The Faerie Tree (19 page)

Now they are a few yards beyond me and snatches of Robin's voice drift on the wind as he points at the sea and explains about waves. Claire pushes her hair out of her eyes with a practised sweep of her hand and I feel sick in my stomach that she is moving away from me. I turn back towards the café, calling over
my shoulder that I'm going to get another coffee. Robin puts up his thumb in acknowledgement.

I stand at the counter and order my americano – and a brandy. The girl serving doesn't bat an eyelid. She has braids in her hair which she tosses at the unshaven young man who is polishing glasses. She asks me if I enjoyed my walk on the beach but she doesn't care about my answer. Why should she? I am middle aged and irrelevant.

I look for a place to sit away from the bar. Beyond it is another room with picture windows overlooking the bay. Robin and Claire are closer to the edge of the water now and the sun sparkles on the sea beyond them. Even if the window wasn't there I would be looking at them through scratched glass. I grip the edges of the bench to steady myself.

A wet nose nuzzles my fingers and I snatch them away.

“Megsy – behave.” The voice is male, with a Cornish burr, and I turn to look behind me.

“It's OK, she just surprised me.” I fondle the dog's wiry little ears.

“You did look miles away.”

I suppose the man is in his sixties, with a shock of silver hair and a face like a walnut. He is smiling at me and I warm to him.

“No, not miles – perhaps years.”

“Years?”

“Wondering where they went.” I indicate the window. “That's my daughter on the beach; she's almost a woman and I can't work out how that happened.”

The man laughs, his teeth disappointingly yellow. “I would say you don't look old enough to have a teenage daughter but that would be corny.”

I nod. “It would. But the flattery's nice all the same.”

“We could all do with a bit of it now and then.” He tugs at the dog's collar and sits at the table next to mine. “You down for half term?”

“Yes. Claire wants to come here to learn to surf in the summer, so I thought it would be wise to check out the hostel.”

“And have you?”

“No. We only arrived yesterday and my partner said it was too nice a day to waste in Newquay.”

“That's what I decided too. I should really be at work, but when you're self employed you've only yourself to tick off if you decide to pull a sickie.”

I swing my legs over the bench to face him properly. “What do you do?”

“I run a surf school and board hire operation from Towan Beach, so I probably know the hostel you want to see. It's quite popular, you know – lots of kids do it after their exams. They have quite a party down here.”

I try to laugh. “I think that's what I'm worried about.”

“I have a daughter too,” he tells me. “But I didn't see much of the growing up of her. When she was seventeen her mother was phoning me all the time telling me to do something – she went wild. But then she settled down all of her own accord; she's an estate agent in Truro now, married, two kids. All normal – nobody died.”

I turn the brandy glass in my hand. “I think I worry too much because I only lost my husband last year.”

“It does make you think. I lost a very good friend about six months ago; not a wife, or a partner, but someone I had known for a very long time.” Suddenly he smiles again. “But I got the dog from the rescue and she filled the gap.” He points to the beach. “Have you filled the gap too?”

“Robin filled a gap all of his own.”

“Robin?” The man frowns. “When I passed them on the beach I thought there was something familiar about him… a guy that tall… did he by any chance live in Newquay years back?”

My hand shakes as I put my glass down. “Yes, yes he did.”

“I knew it. He hasn't really changed that much but when I saw him it seemed too much of a co-incidence.”

“That's what I thought when I bumped into him just before Christmas – he hadn't changed at all, apart from the beard. And I hadn't seen him for twenty years.”

“Oh, he had the beard when he was here; I used to tease Meg she liked it because it made him look a bit older. But he was a nice lad; reliable, conscientious. He worked for me, you know – driving my trailer over here every day and then going back to help Meg in the shop. She always did wonder what happened to him.”

The last of the brandy trickling down my throat fails to warm me. “Did he just up and leave her as well?”

“He went home to see the damage the hurricane had done, but I think it was just an excuse. Him and Meg – they wouldn't have lasted anyway. She didn't dwell on it over much – it wasn't her way.”

The hurricane. 1987.

“Anyway,” he carries on, “they weren't together long. From what I remember he only turned up that spring. Newquay's full of migratory birds. Always has been.”

I stand up. “It's time I hauled them off the beach; we're meant to be going to Padstow for some of Rick Stein's famous fish and chips. Nice to meet you, er…”

“Ed. My name's Ed.” He stretches too. “I'll come with you – I'd like to say hello to Robin again.”

The sun is bright but the wind cuts through me the moment we step outside. Robin and Claire are walking towards us so we wait on the slipway, Megsy straining her lead towards an overflowing bin. When they get close enough Ed steps forward. “Robin! Do you remember me?”

I study Robin's face. He does not smile, not immediately anyway. A muscle twitches somewhere under his beard. “Ed?” he asks.

They grip hands but the wind takes away their words. Then Claire is brought into their circle and I am outside it. After a moment Robin reaches his arm towards me. It is stiff like his voice.

“Izzie – this is Ed. I worked for him when I lived down here.”

“I know. We've been talking about you in the bar. Your ears must have been burning.”

He laughs. “And I thought that was the wind. Come on, it's too chilly to stand here.”

I turn and walk towards the car park. They are only just behind me and snatches of their conversation drift past me but I am not listening. The only word I don't hear is Meg.

Chapter Forty-Three

We eat in Stein's café next to the harbour car park. Pine tables, hot oil and vinegar. Up market chips with everything. I want a glass of wine but Robin orders tea. He says it will warm me; he is feigning concern because I am shivering, even though the car heater has been turned up all the way from Watergate. But I'm not ill, I'm angry: I worried about him for years when all the time he'd just jumped into bed with someone else.

Claire is excited because Ed knows everyone and has offered to show us the hostel tomorrow. He says he'll take Claire and her friends under his wing when she comes down so there is no need for me to worry – or at least that's what Claire tells me – I don't remember him saying that. I don't remember saying she could come back at all. Robin offers nothing; he is silent – reliving old dreams of Meg, no doubt.

I hear my own voice. “Robin – is this Ed reliable?”

He looks up from his plate, a chip balanced on his fork, half way to his mouth. “He always seemed that way to me. But it was a long time ago.”

“Oh, Mum – he's being so kind.”

“That doesn't mean he's reliable.”

“But he's an old man and he's been here nearly forever.”

“That's no guarantee of anything. He could be a raving paedophile for all I know.”

“Well that wouldn't be a problem for me, would it? I'm almost seventeen – well past the age of consent if you hadn't noticed.” I try to ignore the fact she is pointing her knife at me.

“I hadn't actually. Mainly because you're acting like a ten year old over this.”

I look to Robin for some support but he is pretending to seek out bones in his fish.

Claire's cutlery clatters onto the table. “You just don't want me to go this summer. I don't know why you wanted to come here if you were never going to change your mind. What's the point? You never let me do anything.”

Robin opens his mouth to speak but I can't let him in case he takes her side.

“Claire – that is quite enough. This holiday is not all about you.”

But Robin does chip in. “Your mother's right – she needs a decent break – you know that if you think about it – she's had a tough half term.”

“It's not fair. One moment you're hardly talking to each other and the next you're ganging up on me.”

Robin's hand stretches across the table and envelopes mine. I didn't want it to but his warmth creeping up my arm feels welcome all the same.

“I'm sorry if I've been a bit distant.” I don't know if he is talking to me, to Claire, or to both of us. His voice sounds heavy. “Let's not talk about this again until you've seen the hostel tomorrow,” he continues. “Let's just finish our lunch and have a nice walk around the town, OK?”

Claire rolls her eyes, but she agrees and if she keeps to her word we will have almost twenty-four hours of peace. Robin is looking at me, waiting for my consent. I nod and he squeezes my hand before picking up his fork and spearing another chip.

It is only when we are in the shops that Claire becomes animated again. She points out funny slogans on sweatshirts and
fingers her way through trays of shells. She buys a starfish for her dressing table, something reassuringly childish. Robin gazes into the windows of a gallery but won't go in because the pictures are too expensive.

“It doesn't stop us looking,” I say, but he shakes his head.

I follow Claire into a jewellery shop. Racks of bead necklaces jostle for space with baskets of earrings. On shelves around the walls silver items are displayed on black velvet cushions, dazzling under brilliant white spotlights.

“Mum,” Claire tugs my arm. “Shall I get this for Sasha?” She has a strap of leather in her hand, with three turquoise beads in its centre.

“Sasha? Who's Sasha?”

She looks at me aghast. “Sasha, Mum – you know who Sasha is.”

I do, of course I do. My brain is struggling, working through a file of people… and then I have it. No wonder there is panic in her eyes.

“Sorry, darling,” I say. “It's the music in here and I'm getting a headache – I didn't hear you properly. Yes, I think Sasha'd like that. I'll wait outside while you pay for it.”

The afternoon has turned grey. I lean against a whitewashed wall, the cold shapes of the stones lumpy through my coat.

“What's up?” Robin looms over me.

“I've got a terrible headache. Do you think we could go home?”

“Where's Claire?”

“In the jewellery shop. Just buying a present for S… Sasha. She won't be long.”

Robin nods, then pulls me away from the wall and into the softness of his anorak.

Chapter Forty-Four

Robin and Claire are whispering because they think I'm asleep. I curl under the duvet. It warms me, but I am wrapped so tight the ache in my head cascades through my neck and shoulders. So I stretch on my back, pointing my toes at the wardrobe while my fingers scrabble up the headboard. One slow, deep breath after another.

I have pushed the panic into the corner of the room. I know it is there – somewhere between the curtains and the dressing table. I thought, I hoped, I prayed, even – and really believed – that Robin had driven it away. But now I know it is still there, hiding ready to surprise me; at the supermarket checkout, outside my classroom, sitting at the traffic lights in my car.

The bedroom door brushes along the carpet and Robin fills the frame, silhouetted by the light from the hall.

“It's OK, I'm awake.” I don't know why I'm whispering.

“Can I get you anything? How do you feel?” He hovers in the doorway.

I prop myself up on one elbow. “How about a cup of tea?” It will buy me time to compose myself while he goes to make it.

He leaves the door ajar, the strip of light falling across the bed. In my mind's eye I follow its path and there, in the living area, I see Claire stretched on the sofa flicking the pages of a
magazine and Robin, shoulders hunched, arms folded, leaning against the kitchen unit waiting for the kettle to boil.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pull on my cardigan. I feel a bit wobbly when I first stand and my eyes are drawn to the corner between the dressing table and the curtain. When I pull the door open fully the shadow there disappears.

Claire gets up from the sofa and gives me a hug. “How you feeling, Mum?”

“Much better thanks and I don't want to spoil our evening. What would you like to do? Go for a pub meal or something?”

She shakes her head. “I'm still full after those fish and chips. Robin was saying he might do some jacket potatoes later and I've found a DVD of Breakfast at Tiffany's in the bookcase – I've never seen it. Perhaps we could all watch that?”

I smile at her, stiff cheeked. “That's a lovely idea. Robin?”

“Breakfast at Tiffany's was one of Jennifer's favourite films. I'd love to watch it again. I'll just make your cuppa then I'll pop down to the corner shop for some cheese for the potatoes.”

“And a bottle of red – it always goes well with cheese.”

He turns away as the kettle boils. I assume he agrees.

Chapter Forty-Five

Surprisingly – and thankfully – the hostel looks like a converted office block, hidden down a side street near the railway station. Most uninviting. Despite Ed's cheery wave as we clamber from the car. Megsy leaps up in greeting, little terrier ears pricked. I crouch to stroke her and she snuggles into me, making snuffling noises.

Ed laughs. “She's well taken with you, Izzie. Now don't you go luring her home – I'd miss her too much.”