Seven Days in Summer

by Marcia Willett

  ‘Awesome,’ says Freddie.

  ‘Better than buckets and spades,’ Andy says. ‘Go and try it.’

  They wheel it down to the beach, commune together, then Flora climbs on and begins to pedal whilst Freddie runs in front guiding her towards the softer sand. Together they manipulate the controls, shouting with glee as the edge of the bucket digs into the sand.

  ‘It’s great,’ Liv says, watching them. ‘You are a star. I love it that they rarely quarrel or argue over toys. We were just the same.’

  ‘I know. That’s why I decided that it would be fine just to bring the one big thing rather than two smaller toys.’

  ‘They’ll love it,’ says Liv. ‘And it’s perfect for here. Did they say “thank you” properly?’

  ‘Of course they did. Do I see Baz bringing out some drinks?’

  ‘You do,’ she says. ‘Let’s go and have something nice and cold.’

  ‘And then,’ he says, ‘you can tell me what’s bugging you.’

  ‘How do you know something’s bugging me?’ she asks sharply.

  Andy smiles down at her. ‘Never blag a blagger,’ he says.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE SEA BREATHES slowly in and out. Liv can hear it as she lies on her front, one ear pressed against the sand, eyes closed. Her fingers sift through the gritty, powdery sand, finding fragments of tiny shells, smooth pebbles, and she is aware that her own breathing has slowed to match that of the tide. She is calm. The twins are at last in bed and Baz and Andy are getting supper ready with Jenks in attendance.

  ‘Relax,’ they told her. ‘Chill. Go and sit outside. Go and pour yourself a drink.’

  Instead she wandered along the beach, seeing the pale ghost of a moon rising above the headland, and then suddenly sat down and then stretched out on the warm sand. She’s wishing that Andy would stay longer than just one night and trying to decide why he is easier to be with than Matt. Is it simply because he is her brother, her twin? Surely it’s more complicated. The thing is, she decides, that however much she loves Matt there are all those tiny, tangling strands that form the web of their relationship, which sometimes make it as much a battleground as a playground. Of course they are happy; of course they love each other and their children and have great times together. But there are also those secret areas of jealousy, hurt, resentment, the need to control, to manipulate. There are stand-offs, no-go areas, subtle ways of conceding a point so as to have a future bartering tool.

  Luckily, she and Matt are very straightforward, laid-back people, but the combination of working together – especially for long unsocial hours – and parenthood would put a strain on the most good-humoured of couples. Her own regular need for escapes into the sunshine and empty spaces, and Matt’s requirement for periods of solitude with a book, have been sadly neglected and they are both feeling the loss.

  Liv turns her other cheek to the sand so that she can see the approaching tide. She is still unsettled by her reaction to Matt’s texts and brief conversations, as if she has been excluded from something. She can’t pin it down but some instinct has alerted her to a slight change in him. Instinctively her fingers dig deeper, balling up fistfuls of sand. Her earlier sense of peace as she listened to the breathing of the sea has been eroded and she is relieved to hear the thud of footsteps. She raises her head and sees Andy approaching. She rolls over, sits up and he drops down beside her.

  ‘I love your old pa-in-law,’ he says. ‘Apparently somebody brought a bottle of white wine to the party but Baz says it’s only fit to wash the fish in. I watched in awe and wonder while he did it. So why were you lying there stretched out like a drowned mermaid?’

  ‘I was listening to the tide. It’s amazing and very calming.’

  ‘But why do you need calming?’

  ‘I suppose everybody needs a bit of calming.’

  ‘Yes, but why in your case?’

  She laughs at his persistence. It reminds her of when they were small children arguing with Mum or Dad: ‘Yes, but why must we? Yes, but why?’ Suddenly she gives in.

  ‘It’s just that I’m missing Matt and he’s sounding odd when he texts or if we talk. I know I’m just being silly but I can’t help it.’

  She hugs her drawn-up knees and they both gaze out across the water. A little breeze wrinkles the smooth silky skin of the sea.

  ‘Could it be that he’s simply very busy without his bar manager?’

  Liv makes a little face. ‘I knew you’d be pragmatic and man-like. Yes, it probably is. It’s just … I have this feeling …’

  He gives her shoulder a nudge with his own, which is comforting.

  ‘Old Matt doesn’t quite seem the kind of guy that would move his mistress in ten minutes after his wife and kids have gone away, but you know him better than I do.’

  Liv can’t help smiling. ‘I didn’t say it was anything to do with another woman.’

  ‘No, but you’re thinking it, aren’t you? You’re not actually wondering if the business is suddenly failing and he’s just not telling you. I’d bet money on that good old feminine intuition saying that it’s another woman.’

  ‘Oh, shut up.’ She’s laughing now. Simply saying the words and hearing Andy’s reaction has shown her how silly she’s being. After all, Matt, of all people … She jumps and gives a squeak as Jenks plonks himself down beside her and swipes her cheek affectionately with his tongue. Liv puts her arm round his neck and her cheek against his soft warm coat. She feels much happier, more balanced.

  ‘I wish you could stay a bit longer,’ she says to Andy. ‘Can’t you?’

  He shakes his head regretfully. ‘Not really. I’ll stay till after lunch but Mick’s organized a bit of a party for tomorrow evening. I’ll dash over, though, later on in the week.’

  Baz is calling them: supper is ready. They get to their feet and stroll back together with Jenks running ahead.

  Baz watches them approach. Walking easily, blond heads close together, they are grown-up editions of the twins. Odd, thinks Baz, that mental closeness. He likes Andy: likes his natural optimism, his quick humour and warmth, though he suspects that Liv’s twin is quite capable of pushing the boundaries, ready to bend the rules. He’s clearly astute – he sold that IT company of his for a very hefty sum – and Baz has respect for the younger man. And, after all, he certainly can’t criticize Andy if he does bend the rules: pots calling kettles black. Baz smiles at them both.

  ‘I sent Jenks to tell you that supper’s ready,’ he said. ‘Don’t either of you speak dog?’

  They sit down, admire his dish, eat enthusiastically, but Baz has difficulty in concentrating. Luckily, Liv has begun a ‘Do you remember …?’ conversation to which Andy is responding and Baz is able to let his thoughts drift towards Sofia. He thinks about her as she was with Liv and the twins yesterday afternoon when she came to tea; that wonderful moment in the dinghy. How easy and unaffected she is and yet slightly vulnerable – so like Lucy.

  Baz feels a real thrust of anger – and jealousy – towards the man who has treated Sofia so thoughtlessly, remembering Janet’s version of it, and he wishes he could somehow help Sofia, perhaps offer her a job in his little gallery in Clifton Village. Deep down, though, he knows he’d like to offer her a great deal more than that. After the glass of wine he had whilst he was preparing supper, and the one he’s drinking now, his inhibitions are dissolving and he allows himself to admit that he’s falling in love with her. He knows, too, that it’s crazy, inappropriate, and he mustn’t give way to it publicly for a second, but just at this moment, sitting opposite Liv and Andy as they laugh uproariously at some childhood memory, he can allow himself the luxury of imagining himself with Sofia, telling his love, holding her close.

  ‘Washing the fish in white wine!’ Liv is leaning across the table. ‘Honestly, Baz!’

  Baz pulls himself together. ‘I was showing off for Andy’s benefit,’ he admits. ‘But it was a very ordinary wine.’

  Liv shakes her head at him, the emoti
onal moment passes, and Baz stands to clear the plates away. He carries them into the kitchen and pauses for a moment, before setting them down. Jenks has followed him and is looking up at him, tail wagging.

  ‘I love her,’ he tells Jenks. ‘There, I’ve said it. I love Sofia. Not a word to anybody, old man.’

  ‘Can I help?’ asks Andy, coming in behind him.

  Baz opens the dishwasher, feeling foolish, hoping Andy hasn’t heard him, and begins to load in the plates.

  ‘There are still some tasty things in the fridge left over from the party,’ he tells Andy. ‘Have a rootle around and see if there’s anything you fancy.’

  His phone beeps and he almost jumps, thinking at once of Maurice. He ignores the ring tone.

  ‘Don’t think that’s mine,’ says Andy, opening the fridge.

  ‘No, it’s mine,’ says Baz quickly. ‘Nothing important. I’ll get some coffee going.’

  Andy collects a few dishes together and carries them out whilst Baz quickly opens his phone and, half hiding with his back to the door, peers at the message.

  ‘En avant, mon vieux. I’m all set to do another little daub. Brick Lane this time!’

  Baz slams the phone down on top of the dishwasher and finishes loading it. He feels confused, anxious, and in need of another drink.

  Andy pauses in the shadowy atrium, looking back, watching Baz curiously. He sees him stooping over his phone, slamming it down, before he goes on outside to Liv to offer her some of the treats he’s found in the fridge. When Baz comes out, Andy sees his tension and remembers how Baz was talking to Jenks earlier in the kitchen. Who, Andy wonders, is Sofia?

  Liv is nibbling little bits of different puddings and Baz pulls himself together, has another swallow of wine, and begins to tease her about putting on weight. Andy can see that it’s an effort and a thought occurs to him. He makes an excuse to fetch a glass of water and goes back into the kitchen. Baz’s phone is still lying on the dishwasher and Andy takes it up, opens it and scrolls to the texts. No point in feeling guilty, he tells himself. Baz is clearly upset and you can’t help people if you don’t have the facts. He reads the last text.

  ‘En avant, mon vieux. I’m all set to do another little daub. Brick Lane this time!’

  The sender is someone called Maurice and Andy swiftly checks back to the previous texts Maurice has sent: three in all and all urging Baz to do something, to take part in some project. All of them have that French note. Quickly he closes the phone and replaces it on the dishwasher, pours himself a glass of water and goes back outside.

  He feels anxious now about both Liv and Baz. Despite that earlier joking about feminine intuition he trusts Liv’s instincts and wonders what might be at the root of them. Another little idea forms, the beginning of a plan, and he feels comforted at the prospect of it. As for Baz … Andy watches the older man – still attractive, viable – and he wonders again: who is Sofia?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tuesday

  SOFIA DRIVES CAREFULLY in the narrow lanes, busy now with holiday-makers and tractors, and thinks about her afternoon with Baz and Liv and the twins. It was so good to be with ordinary, happy people, to be relaxed and having fun. Playing with the twins brought back memories of Seb and those four years they’d had together, yet, somehow, there was a healing aspect to being with Flora and Freddie that has gone a little way to filling the empty space in her heart. And as for Baz, well, it is difficult for her to understand her feelings for him. It is as if she has sailed into a calm harbour after a particularly rough sea voyage. Both the men with whom she has shared her adult life have been dominant, confident and tough. The part of Sofia that is insecure, indecisive, is drawn to these strong characters, though in the end she is hurt by those very qualities.

  Sofia drives slowly, glimpsing the distant tors of Dartmoor through open farm gates, huge combine harvesters patrolling beyond the hedges, and she wonders how it is that Baz is so different and why she should be experiencing this very odd sense of homecoming. For the first time for years she feels as if she is back in control of her own life and on equal terms with a very attractive man who has no desire to control her. She feels confused, taken by surprise by her emotions, yet deep down she is experiencing a new and wonderful sense of peace and confidence.

  It is hot in the car and she is glad at last to get on to the main Kingsbridge road and to find a space to park on the quay. She buys a ticket and then stands for a moment looking at the sailing boats on their moorings, rocking gently as they swing to meet the incoming tide. The wider reaches of the estuary, beyond the town, are sheltered by sloping fields and woods, green and lush in the sunshine.

  This morning Dave and Janet have gone to have coffee with friends and, though she has been invited, Sofia has refused, saying that she’d like to go to the town to do some shopping. Everyone is being very kind, and she is grateful, but she needs space to be herself rather than Janet’s goddaughter fresh from a difficult relationship. Sofia guesses that Janet has warned her friends, lest they should be tactless, which is thoughtful of her but has a slightly negative effect in that some of them carefully tiptoe around conversations, which makes Sofia nervous.

  She locks the car, swings the long strap of her bag on to her shoulder, and wanders across the car park. She has been to Kingsbridge before with Janet but now she is getting her bearings, trying to remember where they had coffee. As she stands hesitating at the end of Mill Street, glancing round, Baz comes down the steps from the Harbour Bookshop. Her heart gives a little flip at the sight of him. He is putting his purchases into a canvas bag and doesn’t see her until he is almost beside her.

  ‘Hello, Baz,’ she says, and is delighted by the look of intense pleasure that lights his face. It is clear that he is taken by surprise and that his reaction is genuine, though he quickly controls himself.

  ‘Sofia,’ he says. ‘How very nice to see you. Has Janet brought you in?’

  ‘No,’ she shakes her head. ‘Actually I’ve come on my own. Janet and Dave have gone off to see some friends and I thought I’d just have some time to myself. You know?’

  ‘It must be difficult,’ he answers, ‘to know that everyone is being kind and tactful. Rather irritating, in fact.’

  She bursts out laughing at his honesty. ‘Exactly what I was thinking. I don’t blame Dave and Janet at all – they are just so sweet and kind – but I know the word’s gone round that I’m in a fragile state. It has, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Well, just a bit,’ he admits. ‘But only because Janet didn’t want anyone making thoughtless remarks. Am I putting my foot in it?’

  ‘Not at all. It’s a relief to be … well, natural, if you see what I mean?’

  He smiles at her. ‘So what would you say to a cup of coffee? Or would you prefer to continue on your way alone? I’d quite understand if you would.’

  ‘I’d love one.’ She can’t understand this happiness in his presence, the way he fills her with contentment and a sense of wellbeing. It’s so strange to her, nothing has prepared her for it. ‘I have no idea where I went with Janet so I’ll leave the choice to you.’

  ‘Harbour House,’ he says at once. ‘Just across the road here.’

  They wait at the edge of the pavement and then cross quickly towards a lovely Georgian building opposite. They go in together and he leads her past a light, bright art gallery and up narrow steep stairs into the café. Baz pauses to order coffee and then opens the glass door, which leads down a flight of steps into a pretty, walled garden. There is an ornamental fountain, and a big table beneath a wooden pergola, but Baz draws out a chair for Sofia at a small table for two under a little cherry tree and they sit down.

  ‘This is delightful,’ she says. ‘This isn’t where Janet brought me.’

  ‘Good,’ he says, clearly pleased. ‘I like to be original.’

  She laughs at him, leans back and stretches in the warm sunshine. Now, at this moment, it is as if the world is no longer important. Sofia is free of it, apart f
rom it, as if she has stepped through the Looking-Glass and everything is different. She knows how Baz is feeling, though he is trying not to show it, and she wants to reach out and take one of his hands and explain that she feels exactly the same way.

  He is talking about Liv’s twin brother, Andy, arriving at the Beach Hut just for one night, and the present he has brought for the twins, but she is hardly listening to him. She watches his face, the gestures of his hands with their long fingers, the smile in his eyes as he describes the twins’ reaction to the plastic digger. Suddenly he looks at her, a question in his eyes, as if he is aware that she is only half listening, and at this moment one of the staff appears with their coffee and she sits back to watch Baz talking to the young man, asking about the exhibition in the art gallery, joking with him. She has never known anyone who is so easy, so calm, and when the waiter goes away and Baz looks at her again she smiles at him, determined to act on this new sense of freedom.

  ‘I love it here,’ she says. ‘And I loved meeting you all at the Beach Hut – Liv and the twins, and you, Baz.’

  He looks almost shy, clearly trying not to read too much into her warm remark; wondering, she suspects, if it is an overreaction after her unhappy experience. She knows that he is thinking of and rejecting various responses lest he should make a false step.

  ‘We loved it too,’ he replies at last.

  ‘And don’t say,’ she cuts in quickly, ‘that it’s nice for Liv to have somebody of her own age around. It makes us sound like a pair of teenagers. Can we forget the age thing?’

  He stares at her, taken off guard, a whole variety of expressions passing across his face as he tries to understand her.

  ‘We can try to,’ he says at last. ‘Well, of course I’d love to forget the age thing, but—’

  ‘No,’ she cuts in quickly. ‘No buts. Can we just be you and me? Sofia and Baz? Please?’