted the cushion next to her. “I promise not to attack you.”
He smiled and sat down.
She held her glass in both hands so he wouldn’t see how badly she was shaking. “Slainte.”
“Slainte mhor.”
She drew in a deep breath. “About before, when you brought me up here … I don’t normally throw myself at men like that. You must have thought … well, I don’t know what you must have thought.”
Andy shook his head. “Nothing bad, if that’s what you mean.”
Paula gulped some more wine. “But did I misread the signals? Please be honest with me.”
He stared at the carpet for a moment. “What happened over breakfast was just so quick and you seemed so fragile.” He turned his glass in his hands, studying the wine. “But you didn’t misread the signals. I panicked. We’d barely met and I didn’t want to take advantage, to do something you might regret later.”
He looked up at her. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you after I left. I was so pleased when you asked me to bring some more stuff. But when I arrived and you didn’t seem exactly delighted to see me, I told myself that you’d changed your mind and I’d misread the signals.”
Paula felt herself blushing. “No, you didn’t and I didn’t, change my mind I mean. I was just being useless. I was excited about seeing you again and I panicked too and, well, everything seems to come out wrong these days.”
“So you weren’t just being kind inviting me in and feeding me when I came back?”
“I wasn’t being kind, but what made you come back?”
Andy chuckled. “I was driving out of Craskferry and this voice in my head was going, “Don’t be so stupid. She’s gorgeous and interesting, and you blew your last chance. You blew it. You really blew it.” It wouldn’t shut up, so I decided I’d just have to prove it wrong.”
It was her turn to smile.
“So.” He put his glass on the floor. “Where does that leave us?”
Paula placed hers beside it. “I don’t know.” She clasped her hands to conceal the tremors.
Andy leant across and put one hand on the back of her neck. He drew her towards him. “Did I tell you how much your new hair suits you?”
“You did but you could tell me again.”
When he kissed her she floated upwards, weightless, free at last. Everything really was going to be all right.
His arm was wrapped around her, his torso nestled spoon-like against her back.
“Ollie?” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
Andy stirred slightly but didn’t respond. Slowly easing herself round, she watched as he slept, utterly peaceful and very beautiful in the early half-light. His skin was the colour of milky coffee, his chiselled yet delicate bone structure from another time entirely. He could be a young senator in ancient Rome or a famous Renaissance artist. She placed a cautious hand in the centre of his smooth chest. The skin was warm, heartbeat slow and steady. His grey-black hair, released from its elastic band, lay in thick waves on the pillow. She wriggled closer until she could bury her face in it.
Ollie would never forgive her if he found out what she had done. He was part of her old life, a life Andy had no role in, no knowledge of. The person she was then would never have betrayed Ollie. But that Paula was gone, taken, obliterated. The one left in her place to cope couldn’t stop herself, hadn’t been willing to. She had wanted, and needed, Andy. It was as simple as that.
Paula ran the tip of her left index finger down his profile. He shifted a little, stretched out an arm and pulled her close. She smiled and closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift back into relaxed, dreamless sleep.
She was woken by Andy tweaking the end of her nose.
“What are you doing?” she murmured.
“Retaliating.” His arm tightened around her. “I felt you earlier.”
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I was until you started mucking about with my nose.”
“It’s a very splendid nose.”
“Is that a polite way of saying it’s big?”
“No, it’s very distinguished.”
“Admit it, it’s big, or …”
“Or what?”
“Or …” He thought for a second. “I’ll tickle you until you beg for mercy.”
Paula was squealing so loudly she didn’t hear Mrs McIntyre come downstairs and collect her post from the vestibule.
There was a sharp rap on the door.
“Are you all right in there?” her landlady demanded.
Andy’s hand flew up to cover Paula’s mouth.
“Yes, Mrs McIntyre,” he called out.
Paula struggled to gag him with her hand before he could say any more, but he was stronge
r than her.
“We’re both absolutely fine,” he continued brightly.
They heard the sound of footsteps, then the old woman’s front door banged shut.
“I can’t believe you did that,” she exclaimed. “I won’t be able to look her in the eye ever again.”
“Sorry.” Andy lowered his gaze in mock contrition. “I couldn’t help it. Now, where were we?”
They were sitting on the beach steps drinking mugs of tea, plates of toast and marmalade balanced on their knees, when Andy touched the tattoo on her ankle with the side of his bare foot.
“It’s Pete, isn’t it?” he said. “Paula and Pete.”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“You must miss him a great deal. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose a brother or sister.”
“He wasn’t just a brother. We were born the same year – me in January, him in December. He was my little twin and I was supposed to look after him, stop bad stuff happening to him.” She laid her plate on the step and studied her hands. “When I was small I used to love imagining our family tree. I would make up stories about who had gone before us and all the exciting things they’d done in their lives. I used to draw it out over and over again in coloured felt pen. The names and stories were different every time, but one thing stayed the same. It was always upside down, with me and Pete together, side by side, at the top. Everything led up to us, the two of us.”
When she finished speaking, Paula slumped over until her chest touched her thighs and let her hands rest on the weathered wood between her feet. The sand under the steps was a tangle of driftwood and seaweed that had been sucked up by the tide, thrown around in the swirling water, then dumped as it raced carelessly away. She let out a long sigh. If only Andy hadn’t spotted the magazine. She hadn’t wanted him to know. She had wanted to keep that part of her life separate, hidden, so that being with him wasn’t tainted by the shared knowledge – and for that small, infinitely valuable portion of time, it could be as if Pete had never died.
Andy put his arm around her. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Paula swallowed. “It’s been so lovely not thinking about it for a while.”
“Please forgive me.”
She nodded. “Pete named me in his will as his executor, but I can’t. You know, I just can’t face it. I’ve got a lawyer looking into it, to see if she can get me out of it.”
“That’s good.”
Paula rested her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Ollie, what’s going to happen to me?”
“Ollie?” Andy pulled away from her. “That’s the guy in the article. What’s going on between you and him?”
“What?” Paula’s face burned. “What do you mean? There’s nothing going on. It was a slip of the tongue.”
He stared as if he was seeing her for the first time. “Once maybe, but not three times.”
“Three times? I didn’t …”
“You called me Ollie last night when we were making love.”
“I couldn’t have.”
“You didn’t even notice you’d done it. I told myself I’d imagined it, that it was just one of those weird things that happen sometimes. His name was in my head from the magazine and I was tired and a bit drunk. But then you did it again this morning. You didn’t realise I’d heard and I wished I hadn’t, so I pretended I was asleep. I thought if I told myself I’d misheard or imagined it, if I really tried to believe it, it could be true.”
He still hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “But I didn’t mishear, did I? You and Ollie are a couple.”
“No, yes, I mean …” She felt sick. “Oh, God. Please don’t hate me.”
Andy stood up and looked down at her. “I don’t hate you. I feel sorry for you, but I can’t be in a relationship that isn’t based on trust. I know things are hard for you right now, but before this goes any further, you need to decide what you really want. Here …”
He slid his wallet out of his jeans pocket, counted out the cash she had given him the night before and placed it on the step beside her.
“For services rendered.” The contempt in his voice was almost more than she could bear.
Free at last
Paula pressed send and the family tree and report winged their way back to Sylvia. It was good to have started work again, to have made the first step towards getting one part of her life back under control. There were several more reports to finish though, and it would be a while before she was ready for any new projects – no matter how keen Sylvia was to give her them. When Paula had told her boss she would be spending some time in Scotland, she was delighted.
“We’ve always got more Scottish work than our researchers up there can handle,” she said. “The world’s full of expats wanting to trace their Highland heritage. Let me know as soon as you feel able to take on some new challenges, and I’ll get one of the team in Edinburgh to show you the ropes. Things are a bit different up there. Actually, they’re easier because the Scots have always been such great record keepers. It’ll be like a holiday for you.”
Paula checked her email. There were messages from Jen, Ollie and Caroline Gibson. She opened the lawyer’s first.
Dear Miss Tyndall,
Having checked the English legal situation, I regret to inform you that, as I suspected, it is no longer possible to commute your executorship of your brother’s estate. Had you acted sooner, it could have been achieved, but the legal process is now too far advanced and you are bound to carry on with your obligations. I’m sorry – I know this is not the news you wanted to hear. If I can be of any further assistance, please do not hesitate to contact me. The firm’s bill is attached.
Yours, Caroline Gibson,
Senior partner Rhind and Gibson.
Paula rested her head in her hands. “Pete,” she said quietly, “why did I agree to this? I should have known I couldn’t bear it. We both thought we were indestructible, could never have imagined it would come to this. But how can I go through your things, pick through your life? It’s too much, just too much.”
In a bid to focus on something else, she opened Jen’s message.
Wow! He’s sex on legs. Where did you find him? Does Ollie know??? Jx
She hit reply.
If you’re referring to Andy, he’s just a white van man I found in the local paper. There’s nothing for Ollie to know. Px
It was the first lie she had ever told Jen and it didn’t feel good. They had been best friends since the first day of senior school. After Pete, Jen was the person she was closest to in the whole world. They always told each other everything, but she couldn’t bear to explain the events of the previous night – or this morning.
Jen responded immediately. So you won’t mind giving me his phone number??? I need to find out if he’s single!!
Paula answered quickly. Don’t even think about it. He’s bad news.
Jen’s reply was one word: Boo!
Reluctantly Paula opened Ollie’s message. She didn’t need to read it to know what it would say. It was a miracle he had left her in peace for the best part of a week – her mum must have had a word with him.
I’m glad you’re okay. Jen says she’s had a couple of emails from you and that you sound like you’re getting by. I got the impression she knows where you’ve gone, but she wouldn’t say. Please, Paula, tell me where you are! I need you right now and I think you need me too. No one else can truly understand what we’re going through. I love you. Please get in touch. Ollie.
Ollie, she typed, I’m so sorry to leave you like this. You’re right, no one else can know what it’s like, but that’s exactly why I can’t see you just now. I can’t deal with you knowing, with your grief – I’m having enough trouble keeping myself on an even keel. And yes, I know you think you can help me, but I don’t want to be helped. I just want to forget. To stop thinking.
Paula sent the message and closed the laptop. She had had enough of other people’s frailties –
and her own – for one day. It was almost six. She made a cheese sandwich, took it into the sitting room and switched on the TV.
She woke up, with the empty plate still on her lap, as the Channel 4 news was starting. What she needed was some exercise. She was in the bedroom pulling on a pair of cycling shorts, when she heard Mrs McIntyre closing her front door and crossing the hall. Her landlady’s footsteps sounded less brisk than usual, tentative almost, as if she was tiptoeing.
Paula opened the door a few centimetres. “Good evening, Mrs McIntyre,” she said.
The old woman scowled at her, but Paula pressed on. “I wanted to apologise for earlier. I’m very sorry if we embarrassed you. We were just messing around.”
Mrs McIntyre didn’t reply but her lips made a sound like air escaping from a balloon. Paula interpreted it to mean, “I know perfectly well what you were doing.”
It was hard work riding up the hill out of the village. Paula told herself it was natural after a month out of the saddle and no exercise apart from a few runs on the beach. But it wasn’t really lack of exercise making her weak. She and Pete had been due to go for the twelve-hour record and they were both so fit everyone said they would smash it. Ollie reckoned they would beat it by at least ten miles, but Pete was convinced they could add twenty.
It was different riding her solo to the tandem. Not just because on the tandem she gave up responsibility for the gears, brakes and steering to Pete. Sometimes on particularly steep hills, she would close her eyes as she counted out each painful and desperate rotation of the pedals: push with the left, one, two, three, four, five; push with the right, one, two, three, four, five; pull with the left – praying the cleat locking her shoe to the pedal would hold – one, two, three, four, five; pull with the right, one, two, three, four, five. She had shut her eyes on really fast descents, too, the better to feel, hear, smell, taste the whooshing, nerve-tingling speed.
But that ability to hand over responsibility for everything apart from her share of the physical work was not the real difference. It was about being part of a team, something bigger, better, stronger than herself. Alone she was good, she could hold her own, but she wasn’t a champion. She had always known that – it was why she never bothered to compete solo. Winning simply didn’t matter enough for her to dig so far beyond her comfort zone that she might actually unearth the strength and determination it required.