The New Mrs D

by Hill, Heather

  I was either delirious or Priscilla Hart’s ‘iced water’ had actually been a miraculous, tasteless gin.

  ‘Bloody hell, a kayaking convert,’ Chris said.

  ‘This holiday seems to be converting me to a lot of things,’ I enthused. ‘No wonder you do this every day. It’s wonderful.’

  ‘Yes, it’s very relaxing . . . usually,’ he replied, with a hint of irony as he fought to pick up my pace. ‘We can try just a little further out now, if you’re sure?’ He stopped rowing for a second and pointed to the rocks that signalled the end of the cove we were in. ‘But not that way. Better turn left.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because there are a lot of private beaches around there. The villas belong to some very rich folk who don’t appreciate strangers cutting across their privacy,’ he explained. ‘It’s nicer the other way anyway . . . I think.’

  ‘So you’ve never been that way?’ I said.

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Oh, come on, who cares?’ I was having far more fun than I’d expected to and was still pushing on single-handedly with my oars.

  ‘Well . . .’ Chris began to row again, but his trepidation was obvious.

  ‘Aren’t we allowed round there?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, of course we’re allowed. It’s just not the done thing – it’s awkward, you know? Feeling like you’re interrupting people’s privacy.’

  ‘Hah! There’s nothing I like more than annoying toffs. Let’s do it!’

  As we turned the kayak to head across the right hand peninsula, the coastline revealed a series of small, secluded coves. We passed several private beaches, with steps up the rock face to the most luxurious villas. To me, it looked like a stairway to another life.

  ‘I think we should turn back,’ Chris said shortly. ‘It’s coming to the hottest part of the day and we’ll fry.’

  ‘Can’t we just check one more beach out? Just one?’ I pleaded.

  I was aware we were rocking more than normal and looked up to see a ferry making its way across the water some way away from us.

  ‘Oh shit, the ferry is passing!’ Chris exclaimed. ‘You have to watch now; the swell will knock us sideways. We’d better row away from the rocks.’

  ‘But it’s miles away!’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but you wait and see what happens.’

  ‘Alright,’ I said. ‘But let’s just see if we can make it for a quick look round this last corner.’

  ‘No really Binnie, we need to . . .’

  Chris had stopped rowing now, but I was pressing ahead, giggling like a wayward teenager.

  ‘Come on, where’s your sense of adventure. Oh . . .’

  As the next beach came into view, it was clear this one was not deserted. A couple lay on the sand in a close embrace.

  ‘Whoopsie . . .’ I said.

  ‘Binnie, we need to get away from these rocks.’ Chris’s voice sounded more urgent now, as the kayak began to bob more precariously in the water, over a series of small, choppy waves.

  ‘Okay,’ I agreed, straining my eyes to try and make out whether the couple had noticed us yet. They hadn’t and carried on with their canoodling, the man on top and, as the kayak floated nearer, propelled by the rising swell now, a mortifying realisation hit me. They were having sex.

  ‘Ooh, maybe now we should try to reverse a bit,’ I said.

  ‘Oh Jesus! We are way too close!’ Chris cried out.

  The waves were getting bigger and I could feel the kayak being dragged out and then sucked back towards the shore.

  ‘Shit!’ Chris shouted, seconds before another huge wave hit us, turning the kayak over and spilling us both out into the sea. I flailed around, trying to keep my face above water and felt myself being carried towards land. Before long we were beached, just a few feet away from the couple, who were now hastily dressing. Unable to get a footing as the tide pulled me out again, I rolled around in the sea. Chris, however, had managed to scramble ably to his feet.

  ‘Bernice, are you okay?’

  With what seemed to me to be the most extraordinary strength and stamina in the circumstances, he was at my side, tugging me back towards the beach and up to a sitting position with one arm, whilst dragging the kayak to safety with the other. I was dumbfounded; feeling as though I’d just watched a fireman save a woman from a burning building by throwing her over his shoulder and climbing down the ladder with her on his back.

  ‘Yes . . . fine . . .’ I replied, not able to catch my breath enough to stand.

  ‘Well,’ Chris said, grinning and letting go of my arm at last. ‘That was some ride! I never did that before.’

  Just as I opened my mouth to say something else, another wave crashed into me, slamming over the back of my head and pushing me further up the beach on my bottom. Chris threw his head back and laughed out loud.

  ‘Pah,’ was all I could say.

  ‘Ahem!’

  We both turned together to see a tall, slender and very beautiful woman, hand on hips, glaring at us. It was the woman we’d seen in a compromising position on the beach only a few minutes earlier. I felt I’d also seen her somewhere else before. As a flash of recognition came to me only moments later, so did another wave.

  ‘Wow,’ I said dizzily, spitting out salt water and rubbing my eyes. ‘It’s Priscilla Hart!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fraternising with celebs now. You know, I’m not one to brag about my press exposure but yes, it’s true what they’re saying in my local paper.

  I am selling my couch.

  I fought the urge to ask for an autograph as I stood in front of the apartment watching one of the world’s biggest movie stars help Chris lift his kayak off the back of his pickup truck. One, because it felt a bit pushy, and two, because I’d just interrupted him and his wife having a romp on their private beach by sailing arse-first almost into the middle of them. No, perhaps I’d better not.

  Within a matter of minutes, Chris was crunching up the driveway to join me.

  ‘How did you get on?’

  ‘All sorted,’ he replied. ‘I think I finally convinced him we’re not paparazzi.’

  ‘Well that’s good news,’ I replied, adding, ‘I am so sorry, you know. I should have listened to you when you said to go back.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he said, without a hint of cynicism, ‘look at the afternoon we ended up having. You don’t get to have a beer with Kurt Davis and Priscilla Hart every day.’

  ‘True, although I don’t think Priscilla could wait to see the back of us.’

  ‘I think she saw the back, front and derrière of you, to be fair,’ he joked.

  ‘Same here with her, which is probably why she couldn’t wait for us to go home. Anyway, that’s enough excitement for one day. Do you fancy a glass of wine on the balcony?’

  He looked at his watch. ‘You know what,’ he said. ‘It’s been a pretty long day. I think I’m just going to head on up for an early night.’

  ‘Oh, come on, it’s early yet,’ I coaxed. ‘Just a little one?’

  ‘No, really, I am pretty tired,’ he said, patting me on the arm. ‘There’s someone I promised to call anyway. Night!’ He headed for the stairs and I watched him, feeling a little disappointed.

  ‘Well, okay. Me too, as it happens,’ I said. ‘But, oh wait, there was something I wanted to ask you.’

  He stopped and pivoted around. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I wondered if you’d like to join me on the sunset horse ride tomorrow? If you’re free, I mean. It’ll be long after any classes you might have?’ He looked hesitant. ‘My treat?’ I added.

  ‘Treat?’ he said. ‘What for?’

  ‘You know, a thank you gift,’ I replied, giving him my brightest smile. ‘Just in case you haven’t had enough of me already.’

  ‘You don’t have to thank me Bernice, really,’ he said.

  ‘Yes I do.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For the day. For letting me stay. For being my friend right
now when I need one.’

  He exhaled loudly and leaned on the wall. ‘You’re paying me for the stay.’

  ‘I know,’ I answered, affording him a mischievous grin. ‘Oh, come on, Chris,’ I said. ‘It’ll be fun. Do you ride?’

  ‘Well, I have done a little,’ he replied. ‘Michaela is an excellent instructor.’

  ‘Michaela?’ I said. ‘Cookery instructor Michaela?’

  ‘The very same,’ he said. ‘She owns the stables. A fine horsewoman, she is.’

  ‘Well, that’s great news. I really like her.’

  ‘Me too,’ he said.

  ‘That’s settled then,’ I declared. ‘If I can’t tempt you with my own company, which can be fraught with incident, admittedly, come and see her.’

  He hesitated for a moment, opening his mouth to say something but appearing to change his mind. ‘Hmm, I don’t know,’ was all he said.

  ‘Please?’ I said, fluttering my eyelashes for extra puppy dog eyes effect. ‘We did have fun today, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted, smiling at the memory. ‘Well, maybe I will. I’ll let you know tomorrow.’

  I moseyed towards the patio set in front of the apartment, pulling my phone out of my pocket. Suzy’s last text was still showing in the notification window. Time to make that call to the one person who knew my grief, my person, my life better than I did. But first, to open that bottle of white I had cooling in the fridge.

  The storm raged on as I watched Suzy stare out of the kitchen at me, sobbing. Through my own tears and the lashing rain, I could see her pleading with Mum to let me back in. Rubbing snot from my face with the now-opaque, soaking wet sleeve of my school blouse I shivered, coatless in the cold, but it wasn’t the icy, nipping cold that was hurting me. It was my own shame.

  ‘Did you take my bar of chocolate, Bernice? DID YOU?’ she had boomed.

  I could still taste the sweet, swirly milkiness on my gums, only now it was tinged with a bitter, guilt-induced aftertaste. There was no sense in trying to lie, she knew. She always knew.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is the wrapper?’

  What? I wasn’t expecting this line of questioning after giving up the truth so soon. A smack, yes. Early bed, a week’s grounding? Most likely. But where’s the wrapper? Didn’t she believe I’d taken it? I didn’t dare offer any other lies, Mother’s shouting was enough to terrify me into early submission.

  ‘I threw it in the garden.’

  The wind howled as if in agreement as she turned to look out of the window, maybe expecting to see the wrapper flutter past it. If only it had.

  ‘Get out there and find it!’ She hissed, dragging me by the shoulder to the back door and flinging me outside.

  ‘But . . . Mum, it was ages ago . . .’

  ‘AND DON’T THINK OF COMING BACK IN HERE UNTIL YOU HAVE!’

  Suzy had always been Smother’s favourite. She was the golden child, the one who went to university – the brains of the family. She had taken an ordinary degree, worked for ten years as a youth counsellor before, recently, taking up an Open University course in her insatiable quest for knowledge. I often wondered if our rather different childhoods had fed her need to counsel young people as an adult.

  Smother would use her successes to push me to having some of my own. ‘Suzy’s doing so well now, using all those brains she got from me, naturally. You’d do well to take a leaf out of her book and go back to college.’

  It was enough to make me hate or at least be envious of her, but I didn’t. I adored my kid sister.

  ‘Hello, Suzy, are you there?’

  There were a series of crackles and then nothing as the phone signal came and went. The death of a line. I dialled again.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘At last, I’ve got you,’ I said, feeling a tinge of regret that I didn’t have an excuse to put this conversation off for another night.

  ‘Oh, hi, Bernice, how are you doing?’

  With my free hand, I refilled my wine glass, took a big drink and sat back in my chair and began to cry. ‘Well,’ I sniffed. ‘It’s a bit of a long story. And one I perhaps should have told you about a long while ago, sis.’

  ‘So, you think I’m overreacting because I’m co-dependent? Isn’t that something to do with Alcoholics Anonymous?’

  Suzy’s psychobabble often left me confused. Had I gone to university too, maybe I could understand some of it.

  ‘No, I didn’t say you were overreacting, Bernice, and it’s nothing to do with Alcoholics Anonymous. As it happens, I agree with you. If Graham was doing that to me, I’d be furious. It’s virtual adultery.’

  ‘Thank you, I’m so glad it’s not just me,’ I said, with a huge sigh of relief. Virtual adultery. It had a name. Something that sounded officially placed in the category of complete wrongness.

  ‘It isn’t, really it isn’t,’ she continued. ‘You have every right to determine what trust means to you in your relationship. But you say he’s done this before?’

  I sighed. Now it was time to let my sister know once and for all what a complete, gullible plank I was.

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘I thought he had stopped though.’

  ‘Damn, bloody, bloody co-dependency,’ she sighed.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Why did you marry him, Bernice? What made you do it?’

  ‘I thought . . . I thought . . .’ I was stammering through sobs and snivels now – faltering behind the humiliation of shame. For some bizarre reason, I was thinking of her gorgeous, new dress for the wedding, of the suit she’d bought for Graham and the beautiful, yellow flowers on her granddaughter’s dress, paid for by my niece. I’d let everyone down.

  ‘You thought you could change him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  That was exactly it, except there was more; I thought I had changed him.

  I heard her pause on the line to take a deep breath. Maybe she was crying too. There was a sniffle before she spoke again.

  ‘You’re co-dependent, just like I’ve been. A people pleaser.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Is this some paper you’ve been working on for uni or something?’

  ‘No. Well, yes, it’s kind of a study but not for uni. For me.’

  I sat forward in my chair and put down my wine glass. ‘Go on,’ I said into the phone.

  She sighed again and I knew for definite now, she was crying too.

  ‘I wish you were here right now, Bernice. There’s so much we need to talk through together. Why don’t you come home?’

  With my free arm I hugged my belly and gazed out over Chris’s garden, to the moonlit, shimmering sea beyond. I allowed this now-familiar view to mesmerize me again; feeling the warm, fragrant, Grecian air brush my sun-kissed skin, my ears attune to the chirping of a million crickets. I was alone, but never more alive.

  ‘Because I’m not ready to,’ I told her truthfully.

  ‘Not yet.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘This love triangle is waaaaay too complicated’

  - Pythagoras’s other woman.

  The following afternoon I finished poking fun at one of Greece’s most famous mathematicians, waved to Chris as he sat with a new tutor group on the veranda and headed off on my moped alone for some sightseeing. At half past four I returned to find a note pinned to my door:

  Sorry, something came up. Enjoy the ride.

  That beautiful. balmy evening, when I made my way to the gate in front of the stables, I was met by Linda, Eydis and Greta.

  ‘Are you really going to get up on a horse, Greta?’ I asked.

  ‘Fir sure lassie!’ she said cheerily. After her evening of skinny-dipping, I should have guessed she was up for any adventure. At seventy-seven, she was putting me to shame.

  ‘Is this it, then?’ I asked. ‘Just the four of us?’

  ‘Looks that way, honey,’ Linda replied.

  ‘I thought Ginger wis coming?’ said Eydis.

  ‘Ach, I chapped h
er room earlier an’ she said she has a wee bit o’ sunstroke. An’ the guys are daein’ an archery thing,’ Greta explained.

  ‘So it’s just us ladies then?’ I said, ignoring a tug of sadness, as I guessed exactly where Ginger might be at this moment.

  ‘And Linda,’ Eydis joked.

  ‘Hi, ladies, come through!’ came a shout from beyond the gates. It was Michaela’s cheery voice.

  ‘Have you never ridden before, Binnie?’ Michaela asked, as she introduced me to my horse, a creamy-white, agreeable-looking beauty named Shyla. The others had already mounted, but I was hesitant, having not ridden a horse since a series of riding lessons I’d had as a girl, going through what Smother had called ‘another of your fancies and phases that died a death.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Although I must warn you, it’s been about thirty years. And . . .’ I whispered so that Shyla couldn’t hear. ‘I kind of crashed a kayak yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, you will be fine,’ Michaela said, smiling assuredly at me. I wondered at her not demanding more information on the kayak-crashing thing and the fact that she believed in me. Such trust. ‘It’s like riding a bike,’ she continued. ‘You never forget.’

  Shyla had begun to nibble my right shoulder. I patted her nose and nudged her off.

  ‘That tickles,’ I told her. ‘Stop it.’

  ‘She likes you,’ said Michaela. ‘Now, are you ready to climb up?’

  Shyla was nibbling my shoulder again. ‘What are you doing that for?’ I asked, half laughing, half, well, a bit scared really.

  The horse pawed the ground with a clod, clod, clod.

  ‘She says three!’ Eydis declared.

  ‘I can tell you what she says,’ remarked Michaela, as Shyla went back to nibbling and nudging my shoulder. ‘She says, “I have got your back, Binnie”.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I think she’s tryin’ tae tell ye to ride her oan the right side o’ the road,’ Greta declared, beaming at me.

  ‘She is helping you,’ Michaela said. ‘Horses are emotive creatures. They can sense your deepest thoughts and feelings.’