Seven Days in Summer

by Marcia Willett

  Her husband, Miles, watches her thoughtfully as she pauses to glance at her reflection in the gilt-framed looking-glass above the marble fireplace. He still holds his newspaper in the reading position but his eyes study her gestures: the quick thrust of the hands through her dark hair, the instinctive pulling back of her shoulders, the slight pouting of her lips.

  ‘They are his grandchildren,’ he observes lightly. ‘And Liv’s OK. I think Baz likes having her there. She’s company for him.’

  ‘He never needed company before.’ Annabel sounds discontented. ‘It’s like having one’s own child around. Cramps one’s style.’

  Miles snorts. ‘Can’t see anyone cramping your style,’ he says, intending to flatter, and is immediately rewarded with a smile. ‘And anyway, Janet and Dave have got a goddaughter staying so she’ll be company for Liv.’

  ‘Mmm, yes.’ Annabel is frowning again. ‘That’s a point. So you met her in the shop this morning, this godchild?’

  ‘Yes. Pretty girl. Sofia.’

  He shakes his newspaper a little, turning a page. Actually, she is a very pretty girl, with amazing green eyes and glorious coppery hair, and managing to be willowy and shapely all at the same time. But best not to go into details with Annabel, who will merely see the girl as another competitor for Baz’s attention.

  ‘She’s between jobs, Janet tells me.’ Annabel turns away from her reflection. ‘She’s really missing her last charge, apparently. Very foolish to get so attached. She should get married and have her own babies.’

  Miles regards his wife curiously. Compassion seems to be utterly missing from her character, though she demands it from those around her. Nobody can suffer more deeply than Annabel; nobody is more aware of what is due to her. She is convinced that Baz nurses a secret passion for her and her behaviour when they are together is almost embarrassing.

  It’s a pity, thinks Miles, that they can’t just slip quietly into bed and get it over with, but perhaps old Baz’s flatteries and attentions are simply courtesies.

  ‘I suppose El is down?’

  Instinctively he raises his newspaper a fraction as if to mask the smile that lifts the corner of his lips, the indrawn breath of satisfaction.

  ‘I suppose so,’ he answers indifferently. ‘Term is finished, isn’t it? Her students will be gone. I expect she’s down for her summer holiday as usual.’

  Soon he will see her, be legitimately in her company. Miles sighs again with pure delight.

  ‘I can’t think why she doesn’t take early retirement,’ Annabel is saying. ‘Why she wants to spend her time with a lot of scruffy students I can’t imagine.’

  ‘Because she’s an educationalist?’ he suggests, pretending to be absorbed in an item of news. ‘She enjoys being a tutor. She likes being with young people.’

  He turns another page, wondering if Annabel would have been happier, more fulfilled, if she’d had a career. Since he’s retired from the navy, he’s accepted a post as a governor at a local school, joined a photography club, but though he’s tried to involve her in what he does she remains detached, disinterested.

  ‘Pity she never married and had a family,’ Annabel is saying. ‘At least she and the godchild should get on.’

  He has never quite got used to these spasms of dislike he feels for his wife but he bats this one away, folds the paper and stands up.

  ‘Isn’t it my turn to get the supper?’ he remarks. ‘The fish van was in the village this morning and I bought some rather nice fresh mackerel. I’ll go and get started and then we’ll have a drink.’

  He passes through the hall and goes into the kitchen where he stands for a moment, holding the Aga rail, his head dropped forward. An elderly golden Labrador rises creakily from her bed and waddles to greet him and he crouches to stroke her, his forehead resting on the broad dome of her head.

  ‘I shall see her tomorrow,’ he murmurs to her, and her tail wags sympathetically. He is filled with a familiar mix of guilt, anticipation, sadness, then he sets it all aside, stands up and turns his mind to supper.

  Annabel watches him go, feeling slightly edgy. She needs that drink. Her glance around her pretty room slides across a photograph of Lily on her pony, Buttons. Lily, at the age of about twelve, when the only thing in life that mattered to her was Buttons. Annabel stares resentfully at the photograph of their daughter. Lily grew up to be a beautiful girl who never caused anxiety, went to university, qualified as a doctor, and had so many friends of both sexes that it was a terrible shock when she ‘came out’.

  It was bad enough, in Annabel’s view, that she decided to take a job in New Zealand, but this blow, coming soon after her arrival in Christchurch, was impossible to take rationally, though Miles had hardly seemed surprised.

  ‘You knew,’ Annabel raged at him. ‘She must have told you before this.’

  But he shook his head, denied it, and tried to calm her down. Of course, it was true that she and Lily had never really got on very well once she’d grown past the pony stage. Annabel turns her back on the photograph, arms crossed over her breast. Lily is strong-minded, argumentative, and there have been many clashes of will between them. Miles, of course, remained detached, refused to be involved or take sides and, anyway, was at sea most of the time or, latterly, at the Ministry of Defence in London. Though, when Lily went to London to complete her training, she and Miles shared a flat for a while.

  To be honest, Annabel thinks, it was a relief once she moved to London. We simply didn’t get on.

  And now, well, now she’s glad that Lily’s in New Zealand. Annabel certainly wouldn’t want her living locally, visiting with her friend, or whatever she calls her, Jenny. That would be going too far. People around here wouldn’t understand. Annabel shakes her head at the mere thought of it. It’s embarrassing enough as it is, their friends always asking if Lily isn’t married yet and hinting that she and Miles ought to be worried about not having grandchildren. How can she possibly explain that her beautiful clever daughter is gay?

  Of course Miles wouldn’t mind if everyone knew, thinks Annabel resentfully. He doesn’t care. He has no idea how I feel about it.

  She gives a huge sigh; life is so unfair. Then she remembers Baz’s party and her spirits lift a little. She will see him very soon.

  She glances at the clock – it’s a smidgen early – shrugs, goes to the drinks tray and pours a rather strong gin and tonic. By the time Miles comes back, with Daffy at his heels, she’s feeling less edgy, calmer, and thinking about Baz and what she will wear to his party.

  ‘Ah, I see you’ve started without me,’ Miles says.

  She notices that he seems quite cheerful and she raises her eyebrows at him. He smiles back at her.

  ‘I expect you’re looking forward to the thrash,’ he says, pouring himself a drink. ‘Friends Reunited and all that sort of thing,’ and he raises his glass to her. ‘To Baz’s party,’ he says.

  El is just arriving, parking her car in the space beside the small converted barn. She sits in the car for a moment, looking along the coast, westward towards Plymouth, and thinks with contentment of the two weeks ahead. She will walk the glorious coastal footpath between Bolt Head and Bolt Tail, and sketch, and spend time with Baz and his friends. It was a pity she couldn’t have got away earlier and given Baz a lift down, but he was looking forward to a few days in Truro first, he told her, though he might cadge a lift back.

  She shrugged; whatever was best for him. They were old friends and understood each other’s ways. They were both independent, self-sufficient, but happy in the other’s company. El has known him for nearly forty years, since he moved with Matt to Bristol after the tragic death of Lucy and the baby. He was in shock, coming to terms with his grief, whilst trying to be a good father to small Matt. El was teaching English at Clifton High School.

  She met them at the zoo where she was sketching the penguins and he was holding Matt up so he could get a better view. She smiled at the child’s excitement and Baz shook his head i
n a combination of amusement, exhaustion, and friendliness. He bought Matt an ice cream and they sat beside her on the bench and rather shyly began a conversation.

  Her teaching and the fact that he’d read English at Cambridge made a good starting point to friendship. They discussed the theatre, music, and very slowly a friendship was begun. Baz was too raw to consider more than that and by the time anything more intimate might have happened between them it was too late. They were too comfortable together, too happy in each other’s company, and their relationship was too precious to risk.

  Looking back, El is glad that they chose friendship. After a passionate love affair that became destructive, then abusive, she has had no desire to repeat the experiment. She realized that what she’d believed was love was simply her lover’s will to possess, and it was a relief to be free of him. Now, she has her students, and a few good friends like Baz, and she has learned that there are worse things than being alone. She also knows her limitations, knows that she is not a maternal woman, although she is very fond of Matt – and of Liv and the twins. Sometimes she is surprised that Baz is never ensnared in one of his passing love affairs. She teases him about these women who fall in love with him, with whom he spends a brief passionate time before they move on, but he simply smiles, shrugs, and says, ‘Sic biscuitus disintigratum.’

  It’s a favourite phrase of his: ‘That’s the way the cookie crumbles’ – and each time it happens she takes him out and buys him a drink and they plan their next trip to a concert or the theatre. One day, perhaps, Baz will fall in love and might at last be healed of the pain of losing Lucy and their baby.

  El climbs out of the car, leans in to retrieve her bag, and stands up. The owner of the barn is advancing, waving cheerfully and calling greetings, and El goes to meet her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Saturday

  THE MORNING OF the party dawns with clear skies and barely a breath of wind. It will be hot later and Baz winds out the striped awning that protects the deck chairs set on the paved area outside the Beach Hut’s front door. He knows from experience that his friends will pop in at odd times during the day although the party officially begins with prosecco at five o’clock. Miles will bring some special wine; El will bring one of her famous summer puddings. Presently Meggie will arrive with food to be put into the fridge, freshly laundered table napkins, flowers from her garden.

  ‘No good offering to help,’ Baz tells Liv. ‘It’s Meggie’s show really. Best to leave it all to her. Except the wine. That’s my baby.’

  How still it is; how quiet. He can hear the drone of a tractor ploughing on the cliffs, the scream of a swift splitting the airwaves, and the insistent sigh of the tide as it advances along the sand. The twins crouch together on the beach in their endless search for the perfect shell. Jenks sits beside them, alert, ears cocked. At intervals one of them will throw a pebble for him. The sea creeps up on them, unobserved.

  Liv comes out. She throws an arm about Baz’s neck and kisses his cheek.

  ‘I utterly love it here,’ she declares, sinking into one of the deck chairs. ‘Can I be useful?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ he answers. ‘Can you?’ and they both burst out laughing.

  ‘Look at my twins,’ she says. ‘Seventh heaven. I can’t wait to meet all your chums again. I’m trying to remember them from last year. How awful if I muddle them up.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll manage,’ he tells her. ‘Nobody will mind. You only meet some of them once a year for a few hours, after all. The important thing is that you know about Sofia.’

  ‘It must be really hard,’ says Liv, ‘to bond closely with a child and then have to leave him. Hard for him, too. I hope seeing the twins won’t rub it in too much.’

  ‘Well, she’s got to get over it sometime,’ says Baz philosophically. ‘I haven’t met her so I can only report what Janet and Dave have told me.’

  ‘Janet and Dave,’ repeats Liv, as if committing the names to memory, ‘and Miles and Annabel, and that nice woman who lectures at Bristol University.’

  ‘El,’ supplies Baz. ‘Elinor Wickham. El’s good value.’

  He leads her through the guest-list and she nods. He knows she’ll be great when the time comes. The years of being front-of-house at The Place will stand her in good stead.

  Baz hears the sound of a car coming slowly down the track.

  ‘That’ll be Meggie,’ he says. ‘I’ll go and help her carry the stuff into the kitchen. You stay here and watch the twins.’

  When he’s disappeared round the side of the house, Liv stretches out her legs and sighs with pleasure. Days full of being on the beach, swimming, sailing, walking on the cliffs, mean that the twins will sleep soundly and so will she. The prospect of long unbroken hours of rest fills her with delight. She has been so tired recently, their lives are one endless juggling act. If Matt was with them there would surely have been respite from the worries about the bistro, from those niggling domestic chores, but if she’s honest she’s quite enjoying the freedom of being here without him.

  Just lately there have been silly rows, not simply arguments about putting out the rubbish but more personal attacks. One evening they were sitting together on the sofa, not really watching the documentary on the television, talking about the twins. Or, at least, she was talking about the twins, recounting some story from nursery, until, getting no response, she turned to look at him and saw that he’d fallen asleep.

  She stuck her finger in his ribs, jabbing him. ‘Am I boring you?’ she asked. This was an old joke but somehow that evening it wasn’t funny. Matt winced awake, frowning at her, thrusting her away.

  ‘Get off,’ he said, quite crossly. ‘Give it a rest,’ and she was hurt and angry and slightly anxious all at once. He went off to bed and when she went up he pretended to be asleep though she knew he wasn’t. She didn’t feel like making any attempt at a reconciliation and the night was long, lonely and uncomfortable. In the morning he was still irritable although it was difficult with the twins around for Liv and Matt to let their bad moods show too much. Matt went off early to the bistro and after she’d taken the twins to nursery Liv drove to the coast, to Portscatho, and walked on the beach. She was aware of the old familiar feeling of dissatisfaction, of restlessness, of the need to be up and doing something different. From childhood onwards she has been driven by this itch for novelty, the need for a challenge. She recognized the same quality in Matt – another thing that drew them together – but now he seems unwilling to make a change. They are almost too busy to do anything but recreate the wheel and Liv was hoping that this holiday would give them space; time to discuss new options, ideas.

  Now, sitting in the sun in her deck chair, she listens to the twins’ voices, the gulls crying, and then she hears another car approaching. Standing up, she sees it stop on the track and a man get out. She thinks she recognizes Miles and goes to greet him. Meanwhile the passenger door has opened and a slender woman is climbing out. She wears a green shirt and leggings and her hair shines in a kind of halo around her head, like copper wiring. She comes forward rather diffidently at Miles’ elbow.

  ‘Liv,’ he calls to her, ‘I’ve brought a few bottles to help the ship along. And this is Sofia. Janet and Dave have gone shopping so I offered to bring her to meet you all.’

  Liv experiences a frisson of anxiety, but holds out her hand and smiles warmly.

  ‘Oh, this is nice,’ she says. ‘What a good idea to meet you in advance. Baz has just been giving me a reminder of everyone’s names and I feel quite nervous.’

  Sofia nods. ‘I couldn’t sympathize more. I feel quite daunted, which is why I’ve come along now. At least I shall know you and Baz, and Miles, of course. It was kind of him to think of it.’

  She looks around but Miles has vanished and there’s no sign of Baz.

  ‘They’ll be in the kitchen,’ Liv tells her. ‘Let’s leave them to it for a minute. There will be coffee on soon, but come and meet my twins first.’

  She s
till feels nervous but she is determined to get it over with, and Sofia looks quite calm. The twins have now made patterns on the sand with their shells and are standing together surveying the effect. Liv gives a quick sideways glance to assess Sofia’s reaction and is struck by the expression of pleasure, longing, and sadness that she sees as she gazes at the twins.

  ‘They look cute,’ Liv says quickly, ‘but they’re monsters really. Come and say hello.’

  The twins glance up at the approach and she sees that they are in the middle of one of their complicated private games. Nevertheless, she introduces them and Sofia smiles at each of them and then looks at the shell patterns.

  ‘These are beautiful,’ she says. ‘I like this one of the dog best.’

  They stare at her with wide blue eyes and Freddie shakes his blond head regretfully.

  ‘You are toast, mate,’ he says.

  Liv, embarrassed, knows that this is something he has heard Joe say to one of the kitchen staff, but before she can speak Sofia bursts out laughing.

  ‘Well, you can’t say I haven’t been warned,’ she says. ‘What did I get wrong?’

  ‘I am so sorry,’ says Liv. ‘Freddie, that’s very rude. Say hello properly to Sofia.’

  But Freddie, pleased with this reaction, simply begins to laugh too, capering about, and Jenks comes running to join in the game. The three of them go racing along the beach and Liv makes a rueful face.

  ‘They always show me up,’ she says. ‘I’ll go and corral them for their morning drink. That will keep them quiet for five minutes if we’re lucky, but I expect they’ll simply show off to you.’

  Sofia is looking relaxed, amused. ‘They’re gorgeous,’ she says warmly. ‘I’ve just finished a job looking after a five-year-old. His mother gave him up when he was born. He’s off to school but I was there for nearly four years so it’s a bit of a wrench.’