Rosie (7 page)

‘I’ve brought someone to look at it, Mum.’

‘Oh, poppet, why do you think . . .?’

The woman looked up. It was Alexandra Pollen.

Nick laughed.

Alex scrambled to her feet. ‘Hello! Fancy meeting you here.’

The child looked from one to the other. ‘Do you two know each other?’

‘Well, yes,’ Alex said, and coloured. ‘This is the man whose car I crashed into.’

‘Oh!’ Victoria turned to Nick. ‘I expect you’re pretty cross with us, then.’

‘No. Well a bit. But not much.’

‘We’ve got another one.’ She prodded the net into the pool at her feet. ‘It’s not very good. Worse than the last one, actually. But it was all we could afford.’

Alex brushed down her shorts and shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Sorry about this. She’s a bit annoyed with me for pranging the car.’

‘Not your fault when your brakes fail,’ said Nick.

‘It hadn’t got an MOT,’ Victoria chipped in.

‘Oh. I see.’

Alex lowered her eyes. ‘Sorry. I should have said . . . only I was due to take it in to the garage the following day. I hadn’t noticed . . .’

‘Daddy came round and she got in a bit of a state. She always does.’

Nick felt uncomfortable. ‘I’d better get back to my painting.’

‘Fancy a coffee?’ Alex pointed towards the café.

‘I really should get back. The light . . .’

‘Ah, yes. The light,’ she teased.

He saw the look in her eyes and gave in. ‘Just a quick one.’

Alex turned to her daughter: ‘Shall I bring you back an ice-cream?’

‘No, thanks.’ She was concentrating on the rock pool, and bent down to pick something out of her net. ‘I’d rather have a drink. Diet Coke, please.’

‘OK.’ Alex shot Nick one of those apologetic looks used by parents who are embarrassed by their children, and by children who are embarrassed by their parents, and began to walk towards the café.

‘She’s quite a character,’ he remarked.

‘You can say that again.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Ten, going on twenty-nine,’ she said, with a smile, as they crossed the warm sand.

‘I had no idea you had children.’

‘Yes. But it’s just Victoria and me. I’m a single mum.’

‘Oh?’

‘Most of the time anyway. He keeps coming back – or trying to. We’re over here for a few days to get a break. A breath of air.’

Nick said nothing, unsure how to respond.

Alex covered the awkward moment. ‘Oh dear! This is all getting rather intense, isn’t it? Too much information.’

‘No – please, go on. I wasn’t . . . I mean . . . well . . . Would you like that coffee?’

She laughed and broke the tension. ‘Yes. And I’d kill for a biscuit.’

He ordered two coffees and some tartan-wrapped shortbread biscuits, then sat down opposite her at a little table on a sun-bleached deck among some old fishing-nets. ‘Shall we start again?’ he asked.

‘Third time lucky? Sorry. You must think I’m a complete wacko.’

He tilted his head from side to side. ‘Only a bit of a wacko.’

‘And Victoria?’

‘Oh, she’s far more sensible.’

‘Enough sense there for both of us. Good thing, too, I suppose.’

‘Have you had a difficult time at home?’

‘Yes. It’s better than it was, but it’s still a bit iffy. I hope he got the message this time.’

‘How long have you been together?’

‘Eleven years, off and on. Classic, really. We married too young and stayed together because of the child. He’s not a bad guy, but we’re just not suited, and the rows seem to get worse.’

‘What now, then?’

Alex shrugged. ‘Who knows? Next week he’s going abroad on business for a few months. I thought if we came here we’d be out of the way until he’s gone.’

‘Won’t he come and find you?’

‘Oh, I don’t think so. It was all pretty final this time. I wanted to be out of the way. Have a change of scene, and I like it over here.’

He looked out towards the sea. ‘Nobody knows about it, really.’

‘About the island?’

‘England’s best-kept secret.’

‘It’s supposed to be for old folk, isn’t it? White-haired ladies and men with fawn anoraks.’

‘Who says?’

‘Public opinion.’

‘Well, we all know about public opinion. I love it here. But, then, I’m not your typical thirty-something.’

‘That’s a relief.’ Alex grinned.

‘Thank you!’ He sipped his coffee.

‘So what are you?’ she asked.

‘Almost thirty-nine.’ He grinned.

‘And never been kissed?’ she asked with a wry smile.

Nick frowned. ‘Another disaster area, I suppose. Not much to tell. Just come out of a long relationship – well, not as long as yours, but three years. Debs went off to the States last week to see a bit of action. Too quiet for her here, I think.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘Me too. Bit of a bugger, really.’

‘What does she do?’

‘Human resources.’

Alex stirred her coffee. ‘Are you in mourning?’

‘Not really. A bit fed up. And hurt, I suppose. That life wasn’t exciting enough for her. But then there doesn’t seem to be much excitement around at the moment.’

‘I see.’

He realized what he’d said. ‘Apart from this, of course,’ he added.

‘How very polite.’

‘No. Honestly.’

‘Are you committed to staying here?’ she asked.

‘For now, yes. I love painting on the island – and I love it in winter when there’s nobody about.’

‘I think you’re just a loner, really,’ she told him.

‘Maybe. Not always though. How about you?’

‘Just the reverse. I hate being on my own. Not that I am.’ She looked round to check that Victoria was still in view. ‘She’s been my life-saver.’

‘That’s funny.’ He smiled, as if to himself.

‘What is?’

‘You don’t look like a mum.’

‘What does a mum look like?’

‘Well, not like you.’

‘What do you mean?’ She sounded irritated.

‘I meant it as a compliment,’ he assured her, and she relaxed.

‘I’m sure your mum would appreciate that,’ she said.

‘Don’t remind me.’ He pushed a shortbread biscuit across the table. ‘Another?’

‘No. I’ll wait until lunchtime. Are you staying?’

‘Well, I’ve got a painting to finish . . .’ He hesitated.

‘Why don’t you have some lunch with us? You can meet Victoria properly, and you can give me some advice on my painting.’

‘I wouldn’t dream—’

‘Well, I’ll settle for a bit of company, then . . . if you don’t mind?’

 
 
7

Unusual . . . taking an upright stance.

H
e watched them as they pored over the menu, Victoria leaning over Alex’s shoulder. They were like sisters, each advising the other on the best choice in front of them.

‘You should have that,’ said Victoria, pointing to ‘freshly fried fish and salad’.

‘What about you?’ asked her mother.

‘That.’ Victoria darted a finger at ‘Pint of prawns with brown bread and butter’, then slipped the straw of her Diet Coke into her mouth and sucked.

‘Can you peel them?’ asked Nick.

Victoria nodded, without looking up.

‘She’s been able to peel prawns since she was little. We had a holiday in Spain, and she learned when she was three. She loves seafood.’

‘Expensive tastes,’ said Nick.

‘Yes. She gets it from her father. I’m very low maintenance.’

‘Must be the artistic temperament.’

‘It doesn’t work for Elton John.’

‘No. I suppose we should be grateful it works for us.’

Victoria sat back in her chair. ‘How long are we going to stay here?’

‘Until I’ve finished my painting, sweetheart. Probably about four o’clock.’

‘I meant how long are we going to stay on the island?’

‘Just for the week,’ Alex told her. ‘Then we’ll go home.’

‘We can’t see it from here, can we?’

‘Not from this side of the island, but we can from the north side.’

‘I prefer this side.’

‘Why’s that?’ asked Alex.

‘Because there’s more sea.’

‘Do you like the sea?’ asked Nick.

‘It’s not that. It’s just that it takes longer to get home from here.’

‘Well, we can come back lots if you like,’ her mother told her.

‘Yes, please,’ and with that Victoria returned to her drink.

Victoria finished her prawns, leaving a neat pile of shells on her plate, while Nick and Alex were still eating. She excused herself from the table and went back to her rock pool. They watched her concentrate on fishing.

‘How’s she coped with it all?’ asked Nick.

‘Not bad, on the whole – but how can I tell? She tries to be grown-up about it, but it obviously hurts.’

‘Does she get on with her dad?’

‘So-so. He spoils her rotten and he’s not badmouthed me. At least I don’t think he has. She’s never said anything that makes me think so.’

‘Will he still be able to see her?’

‘Oh, yes. But if this new job takes off he’ll be away quite a lot, so I shouldn’t have to grit my teeth too much.’

‘You really get on well with her.’

‘Most of the time, yes. There is the occasional tantrum.’

‘Well that’s growing up, isn’t it?’ He smiled ruefully.

‘That’s what I tell myself. And I’m the only one she can let off steam with.’

‘Grandparents?’

‘No.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Yes. It would help. Give her a greater variety of company. I think she must get pretty pissed off with me sometimes. Moody. You know.’

‘You’re a bit hard on yourself.’

‘I deserve to be. I don’t like cocking up, and I’ve made a real mess of things so far.’

Nick pointed to Victoria. ‘Not with her.’

‘No,’ she said softly. ‘Bless her. I’m just determined that things will get better, you know? That’s what keeps me going.’

‘Is that why you’re painting?’

‘Partly. It’s a bit selfish, too. Hopefully it’ll raise some money to help with Victoria’s schooling, but it also makes me feel good. I can escape when I’m painting. Go somewhere else. Be someone else. Not like before.’

Nick watched as Alex traced patterns on the table with a finger. ‘So you’re not a career painter?’ he asked.

‘Oh, come on! You knew I wasn’t when you saw my canvases.’

‘They’re lovely!’

‘Don’t be patronizing.’ She leaned back in her chair and frowned.

‘No. They really are. God! They’re better than a lot of professional stuff I’ve seen.’

‘But you knew I wasn’t a professional painter.’

‘Only because of the way you acted.’

She looked worried for a moment. ‘Do you think Henry knew?’

‘Probably, but he doesn’t care as long as things sell. He thinks you’re worth a punt.’

Her face lightened again. ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. A start.’

‘What did you do before?’

‘I was an English teacher. Then Victoria came along and I didn’t want to be a part-time mum so I gave it up. But I can read a cracking bedtime story.’

‘Lucky girl.’

Alex looked out to where her daughter was absorbed in her own world. ‘Oh, I hope so. I really want her to have a good life. That’s the most important thing, and I don’t feel I’ve done very well for her so far.’ She gazed at her daughter wistfully for a few moments, then asked, ‘What about you?’

‘Well, no kids. Two sisters, both abroad. And a granny.’

‘No mum and dad?’

‘Yes. But the granny’s the one who takes up most of my time.’

Alex laughed. ‘Why?’

‘She’s a bit of a liability. Eighty-seven. Sharp as a razor but she has her moments.’

‘How?’

‘Oh, she’s just taken it into her head that she hasn’t lived enough so she’s starting now, which is very nice in one way but a real pain in another.’

‘Good for her.’

‘Are you taking sides?’

‘I’m all for anyone who refuses to give up. Who refuses to “go gentle into that good night”.’

‘But there are limits.’

‘Why? What’s she done?’

‘Oh, it’s a long story. She’s staying with me at the moment.’

‘Here? On the island?’

‘Yes. You ought to meet her.’

Alex hesitated. ‘She sounds a real character.’

‘Oh, she is. Why don’t you come for supper one evening?’ Then he worried that he had pushed himself too much. ‘But perhaps . . .’

‘No. I mean, yes. It would be lovely,’ she said.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, looking at the sun glinting on the water.

Then Nick got up. ‘I’d better get on. Painting to finish.’

‘Yes.’

‘Look . . .’ He pulled a stubby pencil and a scrap of paper out of his pocket. ‘This is where I am. I’ve promised my grandmother supper tonight, so if you two want to come you’ll be very welcome. It would be good for her, too. And Victoria. They might be a match for each other.’

She took the note, glanced at the address and the map he had sketched. ‘Are you sure? We’re a bit of a handful.’

‘I’m positive.’ He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She smelt of Johnson’s baby powder. ‘And thank you.’ He turned and walked away across the rocks.

‘My pleasure,’ she whispered, as she slipped the note into the pocket of her shorts.

‘What sort of company?’ asked Rosie.