At least things are normal with Dad again. I dropped in at home this morning before driving onward to Brighton. We had a big heart-to-heart and apologised to each other, and things are back on track. My plan now is to find a job to fill the rest of the summer until term starts again in the autumn.
Letting myself in through the front door of the narrow, terraced house, painted a cheery lemon yellow as if to compensate for its squashed tininess, I heave my case and portfolio of new work into the hallway and lean them against the wall. I stop and listen. Thank God Ricky has moved out. I hold a hand to the middle of my chest. Physically I’ve pretty much recovered, but I know it will take a while for my heart to do the same.
Dropping the wad of envelopes Dad gave me onto the kitchen table, I scoop up a note from my housemates inviting me to join them at the beach. Sighing, I drop into one of the kitchen chairs. I may as well open my post – no doubt a heap of depressing bills – before sorting out the kitchen and unpacking. I’ll decide whether to join my uni friends later. Sifting through the envelopes, I spot a handwritten one. The handwriting is small and neat, almost printed.
I tear it open and unfold the lined paper. As I do, a small charm drops onto the faded lino of the kitchen floor. Leaning over, I retrieve the piece of metal and stare at it, biting my lip. It’s a tiny multi-hued rainbow with a cloud at either end. Is it from her? Does she know how much, more than ever, I need her?
Frowning, I straighten the paper and start reading. By the time I finish, tears are rolling down my face.
Jake
June 2009
The Rainbow Charm
Jones,
You told me off for not writing to you, so now you’re getting your wish.
I’ve just got back from Durdle Door, and I’m glad you got home safely too. Although you wanted me to hang back, I needed to make sure you made it okay, so I followed at a distance.
I hope as you’re reading this, whenever it might be, you’re better than the last time I saw you. That you’re not feeling as raw, sad, and angry. That you’ve figured a few things out.
I tried to help on the beach, and wanted to be there for you, but instead I added to your pain. I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know. I shouldn’t have kissed you; my timing sucked. It’s the one thing that’s always been off about us, and our friendship – timing. And we are friends. I believe it, even if you don’t. The first time I saw you sitting in your dad’s van with a pink baseball cap on and an odd look on your face, I knew you were going to be important to me, and I was right.
Look, I’ll be gone for a while. I’m shipping out, and won’t be back for at least six months, and who knows what will happen after that. So, I wanted to send you something to cheer you up because I know you’ll be gutted that I won’t be on British soil :) Is that the sound of you telling me to shut up and stop being cocky I can hear in my head? ;)
Anyway, the charm with this letter is for a rainbow baby – the ones that come along after those that are lost. I believe one day you’ll have the chance to be a mum, and next time the tale will have a happier ending. He or she will be your rainbow baby. For now, I know you won’t forget what you’ve lost, and I won’t either. I’m sorry the choice was taken from you, but whatever you’d have decided, it would have been the right thing for you.
The other thing about rainbows is they only appear while there’s both sunshine and rain. So, the charm is also to remind you that while life is full of darkness, when there are disappointments and people make mistakes and let you down, there is always light too, and something beautiful that remains. You still have a lot to be grateful for: family, friends, your health, a bright future, and endless possibilities. Just know that I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.
Always look for the rainbow, Jones. You have to treasure life – no one else is going to do it for you.
I’ll try to be better at staying in touch and hope you still want me to.
J x
Leila
November 2011
The Graduation Charm
‘Well done, Leila, I’m proud of you.’
Dad’s hearty slap on the shoulder, intended as a sign of affection and pride, almost knocks me over. He always forgets how strong he is. I might not get my physical size from him – he’s broad where I’m narrow, and tall where I’m short – but I’m grateful for inheriting, or more accurately learning, his emotional strength. If I didn’t have that, I wouldn’t have made it through the last two years. After losing the baby, I shut myself off from the world for a while and for the best part of a year buried myself in hours of exhausting uni work and painting, juggling them alongside a series of part-time jobs because of the perpetual financial worries dogging me after I’d decided to donate the rest of Grandad’s money to a good cause. If I was more like my mum, I would’ve run away from the situation, but instead I stayed. On my good days, that makes me proud.
‘Thanks, Dad.’ I lean into him and smile, before spinning round to take in the sight greeting us from the balcony. He’s never been one for extravagance, so when he called and said he was staying in a seafront hotel while in town for my graduation ceremony, I was surprised. But if there was ever a reason to justify the expense, he explained, it was staying somewhere decent while coming to see his daughter graduate.
‘Not a bad view.’ He nods to the scene below us. ‘Even with what’s coming.’
The throbbing wind, beating with the rhythm of a heart as it builds towards a storm, whips the ends of my long hair across my face. Typical of the south coast of England to pull some freak weather out of the bag. I pull my hair away from my red-lipsticked mouth with a roll of my eyes. I know I should have taken the time to get it cut, but I’ve just been too busy. So instead I plaited part of it around the crown of my head, leaving the rest down. ‘No, Dad,’ I reply with a grin, ‘not a bad view at all.’ He’s putting me up here too, as a treat for my final night in Brighton. After deciding to stay on for a few months until I’d graduated formally, I’m reluctant to leave. I’ve loved it here: the people, the city, the buildings, the beach. Still, it’s time to go home. I know that much, even if I don’t know what I’m doing next.
Gripping the balcony railing, my eyes take in the busy road stretching along the promenade. The wide shingle beach is dotted with a straggle of brave visitors bracing themselves against the weather as they trudge along the stones. Brighton Palace Pier extends into the sea, with the distinctive dome housing the amusements leading along its length to fairground rides.
It’s a special place, and I’ll miss it. While I’ve lived here, I’ve learnt it takes a team three months to repaint the pier every year. I’ve watched them working on the mammoth task in between lectures and working in a local bar. I know too that it’s 1,722 feet long and was officially opened in May 1899 after eighteen years of building works, hindered in part by a catastrophic storm. More, what I know is when I’m sad, homesick, tired, or just need my spirits lifting, if I go and stand on the pier and look out to the horizon, I feel better. And even though it might seem counterintuitive to most people because who knows what lurks in the darkness, sitting under the pier on the sliding pebbles makes me feel safe and calm.
‘I’ve lost you again.’ Dad’s voice jolts me from my thoughts.
‘Sorry.’ Shaking my head, I raise my eyes. Beyond the pier, the sun’s slowly setting into the peaty sea. It’s cold, stark, and beautiful and I know back home the view is even better. ‘I was just thinking.’
Dad clears his throat. ‘You’re like your mum in that way. She used to stare off into space sometimes. It would have been useful to know what was going on in her head.’
‘I’m nothing like Mum,’ I snap. ‘For a start I’d be here for my daughter’s graduation.’
We both fall silent.
‘Sorry, love. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
He’s lovely. I’m lucky. There’s a pang in my chest when I think about the raw deal Jake got with his dad. What a sorry excuse for
a parent. I really should appreciate mine more. ‘That’s okay. Sorry for snapping.’ Shivering, I wrap my cheap olive parka coat more tightly around me, feeling dwarfed by its puffy material.
‘Here.’ Digging into his jacket pocket, he holds out an envelope towards me. ‘This arrived a couple of days ago.’ Frowning, he adds, ‘Be careful of the wind, it’s strong.’
‘I will. I hope you haven’t got me anything. I told you not to.’
He chuckles. ‘Well, I can’t promise there won’t be something waiting for you at home – along with Fleur, a doggy who’s really missed you – but it won’t be a charm. I know that’s you and your mum’s thing.’
‘Hmmm.’ I study the envelope, an unfamiliar postmark in the top left-hand side joining the typed address. ‘Looks like she’s travelling the world again,’ I say bitterly. But one side of my mouth’s already hitching up in a reluctant smile, wiping away the negative thoughts about my wayward mother as I open it. ‘Aw, it’s sweet.’ I pluck the tiny graduation cap charm from the otherwise empty envelope. There’s a small tassel hanging off the mortarboard and seeing it on my bracelet will remind me of my achievement more than having a row of letters after my name or a certificate in a folder. There’ll be a daily reminder on my wrist that I passed my Arts degree with a First, and that all the agony and hours of slog were worth it. My lecturer says I have a promising career and tremendous talent if I can channel it in the right way. Great to hear, but easy for him to say. I still have to pay the bills. Even moving back in with Dad, I need to pay my own way. I want to. I’m aware – not because he would ever tell me but because last time I was home I saw a bank statement – that he’s struggling financially.
I give him a brief hug and step back, noticing with a frown that his hair is thinning and there are more lines fanning out from his eyes. I’ll look after him when we get home. I can cook and clean again, make sure he’s taken care of.
He dips into the jacket’s inside pocket, bringing out another envelope. ‘Here. This also arrived the other day.’
‘Thanks.’ Examining the small neat script on the front, I know immediately who it’s from, and my stomach twirls. I shove it in my coat to open later. I haven’t seen Jake since that evening at Durdle Door when he kissed me, although he did at least start sending postcards again. Just a few a year: one of Alexandria Port in Egypt, one from Dubai, one from an island in the Indian Ocean. Each time they held just a couple of bland sentences about the weather and wishing me well. A bit cold, really. But I bundle them all carefully together and tie them with a purple ribbon, keeping them in the top drawer of my dresser, where I can reach for them if I need to.
***
The following day, a few hours after an underwhelming graduation ceremony and an overwhelming amount of tears and hugging as I said goodbye to my housemates and other uni friends, Dad and I walk through our front door in Bournemouth. After dinner last night we both agreed on an early night, given the anticipated excitement of today and the heaving around of boxes as we packed me up to come home. Still, despite a solid ten hours of sleep and an easy drive back, it’s been a bit of a whirlwind and we’re both weary.
After greeting an ecstatic Fleur, who was looked after by a neighbour while Dad was away, I trudge upstairs with a box under one arm and a bin liner hanging from the other hand. I told Dad to leave everything else for later and put the kettle on. I need a moment on my own. As I kick my bedroom door open and drop my belongings, a feeling of unease creeps over me. While I’ve been home for weekends or even weeks at a time between terms, the idea I’m back here for good fills me with dread. I don’t know why. I should be pleased to be here, with Dad, in the house I grew up in from the age of fourteen, in the town I love so much. But instead I feel stifled, powerless.
Going over to the window, I pull back the curtain and peek into next door’s garden, and then at our other neighbour’s patio. My shoulders drop as I see they both look exactly the same as when I left for uni. I don’t usually check; it’s never important. But today, it is. Resting my forehead against the window, I sigh. I guess when I visited before, I knew I was escaping sooner or later. Now I don’t have that. But why should I need to escape? What am I escaping from exactly? I can’t put my finger on why I feel this way.
Rising on tiptoes, I crane my neck to see the sloped red roof of Jake’s house – my childhood home. I can’t manage it; the angle isn’t right. Backing up, I pull my arms out of my parka and slide the envelope from the inside pocket, letting my coat slither to the carpet. The card’s been burning a hole against my ribs ever since last night, but Brighton didn’t feel like the right place to read it. Inserting a nail into the flap at the back, I rip it open.
It’s a graduation card. ‘Happy Graduation Smart Arse’ is emblazoned in black across a glossy white front with a picture of a donkey underneath it. Despite myself, and the fact I want to be cross with him for his soulless postcards, I chuckle. Opening it up, I’m intrigued to see what he’s written this time. I can’t imagine anything will ever touch me the way his last beautiful letter did, but even if it’s only half as good, it’ll be enough. The right-hand side of the inside of the card holds a simple message.
Well done, I knew you could do it.
(You’re lucky you didn’t get a ‘You’re a Fucking Genius’ card – it was a close call),
Jake x
But the left-hand side is crammed with tiny printed writing. Taking a deep breath, I lie back against my pillows and begin to read. Before long, I’m thinking Jake has an uncanny ability to read my mind.
Jones,
I know it’s been a long time, but I figured you needed your space, and I’ve been all over the world on a series of overseas tours. I can’t tell you much about what I’ve been doing, but I’ve seen some incredible sights and done important things. Things that needed doing to keep people safe.
It’s been more than two years and I think it’ll be a while longer yet until I see you, but at least now I know you’re home I can picture you walking along our street, or painting in your back garden, or hanging out with your friends somewhere.
I know it’s going to be weird being back. You might feel out of place, out of sorts, being home permanently. Perhaps you feel like you’ve gone backwards, circling back to where you began. But you need to remember you’re a different person from the volatile grief-stricken girl who set off for uni. I could see changes that night on the beach even though you were so upset, and I bet you’re stronger because of all you’ve been through.
Last time I was on shore leave your dad and I caught up. I still miss Ray and writing to him, so it was nice talking to Henry and hearing what he’s been up to, including how you’ve been doing. It’s obvious he’s proud of how hard you’ve worked, what you’ve achieved, and how independent you’ve become. He knows you’ve got a bright future ahead of you. So, don’t be deflated – don’t feel like coming home is a bad thing. Think of it as the next chapter in your story. It won’t be for ever. It’s a stepping stone while you find out what you’re supposed to do, until you find your own way. One day you’ll have your own house with your own family, and your dad will be a part of that too. For now, you need to make a plan and get stuck in. Good luck with whatever you decide to do and I look forward to catching up. At the moment, it’s likely to be next year at some point; I’ve just asked for a career intermission so I can take six months out to work on a voluntary project in Africa.
I don’t know whether you’re still pissed off at me for trying to kiss you, but if you want to get in touch, even by text, my number’s below. I shouldn’t have done it – as I said, the timing was off – but I don’t completely regret it, and maybe one day you’ll want to give it another try.
Jake x
As I finish reading his message, the breath shudders in my throat. The timing was off? Maybe one day I’ll want to try kissing him again? The thought of it makes me squirm. That night on the beach it was wrong for him to kiss me, for so many reasons. Ricky, the baby
, my grief. And since then I’ve just been angry at him for it, and for breaking my trust, and have never stopped to consider whether, if those things weren’t in the way, I’d have wanted him to kiss me.
I just don’t know. The thought is odd, like trying to jam a piece of a puzzle into a hole it can’t quite fit. Jake’s the kid down the road who I hung around the park with, and who stopped me from being expelled from school, who now just happens to be a man. I can concede he’s good-looking, and he’s also caring, compassionate, a great leader, someone who can be relied on, sensitive, and intelligent. But he also has a tendency towards cockiness, is overprotective and overbearing, tells me what he thinks even when I don’t invite his opinion, is uncomfortably honest about my faults, and can be a bit of a show-off.
I also don’t like the way he can see through me, as if every part of me is exposed. It’s unnerving. Vulnerability isn’t something that sits easily with me.
Plus, I can’t risk the on-off friendship we do have. I’ve come to realise I treasure that, no matter how much I’ve tried to deny it in the past. Because I’ve missed seeing him over the past two years. I’ve missed our moments together. Before he kissed me on the beach, he was being incredibly sweet and supportive.
It already hurts when he leaves with us being sort of friends; I can’t imagine how it would feel being with him, with him touring the world all the time, out of touch for months on end. Never knowing if he was coming back or not. Exactly like Mum. No, there’s no way I could handle that. It’s too much.
It’s all a bit irrelevant though, isn’t it? Because ‘I don’t completely regret it’ is hardly a declaration of love. Perhaps I’m just the one girl who’s pushed him away. A challenge. I’m sure he’s not wearing his chastity belt while he’s serving overseas. The thought makes me feel a bit sick. I bet he’s literally got a girl in every port. Picturing his tall, broad-shouldered body in his uniform, I frown. A splinter of annoyance works its way under my skin, piercing me.
The Last Charm Page 15