The Long Way Home

by Fanny Blake

  ‘As you have to ours.’ She kissed his cheek.

  ‘A souvenir,’ he said, as he peeled the label off the wine bottle, kissed it and gave it to her.

  At that moment, it seemed the most romantic gesture in the world.

  It wasn’t long before Wendy and Sam turned in. ‘The sea air’s done for me,’ said Sam with a nod to Wendy.

  ‘I’ve drunk too much, and I want to enjoy our last day tomorrow.’ Her voice slurred slightly.

  When they reached the door of the small salon, Wendy turned and winked at May. But May was so engrossed in her conversation with Max, she didn’t stop to think what it might mean. ‘I’ll be up in a minute,’ she said and turned her attention back to Max, who was elaborating on how he wanted to buck the plans his father had for him to go home to work in the motor trade. ‘My dad’s built up the business from scratch, and now wants Walt and me to take it over. But I’m going to stay in Paris. I’m sending some pieces I’ve written about the city home to a local newspaper. If they publish them, it might make my father understand how serious I am about this.’

  ‘Can I read them?’ His excitement was infectious, and she felt dull by comparison. All she had was her father’s ambition for her, which mainly involved getting her off his hands. Marriage or a job she didn’t want in London. What she wanted was to stay in Paris with Max. Now she had met him everything was changing. He had brought a draught of life-enhancing air into her sealed-up world. Even if she didn’t quite grasp what he was writing about, with him anything was possible.

  ‘When we get back, maybe.’ He yawned.

  She suspected he realised she didn’t appreciate his work as much as he’d like. When they got back to Paris, she would try harder.

  ‘We should call it a day.’ He got to his feet and held out his hand to pull her up. Her head spun as she stood, making her realise she had drunk too much. They tiptoed up the stairs, giggling, trying not to wake anyone. When they got to the landing, they shared a lingering kiss good night before going to their separate rooms. She felt the heat of his touch as his hand moved under her shirt and up her back. His body was hard against hers, pressing her back into the wall. She had never experienced anything like the electricity sparking between them. She knew she shouldn’t let things go too far but she was losing herself to what was happening to her, heady with desire. As she paused for breath, her mother’s words flew into her head. ‘Boys only want one thing, May. If you give it to them, it only ends in trouble.’

  She made herself pull back from him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ He stepped back, sounding anxious.

  ‘I shouldn’t,’ she insisted, her face burning. ‘I must go to bed.’ But all she wanted was to fall back into his arms and kiss him again. She looked up at him, drowning in his stare, took a step towards him. ‘May…’ Her mother was back.

  Her hand shaking, May put the key in the lock and tried to turn it but the door stayed firmly shut. She tried again, wishing she could fling herself through, then realised the door must be locked from the inside. She heard a stifled laugh that sounded like Wendy’s. And only then the penny dropped. Wendy and Sam were inside. Together. And they weren’t going to answer her frantic tapping.

  ‘Looks like we have no choice.’ Max was standing on the other side of the corridor, the door to his and Sam’s room open. He smile was inviting, knowing, his head tipped on one side.

  ‘I suppose not.’ This was not how she had imagined the weekend would turn out. How stupidly innocent she had been. But how much she wanted to go with him. She walked towards him and followed him into the boys’ room, her heart thumping.

  Max turned on the bedside lights as May looked around her. The room was identical to hers and Wendy’s: white walls, pretty floral curtains, a pine chest of drawers, hangers on the hooks on the back of the doors. There was nowhere else to sleep apart from the bed or the floor. What should she do? Aside from waking the other residents by trying to get in her own room again but more forcefully, nothing. As she moved towards Max, she heard her mother’s disapproving snort but she took no notice.

  ‘Sit down.’ Max was patting the bed beside him, looking at her with such longing that she felt herself weaken. ‘I just want to hold you.’

  She did as he said, watching his hand as it ran up her thigh, under her skirt, closing her eyes as she experienced a longing like nothing she’d known before.

  ‘I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, I promise.’

  Safe with his arms around her, she kissed him back, giving herself up to the sensations that were thrumming through her. Even if she tried, she couldn’t resist. After all, she loved him. He loved her. She would prove her mother wrong. Max would look after her now. Her future was secure.

  10

  Leicestershire, 2019

  As Isla and Charlie reached the M1, a foul smell filled the car.

  ‘Oh God, no! What’s that?’ Charlie picked a bud out of her ear so Isla could hear the tinny strains of whatever music she was listening to. She held her nose with her other hand. ‘It’s like rotting cabbage but much worse.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s Jock,’ admitted Isla, winding down her window to let out some air and the fumes and noise of the traffic in. ‘I did warn you.’

  ‘Jock!’ Charlie turned round in her seat to confront the innocent old dog. ‘That stinks.’

  ‘It’s a hazard of the trip.’ Isla concentrated as they overtook a couple of lorries in the slow lane.

  ‘I wish we had a dog.’ This was Charlie’s first stab at conversation since they had left Mary and George’s. As soon they had said their goodbyes and were under way, she’d gone straight back to sleep, her head thudding occasionally against the window. ‘Even one that farts would be good.’

  Isla had decided to let Charlie take the lead. She was happy driving in silence or with the radio on. Making the next few days a success was her responsibility so, turning down the radio – You and Yours, again – she leaped on Charlie’s opener. ‘What kind would you have?’

  The earbud dangled round her chin. ‘I don’t know. Something medium sized – a cockerpoo like my friend Molly’s. He’s so sweet.’

  ‘We know a gorgeous golden one – Barney. Don’t we, Jock? We meet him in the park most mornings. He’s the sweetest thing.’

  ‘I’d get a black one and call her Nancy. Mum won’t let us have one though.’ She put in her earbud and began scrolling down her phone. ‘Too much of a tie.’

  Their brief connection was almost over.

  ‘What are you listening to?’ Isla raised her voice so she could be heard.

  ‘Billie Eilish. She’s deadass.’ She sang a few lines.

  ‘Nice,’ said Isla, though they sounded bleak. ‘You go on. It’s a long drive, and I’ve got the radio.’ She remembered those endless drives to Scotland in Christmas traffic to visit her parents, fighting over the radio stations with Helen, being subjected to an ear-battering from radio stations she’d never heard of until she couldn’t stand it any longer.

  ‘That’s so old-school, Gran. Got any podcasts?’

  ‘Never got the hang of them. Radio 4’s good enough for me.’

  ‘You should try them. I’ll show you another time.’ In went the earbud. Conversation over. Isla glanced at her granddaughter, noting her nail varnish, a blue so dark it was almost black, chipped on one finger. Across her forehead and down the side of her face ran a rash of pimples, more visible now she hadn’t had time to put on any make-up. Isla turned her attention back to the road, upped the volume on the radio and listened with increasing despondency to the Brexit-dominated news, punctuated by occasional pings from Charlie’s phone.

  * * *

  ‘Why are you stopping?’ Charlie looked up as they turned off the motorway into the service station.

  ‘Jock needs a walk and I might get a coffee. Coming? You don’t have to.’

  ‘No. I’m coming.’ Charlie grabbed her black backpack and got out of the car, phone in hand. Isla wondered if
surgical removal of phones was a thing these days. ‘I’ll get something to eat in there.’ She nodded towards the services building.

  ‘Okay. I’ll meet you in there?’

  As Isla walked Jock around the scrubby patch of grass reserved for dogs and foolhardy picnickers, she thought about where they were headed. She had been relieved that Morag, whose touch-paper could be quick to light, had been quite relaxed when she called to tell her of her change of plans.

  ‘The more the merrier. At least you’ve got a grandchild! I’ll be interested to see what that’s like. The last time I saw her she was about ten.’

  The thought crossed Isla’s mind that Morag might be relieved not to have any grandchildren when she met Charlie, but she put it to one side as she returned to the car, gave Jock a drink and put him in the back.

  A year earlier, Morag had married Louise, her long-term partner. To be able to commit to one another publicly as wife and wife in front of all their friends was cause for a wild and eccentric celebration at their home of which Isla had loved being part. Lorna, however, had been noticeably absent. ‘She was invited but she cancelled at the last minute because she wasn’t feeling well. Or so she said.’ They both knew the score. Lorna had distanced herself from her sister for some time to give the most feeble of excuses for missing a day that meant so much to Morag and Louise. She hadn’t hidden her discomfort when Morag came out. By then Morag was studying to be a vet at Birmingham University, far enough from home to be able to live with her then girlfriend without any backlash from her parents. As it turned out, Lorna was the one who found it hardest to accept. Somewhere deep in her Presbyterian soul, having a sister who was a lesbian rankled. She and May had both been cool in their acceptance of Morag’s sexuality, whereas Isla and their father had celebrated with her.

  ‘Be proud of who you are,’ he had said, surprising them all. ‘Be happy. That’s all I want for you.’

  May had said nothing, just given a tight smile of congratulation. Not that she disapproved, but she hadn’t their father’s generosity of spirit. She was embarrassed by something she didn’t really understand, and worried about what her friends would think, that they might judge her in some way. Lorna didn’t have that excuse.

  ‘In this day and age too. As if,’ Morag had said, disbelieving and disappointed.

  May’s legacy had been the greatest test of the sisters’ relationship yet. No apologies or friendly words had been exchanged since. When Isla had eventually phoned the other two to suggest she stay with them and to explain why, the reception had been lukewarm at best.

  ‘Hasn’t everything been said that needs to be?’ said Morag. ‘But I understand you need to find out about Mum so… If I can help, I will. When do you want to come?’

  Lorna didn’t bother to mince her words. ‘I thought I’d made it clear that I didn’t want any more to do with either of you.’

  ‘Oh Lorna, come on. Don’t be such a drama queen. Just because we disagree over the future of the house, that doesn’t mean we should break up the family.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we’re all we’ve got left.’

  There was a moment of silence.

  ‘Well, okay then, if you must,’ said Lorna. ‘I’m not sure we’ve got anything to say but, okay, come before Aggie’s party.’

  Isla was nervous about seeing both of them, but… this was in her hands. Having Charlie with her when she saw Morag might make things easier.

  And then there was Aunt Aggie. What wasn’t she saying? As far as Isla could gather, their aunt was already making a new life for herself, her friends gathering round to support her. But when she called, Aggie was always busy or about to go out, never with time to chat. At least the sisters didn’t have to worry about her. However, Isla was determined to get her to talk about her childhood. If anyone could bring May to life for her, Aggie would.

  The inside of the service station was a blur of noise and brightness, a mecca to consumerism. She wandered from Costa where she bought a flat white and a croissant to WHSmith to MacDonalds, looking out for Charlie. There were plenty of other almost identically dressed teenagers but not the one that belonged to her. She found a seat, wondering where Charlie could have got to. Suppose she’d hitched a lift to the nearest train station where she could slip back to London and her friends? As her imagination let loose, she looked up to see her granddaughter coming towards her. Those black jeans were so tight they looked sprayed on, that crop top extremely brief. As Isla watched, she saw two young guys nudge each other, say something and stare at Charlie. Every curve in her body was neatly outlined. Isla wanted to call the men out but, without embarrassing Charlie, how could she?

  ‘Haven’t you got one of these?’ Charlie sat opposite her oblivious to the minor stir she was creating, holding out her black reusable cup. ‘You should, Gran.’

  ‘I only go to coffee shops when I’m driving. And, this is a paper cup. So I’ll recycle.’ At least she could show her granddaughter she was doing something towards saving the planet. At least she was aware.

  ‘That’s one-use plastic.’ Charlie was disapproving. ‘Honestly, you should get one of these, made from recycled coffee cups. It’s important.’

  Isla was pleased to see her so passionate about something. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘If I give you the money, perhaps you could get me one like that.’

  ‘Sure, I will.’ Charlie opened her backpack and took out an apple. ‘Want one?’

  ‘I won’t, thanks.’ Isla pushed the croissant flakes around on her plate, suddenly self-conscious about her laissez-faire attitude towards the planet and her diet. Despite all her good intentions since watching David Attenborough’s Blue Planet, she hadn’t made any additional efforts to do her bit beyond the usual recycling when she remembered. Now she asked herself why not. When she was young, she had forced Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring on the whole family, begging them to read it, and for a brief while considered herself an environmentalist. What had happened? Her youthful drive to change the world had lapsed long ago, to her shame. But perhaps she and Charlie did have something in common after all.

  ‘Listen.’ This moment seemed as good as any. ‘I know you wouldn’t be here by choice, but let’s try to make it work for both our sakes.’

  ‘Yeah, ’kay.’ Charlie was only half-listening as she busily thumbed a message to someone.

  Isla longed to scream, ‘Put that bloody phone down and listen to me.’ Instead she plumped for a more strategic approach. ‘Helen told me why you’re not at school.’

  ‘Yeah, that.’ But she wasn’t taking the bait.

  ‘If you want to talk about it, what you’re feeling… I’d be happy to listen.’ If she treated her like an adult perhaps she’d behave like one.

  Charlie smiled at her screen. ‘It’s okay. I’m fine.’ She didn’t even look up.

  ‘Okay. I’ll meet you at the car then.’ As she went to the Ladies, Isla wondered why she didn’t feel as in control of the situation as she should. Was it Charlie’s unnerving unpredictability? She was so full of surprises, Isla didn’t know what to expect next.

  11

  Paris, 1954

  ‘Pregnant?!’ Wendy shouted the word, then looked around the surrounding tables to see if anyone had overheard. She and May were sitting outside their favourite café, Au Bon Coin, waiting for one of the white-shirted waiters to bring them their Coca Colas, when May broke the news. ‘You can’t be!’

  Despite May having made the most momentous of announcements, life continued on around them as if nothing had happened. The people sitting nearby carried on chatting with the waiters moving through the tables, balancing glasses of beer, cups of coffee on their trays.

  May couldn’t stop the tears. ‘I must be.’ She lowered her voice and leaned across the table. ‘I’ve missed the curse twice now. And my bosom…’ She put her hand on the front of her tailored white shirt where her breasts were tingling.

  ‘Twice! Why didn’t you say anything before? Since
when?’ Wendy’s alarm was making May feel more anxious than she already was.

  ‘Since Brittany.’ She watched understanding dawn on Wendy’s face and, as it did, the reality of the situation was driven harder home. ‘I didn’t think anything of it until now. I’ve never been particularly regular.’ But she knew enough to recognise some of the signs.

  ‘Have you told Max?’

  May shook her head, miserable.

  ‘It is Max?’

  She was shocked. ‘Of course! You don’t think…’

  ‘No I didn’t really, but you’ll have to tell him. Sooner rather than later.’

  May couldn’t imagine how she would begin to do that. The summer had been so perfect until now. This would mark the end of everything. Never had she imagined that she would be able to find such happiness with one other person. And Max – so handsome, so funny, so clever, so loving. Every day, she counted down the hours till they met again. At night she lay in bed conjuring up his kisses, what he had said to her, what they had done together. The thrill she felt being with him was tempered by a great sense of security. These were their salad days and she didn’t want to ruin them with this.

  ‘Didn’t he use a préservatif?’ Wendy was shocked that he might not have. ‘I always make sure Sam does.’

  ‘I didn’t know. I can’t remember. And anyway it doesn’t matter now.’ She didn’t tell Wendy that she’d been sick two mornings running, and had seen Madame Dubois giving her a suspicious glance when she came out of the bathroom.

  ‘Comment ça va?’ Her touch on May’s shoulder was light but reassuring.

  For a moment, May was tempted to tell her everything, but then realised that would mean the end of her job, the end of her and Max, her return to Scotland and the shame that would greet her there. No, this was something she’d have to sort out on her own. ‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she said briskly. ‘We’re going to the zoo with Amaury and Wendy today. The boys want to see the elephants.’