The New Mrs D

by Hill, Heather

  ‘We’ll park it here and go have a little drink first, okay?’ he said.

  He pointed to a line of chairs with parasols in front of the tavern, looking out to sea – a place I could have sat happily all day without physical exercise. Today the temperature was a searing 32 degrees, a burning heat that was hopefully shielded from my all too willing to burn, peel, then drop off skin, by factor 50 sun lotion.

  ‘You know, Stefano told me yesterday that Priscilla Hart and Kurt Davies moored a boat up here and came by for a drink the other day. How cool is that?’

  ‘The movie stars? Very cool,’ I agreed.

  Directing me to a couple of seats in the shade, overlooking the beach, he asked, ‘What would you like?’

  ‘Well, I do love Priscilla Hart,’ I said, taking my chair. ‘What did she drink? I’ll have some of that.’ I was feeling adventurous.

  A couple of minutes later, as Stefano delivered my glass of iced water, ‘Gee, er . . . thanks,’ we noticed a fishing boat beginning to get closer, as if making its way to shore. Chris heaved a heavy sigh.

  ‘Great! Now we’ll need to wait a while longer to go out,’ he said, annoyed. Stefano, however, looked pleased.

  ‘Why?’

  The boat dropped anchor and its occupants began hopping off its side onto the jetty.

  ‘Because this beach is about to get crowded for about an hour,’ Chris said.

  As Stefano took off to prepare for an unexpected burst of business, Chris told me about his life on the island.

  ‘It’s been a wonderful few years,’ he said. ‘So much has happened. My art has improved no end with all this lovely nature to paint.’

  Recalling some of the wonderful, framed prints on the wall of my apartment, I said, ‘Yes, your work is remarkable.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Chris’s voice faltered a little as he gazed across the water. He was watching what looked like a line of about twenty or so tourists making their way to the beach. Clearing his throat, in what I imagined was irritation, he added, ‘I love it here. There was nothing to keep me in England. I’m thinking I may move out permanently.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really,’ he said flatly.

  His clear blue eyes misted and he took a long swig of water before wiping his mouth and turning back to me. ‘I go back to touch base when it’s winter here. But you know what? I don’t really want to.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ I said, ‘but I . . . we missed your friendship. David was sad we never saw you much. That’s why he persuaded me to come here on our honeymoon.’

  A young, slender, tiny-bikini-clad woman and an older, more portly man began to lay towels down in front of where we were sitting. Seemingly not even noticing us, the woman turned to face Chris, beckoning to her partner to loosen the clasp on her bikini top.

  ‘Yes, I know I’ve been guilty of being a bit of a loner,’ Chris said, staring at his glass and not noticing the young lady who, Oop, yep there it went, was released from her bikini top to reveal pert bosoms thanks to the deft hand of her fella, right in front of us. Without understanding why, I felt uneasy. I looked at Chris, who was still gazing at his glass of beer thoughtfully. He took another long gulp from his drink and turned to me. ‘There was nothing for me in England. Nothing but misery.’

  The woman began smearing sun lotion generously all over her breasts. My eyes flicked back and forth from her boobs to Chris’s face. I felt so uncomfortable; Lord knows why I couldn’t just stop staring at her. Chris remained oblivious.

  ‘I’ve never looked back. It’s been wonderful,’ he continued. My eyes pinged from him to the breasts. Then back to him. Then the breasts. And the smearing. Oh, God, the smearing! It’s customary, I’m sure, to avoid staring at people undressing on a beach – the most natural thing in the world – yet I was embarrassed.

  ‘What about you then?’ he asked, looking at me, still oblivious to the goings on behind him, as I flushed more hotly than the sun. ‘Are you going to tell me what happened with David?’

  I wondered, not for the first time, if Chris had been calling him. Letting him know where I was and providing updates on me, as only a good friend would.

  ‘We had . . . issues.’

  Thank God the half-naked, sun-lotion-daubing goddess was now making to lie down. I sucked in the sit-down spillage again and hugged myself, suddenly feeling the familiar sting of body-consciousness.

  ‘That you don’t want to talk about? That I can understand,’ he said. ‘What I don’t get is him leaving you alone here without a fight.’

  ‘Hah!’ I laughed. ‘Why would he bother?’

  Chris looked at me and smiled. ‘You women,’ he said. ‘Why do you do that?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Put yourselves down all the while,’ he answered, frowning. ‘It’s ludicrous really.’

  I pulled my wrap tighter around my shoulders. Gazing beyond Chris again, I noticed more topless women sunbathing without a care for who might be watching them. I had never sunbathed topless in my life, even as a younger, slimmer woman. I dreaded the sight of them all before every sunshine holiday yet, secretly, I was in envy of their blithe uninhibitedness. It was a matter of my own confidence, not prudishness. My problem, not theirs. It was only now, with Chris not giving them a second glance that I realised David’s inexorable gawping at every opportunity probably hadn’t helped me. Who here now was gawping? Me. Judging myself, not them. Who would give two flying fucks if I decided to release my second pair of flip-flops on the world today?

  Taking a long sip of ice-cold water, I looked beyond the topless sunbathers to the calm ocean beyond.

  ‘This is what my life should be like,’ I said, almost to myself.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When I look out to sea,’ I explained. ‘I think of the horizon as a place that’s far away from all my worries, my insecurities and all the confinements of imagining what people are thinking of me. And the thing is, no matter how far you sail, you never really reach the horizon, do you? Yet just for that moment, while I’m looking out there, I’m at peace with myself for one exquisite second in time.’

  ‘Is that what you do all the time?’ Chris asked. ‘Worry what people think of you?’

  ‘Isn’t that what everyone worries about?’

  ‘Er . . . no.’

  ‘They don’t?’

  ‘Can you imagine a life without all that, Bernice?’ He said. ‘What would you miss? Some important and accurate information about yourself? The joy in accepting everyone else’s opinion as your own? What do you suppose will happen if just one person decides they don’t like you?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know . . . guilt. Shame. Hours and hours of wondering what the hell I did wrong.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  I looked away from the horizon now and turned to face him, blinking back tears. How could one man speak to my heart so well?

  ‘Actually,’ I said. ‘I can imagine it. I can imagine it because once upon a time that is what my life was like. Way back when I was a young woman. I was funny, flirty and downright – well − sassy to be honest. I do remember not caring what anyone thought of me then.’

  ‘I think you just described the woman you are now,’ Chris remarked, staring hard into his beer and not looking up.

  I felt surprised. That was how he saw me?

  ‘Chris,’ I said. ‘Why did we stop talking?’

  He looked up now. ‘What?’

  ‘I mean, before you came out here. We got on so well and then, I don’t know why, but we seemed to just stop being friends.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. ‘We were fine weren’t we?’ He sat up straight and waved at Stefano for another round of drinks, before deciding all too soon to change the subject. ‘Hopefully, that bloody boat will be going again soon and we can get out for some fun on the kayak.’

  The moment was gone, brushed aside. Chris didn’t want to talk about whatever it was. Maybe
he just didn’t like me and that was that. But then, why would he give me so much thoughtful advice?

  ‘Yes, it’ll be great,’ I agreed.

  ‘And for the record, whether they know it or not, most men are naturally drawn to curves,’ he went on. ‘Be grateful for your God-given shape.’

  ‘Most men? Give me a break!’ I said sadly. ‘Not my David.’

  I felt tears well up in my eyes and withdrew from Chris’s stare to sip my water.

  ‘Whatever David did or didn’t do, it’s obvious you have a really skewed view of yourself Bernice,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Chris. This is such a bloody awkward conversation under the circumstances. I’m going to shut up now.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, seriously. ‘Of course, I don’t know what has happened between you and as I keep saying, I’m not going to pry. But, if it’s so bad that you end up having to cut all ties . . . I know about heartbreak and all I can tell you is it gets easier over time. Not easy, but easier.’

  ‘You know about heartbreak?’ I said, not able to stop myself sounding surprised. As far as I knew, Chris hadn’t had a relationship with anyone for years. Was it clog-woman, or a more recent liaison, here on the island? Was he in love with Ginger?

  ‘Yes, I know a lot about heartbreak,’ he said with an air of indifference. ‘Now where is that drink?’

  Stefano appeared on cue with a tray and I cursed myself for not ordering a glass of wine – or even beer − as he delivered another tumbler of iced water à la Priscilla Hart. With the help of a little Dutch courage, I could have more easily delved deeper into this very interesting new side of Chris. And I could ask him about Ginger.

  ‘Do you remember the night at Julian’s wedding?’ I asked him instead. ‘When everyone was whispering about some woman called Clarissa that they hoped I wouldn’t bump in to?’

  ‘You heard all that?’ he said, looking surprised.

  ‘Yes I did. I wondered who she was, but never got up the courage to ask David.’

  ‘And now you’re asking me?’

  ‘Yes, I think I am.’

  He put down his glass and stared out to sea again. ‘Why on earth are you asking me that now? It was maybe six years ago.’

  ‘Because I need to know if he was cheating on me.’

  ‘Well, as I’m his best friend, you probably wouldn’t believe me if I said no.’

  He was wrong. Somehow, I’d always felt I could trust Chris not to lie to me. Avoid the question perhaps, but not lie.

  ‘Is that what you’re saying?’ I asked. My heart was in my mouth because at that moment I was afraid of the answer.

  ‘That’s what I am saying,’ he replied. ‘Clarissa was – is – Julian’s cousin. David and she had a one night stand way before you came along.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘That’s it,’ he confirmed. ‘Who on earth was saying that though?’

  ‘Oh, I just overheard some of the wives talking. And as for David, well, he didn’t take his eyes off her all night.’

  ‘Clarissa? Hah!’ he laughed, but seeing my sorrowful face, he turned serious again. ‘Well, he never said anything to me. Why are you asking me now?’

  ‘I wondered if she was someone who the group felt was better for him than me,’ I replied.

  At this, Chris frowned. ‘Why on earth would you think that?’ he asked.

  I flushed red again. Because I always wonder if I’m good enough.

  ‘Just because I’ve always felt like some of his friends looked down their noses at me, that’s all. Not you of course.’ I added.

  ‘We’re all just an ordinary bunch of people, you know,’ Chris said. ‘Heavens, there was more than one fling with Clarissa among the group although I’m not naming names of course. Better than you? Give me a break. We all thought you were the best thing that ever happened to David.’

  ‘You did?’

  He shook his head and laughed again. ‘Bernice, you really don’t like yourself very much, do you? I can’t imagine how on earth that happened.’

  ‘Mum, Mum! MUUUUUUM!’ I shouted, my voice hoarse from exertion. I had run all the way home from primary school without stopping.

  My mother came out of the bathroom and stood, hands on hips and cigarette in mouth, peering down at me. ‘What on earth have you done now?’ she said.

  I leaned on the wall to catch my breath, scratching idly at my knee with my other hand. Tiny nettle bumps were radiating angrily all over my legs from where I’d taken a short cut through a field in my race to get home.

  ‘Guess what!’ I said. ‘You’ll never guess.’

  ‘What? Just tell me and make it quick!’ she snapped. ‘I’m soaking a duvet in the bath and your dad will be home soon, expecting his tea.’

  ‘I just had an English test,’ I told her happily.

  ‘Well, that is good news,’ she said, going back to dragging on her cigarette, unable to hide her disinterest. ‘I’ll call the Education Authority first thing tomorrow and thank them.’

  ‘But, Mum,’ I continued, feeling so excited and tired from running, I thought my heart would leap out of my chest. ‘I got ninety nine out of a hundred!’

  I waited for the joy on her face, the pride. The scooping me up into her arms and running around the block with me on her shoulders, screaming ‘My child is brilliant!’ at the neighbours. My reward was an outward breath of tiny wisps of stinking cigarette smoke as she spoke into my face.

  ‘Really? Ninety nine, eh?’ She pulled back to suck on her cigarette again and almost smiled. I fancied it was the short rush of nicotine pleasure rather than pride that had pleased her. As she turned on her heels and headed back into the bathroom with a chortle, her final words on the matter bounced off the echoey walls within. ‘So,’ she called back at me. ‘If you could get ninety-nine, why the hell couldn’t you get a hundred?’

  In just under an hour, the tourists were gathering up their things and Stefano handed Chris our life jackets.

  ‘Okay, Miss Funny, Flirty, Sassy,’ Chris said, pulling me to my feet. ‘Time to kayak!’

  Chapter Sixteen

  I am kayaking! Well, Queen.

  After a shaky start getting into the tiny vessel, when I leaned so heavily on Chris I thought I’d end up injuring him to the point of having to row myself, we left the shore, pushing our oars through the waters in unison. Feeling like a floating Weeble, the oh-so-tight life jacket crushed my chest like a Victorian girdle. I mused over Chris’s words, and wondered at my ability to let almost every experience I had this holiday involve an inner conversation with myself about my body. New Bernice Plan, rule number two, was soooo sunk.

  ‘You have to do exactly as I do, to get a momentum going,’ Chris told me, offering a welcome break from my illegal, self-deprecating thoughts. At least I was adhering to the New Bernice Plan rule number one.

  At first I was nervous. As much as the sea always looked so inviting from the safety of a boat, deep water terrifies me – the reason scuba lessons had been thrown into the fez. Every dark patch of seaweed and rocks had Jaws potential as far as I was concerned. That damn film was set to ruin my seafaring life.

  ‘Gorgeous isn’t it?’ Chris called back to me.

  ‘Yes.’ I was still peering into the waters below. ‘Spectacular.’

  Yet as we began to pick up speed, venturing further away from the safety of the shoreline, I wanted to forget my inner, critical dialogue and just let myself be. Allowing Chris to lead, I paused and closed my eyes, really allowing my senses to imbibe the gentle cooling of the sea breeze fluttering across my hot face; letting myself hear the soft, schlooping sound of oars cutting through the water. It was so peaceful and warm. When I opened my eyes again I saw, not a deep, terrifying dark blue ocean of lurking monsters, but a sea sparkling like a million tiny sapphires under a clear Grecian sky. I felt a serene sense of escape. I did love being out here on the water, making my way to that place, beyond worries, beyond self-doubt. Why had I forgotten that?


  I began to chuckle, remembering Linda’s advice on the Greek night, spoken in fluent Sean Connery, ‘You really should shttop a while and shmell the dahlias.’

  She was so right. I had forgotten every delightful, intoxicating scent under my nose in recent years. When I’d told myself the only thing I’d done with my life to be proud of was having my daughters, it was because I’d been trudging through life without looking outwards. It was no wonder that up until now, all I’d noticed were the ditches I’d fallen into. For one thing, my mother had gone to great pains to point them all out to me, again and again, so that I could never forget or be in any doubt about how much of a failure I was.

  I began to row again, making Chris jump at the sudden picking up of speed. So, this was what freedom felt like.

  ‘Hey,’ he called out. ‘Good to have you on board at last.’

  Binnie the Magnificent takes off to the open seas, captainess of a two man – no – two person vessel. She laughs in the face of dark, shadowy, underwater thingies.

  ‘Steady on there, we don’t want to go too far out on your first go!’ Chris shouted, sounding a little alarmed now.

  ‘This is actually quite cool!’ I cried, chuckling. It was as though I was, metaphorically, finally leaving the safe shore; a sort of inner release. It was strange yet intoxicating.

  ‘Where can we go now?’ I asked.

  ‘I thought you might want to head back in shortly. Aren’t you anxious about going out in deep water or something?’

  ‘Well, that’s what I thought, but I’m really enjoying myself,’ I said.

  I really was. Where was the big white shark now?

  Chris laughed heartily.

  ‘I’m throwing off the bowlines,’ I sang out, borrowing the infamous words of Mark Twain. ‘I’m sailing away from the safe harbour. I’m catching the trade winds in my sails!’