Seven Days in Summer

by Marcia Willett

  Delight battles with disbelief in his eyes and he gives a little gasp of laughter.

  ‘I can think of nothing nicer, actually.’

  She gives a relieved breath. ‘Phew. Thank goodness that’s over. I can’t quite believe I’m saying all these things. Honestly, this is not because I’m in a fragile mental state, Baz, please believe that.’

  ‘I do believe it,’ he says gently. ‘It’s wonderful and amazing but I do believe it.’

  A natural silence falls between them, a peaceful, unanxious silence, and they both lean back a little in their chairs. This gives Sofia a moment to take a deep breath. All is well here, she knows it, and now they will be able to move forward more calmly. She believes that it was important to reassure him; that he needed to stop being so aware of the age gap, of the ‘young enough to be my daughter’ mentality.

  ‘Janet tells me that you live in Caledonia Place,’ she says, sipping her coffee. ‘I haven’t been that far away from you for the last few years. Just down in Pembroke Road.’

  ‘I’m surprised we haven’t met,’ he says.

  ‘Not really surprising,’ she says. ‘Looking after a small child, I tended to live very unsocial hours. But I’m homeless now, of course. Luckily my parents are putting me up till I get another job.’

  ‘I suppose you haven’t needed accommodation for a while. Rather tough to be out of a job and have nowhere to live all at the same time.’

  ‘It is. Actually, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find another place. I’m a qualified nursery teacher. That’s what I did before. I think I told you.’

  She hesitates, drinks some coffee, not wanting to talk about Rob or Sebastian; at least not here, not now.

  ‘I shan’t try au-pairing again, that’s for sure,’ she adds. ‘Are there any nice little nursery schools around Caledonia Place?’

  He stares at her and she looks back at him. Once again she knows that he is trying to decode her words, wondering if there is something here for him to seize on, but before he can speak his eyes slide past her and his face changes to an almost ludicrous expression of dismay. Instinctively Sofia glances behind her and sees Annabel advancing down the steps towards them.

  ‘Hello,’ she cries, with a warm smile for Baz as he gets to his feet and a polite little grimace for Sofia, as if she is puzzled by Baz’s choice of companion but is too polite to show it. ‘Baz, darling.’ She kisses him. ‘Well. How lucky to find you here. May I join you? I hope I’m not interrupting?’

  ‘No,’ says Sofia quickly. ‘Of course not. In fact I must get back before the ticket runs out on my car.’

  She is aware of Baz’s disappointment, even anger at Annabel’s untimely arrival, but she knows too that it will be a mistake to stay. Much better to leave now rather than risk something being revealed to this sharp-eyed, unsympathetic woman. There will be other moments, and meantime Baz must deal with Annabel.

  Sofia swallows the last of her coffee, smiles at Baz, and pushes back her chair.

  ‘Tell Liv,’ she says to him, ‘that I’ll see her later.’

  And she hurries away, leaving Baz looking after her.

  He can hardly bear it. That the wretched Annabel should arrive at such a moment fills him with rage, despair and terrible frustration. How can he possibly sit here talking to Annabel when his life has just been turned upside down? Almost immediately he begins to doubt that Sofia can really have said such things but, before he can tell them over again in his dazed mind, Annabel is talking, demanding his attention.

  ‘What a strange-looking girl she is,’ she is saying, with that unattractive little sneer, as if by belittling Sofia she will be demeaned in Baz’s eyes. ‘All that wild marmalade hair. Does she ever comb it, I wonder?’

  Baz is seized by several different reactions, chief among them to defend Sofia, to pour the last of his coffee over Annabel’s head. Instead he drinks it and smiles at her.

  ‘I’m afraid I must be going, too,’ he says. ‘Same reason. Sorry about that. Is Miles about?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says rather sulkily. ‘We came in together. He’ll be along in a minute. I suppose you must go?’

  Baz smiles, shrugs. ‘If I don’t want a parking fine.’ He stands and picks up his bag. ‘See you around, Annabel. On Friday, isn’t it, at your lunch?’

  She nods and clasps his shoulder as he bends to kiss her, as if to hold him, but he steps back and hurries up the steps into the café. He almost runs down the stairs, not glancing into the gallery, and out into the town, looking hopefully around just in case Sofia is anywhere to be seen, but there is no sign of her.

  Cursing under his breath he returns to the car park, remembering her words and wondering if such a moment can ever be recaptured. But where? How? He recalls her last words and the promise to come to see Liv. Perhaps that was a way of telling him that she would be driving out to the Beach Hut. Perhaps she’s gone straight there. Liv and Andy were planning to take the twins and Jenks for a walk on the cliffs so there would be nobody to meet Sofia.

  Briefly he wonders if Annabel suspected that something was going on and then, just as quickly, he forgets her and looks around, still hoping to see Sofia.

  Annabel sits alone, seething with disappointment that Baz has rushed away so quickly. She orders coffee rather petulantly and then takes out her phone. She sends a message to Miles, who comes in a few moments later looking faintly distracted, as if his mind has been on other things.

  ‘Sorry to be late.’ He sits down with her, indicates his bag. ‘But I’ve got the electric cable …’

  Annabel shrugs. She’s not interested in his shopping.

  ‘Did you see Baz?’ she asks him. ‘He was in here with the godchild. He had to dash off because the time on his car was up.’

  ‘No, I didn’t see him,’ answers Miles. ‘What’s happened to Sofia?’

  ‘Same excuse.’

  Annabel is discontented, cross that she hasn’t made another plan to see Baz, then she cheers up a little. He mentioned their return lunch on Friday; at least she’ll see him then.

  ‘I’ve told Meggie,’ she says, ‘that I’ll let her off coming to clean on Friday morning as long as she helps me get prepared and then offers to look after those twins at lunchtime. She said she’ll have a word with Liv. I refuse to give a lunch party with two four-year-old children present.’

  She sips her coffee thoughtfully. There was something odd about Baz but she can’t quite put her finger on it. He wasn’t his usual urbane, charming self; he was distracted. Probably the tiresome godchild had been unloading her problems on him. It would be just like darling old Baz to take her worries to himself. She must have a word with Janet and warn her that it isn’t quite fair to expect everyone to take over her responsibilities.

  She glances at Miles: he’s looking distracted too. What, she wonders irritably, is the matter with everyone this morning? It simply isn’t fair. The morning now stretches boringly ahead when it might have been filled with Baz; she might have persuaded him to come back to lunch. After all, he must be quite pleased to have the opportunity to get away from those children for a few hours. Instead it’s just Miles sitting opposite and nothing, now, to amuse her.

  Miles sips his coffee, well aware of Annabel’s mood, deciding how he can restore her to good spirits. He wonders how much of his life is spent in walking on eggshells around his wife’s mercurial temperament and gives thanks that he spent so much of his life at sea. The trouble is that he misses the camaraderie of the wardroom, the jokes, and in an odd way he is lonely, though he and Annabel are rarely apart. He didn’t realize how terrible it is to be lonely in another person’s company. He watches his wife readjusting her bracelets, the discontented pout of her lips, and gives a deep, silent, internal sigh.

  He saw Baz come dashing out of Harbour House, pausing to look around, desperately scanning the passers-by. It seems clear, now, that he was looking for Sofia. He remembers the expression on Baz’s face – that brief, unguarded moment – on Saturday whe
n he first saw Sofia, and now Miles wonders what Annabel might have interrupted. Baz crossed the road, hurrying to the car park, not hearing Miles’ call, too intent on whatever was driving him.

  Well, thinks Miles. Good luck to him.

  ‘Would you like to stay in for lunch?’ he asks, voice bright, encouraging. ‘Or we could go down to Torcross to the pub and have fish and chips.’

  Annabel makes a little moue, wrinkles her nose, and his heart sinks. He tries to think of something that will lift her out of this mood or the afternoon will be intolerable. He wishes that she could get over this silly thing she has for Baz. It’s always worse on the few visits each year that he’s at the Beach Hut, and now that Liv and the twins, and usually Matt, accompany him for the two-week summer break it’s made it even more difficult.

  Miles can’t decide whether Baz’s habit of going along with Annabel’s flirtation is actually a good idea. Clearly, to begin with, Baz reacted out of good manners, a sense of fun, but latterly it’s become almost embarrassing. Soon, he suspects, his little dashes to Bristol to stay with Baz and go to a concert will be under threat. There has already been talk of Annabel accompanying him, to have a shopping spree, though he’s managed so far to defeat her.

  ‘It’s far too hot to think about eating fish and chips,’ she’s saying. ‘And I don’t particularly want to hang around in town until lunchtime. We might as well go home, I suppose.’

  ‘Fine,’ he says cheerfully, his heart sinking. ‘I ought to be putting in some work in the garden, anyway.’

  Thank God for the garden. He stands up to go to pay the bill, thinking of the empty hours stretching ahead, and he wonders what El is doing.

  El is standing in the car park talking to Baz. He’s nearly cannoned into her, hurrying to his car, peering around him, and she catches his arm.

  ‘Gosh, Baz,’ she says, laughing at him. ‘Where’s the fire?’

  ‘El,’ he says. He stands still for a few moments and then relaxes suddenly and gives a gasp as if exasperated at himself. ‘I’m being an old idiot. Don’t they say that there’s no fool like an old fool?’

  ‘Possibly,’ she concedes, ‘but I think I’d like a few more facts before I pronounce in your case. You look all hot and bothered. I’m just on my way home. Why don’t you come back to mine and have a sandwich? Or is Liv waiting for you?’

  El has a pretty good idea what’s on Baz’s mind. Another old saying springs to her mind: ‘Love and a cough cannot be hid.’ She was aware of the way Baz looked at Sofia at his party and it all fits rather neatly with his words about being an old fool, especially as she’s just seen Sofia driving away. She watches sympathetically as he weighs up her invitation and she feels a great sense of affection for him.

  ‘Is there something urgent you have to deal with?’ she asks.

  He smiles ruefully and shakes his head. ‘Not really. I was thinking there might be but, actually, no there isn’t. I’m being a bit of a prat. Do you know, I’d love to come and have a sandwich. I’ve just left Annabel in Harbour House. I was running away, to be honest.’

  ‘Ah,’ says El lightly. ‘I had the feeling that you were running towards something. Or someone.’

  He glances at her sharply and then begins to laugh. ‘Is it that obvious?’

  She smiles at him. ‘I know you very well, old friend.’

  ‘Well, in that case,’ he says, ‘it would be a relief to talk. I gratefully accept your invitation.’

  ‘Good,’ she says. ‘As long as you’re sure Liv and those twins aren’t expecting you.’

  Baz makes a little face. ‘Liv can fend for herself. She and Andy can get their own lunch.’

  ‘Andy?’

  ‘Yes. Her twin’s down just for a short stay on his way to Polzeath. He’s going after lunch. Actually, I’m sure they’ll be quite happy to have some extra time on their own. Lead on, Macduff. I’m parked further down. Look, I’ll send Liv a text and then I’ll follow you back.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LIV AND ANDY and the twins are nearly back at the Beach Hut when she gets Baz’s text.

  ‘He’s met up with El in Kingsbridge,’ she says, ‘and she’s invited him for lunch.’

  ‘Is there anything going on there?’ asks Andy, wondering if El has any connection with the as yet unidentified Maurice.

  ‘No, no.’ Liv shakes her head. ‘They’re just great old mates. El is a tutor at Bristol University and she and Baz share a passion for the theatre and classical music. She always comes down for this fortnight while he’s at the Beach Hut.’

  Andy nods, still wondering who Maurice is, not wanting to ask and arouse Liv’s suspicions. Meanwhile there’s the question of Matt. Liv seems more cheerful, certainly, but Andy still has a little plan at the back of his mind regarding Matt.

  ‘Spoken to Matt?’ he asks casually.

  He is pleased to see her face brighten a little.

  ‘We had a quick speak just before he started work this morning. Seems OK. Very tired, of course. He’s hoping to get down next Sunday.’

  The twins come running back. They want to build a fort using the digger; they need to do it now.

  ‘Lunch first,’ says Liv firmly. ‘We’re late already and Uncle Andy has to go straight after lunch.’

  There are shouts of dismay, of ‘pee, po, piddle, bum’ as they launch themselves at his knees and drag him on to the beach. He can’t help laughing at them, remembering his own childhood, though he tries to instil some kind of order. Jenks leaps round them barking as they tumble into a heap on the sand. Andy feels the weight of them, wriggling and struggling, as he attempts to seize their warm little bodies. Suddenly he wishes that these were his children and he hugs them, holding them closely.

  ‘You’ve got ten minutes while I get lunch ready,’ shouts Liv, ‘and then that’s it.’

  Andy fends them off, rolls away, and stands up.

  ‘Come on, then,’ he says. ‘We’ve got ten minutes. What do you want to do? Quick. Don’t waste time. Build a fort or have a paddle?’

  He watches them silently communing, just as he and Liv would have done, and he knows that they will choose to paddle. They can build a fort any time but they are not allowed into the sea unattended and they know that with Andy they can splash and roll about and get really wet.

  ‘Paddle,’ they shout as one child. ‘Come on. Let’s paddle,’ and they set off down the beach.

  He kicks off his deckies and races after the twins over the smooth warm sand, feeling the cool embrace of the sea as he dashes into it. They rough and tumble, practising their swimming strokes, splashing Andy and trying to make him wet. He resists them, splashing back at them, grabbing their hands and pulling them along until he can hear Liv calling them.

  Reluctantly, they allow themselves to be hauled out, to where Liv is waiting with towels to dry them off before they eat. He follows more slowly as they go complainingly to have their lunch, turning to look about him at the distant horizon, wondering why he lives in London.

  ‘Well, why do you?’ counters Liv, when he says this to her as they sit under the awning. ‘You work from home. You could live anywhere. Come back to Cornwall and be near us all. It would be so good, Andy.’

  As he watches Liv serve the pasta, listens to the twins chattering, he is very tempted. Perhaps the time is right.

  After lunch is over and cleared away he fetches his bag and says goodbye. To his surprise the twins don’t protest or make a fuss, but simply stare at him solemnly as if reproaching him.

  ‘Be nice to Mummy,’ he tells them, bending to kiss them.

  Liv hugs him. ‘Come back soon.’

  ‘I will,’ he promises. ‘I’ll sort something out with Mick and be over. Give my love to Baz.’

  He gets into his car and jolts away up the track, getting out to open the farm gates, and then driving slowly on. He has to cross the width of the peninsula, from south to north, but with Dartmoor lying along its spine it’s best to drive up to Exeter and then turn we
st on to the A30. The road is familiar: he’s coming home. Cloud shadows drift across the moor’s bare northern slopes and a pair of crows harass a buzzard, dive-bombing it, driving it away from their territory. Onward, past Okehampton and over Dunheved Bridge with Launceston away to the right, its castle crouched on a hill.

  Andy cries a quiet ‘Hooray!’ as he crosses the Tamar and passes into Cornwall, just as they did when they were children and returning home from visits upcountry. As he drives across Hendra Downs he thinks of the narrow road snaking away, over the moor towards St Breward and his parents’ home, Trescairn. He feels strangely emotional. Perhaps it’s because of this last twenty-four hours with Liv and the twins, or perhaps it’s just because he’s getting older.

  Andy makes a little face: forty-three isn’t really old. Nevertheless he’d love kids of his own and a beautiful woman with whom to share his life.

  ‘Dream on,’ he mutters to himself. Commitment has always been the stumbling block so far. And he thinks again about Liv and Matt, and how she talked to him back there, up on the cliff, about the pressures and tensions of their life together.

  ‘It’s not that we argue,’ she said, ‘not really. It’s just a silly kind of bickering about who’s taken out the rubbish or emptied the dishwasher. And, of course, we can’t do the big events together so much now unless I can find a baby-sitter. It was such a pity that Matt couldn’t come with us. We both desperately needed a break. And I feel guilty because I’m having one and he isn’t.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Andy said tentatively, ‘he’s having a kind of break, if you see what I mean?’

  ‘Because he hasn’t got me and the twins harassing him?’

  It was a slightly bitter tone and he hastened to take the sting out of his remark.

  ‘Not quite, but it’s something less for him to worry about, that’s all. He can just concentrate on his work without upsetting anybody else.’

  That didn’t sound quite right either, but Liv was quick to let him see that she understood.

  ‘I know what you mean and you’re quite right. It’s all just a bit too much, to be honest. I don’t want to give up work but I don’t want anyone else looking after my children either. Matt suggested an au pair but I said no. I suppose I thought I could do it all. He’s more realistic. I’m being a bit selfish, I suppose, thinking I can have it all ways round.’