A Summer Reunion

by Fanny Blake

  Had Kate told him about Amy’s suspicions, or was he genuinely interested? At that moment, Kate was failing to cut the fresh bread Amy had brought up from the village into even pieces. Instead she resorted to tearing it.

  ‘I’d like to go.’ Linda had spoken without thinking. She was curious, the only one of the group not to have talked to him when she, more than any of the others, had her own reasons for wanting to see if he was Mr Wilson or not. Not that the rest of them knew that.

  The effect of the previous day had yet to wear off. She had woken determined to put herself first for once, to do what was good for her. She had already phoned her aunt, deflected a barrage of complaints and spoken kindly to the carer. The day was now hers for the taking, and she was wearing her new blue top that Jane had convinced her to buy, just to remind herself of her resolution.

  ‘You must be joking.’ Kate had snapped her reply. ‘I thought we talked about this yesterday, Dan.’

  ‘Talked about it?’ Amy asked, putting her coffee cup down and turning to her brother. ‘What’s it got to do with you, Dan?’

  ‘Just thinking of you, sis.’ For once, his smile didn’t register in his eyes. ‘Looking after your interests … just as you look after mine.’

  ‘Well, that’s very kind. But I’m on top of my own interests, thanks.’

  ‘I’m going down there anyway.’ Dan poured himself some more coffee. ‘And it looks as if Linda’s coming with me.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure. I hadn’t really thought …’ The last thing Linda wanted to do was cause a row. She didn’t understand the antagonism that had surfaced between Dan and Amy.

  ‘Perhaps you should go.’ Kate had been silent up to that point, her attention taken by her phone. ‘Why not?’ she responded to the surprised faces of the other women. ‘Someone should go and see if Amy’s right and if Linda wants to, well, that’s great. We can stay here and make the most of the day. If he is Mr Wilson, then we’ll find out from Linda this afternoon, and we can decide what to do about it then. And if he isn’t, well, we can forget all about him again.’

  ‘Do you really want to go?’ Amy folded up her napkin and laid it beside her plate. ‘You don’t have to. Stay here with us and we’ll have a good day.’

  But, sitting on the opposite side of the table, Linda saw Jane’s face change as if she’d be disappointed if she didn’t go. She was reminded of the days when Jane would fix on someone she didn’t want around – it wasn’t dislike so much as boredom – and drive them to the periphery of the gang. And then, like the time she was invited to the pantomime party after a week of being left out and ignored, the relief and pleasure of being accepted again made all the heartache and feelings of inadequacy worthwhile. Her knee-jerk reaction was to stay – just because they weren’t teenagers any more and she could – but, she reminded herself, she had her own reasons for wanting to find out the truth.

  She nodded. ‘I know I don’t have to. I’d like to though.’ There was no need to explain. ‘And anyway, I’d love to see a bit more of the island.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Amy said. ‘You can go ahead and scout out the truth for us.’

  And now Linda was staring down at the offered transport, wondering whether she’d made the right decision. Losing her life or incurring a life-threatening injury was not something she’d factored in. His hand on her shoulder made her start.

  ‘Second thoughts?’ Dan rested his other hand on the black leather seat. ‘Unimpressed by my trusty steed?’

  ‘Not so much second thoughts as sheer terror.’ That was despite Kate coming home the previous night exhilarated by riding pillion, unable to stop talking about it. She had been positively glowing, not just from the sunshine but from inside. Something else had changed her. But, in Linda’s eyes, even achieving such a change wasn’t a prize worth the agony of its winning.

  ‘Then we’ll leave her at home and borrow one of the cars. Hang on while I check with Amy and get the key.’ He disappeared back into the house to return with a key dangling from his finger. ‘I’m in her bad books so we’re not allowed the sporty one. Come this way.’

  In the shaded parking space to the side of the house sat a dusty four by four. ‘A discreet little number,’ he said, raising his eyebrows, as he opened the passenger door and waited for her to get inside.

  While he drove, Dan began a running commentary on their surroundings as they travelled down from the mountains, skirting Sóller, through the long dark tunnel, out through a plain of almond and olive groves and then back up into the mountains.

  She gazed out at the countryside, so much greener than she had ever expected, and listened to his stories of the island. Chopin had stayed in Valldemossa – ‘He came with George Sand and her children and stayed in the Charterhouse. We’ll go there.’ About the island’s only saint – Santa Catalina Thomàs – who was born in Valldemossa: ‘You’ll see tiles on the houses showing scenes from her life.’ He talked about how, if there was more time, they should take the train over the mountains to Palma. ‘People imagine it’s all lager-swilling tourists, but not at all. There’s a beautiful historic heart to the town with so much to see.’

  ‘Have you ever thought of getting a job as a tour guide?’ She wasn’t entirely joking as she let his words drift through her head.

  ‘Sorry. Was I going on?’ He laughed. ‘I love this island, that’s all. Look, there’s where we’re going.’ As the road wound back up into the mountains, ahead of them was a village of typical stone houses stacked up the side of a valley with an unusual spire at their centre.

  ‘I know you do.’ She hadn’t meant to upset him. ‘I’m interested. Really.’

  And off he went again. Did she know that Rafa Nadal came from Manacor?

  As she had absolutely no interest in sport whatsoever, no, she didn’t.

  Eventually she was able to squeeze in a word as he took a breath in the middle of extolling the choir that sang in the sanctuary of Lluc.

  ‘What if he is our teacher?’ The question that had been bugging her since they set out.

  Dan was jerked out of his description of the former monastery. ‘Who? Walsh? We’ll play it by ear. There’s every chance he won’t be here anyway. Nothing worse than sitting in a gallery overhearing what people think about your work, watching them raise eyebrows at the price and then stroll out empty-handed.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘I used to turn out some pretty good wood carvings, if I say so myself, and I’ve exhibited them in a couple of joint exhibitions. That’s even worse – when the person you’re exhibiting with sells way more than you do. And a good reason for never doing any more.’

  She couldn’t help laughing. ‘How have you managed never to get a proper job?’ Visions of the library stacks and her old desk that never met her standards of tidiness floated past her mind’s eye.

  ‘Oh, I’ve had plenty of jobs. I’ve done practically anything you can imagine from bar staff to carpenter to backstage chippy to joiner to …’

  ‘Yoga platform maker.’ She finished the list for him as they entered Valldemossa, passing some large modern housing that contrasted with the picturesque historic face the village had presented from the road up there.

  He laughed. ‘Yep. I don’t know why but I’ve never had the work ethic and ambition that drives Amy. Different reactions to our upbringing, I guess. She wanted to get out and upwards even after her wilderness years.’

  Linda smiled. ‘And you?’

  ‘I just wanted an easy life, to work enough to keep body and soul together but no more. Here we are.’ He turned right off the busy main street, drove past a crowded car park and found a parking space among the modern residential streets. ‘Fancy some sightseeing, or shall we go straight to the gallery?’

  Linda suddenly had cold feet. If she was about to meet Mr Wilson again, would he even remember her? Like all of them, her appearance had
changed beyond recognition. Whether he did or not, she would have to tell him who she was. Would she regret opening up such a Pandora’s box? Would the others forgive her? ‘Let’s walk around first.’

  ‘I’ll take you into the old town, down to the church of Santa Catalina. You’ll like it down there.’

  ‘Because I’m so saintly?’ She smiled. If only he knew.

  He laughed. ‘No. Because I think you’re a serious soul and will probably appreciate the history. We’ll go to the monastery and the Chopin museum after we’ve done the gallery. Yes?’

  Linda agreed. She was looking forward to exploring somewhere new. They walked down a steep hill through the old part of town, through streets whose houses were decorated with the tiles he’d told her about, depicting scenes from Santa Catalina’s life, into her gaudy sanctuary and then on to the modest church.

  The place was enchanting, sleepy and attractive, where locals chatted in doorways, cooking smells filtered into the streets, stray cats lay prostrate in the shade.

  Getting back to the shopping centre where dark red parasols shaded restaurant tables and souvenir shops vied for attention was quite a jolt. But at least the streets were lined with trees that shaded them from the sun and the atmosphere was quite different from that of Sóller. While she looked around her, Dan touched her arm.

  ‘There’s the gallery.’ He pointed out a modern shop with a plate glass window. ‘And it looks like our bird is there for the taking.’

  Her stomach turned over. ‘Wait.’ She pulled him back as he began to cross the road. There was no point delaying things any further. ‘Let me go in first.’

  He looked disappointed. ‘Why? I thought we were in this together.’

  ‘We are. But if it is him, there’s something I’d like to say to him on my own before you get involved. You don’t mind, do you?’ She touched his arm to signal they were still friends. ‘I won’t be long. Give me a few minutes.’ That wouldn’t be enough, but it would have to do.

  He stepped away from her, into the sunshine. ‘Actually there are a couple of things I want to get, so I’ll do that and then come back. If you’re sure that’s what you want to do.’

  ‘It is.’ She hoped her smile didn’t betray how nervous she felt.

  While he walked down the street, she crossed the road towards the point of their visit.

  There was no one in the gallery apart from a young woman at the counter. Linda took a price sheet and sat on one of the chairs in the centre of the gallery to read the artist’s biography. She looked round at the swirls of paint on canvas that represented nothing she could identify. Abstract No 5, she read. Flight at Sunset. Only one of them had a red dot beside it. She was in the middle of reading about Jack Walsh, his lack of formal training, his love of the natural world and his desire to communicate that through his paintings, when she became aware of someone standing over her.

  ‘Hello. Can I get you a coffee, a glass of water?’ Jack Walsh himself was leaning over her. ‘I’m the artist.’

  She gazed at him and her pulse quickened. His eyes hadn’t changed, nor his mouth, although it was disguised by the shock of hair round it. Amy had been right.

  ‘No, thank you.’ She raised her bottle of water from her bag. ‘I know you are. I was at the party a couple of nights ago. We didn’t meet though.’

  ‘Was a good do, wasn’t it? Generous of them.’ He sat in the chair beside her.

  ‘In fact, I came to see you, Jack.’ The little time she had made her braver. ‘Remember the sixth form in York? St Catherine’s School for Girls?’ She stared down at her walking sandals and pulled her feet under the chair.

  She heard his intake of breath. Yes, he did.

  He stood up in front of her. ‘Linny?’ He sounded shocked, disbelieving.

  No one else had ever called her that.

  ‘So it is you. The others thought it was.’

  ‘Others?’ He took a step back, steadying himself with a hand on the back of the neighbouring chair.

  ‘I’m here with Amy, Jane and Kate. Remember?’

  ‘Dimly.’ He rubbed his beard. ‘Dimly.’

  He must remember them all. His assumed vagueness infuriated her.

  ‘But you do remember me?’

  ‘Yes. I wouldn’t forget you. How could I?’

  ‘Although you did forget to ring me after the day I left for Edinburgh. In fact, as I remember it, you didn’t phone me again. You didn’t return my calls. You only sent me a note, asking me not to bother you.’

  ‘Linny, don’t. That was a long time ago. None of that’s important now.’

  Linda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. All the anger she had kept tamped down for years was boiling up. ‘I loved you and I thought you loved me but I was so wrong, wasn’t I? Those times you just didn’t turn up, or you cut something short to go off with “friends”, or you didn’t phone when you said you would. I chose not to believe what was happening but hoped you’d come round again. When you were back at school and I’d gone to Edinburgh, you sent me that note. How did it go?’

  This was something she’d never forget.

  ‘This can’t go on any more. After what happened with Amy, Miss Milton has her eye on me. I can’t be caught seeing you. I’m looking at other jobs, and now you’re at university you’ve got a chance to move on. Don’t try to contact me. However you try, I will ignore you. This is for the best, trust me.’ She waited for him to say something.

  ‘You still remember it?’ He sounded shocked, bemused.

  ‘How could I forget? It was that first term when I realised I was pregnant.’ She stopped.

  His mouth dropped open. ‘Wha …’

  ‘I tried every way I knew how to get hold of you. I even came back to York, only to be told by your landlord that you’d moved. I couldn’t ask the school where you’d gone and I couldn’t confess to my friends. Telling my aunt was out of the question. She wouldn’t be able to face the Sunday congregation if she had found out.’

  ‘Linny, I didn’t know,’ Jack said, moving closer. ‘I changed jobs at the end of that term. It wasn’t the same after what Amy said. I went to Birmingham.’ So he did remember them. Of course he did.

  ‘And I had no idea how to find you.’ To her embarrassment, her voice cracked.

  Just then a couple of people entered the gallery and hovered in front of the paintings.

  ‘I think we should go somewhere to talk. Come into the office.’ He led her through to a small white room with two chairs, a desk and a computer; the only splash of colour was a postbox-red geranium on the windowsill. Metal bars prevented the window opening so the air conditioning was up high, providing a constant background hum.

  ‘Is this the truth?’ He took the chair behind the desk.

  ‘Why would I make this up now? I’ve had years to get used to the idea of your being a liar, of being abandoned by you, of being pregnant on my own. It was pure chance that took us to that party the day before yesterday. Or fate. I certainly wasn’t looking for you.’

  His eyes were wide. The same eyes that had once looked at her in a very different way but were now sunken and framed by lines. ‘Did you have the baby?’ He clasped both her hands.

  She pulled them away, folding her arms across her body. ‘No.’ She glanced at him to see his eyes were shut, his hands clasped tight together on the desktop. ‘How could I possibly have had it? I was seventeen. I had no one to support me. I had no money. I arranged an abortion through the health clinic but two days before I was booked to have it, I lost the baby.’ The searing pain, the blood, being rushed to hospital – those indelible images flashed in front of her.

  He was staring at her now. ‘That was bad luck, but you recovered. And, after all, it probably was all for the best.’

  ‘For the best!? For the best?’ Her voice rose as she echoed him. ‘Do you know what they had to
do? Of course you don’t because you weren’t there. Complications meant I had to have a hysterectomy. My chances of ever having children were taken away forever.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ He pushed his hand through his hair, making it even wilder.

  ‘Don’t you?’ Was this why she had wanted to confront him when she’d thought there was a chance it was him? Was this the best he could do? No remorse. No apology for not being there when she needed him.

  ‘Do the others know?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve never told anyone. I was too ashamed. I’d been such an idiot to believe in you.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ He put his head in his hands.

  She had often wondered what she’d feel if she ever saw him again, never expecting she would. Once she’d realised that he’d gone for good, she understood she had to cope on her own. As for her feelings now, she felt nothing towards him except anger. Any residual feelings she might have harboured over the years had been wiped away on sight. It was hard to reconcile this bear of a man with the art student and teacher that she’d fallen so hard for.

  ‘When they said it was you, I had to see for myself. I never thought I’d see you again.’

  ‘What do you want?’ He was sitting back in his chair, gripping the edge of the table.

  She grimaced. ‘I don’t want anything. I just want you to know that what you did as a young man had profound consequences. You ruined our lives, mine and Amy’s. Or at least you changed them forever.’ As she spoke, a thought crossed her mind. ‘Actually, there is something I’d like from you. I’d like you to come up to the house and apologise to Amy.’

  He gave a gruff half laugh. ‘Now why would I do that?’

  ‘To prove you’re a halfway decent human being and because you owe it to her.’

  He sat up straight. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. I don’t owe any of you anything. I was a young man then. You girls were completely up for it. None of it meant anything.’

  His refusal to take responsibility and the fact that he saw them as a pack to prey on maddened her. ‘How dare you say that? You couldn’t be more wrong. Perhaps not to you, but to me and Amy and maybe others I don’t know, it meant a great deal.’