by Erin Green
I open my mouth to reply, but decide not to utter another word. Let her enjoy her kiss.
‘Please don’t burst my bubble,’ she pleads. ‘By the way, Ruth, I like your hair colour. It makes you look sassy.’
I agree. Despite the timings going adrift when Rob arrived, the colour suits her.
Ruth acknowledges the compliment before challenging me.
‘Are you trying to convince me you wouldn’t switch places with Benni right now?’ she says, staring across the table as our lovesick friend gazes dreamily into space.
‘Mwah!’ I squawk sarcastically, more to convince myself than Ruth.
‘Especially after last night?’ she adds quietly.
Benni sits tall, her gaze bouncing inquisitively between the two of us.
‘Thanks, Ruth,’ I say.
I stand, collect my empty teacup and bolt towards the kitchen to busy myself.
Ruth
‘He’s a good-looking chap, I can tell you that. And boy, did Emma jump when she spied him on the doorstep,’ I say as Benni settles on the edge of my bed to hear about last night’s drama. ‘She dropped the tea and biscuits all over the floor – I eventually cleaned them up once he’d left, which was gone midnight.’
‘So this is the guy who’s been jealous and controlling?’
‘Yep, the very one. She reckons he suffocates her with his constant need to know everything, making all the decisions in their life and even refusing to accept that the marriage is over. She says she’s been forced to act like this to escape the relationship.’
‘We were sitting on the quayside watching the harbour lights,’ Benni says dreamily, ‘so I got back much later than I was expecting. But I’d never have guessed she’d had a visitor. Nothing’s out of place.’
‘I stayed on the bottom stair in case she needed me. I heard it all. Every single word. I felt awful listening while they argued back and forth, but what choice did I have?’
‘So she lied about being single?’
‘Yep. It turns out they’ve been living separate lives for ages but within the same house, like a marriage on autopilot. Emma felt she had to get away for a bit to make plans that she could implement on arriving back home. From what I can gather, she’d told him she was staying with friends in Kent for a few days, but he searched her emails and found the booking confirmation for Rose Cottage. He went mad at the “solo” reference, given that they’re still married. She obviously hadn’t bargained for the opportunity at the ice cream parlour nor the added complication with Martin. She’d told Rob that she was planning to spend her redundancy money on opening a coffee shop or a bakery in Rugeley.’
‘Which is what she told us too,’ interrupts Benni caustically.
‘Absolutely. Anyway, her original plans changed as the days went by, which I understand because mine have too, and you’ve said pretty much the same about wanting new beginnings. But surely she should have been upfront with him rather than sneaking off behind his back like that.’
‘Bloody hell . . . Still, who knows what either of us would do if we were that unhappy,’ says Benni, the voice of reason.
‘Perhaps . . .’
‘What a night! What’s she going to do now?’
‘I’ve no idea. She’s ploughed her redundancy money into this guy’s business, and I’ve no doubt the deal is signed and sealed by now.’
‘What a minx. I’d hate to think what else she’s been getting up to but hasn’t mentioned,’ says Benni with a twinkle in her eye.
‘Benni, don’t joke. This couldn’t be any worse. I really thought I’d found a new friend for life, but after last night, I’m not so sure.’
Emma
I don’t really want to leave the cottage, knowing that Ruth and Benni are bound to have a tête-à-tête regarding my antics. As I close the wrought-iron gate, I’m tempted to dash back inside and catch them in the act, proving they lack decency and manners.
I don’t but my urge to be proved right is nearly overwhelming. Instead, I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin and set off towards the ice cream parlour.
Three teenagers are sitting at one of the tables as I enter, though none of them have an ice cream. Luca is cleaning the display counter’s glass cover with a cloth and soapy water.
‘Hi, Luca, is Martin about?’ I automatically head around the counter, but halt on seeing his reaction. His eyes widen, his mouth gapes open but nothing comes forth. ‘Luca?’
‘He’s not here . . . Wednesday is his day off,’ he stammers, wringing the cloth in his hands. He looks nervously over his shoulder before continuing. ‘You might do better calling him if it’s urgent.’
‘OK, thanks, I will. Is it all right if I nip upstairs and take a look at the windows? I don’t want to waste money on blinds if it’s easier to have a curtail rail.’
Luca gives a fleeting nod, quickly returning to his task.
I open the door leading to the private staircase and bound up the steps. I might as well get one job done before explaining to Martin about Rob’s fleeting visit last night. He’s divorced; he’ll understand exactly how the ground lies when a marriage fades and emotions unravel. He’s lived it, breathed it and survived the legalities.
I insert the Yale key that Martin gave me. It feels great to be entering my own little place, regardless of how grubby and junk-filled it is at the moment. In the lounge area, streams of brilliant sunlight illuminate the space, making it more appealing. I watch the dust motes drift and dance around the room.
A coy smile creeps on to my face when I spy the scuff marks on the dusty floorboards where our naked bodies cavorted only two nights ago.
I can’t afford to waste time reminiscing about that night; I need to speak to Martin. I dart to the main window and begin inspecting the surround to decide on blinds or a curtain rail.
‘Excuse me . . .’ The woman’s voice has an edge. I imagine her confused expression before I turn around to face her.
‘Yes, can I help?’
She’s older than me, nearer Ruth’s age, and incredibly thin. Her collarbones poke forward like wire coat hangers and her sinewy neck gives her a harsh appearance that her messy greying bun doesn’t soften.
‘I was about to ask you the same thing,’ she retorts. ‘Can I ask why you have a key?’
‘Martin gave it to me. I’m just checking the windows ready for moving in . . . you know, deciding whether to have blinds or curtains. I’m not sure which I’d prefer.’
‘Excuse me, this place isn’t for rent. I don’t understand how this little arrangement has come about, but I think you need to speak to my husband about it.’
‘Your husband?’ I physically reel backwards as the words punch home.
‘Yes. My husband,’ she repeats emphatically.
I stare at her blankly, questions forming in my mind, then point idiotically at the clean area of floor by her right foot. She turns, glances down, then looks back at me bemused.
‘Floorboards?’
I haven’t the heart to explain.
‘You’re married to Martin?’ I manage.
Her nod of confirmation shatters my new beginning like shards of glass dropped from a great height. I drop the Yale key and run from the apartment, down the stairs and out through the door leading into the ice cream parlour. Luca is standing stock still in the middle of the floor, waiting.
‘You knew! Why didn’t you say?’ I scream, unleashing my fury.
‘He didn’t say a word about giving you a key to upstairs . . . I had no idea anything was going on apart from the ice cream you’ve created and delivered.’
‘He’s screwed me over for ten thousand pounds and you’re telling me you don’t know about it?’
Luca’s gaze shifts from my contorted features to something behind me. I turn and find Martin’s wife standing in the doorway, hands on hips.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I spit. ‘I’ve ploughed ten thousand pounds into this business . . . I signed the paperwork on Saturday morning. Ask him, check if you want. I’m not lying.’
The atmosphere becomes heavy as Luca and the woman glare at each other.
‘I promise you, Liz, he hasn’t said a word to me,’ Luca says eventually.
‘The conniving bastard!’ she hisses, storming forward and roughly grabbing my arm. ‘And you, you can get out of my sight!’ She drags me unceremoniously towards the parlour door, wrenching it open and pushing me out on to the quayside. As I stagger upright, she locks the door with a defiant flourish. I stare open-mouthed at Luca, who’s pacing the tiled floor and shrugging as she rants.
I grab my mobile phone and call Martin. Surely he’ll have an explanation.
Benjamina
We sit at Ziggy’s favourite table in the Sprat and Mackerel, ignoring the picturesque view of the harbour and sipping our drinks.
I have my dad’s chin, and I can’t stop staring as he speaks.
No one has ever told me that I look like him. Has Mum secretly compared me to him whilst speaking to me? She must have. She might not have liked his decision but she once loved his face. Looked forward to seeing him when he came home from work, waking up beside his smiling eyes. Maybe not at the end of their relationship, but certainly when they first met. Am I a painful reminder of him?
‘Are you OK, sweet?’ Ben’s question breaks into my thoughts.
‘Sorry, yes, I’m fine. I just can’t believe this is happening. Given Mum’s explanation, I never thought about seeing you, and now . . . well, here we are, and it has truly blown my mind. I don’t know what to think or say. But I’m grateful that it’s happened.’
‘Me too,’ he says. ‘I realise it’s a shock for both of us, and I don’t want to rush you, but I did mention our meeting at home. I told my boys on the night we met.’
‘No way!’ I squeal in delight. A wave of acceptance rushes through my veins like malt vinegar into an empty pickling jar.
‘Yeah, I did. I’ve no intention of keeping you a secret. I sat the lads down and explained what had happened in the shop. When I dropped them back home, I even mentioned it to their mum, Jess. She’s always known about Dan, but I told her about you and your holiday, and they’re all chuffed to bits.’
‘Is everything amicable between the two of you?’
‘Oh sure. Jess is great – we’ve stayed friends despite the relationship ending. It would be wrong for the lads to have us at war.’
‘Great stuff. And your sons, they want to meet me?’
‘Ben always wanted a sister; he was dead upset when Will was born.’
‘Ben?’
‘Yep, another Ben.’
I’m transfixed hearing about my teenage half-brothers – it’s weird, and yet I’m ready to accept whatever they bring to my world. I can’t wait to meet them. I want to be their big sister. Fingers crossed, we’ll get along slightly better than me and Dan have in the past.
‘This feels like a new beginning,’ I say eagerly.
‘It is, Benni, but we can’t rush things, can we? I wouldn’t want to rock the boat for you back home. We need to be open with everyone.’
He’s right. I need to plan how I’ll deliver the news to Mum; then, depending on Dan’s reaction, he might want a share of the excitement too. Deep down, I’m hoping he doesn’t know about Ben. Hoping he hasn’t kept a dark secret from me.
‘Absolutely,’ I say. ‘But their reaction is their problem, not mine. I can’t worry about what’s out of my control, can I?’
‘Nope. But for the record, if Dan wants to make contact, I’ll happily welcome him into our family too.’
I’m chuffed to bits. I couldn’t ask for more. I’d say exactly the same if I were in his shoes. Obviously we have more in common than bone structure.
‘That’s very fair of you, Ben.’
‘He’s still my lad despite his lifestyle – and your mother’s opinion. The choice is his.’
I have no idea how I’ll broach the subject with Dan, or even when, but given the sincerity with which Ben’s words are spoken, I have no doubt about what I’ll be suggesting to him. Who knows, over time he might venture down here himself and meet our dad face to face.
‘Does that sound fair?’ asks Ben, finishing his cider.
‘I’d say so. You’ve put the ball in his court.’
‘Good. I realise you’ve only a few days of your holiday remaining, so please don’t feel you’re being pressured, but what’s your plan for the rest of the day?’
‘Nothing really. Ruth and Emma are both busy, and Ziggy will be sleeping ready for his night shift at sea. So I can do as I please for the rest of the day. This holiday has made me realise that I should be more proactive in life.’
‘It sounds ridiculous, but I think of life like this: that every day, we each pave our own yellow brick road,’ laughs Ben. ‘Mine won’t have the same destination as yours, but it’s what I’ve created for myself. Does that make sense?’
‘Absolutely,’ I say, adding, ‘And today my yellow brick road travels towards an extended family, who I can’t wait to meet.’
‘That’s good, because they’re desperate to meet you too. In fact, they’re wandering around the harbour right now, hoping I’ll call them in to join us.’
‘Do it, ask them to drop by,’ I say, excitement bubbling deep inside.
Ben grabs his mobile and quickly texts his sons. Within a second, there’s a speedy reply and, couple of minutes later, the pub door opens, revealing two eager faces peering in our direction.
I squeal with delight as two lanky teenagers with identical chins to mine enter and head for our table.
Emma
I feel ridiculous. Dashing from room to room grabbing my scattered belongings: underwear drying on radiators, bathroom toiletries from shelves, sandy pumps from the porch, then back upstairs to my bedroom like a fugitive who’s spied a flashing blue light nearing his hideout. It’s the fastest I’ve moved in years.
I stuff the items into my suitcase any old how, my hands frantically working on the bulges until the case can close securely.
I have five minutes before my taxi arrives, so if I’ve forgotten anything, then so be it. I’m prepared to lose it purely to be out of here, away and gone. I heave the suitcase from the bed, bumping it against my legs as I manoeuvre it along the landing and down the narrow staircase.
I have one last dash around the ground-floor rooms. I could leave a note on the kitchen worktop – the first place they’ll look – but I won’t. I’ll text them later from the train. If I text too early, they’ll try and talk me out of it, I know they will. This way, they’ll read my message and understand without trying to persuade me to stay, especially after Rob’s visit last night.
If I walked in on Benni skulking off like this with days remaining of her holiday, I would try to talk her around. I’d make her tea, give her a big hug and tell her there are plenty more fish in the sea, and that she should take these extra days to straighten out her thoughts and get herself together before deciding on her future. But I can’t follow my own advice. Which makes me doubly determined not to be here when they arrive back full of the joys of Brixham sunshine and harbour talk. I’ll only bring them down with my pathetic tale of woe.
I’m thankful that I didn’t confide in them about viewing the apartment, or our little rendezvous. I could die with embarrassment when I think about us romping on bare floorboards amongst the junk.
What a silly bint I am!
Why was I even surprised when the git didn’t answer his phone?
I’m suckered in the moment anyone shows me the slightest bit of attention or kindness. Hook, line and sinker like a bloody crab on a line simply waiting to be reeled in and then thrown back into the mire once I’ve pr
ovided some entertainment. I’m nothing but a glorified bloody crab scrabbling for the titbits of life.
I hear the sound of a car drawing up by the cottage gate, and stride into the lounge to see a red taxi waiting outside the large bay window.
I lock the back door, grab my jacket from the peg and haul my suitcase over the doorstep before giving Rose Cottage’s front door a mighty slam.
‘Hello, love, Paignton station, is it?’ says the elderly driver, opening the boot and lifting my suitcase inside.
‘Please.’ I have to resist the urge to tell him to hurry. I don’t want the other two to arrive in these final moments. I simply want to leave. Be gone. Forget I was ever here.
Ruth
The main Berry Head road, leading to the newly built accommodation, is steep and winding. I use the excuse of the beautiful scenery to pause and take a breather, looking out across the harbour view. I feel exhausted, which surely isn’t right whilst on holiday.
This morning has been hectic. First Emma’s emotional state over breakfast, then Benni’s delightful news followed by my bringing her up to date about Emma’s drama. Then finally my own joy at delivering my second completed watercolour to the gallery.
I stare into the distance and see the lighthouse proudly positioned at the end of the harbour’s defence barrier. It feels amazing to think that only a few days ago I was sitting at the base sketching its outline. Today Dean will frame my composition before displaying it on his gallery wall. Amazing what you can achieve when you put your mind to it.
I watch the waves crashing against the concrete defence barrier, the herring gulls ducking and diving overhead and the billowing clouds drifting gently by.
How peaceful, to stand and watch the world go by. How idyllic.
But who am I kidding? I can’t take such a leap of faith at my age . . . or hers. Though the estate agents don’t know that. As far as they’re concerned, I’m an independent woman looking to escape to the seaside. I bet they show hundreds of eager holidaymakers around their apartments in hope of a sale.
I lean against the stone wall, its gnarly texture comforting beneath my palms.