The English Wife

by Adrienne Chinn

  ‘She was free to make her own choice, Dottie. The best man won.’

  ‘The best man didn’t win at all. She never appreciated you. I appreciate you.’ Dottie loops her hands around George’s neck and presses an impassioned kiss on his lips.

  Grabbing her arms, George pushes her away. ‘Dottie! Good grief. You’re a child!’

  ‘I’m almost sixteen, George. I’m old enough.’

  ‘Good Lord, Dottie.’ Spinning around, he rushes out of the door and down the path. The telegraph boy is waiting by the gate. George shakes his head as he grabs the handlebars of his bicycle.

  ‘No reply.’

  Chapter 47

  Tippy’s Tickle – 17 September 2001

  Sophie pushes open the screen door to Kittiwake. Three heads turn in her direction.

  She looks over at the tearful girl. ‘How’s Becca?’

  Sam brushes his hand over Becca’s blonde head. Her face is flushed pink and fine threads of her pale hair stick to her damp face. ‘She’s fine.’

  Ellie rises from the table and turns on the burner under the kettle. ‘Tea?’

  Sophie nods and sits in a wooden chair opposite Sam and Becca.

  A silence settles over the room, broken only by Ellie’s shuffling and the clink of china as she makes the tea.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sam.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’ He rubs his eyes. ‘I should have been more careful.’

  She sits back in her chair. ‘You make it sound like it was an accident.’

  He looks over at her. ‘It kind of was, wasn’t it?’

  Sophie stares at him. What on earth does he mean by that?

  Ellie glances at the two of them sitting opposite each other like two schoolchildren having a spat. She sets a couple of teacups and saucers on the table with the teapot. ‘Let it steep for three minutes. Best to put the milk in last.’ She tugs a yellow and orange tea cosy over the teapot, and sets a small jug of milk down beside it.

  ‘You forget I’m English, Aunt Ellie.’

  ‘Sorry, my dear. Force of habit. They drink it in mugs here. An abomination.’

  ‘Milk in first, though.’

  ‘On that we’ll have to agree to disagree.’ Leaning over Becca, Ellie kisses the girl’s cheek. ‘Come on, honey. Auntie Florie’s over with Taffy in the kennels. She thinks the puppies are going to be born today. Let’s go over and have a look.’

  Nodding, Becca slides off her father’s lap. She follows Ellie towards the door, turning to glare at Sophie as she walks by.

  ‘I’m sorry, Becca. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Sophie says as she reaches out her arms. ‘Can I have a hug?’

  Becca shakes her head, her braids swinging over her shoulders, and signs something to Sophie. She takes hold of Ellie’s hand.

  Sophie watches the door close behind them. She presses her fingers against her forehead. ‘She seems quite upset.’

  Sam reaches for the teapot. ‘She’ll be fine. It took her by surprise.’ He pushes a teacup across the table towards Sophie. ‘It’s never happened before.’

  Sophie pours in a splash of milk and watches it swirl through the clear brown tea. ‘She’s never seen you with a woman other than her mother?’

  ‘No. I never brought anyone home before.’

  Sophie sips the hot tea and sets the cup down in its floral saucer. ‘I suppose I should feel honoured.’

  She runs her finger around the rim of the teacup. ‘Ellie said it was an accident. With Winny.’

  ‘Yes. There was a fire.’

  ‘Oh. I’m so sorry, Sam.’

  Sam pushes away from the table. ‘I guess we need to get you to Gander.’

  Sophie nods. ‘The plane’s leaving at five. I checked when you were in the shower. I need to be there by two at the latest. It won’t take me long to get ready. I don’t have much.’

  She pushes the teacup away. ‘Look Sam, if you drop me at Wesleyville, I can get a taxi from there. You don’t have to go all the way to Gander.’

  ‘No. I’ll take you. I promised, didn’t I, Princess Grace? I’ll meet you downstairs in an hour.’

  ‘Sam, what did Becca sign to me?’

  He pauses at the door. ‘Oh, Sophie.’

  ‘Please, what did she say?’

  ‘She said, You’re not my mother.’

  ***

  ‘Fill her up, Wince. Taking Sophie down to Gander later to catch her plane.’

  ‘Ah, b’y, she’s finally on her way, then.’

  Sam turns off the bike’s engine and gets off the bike. ‘Your coffee machine working?’

  ‘Yes, b’y. Only tinned milk though.’

  Sam takes off his helmet and runs his hand though his hair. ‘No problem. Black’s fine.’

  ‘It’ll take the hair off you, b’y, if you drinks it black. Throw in some milk.’

  Inside the garage, Sam finds a paper cup and pours out the sludgy black coffee. He takes a sip, screwing up his face at the bitterness. He walks over to the garage opening and leans on the wall. ‘What do you think of her?’

  Wince peers at Sam from under his baseball cap. ‘Of Miss Julie?’

  ‘No, b’y. Sophie. What do you think of Sophie?’

  Wince shrugs his thick shoulders as he waits for the gas nozzle to click off. ‘Seems all right to me. Then again I only saw her the one time, so she could be an axe murderer for all I knows.’

  Sam grunts. ‘She’s no axe murderer. I haven’t met anyone quite like her, though. She gets right on my nerves, sometimes, some of the things she says.’

  ‘What kinds of things?’

  ‘Oh, about how I should think bigger about my work. Take the furniture-making more seriously. Find ways to earn more money. She has the idea that money defines success.’

  ‘Don’t see the problem there, b’y. Most people would agree with her. I makes some good money sellin’ lottery tickets along with the gas. Everybody wants to be rich.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Maybe I like the simple life.’

  Wince hangs the gas nozzle back on the gas pump and wipes his hands on an oily rag. ‘Sounds like she’s got you twisted up like a boot in a net, b’y.’

  ‘No. Nothing like that. There’d be no point. She doesn’t even live here. And I’ve got Becca to think of.’

  ‘Well, I don’t knows about all that, b’y. Sounds to me like you’ve been caught, otherwise we’d be talkin’ about baseball.’

  Sam takes another sip of coffee then dumps the rest onto the gravel. He walks over to Wince and hands him the paper cup. ‘Gotta tell you, Wince. Your coffee’s no Tim Hortons.’

  ***

  Sophie steps onto the potholed road at the bottom of Ellie’s house. She sets her carry-on case on the dirt against a moss-covered rock and shifts her Longchamp bag on her shoulder. Turning to look up at the house, she raises her camera and takes a final shot.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought a cutting-edge architect like you would be interested in an old house like this,’ Ellie says as her feet crunch on the rocky path down from the shop.

  Sophie turns and smiles at her aunt. ‘It’s a lovely house, Aunt Ellie. So much character. And what an amazing location. You have the best view on the coast.’

  Ellie laughs. ‘You should have seen it when I first arrived back in 1946. It hadn’t seen a lick of paint in years.’ She looks up at the house, its freshly painted turquoise trim and yellow and white clapboards shining cheerily against the blue sky. ‘Florie’s been a great help. I couldn’t have managed it without her.’ She looks at Sophie’s luggage. ‘So, you’re off then.’

  ‘Yes. My interview’s tomorrow, then I’m flying back to London on Thursday. This time next week, I’ll know whether I’ve got the job.’

  ‘Well, good luck, sweetheart. It’s been lovely having you here. Now that you know where I am, be sure to come back. Your room will be waiting for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Aunt Ellie. Sorry to spring myself on you like this.’

  Ellie waves her hand dismissively in
the air. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I only wish Dottie had made it over. It would have been nice to see her.’

  ‘And my dad.’

  ‘Yes, of course. And George. I would have liked to smooth things out with Dottie. It’s one of the things I truly do regret. Misunderstandings are a terrible thing. They cause so much pain.’ She squeezes Sophie’s arm. ‘Try not to have too many regrets, Sophie. They follow you around, you know. They cling to you like chewing gum.’

  Sophie’s laughs. ‘Chewing gum? I’ll remember that, Aunt Ellie. Anyway, I don’t have any regrets. Everything is going just fine.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’m right on course.’

  Ellie sweeps her eyes over Sophie and nods. ‘You know, you could always come back, Sophie. Take up art again. I could teach you print-making. If you get bored of city life.’

  Sophie smiles. Chucking it all in and starting fresh. A new Sophie. A happier Sophie. Ellie can read her like a book. But she’s closing that chapter.

  Ellie reaches out her arms. ‘Oh, look at us being so very English. Give me a hug.’

  The purr of a motorcycle engine grows louder and Sam rides into view, bouncing around the potholes towards them.

  Ellie kisses Sophie on her cheek and whispers in her ear. ‘Being on course is good, Sophie. But sometimes, a detour offers a richer view.’

  Chapter 48

  Gander, Newfoundland – 17 September 2001

  Sam releases the rope securing Sophie’s carry-on case to the back of the bike and sets it on the pavement in front of the airport terminal.

  ‘So, this is it, then, Princess Grace.’

  Sophie fiddles with the strap of her shoulder bag. ‘Yes, I guess so. It’s going to be strange being in New York. Everything’s changed there. It’s incredible to think how much life can change in just one day.’

  Sam nods. ‘Everything’s changed everywhere.’ He raises the handle of the case and hands it to Sophie. ‘I guess it’ll be a while before you find your way back here.’

  She runs her fingers along the handle of her case. ‘If I get this job, I’ll be up to my eyeballs with work.’

  ‘Sophie, I know I’ve teased you about being tied to your work. The fact is, I respect that. You deserve to go as far as you want to go in your career. I doubt you’ll find what you’re looking for in Tippy’s Tickle.’

  She sucks in a breath to squash the quivering in her stomach. To keep her hands from reaching out to him.

  No, you mustn’t, Sophie. You can’t just drop everything you’ve worked for to start over here as an artist. For a moment, it might have seemed possible. But it’s a silly fantasy. And Sam is just part of that fantasy.

  Her mother was right. She can’t let herself get distracted by a man. Especially now, when everything she’s worked so hard for is within her grasp. So why do I want him so much?

  ‘I’ll call you, Sam. I’ll keep in touch.’

  ‘Becca would like that.’

  ‘I thought Becca hated me.’

  ‘Becca doesn’t hate you, Princess Grace. She told Ellie this morning that she wants to have her hair cut just like yours.’

  ‘Oh, no! Her hair is lovely. I’d have given anything to have long, blonde hair when I was a girl.’

  Sam laughs. ‘I’ve learned to choose my battles around here. I’m not sure that’s a battle I want to have.’

  Sophie smiles. ‘No, probably not.’

  He stands beside the bike, looking at the terminal building behind her as he rocks her case back and forth by its extended handle. ‘Sophie, it wouldn’t be fair to her for me to get involved with someone who lives in a different country.’

  Her heart flops. Here it is. Why didn’t I see it coming? I should have seen it coming.

  She nods. ‘Of course. I totally agree. It would never work. Timing’s everything, isn’t it?’

  He looks at her as if he is trying to unravel a complex puzzle. ‘Timing and geography.’

  Sophie straightens her shoulders and tugs her jacket into place. ‘Well, then, we can chalk up whatever it was that happened between us as a bit of harmless fun between two adults.’

  ‘Is that what it was?’

  Sophie looks at Sam. ‘Wasn’t it?

  ‘It seems so.’

  Sophie swallows. ‘Tell her goodbye for me.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘No, like this.’ Sophie signs Goodbye, Becca.

  He signs Goodbye, Sophie and leans towards her. She closes her eyes. Not meaning to. Not expecting anything. The moment hangs in the air.

  She opens her eyes to see Sam standing by the bike, watching her. Shaking his head, he puts on his helmet and throws his leg over the seat. He turns the key and the engine purrs into life. He taps his helmet in a salute. ‘Good luck, Princess Grace. I hope life gives you everything you’re looking for.’

  The bike roars down the road to the intersection. Sam turns his head, checking traffic, then powers the bike out towards the highway.

  A chilly wind buffets her on the airport concourse, and she brushes her hair out of her eyes. Over on the runway two planes sit, awaiting the final stranded passengers. A yellow and black school bus pulls into the parking lot. The door slams open, and a motley group of travellers files out, filling the air with chatter. She walks over to the queue and follows them through the doors into the terminal building.

  PART TWO

  Chapter 49

  Gander, Newfoundland – 11 September 2011

  Sophie peers down at the grey tarmac, which is empty except for the articulated luggage cart snaking its way bumpily to the aeroplane. So different from ten years ago. Then, she’d watched a parade of school buses inch along the tarmac. Filing up to collect the thousands of confused and exhausted passengers from the thirty-eight aeroplanes that had been diverted to Gander on 9/11. If she’d known what the following few days would hold for her, she probably would’ve stayed in the legion hall in Gander with the other passengers from her flight. It would’ve been far less complicated.

  She follows the other passengers – mostly Americans as far as she can tell from their accents and irritating friendliness – through the open glass doors into the terminal’s cavernous 60s interior. The sweeping Modernist mural commands the room just as it had back then; it still surprises Sophie to see such a piece of art in a building so otherwise unremarkable. The bronze bird sculpture is there too, in the centre of the floor, but free of the handbags and jackets that had been hooked over the heads of the birds that day. On the far wall, the large brown letters spelling out CANADA – flanked by flags of Canada, the UK and Newfoundland – are still there, hovering over a portrait of the Queen.

  New blue vinyl seating has been arranged in neat U-shaped islands clustered around wooden coffee tables on the polished beige and brown terrazzo floor. Ten years ago all the furniture had been shoved up against the walls to make room for tables of immigration officers. They’d worn short-sleeved white shirts and drunk bottle after bottle of water. Funny she should remember that, after all this time.

  She glances over to where Mavis’s tea table had been set up. Where she’d first met Sam. Just a plant there now, looking in need of a watering.

  ***

  ‘Yes, m’dear. What can I do for you?’

  Sophie smiles at the cheerful middle-aged woman with short permed orange hair. A pair of turquoise-rimmed bifocal glasses perches on her nose. A nametag is pinned to her white blouse, Hello, I’m Phyllis printed neatly in purple ink.

  ‘I’ve reserved a car. Under Parry. Sophie Parry.’

  ‘Oh, sure, duck. Gots your reservation right here.’ Phyllis pushes a stack of paper across the orange Formica counter. ‘Could you just fill out these forms?’

  Scanning the documents, Sophie scribbles her signature and hands them back to Phyllis with her driving licence and a credit card.

  ‘Would you like to designate any other drivers?’

  ‘No. It’s just me.’

  ‘Just you goin’
off all around the island on your own? You gots relatives here you’re visitin’?’

  ‘No. Yes. An aunt. Up the coast. In Tippy’s Tickle.’

  ‘Oh, that’ll be lovely this time of year. Grab the last bit of summer sunshine. Snow’ll be here before the end of the month. I can feel it in my knees.’ Phyllis slides the credit card and licence across the counter, squinting at Sophie above her bifocals. ‘You’re not Ellie Parsons’s niece, by any chance?’

  Sophie raises her eyebrows. ‘Yes, how do you know that?’

  ‘You sounds just like her. From England, aren’t you?’ The woman nods at the portrait of the Queen on the far wall as she separates a copy of the contract for Sophie. ‘We’ve gots the same queen.’

  Sophie smiles weakly. ‘Yes, we do. You know my aunt?’

  ‘Oh, don’t make me laugh, duckie.’ Phyllis roots through a jumble of keys in a drawer behind the counter. ‘Everyone in these parts knows Ellie and Florie. They’re quite the pair, aren’t they? They’ve been onto the news here and over in St John’s all about the fish processin’ factory closin’ down in Heart’s Wish. They tried to close it down ten years ago, but there was some fuss. Right shame they closed the factory. Consolidatin’, the government said. Movin’ things to a bigger place down the coast. Lots of people out of work in Tippy’s Tickle now. They’ve been tryin’ to gets the government to do somethin’, but closures is happenin’ all over the island. Hard to make a livin’ out in the outports. Kids just end up movin’ to Toronto or Alberta where the jobs is. Can’t blame them, can you? We needs more people like your aunt. Trying to change things. And Ellie pushin’ ninety! She’s a right one, your aunt.’

  Sophie folds her copy of the contract and shoves it into her shoulder bag. ‘She is at that.’

  Phyllis points at the exit doors with a set of keys. ‘Derm’ll meet you in the lot just outside the doors. He’ll go over the car with you. Make sure it’s all right. No dents so far. Just watch the moose on the highway. Don’t worry though – there’s lots of signs. They’ll flash fit to blind you if they sense a moose in the area.’ She waves to the left. ‘Just to the left once you’re out the door. Big Budget sign. Sign gots a crack so we can’t light it up at night right now, which is a cryin’ shame. How’s people meant to knows where we are if they can’t see the sign?’ She hands Sophie the car keys. ‘Got Derm’s brother on the case. Should be fixed by the time you brings the car back. But in case it’s not, you knows where to find us now, don’t you, duck?’