It is when we reach the car that something snaps. We haven’t even left the others five minutes and he is calling them wankers. Next he claims Margaret was the civil servant who cancelled the volcano monitoring unit. He’s got no proof, just her name and the fact she lives in Cornwall. He can’t be absolutely sure it’s her, yet he’s happy to claim he knows it’s true. And now I come to think of it, he has always judged everyone like that. Has always told me I’m naïve to trust people, that I’ve led too sheltered a life, that the real world is full of liars and cheats and I should get used to it. Even though I don’t believe that really, I’ve always nodded and gone along with it to avoid a row. Tonight, though, I find that I don’t want to.
‘Stop it,’ I say.
‘Don’t be so soft, Shells,’ he says, ‘We’re better off without them.’
‘Even if we don’t find a boat?’ I can’t quite believe I’ve aired the treacherous thought.
‘We’ll find a boat.’
‘No,’ I find myself saying. ‘No. I don’t believe we will.’
‘We’ll discuss it in the car.’ That’s assuming a lot.
‘I’m not coming.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t believe you’ll find a boat.’
‘You can bloody well say here and drown then’ He climbs into the car, lowers the window and glowers at me.
‘Come back.’
‘Too late. I’m off.’
‘No, I mean … if you find a boat, or if you don’t, come back.’
‘Whatever.’ He slams the door shut, speeding out of the car park. I watch till the red tail lights have disappeared into the night, and the sound of the engine is a faint noise in the distance. He is gone. I cannot believe it. He is really gone, leaving me in a clifftop car park in the darkness. I am sick with the shock of it, I feel like someone has kicked me in the stomach, I stagger to a bench and begin to cry. Below me the waves crash on the beach. Normally I love the sound of the sea at night, now the noise feels menacing, a prelude to the horror that will come in the morning. How has my life come to this? Yesterday I was in a holiday cottage feeling cross that my boyfriend had abandoned me for work, now he has done it for real, leaving me alone to my fate as he chases an illusion. How could he do this to me? I cry and cry until there are no tears left and I am shivering with the cold. That’s when it hits me - he isn’t coming back.
It’s time for me to go back to the others. After all, isn’t that why I didn’t leave with him? Harry may have gone, but I’m not alone, I have my new friends, I am sure they’ll help. And since the bastard has taken all my clothes with him, I’m going to have to borrow a jumper from someone.
I stand up and take a deep breath. I go into the clubhouse toilet and try and sort my face out. My make-up has run and my eyes are a bit blotchy, but once I’ve got a bit of soap and water on it, I look passable and am able to make my way back to the beach. I want to show them all that I can hold it together, not let this disaster break me. I’m almost feeling cheerful till I reach the campfire to discover the atmosphere has completely changed. The friendly camaraderie is lost; now it feels as if I have walked into a court. They are all sitting where I left them, focussing their attention on Margaret. Oh shit, it’s because of what Harry said. About the woman in Cornwall, Margaret Anderson. They’ve worked it out. Fuck Harry for being right. Fuck him.
I sit down beside Poppy but she barely acknowledges me. The others don’t even notice I’m there.
‘You should have told us when we met,’ James is saying. I’ve been thinking he was quite sweet, but now his tone is accusatory.
Margaret flushes. ‘I didn’t know how to … what to …’
Nikki reaches over and touches her hand. ‘We understand.’
‘Do we?’ I’ve been jealous of her closeness to James all night. Now I’m aghast that, they are on opposite sides . Harry’s words have poisoned everything. James turns back to Margaret, his voice hard. ‘Explain then, why did you cancel the project that would have saved our lives?’
‘Yes,’ says Yan, equally cold. ‘Tell us. I’d love to know.’
Margaret is nearly in tears. ‘You have to realize what it was like in that job at that time. Before 2008 I loved working there. I really felt that I contributed to making things better. I helped set up all sorts of research bodies, and independent organisations which really made a difference …’
‘And?’ James doesn’t seem much more sympathetic.
‘And the financial crash. And the Coalition Government. And austerity. And “The Bonfire of the Quangos”.’
‘What was that?’ I ask, feeling a bit stupid that I’m the only one that doesn’t know.
‘Quasi-autonomous non-governmental organisations, they needed scaling down,’ says Poppy sharply. She seems as angry as the rest of them. I’m none the wiser but too shy to ask another question. ‘So many undemocratic bodies, wasting taxpayer resources. Some had to go. You can’t really be saying it was George Osborne’s fault you made the wrong choice?’
‘You weren’t there,’ says Margaret, furious all of a sudden. ‘The job was impossible. We had to retain, merge or abolish bodies that were all doing vital work. We had five months in which to decide what to keep and what to get rid of, with George Osborne breathing down our neck so he could make a splash with his Autumn Statement. Every single decision was difficult. Do we keep Public Health England or the National Housing and Planning Unit? The Health and Safety Executive or the Advisory Council on Libraries? A volcano monitoring unit was the least of our priorities. How was I to know?’
‘Seriously, you’re blaming the government?’ Poppy shakes her head.
It is Yan’s turn to be furious, but this time he turns on Poppy. ‘Well she’s got a point. That was a typical Tory mess that cost us more than it saved, dressed up as success. And left us with no one to sort out housing and speak up for libraries.’ Margaret looks relieved but Poppy is still not convinced.
‘That’s ridiculous. The government did loads to help first-time buyers. Quangos couldn’t stop library closures, those are local decisions. Besides, we were talking about Margaret.’
‘It’s not only her,’ screams Yan. ‘It’s the Tories. And you’re defending them.’
‘After the mess Labour left behind, we had to make tough choices,’ says Poppy.
‘And look where it got us,’ yells Yan. ‘Stuck on a beach with no hope of rescue.’
‘It’s not that simple …’
‘Poppy’s right,’ says Margaret, but Yan is having none of it, ‘Oh fuck off all of you!’ he shouts and strides off down the beach. Shit. This is going from bad to worse. Margaret is properly crying now. Nikki puts her arm round her despite James’s angry glance.
‘Oh dear, I didn’t mean to upset him, should I go after him?’ says Poppy.
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ says James. ‘He always gets like that after a few drinks. Leave him to cool off for a bit.’
Poppy nods and we settle back down into our places, but something has changed. The air is thick with recrimination. Poppy can hardly look at Margaret and James and Nikki have moved apart. I hadn’t expected to return to this. Fuck you Harry, look what you’ve done. We sit in an uncomfortable silence that is only broken when I ask if I can borrow a jumper. Nikki jumps up and gets me one. While she’s gone I consider calling Alison and Dad to update them on my situation, but they don’t know I’ve abandoned Harry, and my one possible chance of getting out of here. I can’t even tell them that it’s OK that I’ve found people and we’re fine, because looking at everyone, I can see we’re not. Still they’ll be worried. I send Dad a holding text saying we’re doing OK, as I gaze around the group seeing quite clearly that we are not. They’re all good people. Kind. Here’s Nikki now with a cardigan, and here they are being sympathetic when I say I’ve left Harry. But they’re as scared and angry as I was when we arrived. They helped me then. Perhaps I can help fix this now, give them a distraction. I’ve been itching to sing all evening. N
ow Harry isn’t here to mock me, there’s nothing to stop me.’
‘James,’ I say, ‘Can I borrow your guitar?’
He nods. I pick it up, relishing the feel of wood beneath my hands, the touch of the string beneath my fingers. How have I let this go? This is the most natural feeling in the world. It has been so long that I am hesitant at first, but soon I realize the music is ingrained in me, that the tunes I grew up with say more about me than the last four years with Harry. Tentatively, at first, then with more confidence, I begin to play.
Instagram
LisaLuskOfficial
Image: Lisa kissing an unknown man.
10 MINUTES AGO.
LisaLuskOfficial Just discovered the love of my life is stuck in Cornwall. Seriously worried for him.
Lisasbiggestfan Hang in there Lisa, I’m sure he’ll be OK.
WonderWoman2018 Oh Lisa, how awful.
AllieSimpson4 You poor thing. Love & prayers.
JaysonClark I’m available.
SteveSmith5 This is not the time. Lisa we’re thinking of you xxx
JaysonClark But I can comfort you Lisa!
StevenSmith5 @JaysonClark This is not about YOU.
Jenny5001 Hang in there Lisa, maybe he’ll get away?
LisaLuskOfficial Thanks folks. You’re the best.
Facebook Messenger
Andy Jones to Seren Lovelace
So … are you going to contact her?
10.45 p.m.
Seren Lovelace to Andy Jones
Been checking her page and thinking about it for hours. But what’s the point? What can she possibly say to me now?
BBC Breaking 11.00 p.m.
First images of Cumbre Vieja collapse … News’nTruth names officials who cancelled the early warning unit … A30 pile up at Launceston adds to driver woes … Evacuation continues across UK, American and African coasts …
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Poppy Armstrong
30 August 11.05 p.m.
It is getting late, and I am tired, but I don’t want to go to bed yet. I’m too agitated and there’s part of me that feels that I shouldn’t waste any time. After all, it’s hardly going to matter tomorrow if I’m tired. It’s been a strange evening. At times, I feel as if I’ve known these people all my life, at others like we’re blank strangers. It’s all a bit intense. Too much. I’ve come away for a bit. I need some space.
I am sitting on some rocks overlooking the sea. It is calm right now, the moon shining on the water. I still can’t get my head around what will happen. And what I’m thinking now is what I could have done differently. The friendships that I let drift, the projects I dropped. Why didn’t I ever complete that Masters in Economics? I might have stayed in London if I had, and then – well, then I wouldn’t be here, would I? I wish I’d kept up the violin. It just seemed such an effort when I was fourteen and I had better things to do with my time. Recently – before today, I mean – I’ve been thinking of taking it up again. I wish I’d sorted that out. I thought I had plenty of time. It never crossed my mind that my life would be so short, and be cut off this abruptly.
And then there are the relationships. Well, to be honest, one specific relationship. Someone who thinks I treated her very badly, a long time ago. I thought I’d put it behind me, but tonight I can’t stop thinking about her. I wonder if I could get in touch. Or whether I should? Is it fair, after all this time, to contact her, in these circumstances? Is there a right thing to do?
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Jill Hough Brave of you to even consider it, Poppy. I think you should go for it. Have you looked for her on Facebook?
10 minutes
Alice Evans Having similar thoughts about someone. Thinking let sleeping dogs lie is best?
8 minutes
Beverley Lewis I think you should. Maybe she’s on Facebook. Look her up.
6 minutes
Poppy
When Shelley begins to play, the tension eases somewhat. Nikki and James, who were at odds during the argument about Margaret, move closer to each other. James nods at her and Nikki offers her a drink, as if to welcome her back in the fold. I am not ready to be so forgiving. If it hadn’t been for her, none of us would be here, none of us. It’s all very well to blame politicians, but she made the decision – she did, not them. And then there’s Yan. All day he has been an ally, a friend, someone to hold me through this, and now he’s stormed off, angry with me. That’s her fault too. We never would have quarrelled if it hadn’t been for her. Even though the music is beautiful and appears to soothe the others, it isn’t helping me. I’m still too angry. I can’t stay here. I decide to go after Yan.
He is sitting on the top of a slope of sand, close to the shoreline, watching the tide come in. His back is rigid. He doesn’t even look round at the sound of my footsteps. He is not inviting anyone to come close. I find a rock a few feet away, hoping he’ll soften soon, while I post random thoughts to Facebook. I don’t describe the arguments – I don’t want to encourage negative comments, and I certainly don’t want anyone identifying Margaret even if I am mad at her. So I write instead about the things I am beginning to regret, the things I never got round to doing. And Seren. I don’t name her, but I write about Seren.
Seren. It’s a long time since I’ve thought about Seren. I haven’t let myself. I adored her too much, my lover, my friend. The first person since my parents died to make me feel safe and warm. But ever since Harry’s question, all I can see is an image of her face, the day she discovered that email. Had she had her suspicions before then? Gone looking for proof? Had I subconsciously left her a clue by not deleting it? Did I want to be found out? Or was it just bad luck that she happened to be playing around on my laptop and discovered the truth?
I had my story ready. Naturally. But she didn’t believe me. And once it was clear that my lies couldn’t work any more, there was no point pleading. That was the worst thing, watching the face that I loved harden into the coldness of a stranger. I found a hotel that night, and when it was clear there was no going back to her, I decided I was done. I took the money and ran. I moved down here, because it was the only other place I knew, the only place I could remember being happy. I changed my name, used my savings to set up my craft shop, learnt to surf, built a whole new life. A good life, straightforward, no complications. I’ve never talked or thought about her since. I haven’t allowed myself to. But now, tonight … well, maybe it’s time. Maybe if I explained, she would see why I did it. That I didn’t intend for things to go the way they did. I think for a moment that perhaps I could talk to Yan about it, ask for his advice. Then I see his back, remember his rage at my politics, and I let the thought go. He’s a lovely guy, but he will never understand this. I don’t think many people could.
What good is this doing me? Obsessing over a past I cannot change. I need something to distract me. The sand in front of me is covered in pebbles. I stand up and begin a search for the flattest stones. They smell of fish and rotting seaweed, but they are perfect for my purposes. I put them in my pocket, alongside the beer, and make my way to the water’s edge. The sea is calm, the incoming waves barely make a ripple on the surface. The moon has risen behind me, its white beam lights a silver path across the ocean. It looks temptingly solid, reminding me of a folk story my mother used to tell me. If I close my eyes, I can hear her voice, even now …
There once was a man who was so lonely that he was unable to sleep in his large old house. Instead he would walk for miles after dark, with only the owls and bats for company. One night he saw lights falling to earth. Deeply curious, he followed them to a glade, where he discovered a group of star women descending from the sky. They took off their star cloaks and danced in the forest until dawn when they dressed and returned to the heavens above. The man was enchanted by their beauty and returned each week to watch them dance. Till one sunrise, one of the women discovered her cloak had disappeared. She was trapped, unable to re
turn with her sisters. The man took pity on her, taking her into his home. Gradually as they got to know each other, they fell in love …
One night in bed with Seren, I told her that story and she told me her name meant star in Welsh. I thought then it was a sign we were meant to stay together, I should have known that was tempting fate . For later on, the man finds his wife’s cloak and mends it, but instead of returning it to her, he keeps it locked in a cupboard because he cannot bear to lose her. When she finds out he has betrayed her, she leaves him and returns to her sisters in the sky. For a while it looks bleak but unlike us they find happiness in the end The man is so heartbroken without her he travels across the globe to find a way back to her, finally reaching her by means of a moonbeam across the sea. If only such tales were true … If only I could walk across that moonbeam to safety, and find a way back to Seren in the process.
A stupid thought. I shake it off. Instead, I crouch down, position myself carefully, and with a flick of the wrist, throw it across the water, watching as it jumps three, four, five times. I repeat action until my pocket is empty, and then repeat my search for stones. The monotony of the repeated action is soothing, and I am lost in the moment as I was surfing earlier in the day. After a while I become conscious of little splashes in the water besides me. I glance up to see Yan, standing a few feet away, catapulting stones in the water with strong, jerky movements. It does not seem like a good moment to interrupt him, so I concentrate on skimming my arsenal across the waves, watching with satisfaction as I exceed my target each time. Until my final shot bounces ten times, earning me a grunt of approval from Yan. I take it as an invitation to speak.
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