Sleep was my escape. I used it often against the anxious faces of my family. I would have liked to sleep for ever but the thread of life that was Adam drew me back.
I fought not to drown. I fought hard to surface. I did not want to become enmeshed in psychiatrists and counselling. Dad understood. He was constantly at the hospital with me, monitoring my medication, questioning my treatment.
The drugs took a while to work and initially I hated how they made me feel. But after a while I had to admit they did blur the edges. They did prevent me looking too far ahead. They did take away the relentless anxiety. Dad was convinced I was malnourished and this could cause chemical changes in the brain. He prescribed daily protein injections and after a while I began to feel stronger.
One day he took me out for a drive. I didn’t want to get out of the car but we parked on the old quay at Lelant and watched the sea for a while. It changed colour so many times as the tide shifted and the clouds moved. I became mesmerised by the constant rhythmic movement of water.
All of a sudden a red hang-glider slid into a clear, vividblue and cloudless sky and hung suspended over the sea like a human kite. I began to weep. It reminded me of another time, here with Tom. We had been sitting on the beach with my sisters and hundreds of children. Tom seemed happy enough, but I watched him stare longingly up at a hangglider as it shot this way and that on a thermal in an endless sky, free as a bird.
I knew in a flash that Tom could never be entirely domesticated. He would always have one eye on the air or the sea, the jungle or the desert. It was how he was. He loved me, but I would never tie him down. It was lucky that I never wanted to, that I had my own life.
Spring came slowly and I began to feel stronger. I walked sometimes in the hospital garden full of daffodils and small fluted tulips. When it seemed to me impossible to move forward, I conjured the face of the boy and he anchored me to a future.
One morning I was sitting in a chair by the window of the hospital and I saw on the telegraph wires green parrots and small bright parakeets. They all sat in a row as if they really belonged there, chattering and screeching. My heart thudded. I was hallucinating. I wasn’t getting better. I must be in the grip of incipient madness. Terrified, I rang the bell.
The nurse came to the window, peered out and laughed. ‘Jenny, the birds are real. You’re not seeing things! They must have escaped from Birds of Paradise down the road. It happens occasionally; I’ll go and ring them.’
As she left the room I knew it was time to go home. I was coming out of my trance-like dependency. I wanted to feel normal again. I wanted to be home. I knew how lucky I had been to have James. I could have been consigned to a mental ward. Instead, my father had let me opt out for a while in a small cosy hospital where everyone knew him. He had protected me like a sheepdog and built me up physically, but most of all he had had faith in my ability to mend.
I could have gone home a while ago, Bea had urged me to, but I had needed a neutral space for a time. Back in Tredrea, up in my old bedroom at the top of the house, it would have been easy to revert to being a child again. Out of the windows the sea glittered and the seagulls swooped and dived, filling the sky with their noise. I longed to feel safe as I had when I was growing up and I knew it was never going to happen. I could never ever feel entirely safe again.
As I slept that terrible afternoon waiting for Tom and Rosie to come back from the zoo, my life had been snatched away. While I slept, my husband was coldly, calculatingly being targeted. It made no difference that he had his child in the car with him. That is the hardest thing to bear. Rosie should have had a whole full life to live, but I knew that I had to stop longing to have died with them.
I lay back on my narrow bed. Ruth and I had spent hours and hours together up in this room playing. Somehow, it was hard to make the connection between the girl of my childhood and the woman who was Adam’s mother. I didn’t want them to be the same person. I didn’t want that.
My bedroom was like returning to a small familiar nest. I realised that for months everyone had been making decisions for me. Now, I made a first irrevocable decision for myself. I did not want to return to London. I wanted to stay in Cornwall. Not here at home; I had to find somewhere to rent for a while.
I needed to be on my own to grieve properly. Maybe I would never be able to design again. Something indefinable had gone. I no longer had the ambition, imagination or wish to create. I was unsure if the feeling would ever come back.
When I told Bea and James of my decision, Dad said gently that I owed it to Flo and Danielle to tell them as soon as possible. I felt I was betraying them both. I quailed at the thought of a long conversation, unsure if I had the energy beyond the basic decision to opt out. I did not know how viable the business would be long-term without my input.
Mum rang and invited them both down for the weekend. Flo had visited me in hospital, but Danielle had wanted to wait until I was home. I talked to them most days on the phone and I knew it would be difficult for both of them to leave London together. They said they would fly down. I knew then that they must suspect what I was going to say.
I wrote notes to Adam but I never posted them. He sent me a postcard once and I had seen him twice at the hospital. He was the sweetest boy. It was not possible to talk about Tom because Ruth was always there, but we would; I promised him that we would.
Ruth had said she would bring Adam down at half-term and we suddenly realised that this coincided with Flo’s and Danielle’s visit. Bea insisted on inviting both Adam and Ruth to lunch on the Sunday. Flo and Danielle would be here.
‘Too many people, Mum, I can’t cope.’
‘You don’t have to, darling. You will have had a chance to talk to Flo and Danielle all Friday and Saturday. No one expects you to sit making small talk. You can disappear when you’ve had enough. Ruth is bringing Adam all this way for you and for him. It’s hard for her.’
‘I know,’ I said quickly. ‘I know, it’s just…’
‘It’s hard for you too, Jen. You’ve made a huge decision not to go back to London. I think you’re very brave and I’m sure both Flo and Danielle will understand completely. Try not to worry.’
I sat down at the huge battered table that had held so many squabbling children squirming for attention. ‘Danielle is intensely practical. I think she will have considered what she and Flo might do if I don’t go back.’
Bea looked surprised. ‘Do you think so?’ Then she said, ‘I think you need to talk to your father about finances some time soon. I know you have an army pension, but is it going to be enough to live on without you working?’
‘I don’t know.’ I got up. ‘There’s only me, I don’t need much. I think I’ll walk on the beach before supper, unless there’s anything I can do, Mum?’
‘No, darling, you go.’
I heard her sigh and turned as I went out of the back door. ‘I’ll talk to Dad, Mum, don’t worry about me. I won’t be a burden on you both, I promise.’
Bea looked sad for a moment. ‘None of our children could ever be a burden to either of us. Go and walk, it’s a wonderful evening.’
I walked down the hill. It was early evening and the colours were muted and faded, sand and sea melting into each other as the air cooled. There were two little clumps of holidaymakers on the beach, building sandcastles in the last of the day. I sat on the wall and watched them. A tiny fair girl was sitting on her own, engrossed in placing shells on a mound of sand.
I moved nearer to her and she looked up and smiled at me. I longed to crouch to her level but dared not in case her parents thought I was a threat to her. It had happened before and now I was careful.
‘What a beautiful castle,’ I said.
‘It’s a fairy castle.’
‘I can see that. Are there fairies inside?’
‘Of course, but they are sleeping, cos they are tired.’
‘I see. I didn’t know fairies got tired.’
‘Well, course they do. Doin’ m
agic makes you dog tired.’
I laughed. ‘Aren’t I silly? Of course, it must do.’
The child looked up at me and giggled. I saw her mother get up slowly and walk my way.
‘What’s your name?’ the child asked.
‘Jenny.’
‘You can help me if you like.’
‘That’s kind of you. What’s your name?’
‘Holly.’
‘That’s a lovely name.’
‘Yes, ‘cept Daddy’s silly, he sometimes calls me prickly.’
I laughed again as her mother reached me.
‘Hi,’ she said, eyeing me carefully.
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Well, Holly, I have to go, but that is the best castle I’ve seen for a long time.’
Holly looked up at me. ‘You can help me.’ She was bestowing me with her favour like a little princess.
‘I’m afraid it’s time to go home for supper, Holly.’ Her mother crouched down to her level.
‘Oh, bollocks,’ Holly said loudly and beamed up at me.
‘Holly!’ But her mother raised her eyebrows at me proudly.
‘Daddy says it.’
‘I know he does, but that doesn’t make it right.’
‘Goodbye,’ I said. I walked away over the sand quickly before I caught the child roughly to me and whirled her round and round in the sheer joy of her being herself: a unique and definite character.
TWENTY-NINE
The seagulls wake me with their screaming and their great heavy bird feet on the roof. Sunlight arcs across my bed. I sense the heat of the morning, heavy and windless. It is going to be a scorcher. I stretch and remember with a little happy start that Tom is here, lying just below me.
I move swiftly down the attic stairs, circle the house, then open his door a crack and slide into the spare room. He is still asleep. I lift the covers and get into bed with him.
He wakes with a jump. ‘Jenny! What are you doing? Get out of my bed! What will your parents think? I’m trying to make a good impression. Go away this instant!’
I laugh. ‘No way! I can’t believe you are so boringly straight. Hello…this is 2001, you know.’
‘Straight!’ he hisses. ‘I should flipping well think so. Rule one: a man does not bonk his girlfriend in her father’s house, especially when he’s only just been introduced.’
‘Oh,’ I say sweetly, lying in his bed and yawning. ‘What a shame. Dad is such a darling, he would probably bring us tea in bed if I called.’
Tom leaps up. ‘Get out of my bed, you little floozy, and stop trying to embarrass me.’
I smirk and relent. ‘Bea and James set off at first light. They’re sailing with friends in St Mawes.’
‘You little punk. Right, you’re in big trouble.’
I grin. ‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah!’ He jumps on me and I scream for mercy.
‘OK. OK. I’ll buy you breakfast in St Ives.’
Tom stops tickling me. ‘Full English? No wifty-wafty croissants?’
‘OK, fatty. Sorry, sorry.’
‘Go and get dressed, woman, and stop harassing me.’
We walk across the beach towards the harbour and one of the cafés on the front. I love this time of day. Few people are about and the sea and buildings are pink-tinged. Most places aren’t yet open but we find a tiny place next to a small art gallery right on the harbour.
Tom orders a huge breakfast and I have croissants.
‘Your parents are great, Jenny,’ Tom says. ‘Not quite what I imagined.’
I look at him, surprised. ‘What did you expect them to be like, Cornish bumpkins?’
‘Silly girl! It’s just that you dress in a rather…unique, dress-designery way and I thought they might be arty types.’
I laugh. ‘No, Bea and James are pretty conventional. So are the rest of the family. I’m a bit of an afterthought, so genetically flawed.’
Tom leans towards me. ‘Not flawed, just wonderfully, irresistibly yourself.’
My stomach does a swoop. I so want to be cool. I do not want my eyes to give away my feelings and it’s hard. Danielle says I make it so obvious how I feel about him that she wonders why Tom doesn’t take off in fright.
I am terrified he might. He looked so crestfallen when I said I was coming down to see Bea and James that I tentatively told him he was welcome to come if he liked. To my surprise he jumped at it.
He says, with his mouth full, ‘James and Bea remind me of my own parents. Comfortingly familiar, with family photographs dotted about in silver frames and their crosswords or golf. With their little routines and air of bewilderment at how the world is panning out. With their gardens and their dogs and their understated affection for us expressed in feeding us until we burst. I love it. We all need great dollops of home to keep us sane.’
His parents live in Singapore and he sounds wistful.
‘Tell me about your parents.’
‘They are very typical colonial expats; especially my father. My mother is rather beautiful. She’s spent her whole life looking after my father, my brother and me, and helping with the family business. She seems to have been happy living her life through us all, but, hey, would I really know?’
He flicks his hair out of his eyes and smiles at me. His eyes turn a deep purple when he’s thoughtful or reflective. I think, with a strange surge of excitement, Here is a man who could never bore you. There would always be more to know, something interesting to talk about.
We pay our bill and walk round to Porthmeor beach. The waves slide in, the sea as flat as a pond to the disappointment of the teenage surfers standing leaning on their boards.
Tom takes my hand and gazes up at the white columns of the Tate Gallery. ‘I’d almost forgotten. I came to St Ives years and years ago for a party. I was a cadet at university and we’d come down to sail at Falmouth…’ His face changes suddenly as if he has remembered something he doesn’t want to. ‘Race you to the end of the beach. Come on.’
‘You’ll be sick. You’ve just eaten breakfast.’
But he’s off ahead of me, sprinting towards the rocks, singing some old army song.
THIRTY
James and Bea sat in the window seat of their drawing room looking out on to the garden. Beyond the wall the sea shimmered on the horizon and small boats scudded cheerfully on the surface, dancing to the wind. It was afternoon and outside, Adam, Danielle and Ruth were playing croquet and Jenny and Flo sat on the lawn talking. It looked so peaceful, a quintessential determinedly old-fashioned English afternoon. For the moment any undercurrents remained safely hidden.
Yet this morning, Bea thought, had resembled a bizarre cocktail party full of disparate people gathered by chance. Everyone was trying so hard to say the right thing that by lunchtime the strain had rendered them almost speechless.
When Adam walked into the house with Ruth, Flo and Danielle had been shocked by his likeness to Tom. Flo had to leave the room. Family photographs lay everywhere in the house and James watched Adam peering covertly at the photos of Jenny, Tom and Rosie on the hall table with barely concealed excitement.
It was good to see Jenny’s pleasure in seeing Flo and Danielle again. They had both been half expecting that Jenny would not go straight back to work and they were making it easy for her.
The boy out there playing croquet had abruptly entered their lives and it occurred to James all of a sudden that Tom’s parents in Singapore would have to be told they had a grandchild.
Was Jenny ready to accept the stark fact that something of Tom lived and breathed and Ruth was his mother? A piece of Tom survived, but not for her. James felt anxious. He thought it was still too soon for her to absorb all the implications. Naomi Watson seemed to think she could cope, with help, but James knew his daughter and wondered how long she would accept professional help.
The sun shone through the thick panes on to Bea and James as they sat resting together and they closed their eyes and raised their faces to the warmth of it letting go of it all
for a minute. They knew each other so well that they did not need to speak.
So many little dramas and tragedies had been played out in this old wind-battered house by the sea. It echoed with years and years of children’s voices. With difficult and sad times as well as happy. Bea had had a mid-life crisis. He had been terribly attracted to one of the nurses in his practice. Hard, unforgiving years groping their way back to one another in a house suddenly empty of children.
He opened his eyes for a moment, looked at Bea’s face and smiled because even now he could see clearly behind the lines the very pretty, vivacious girl she had been. They were both still together. They still had each other, thank God.
The scent came from a bowl of hyacinths on the table, and from freesias on the mantelpiece and narcissi on top of the piano. The scent was heady, overpowering in the silent room.
‘We ought to take tea out into the garden soon,’ Bea said without opening her eyes.
‘In a moment, Bea. In a moment,’ James said sleepily.
Danielle and Ruth walked along the beach, every now and then turning to watch the surfers ride in on enormous waves. People sat or walked along the shore, the wind flipping the hair into their eyes. At Bea and James’s tricky lunch both women had felt an instant rapport, had recognised something in the other that distanced them both from the beautifully laid table and the careful politeness of all those round it.
Danielle had been quite prepared to dislike Ruth for the simple reason that she had managed to affect their lives so dramatically, but when Ruth had appeared in the room with the boy, tall, elegant and tense, Danielle had felt a kinship she couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was the natural defence for someone caught in a searchlight they hadn’t expected. She had watched with sympathy as Ruth downed two gins and tonic in record time.
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