by Kate Forster
‘I’m going to try and paint,’ said Tressa.
‘With your left hand?’
‘No, if I hold the brush a certain way and peel back the cast from my thumb, I can manage.’
Dan frowned. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.’
‘I don’t think you’re my doctor,’ said Tressa, but she wasn’t smiling as she spoke.
‘Okay, no – I’m not your doctor but if it hurts, please don’t do it,’ he said.
Tressa turned away and switched on the kettle.
‘Did you sleep okay?’ he asked.
‘Fine. How was the sofa?’ Again there was a tone.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked her.
‘I’m sick of this cast,’ she said. ‘It’s heavy and it aches and it’s itchy and everything else that goes with it.’
Dan nodded. ‘I remember when my leg was broken how itchy it was. Maddening. You need a knitting needle to poke down and scratch it.’
‘I don’t knit,’ she said.
‘The end of a paintbrush then.’
She poured them both tea. ‘Want me to carry yours upstairs?’ he offered.
They were treading so carefully around each other and they still hadn’t spoken about Remi or the terrible fight.
‘No, it’s okay.’ She went away upstairs.
Dan sat down at the table and Richie came and sat at his feet. Ginger Pickles leapt down to check her bowl and complained with a rattling meow.
How long could he stay in the same house with her and not tell her how he felt? That he had made a mistake? That he wanted to be here and take the job? That they could have the world, if only they could trust each other?
He walked upstairs and knocked on her studio door.
‘Yes? Come in.’
‘Hi, um…’ She was by the window, mixing paints onto a palette. She looked up and then back at the palette, moving it to the sunlight.
‘I just wanted to say, I mean when we had our fight, I said terrible things.’ God, he was completely shite at apologies, he thought – but he’d never really given any in all his life until he met Tressa.
‘Ah, shit sticks,’ said Tressa.
‘Do you want me to stop talking?’
‘No, my mum is here. Why didn’t she call?’ She pushed past him and went down the stairs, leaving him alone in the studio.
He stood alone in the empty room, which smelt of paint. ‘Shit sticks,’ he muttered.
He could hear her talking to Wendy, feigning surprise and politeness. Now wasn’t the time. He went downstairs.
‘Hello, Wendy,’ he said, ‘you’re looking well.’
‘Oh thank you, Dan; I wanted to come and see you both. I have shopping bags in the car. Can you pop out and be the porter for me?’ She dangled the keys and Dan bowed to her.
‘Of course, m’lady,’ he said. She laughed, but he thought she was secretly pleased. If he’d believed in past lives, he would have said Wendy was the Queen of Sheba.
Wendy seemed to have bought up most of Waitrose. Dan loaded up, determined to carry back all ten bags in one trip.
‘Mum, what on earth?’ Tressa cried.
‘You two need sustenance and there were so many delicious things, I just couldn’t help myself.’
Tressa was peering into a bag. ‘Three pomegranates, a whole stilton and oysters. Give me a skull and I can paint a Flemish still life.’
Dan laughed and Wendy shrugged. ‘You love oysters and there is goat cheese for a salad and you can add some pomegranate jewels to it – just delicious.’
‘Wow, well this is too much, Mum,’ Tressa said.
‘Dan, be a dear and put it all away. Tressa and I are going for a walk.’
‘I was about to paint,’ Tressa started to say but Wendy flapped a hand at her. ‘Your paintings can wait. I cannot. Pop your shoes on and let’s go. And take that flannel shirt off. You’ll die of the heat in that thing.’
Tressa sighed and gave Dan a look that made him turn away so Wendy didn’t see his laughter.
At least they still had Wendy holding them together.
46
Wendy and Tressa crossed the esplanade and walked down the few steps to the sand.
‘Shouldn’t you have your sling on?’ asked Wendy.
‘No, it’s not so bad now,’ said Tressa. ‘Which way do you want to go?’
‘You decide, I don’t mind,’ Wendy said. She was wearing a pink sun visor and pink pants and a pink T-shirt.
‘You look like a flamingo,’ Tressa told her mother.
‘A glamourous old bird,’ said Wendy and Tressa laughed. Perhaps her mother was getting a sense of humour in her later years.
‘Pink suits you,’ she said, and she meant it. Wendy looked great in bright colours. ‘You should wear more of those sorts of shades.’
‘I should,’ said Wendy. ‘I should do a lot of things.’ She laughed.
They walked along the shoreline, towards the rock pools in the distance.
‘There is one of those things you used to collect as a child.’ Wendy’s toe touched an egg case on the sand.
‘A mermaid’s purse,’ said Tressa, leaning down to pick it up.
Wendy peered at it with a frown. ‘They’re not very pretty, are they? For mermaids.’
Tressa looked her mother’s pink outfit up and down. ‘I wonder why they have to be pretty though. Is that the siren thing? Luring sailors to their death?’
Wendy shrugged. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘Actually… I used to spend hours filling these with pretty things then dropping them in the deepest rock pool as a type of offering to the mermaids. It’s supposed to be good luck.’
She opened the top of the egg case so Wendy could see where you could stow things inside.
‘What did you put in them?’
‘Little shells, sea glass, sometimes bits of broken crockery from shipwrecks that came to the shoreline. Just little things,’ Tressa said.
‘Let’s fill one together,’ said Wendy, taking the purse from Tressa’s hand. And she set off down the shore, looking down at her feet. ‘Ooh, a periwinkle,’ she said and put it into the case.
Tressa looked around to see if she was being filmed for a comedy show. Her mother in pink from head to toe, picking up shells and putting them into a sting ray egg case was something she never thought she would see. Whenever Tressa was out as a child, usually playing at the Foxes’ house, she would come back to their holiday house and Wendy would have thrown all of them away.
She spotted a shard of green glass on the sand and picked it up. ‘Here you go,’ she said to Wendy, who inspected the glass first, then put it into the case.
‘Good find,’ she told Tressa, as though she were the expert on the subject of mermaid purses.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Tressa sarcastically, but Wendy didn’t hear her tone.
Tressa wondered if she was having a post-accident brain infarction. Was she really with her pink-clad mother, beachcombing for sea jewels to put into a stingray case?
‘It’s funny that you told me I was born in a mermaid’s purse and that I always collected these as a kid,’ said Tressa, trying not to put too much weight on the coincidence. She didn’t want to remind Wendy too much of their fight, and ruin the moment. But the parallel was not lost on her. Wendy didn’t answer. She was picking up shells and inspecting them like avocados, throwing them back into the ocean if they didn’t meet her standards.
Tressa wanted to tell her mother she had wanted to do this with her every summer until she was eighteen. But she said nothing. It didn’t matter now. Wendy was on the beach with her and doing something Tressa loved.
They came closer to the rock pools and Tressa pointed out a brown crab waddling across the rocks. Wendy began to climb and Tressa followed.
‘Which rock pool is the best one?’ asked Wendy. Tressa smiled at her mother. She always expected quality, even in a rock pool.
‘This one is fine,’ she said, looking down at
the crab who was sitting still at the bottom of the clear pool. Little rocks and sea lettuce created shelter for the snails who sat patiently, waiting for the tide to roll back in later in the day. Small fish darted about and a starfish sat on a rock, sunning itself.
They sat down gingerly and Wendy slipped off her shoes and dipped her feet in the water.
‘Good Lord, that’s cold,’ she said but put her feet in further and closed her eyes as her body became used to the temperature.
‘He’d better be quick or a gull will grab him and turn him into a bisque,’ Tressa said and Wendy watched in wonder as the crab disappeared under a rock.
‘So what do I do with it?’ Wendy held up the purse.
‘You can drop it in and say a little something to the mermaid who you hope finds it.’ Tressa smiled at her mother, who looked nervous. ‘Or if it’s Rosewyn you want to have it, then say something to her, leave her the gift. I have. For years.’
Wendy turned to Tressa. ‘You did this for Rosewyn?’
Tressa paused. She didn’t want to upset her mother but she also wanted her to know that she cared.
‘Every day of every holiday. I didn’t want her to miss out, so I would drop little things in the rock pools. Sometimes I even dropped in the sea salt fudge from the bakery because I thought she would like it, because of the sea salt.’
Wendy started to cry. ‘You’re a lovely younger sister, aren’t you? So kind – you have always been kind, Tressie, always.’
Looking down at the rock pool, Tressa swallowed. The starfish had gone, probably hiding from the family drama emerging above.
‘So you drop the purse into the rock pool and say what to Rosewyn?’ Wendy asked, and Tressa thought she looked so uncertain and worried.
‘I said hello or I’d tell her about my day or about life if it was the start of the holidays. I don’t know, just kid stuff.’ She shrugged. ‘Nothing major.’ But that was a lie because she used to tell Rosewyn everything and she would ask her sister why Wendy didn’t think she was good enough.
Wendy held up the purse in both hands, like Circe offering the cup to Ulysses.
‘Hello, Rosewyn, it’s Mummy, with Tressie. We made you a lovely purse filled with pretty things.’ She paused and looked at Tressa, who nodded encouragingly.
‘I miss you but I have lovely Tressie and Jago, who has twins! They are so much fun. And Tressa is a famous artist. She paints so beautifully, it is remarkable. I am always so impressed but I don’t know much about art so sometimes I think she must think she was born into the wrong family.’
Tressa looked down at the pool. She realised this was Wendy’s way of saying what she felt and although it was clumsy, it was authentic.
‘But I am very proud of her. I adore her and when she broke her arm, I thought I would die at the thought of losing her after I had lost you. A mother cannot lose two children in her life.’
The breeze blew up through Tressa’s hair and Wendy’s visor flew off her head but Wendy didn’t run after it; she sat still, holding the purse in front of her.
‘But, Rosewyn, I have to focus on Tressa and Jago now. I know you’ve passed and are wherever you are now. Energy has to go somewhere so I hope it has gone to something wonderful because you always had so much energy, my little love.’
Tressa held her breath as Wendy continued.
‘I came here today to tell Tressa I am sorry for always talking about you to her. You would have hated it, I know. Now I know Tressa kept you around in all her paintings, so you were always there, I just didn’t look hard enough.’
Tressa blinked away tears as Wendy held up the purse and dropped it into the rock pool with a hollow splash.
‘Goodbye, Rosewyn, my sweet.’
Tressa started to cry in earnest, as did Wendy, who held her close.
‘Oh, Tressie, you were right here all this time and I was so silly to not see it. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay, I’m sorry she died. It’s utter shit sticks.’
‘Absolute shit sticks,’ said Wendy and Tressa giggled into her mother’s shoulder.
‘You are a fairy tale, Tressa Buckland, and I couldn’t wish for a better and more magical daughter.’
Tressa kissed her mother’s cheek and pressed against her, smelling the Dior perfume Wendy always wore.
‘Now where’s my visor? I bought that in Provence; it’s very good quality. I don’t want to lose it.’
And Wendy Buckland was back in action.
47
Dan woke and checked his phone; it was two in the morning. Nothing good happened at two in the morning.
He sat up and stretched. It was warm and he was hot on the sofa. He kneeled up and opened the window to let the sea air inside.
Richie whimpered in his sleep – probably chasing seagulls, Dan thought.
A creak on the stairs made him look up and there was Tressa in her nightgown.
‘Sorry. Did I wake you?’ she asked.
‘No, I was a bit hot, so I opened the window,’ he said, suddenly aware he was bare-chested.
‘Yes, it’s warm. I couldn’t sleep so I thought I would sit outside for a while.’
‘Sounds like a good idea,’ he said and Tressa walked to the front door.
‘Come sit outside then,’ she said, and he stood up and followed her out. Richie twitched in his sleep, on the floor.
They crossed the road in the dark and sat on the sea wall, the moon high above them.
The breeze touched his skin and he felt electric. Or was that because of Tressa sitting so close in a white cotton gown that barely covered her thighs?
‘Your mum was good the other day,’ he said but she put her hand on his bare knee in his shorts.
‘Shh,’ she whispered. ‘Listen.’
Dan listened, unsure what he was listening for but he tried hard.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Tressa whispered.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘The silence.’
And he listened again and it was wonderful. Just the water lapping at the shore like a rhythmic lullaby.
‘Tressa,’ he whispered.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m sorry for being awful. I‘m an immature idiot.’
‘I know,’ she said.
They were quiet for a while.
‘I’m sorry I assumed the worst of you and that you were using Remi to get a job and run away from me.’
Dan thought it best he not tell her he had a job yet, since this was the best progress they had made since the fight.
‘We make each other’s lives complicated, I think,’ she said, and he felt his heart sink.
‘Was your life better before me?’ he asked.
‘It was easier.’ She laughed, and Dan joined in, though he felt like crying. So she didn’t love him. She was talking about them. Her life had been easier without his love.
‘I’m a bit cold,’ he said, ‘I should go back in.’ He swung his legs back over the wall and stood on the footpath.
‘Did I upset you?’
‘No, why?’
‘I didn’t mean it was better because it was easier, because easy isn’t always better. I was hiding from a lot, and you have helped me be braver about some things.’
Dan nodded. ‘That’s good. So all of this wasn’t wasted, then.’
‘Wasted? Not at all, it was the opposite. It was wonderful. It was spectacular.’
Dan felt he was being broken up with and knew his defences were rising up.
‘I was going to tell you tomorrow but I’ve been offered a job, in London, writing for a really great paper, so as soon as George is back, I will be off, but I really appreciate you putting me up at Mermaid Terrace.’
Tressa was silent. He saw her jaw drop.
He looked at her intently as he spoke. ‘What? Did you think we would be able to just move through this? I think so much has been said that we can’t move on from.’
Dan started to pace again but she was very still.
‘Neither of us behaved very well,’ she said. ‘I am sorry about that. I wanted to hurt you.’
‘Well, you did.’ He said.
‘So you have to do the job in London? You can’t stay here and try and work on this with me?’
He shook his head. ‘Not a viable option, unfortunately.’
‘Me or the job?’ she asked, but he didn’t answer.
‘I love you, Dan,’ she said and Dan reached for her. They heard a car coming around the bend and then a bark.
‘Richie, sit!’ he yelled, but Richie came bounding out the front door, which Dan was sure he had closed behind him but obviously he hadn’t. Richie jumped the low stone fence and ran across the road. The sound of him being hit was sickening. But not as awful as the sound he made as he was thrown to the ground.
‘Richie!’ Dan ran to his dog and held him as he whimpered. Tressa ran up to him.
‘I’ll call a vet,’ she said, but Dan was holding Richie on his lap and he shook his head.
‘It’s too late,’ he said, and Tressa sat next to him and stroked Richie’s nose as he whimpered in Dan’s arms.
‘Shhh, it’s okay, fella, you can go now, chase all those seagulls in the sky, sniff every crotch you can.’
Tressa cried and laughed at the same time.
Richie wagged his tail once and then gave a huge sigh and died in Dan’s arms.
The sound of Dan’s sobbing broke her heart and she touched his arm.
‘Bring him inside, Dan.’
The driver of the car was standing by the side of the road. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t see him,’ he said.
‘It’s not your fault. He liked to chase seagulls,’ said Dan, as he carried Richie inside.
Tressa followed Dan inside. Carefully, he placed Richie on the sofa.
‘What can I do?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I just want to be with him.’
He didn’t hear Tressa leave. He wept until he felt dehydrated. It was dark by the time he wrapped Richie in a blanket from the sofa.
‘Goodnight, old friend,’ he said to Richie and he kissed his nose for the last time.