Authors: Isabel Wolff
‘What are you doing?’ David demanded softly. ‘Come back, Miranda. Come back here. I want to make love to you again.’
I let the robe fall to the floor…
Afterwards, we had a bath together, then, while he was shaving, I got dressed and took Herman out.
‘It’s today,’ I whispered to him bleakly, as we crossed the dry moat and walked towards the lake. ‘It’s
today
.’ Herman looked up at me with an expression of unmitigated solicitude. When we went back inside, David was standing by the reception desk, studying a leaflet.
‘What would you like to do?’ he asked as we went upstairs. ‘We could, according to this, go to Goodwood, Parham House, or, and I quote, “to the delightful coastal towns of Chichester, Worthing, and…
Brighton
”. Brighton,’ he echoed with a wry smile, as I opened my door. ‘I haven’t been to Brighton for fifteen years. I never wanted to go back,’ he
said, as I put Herman on his blanket, ‘after what happened; but actually, I think I
would
like to go. Now that I’ve met you, and knowing you have a connection with the place too, somehow I think I could cope. Let’s go to Brighton this morning,’ he said, as we went into the dining room for breakfast. ‘I’ve got this inexplicable urge to see it again. Is that okay with you?’
No. No. It isn’t
. I gave him a weak smile. ‘Yes…’ I said. ‘That would be fine.’
After breakfast we climbed onto the ruined battlements, and looked at the South Downs rolling away beneath us to the far horizon. Then we went upstairs to get our things. And I had just put my clothes in my bag, and was sitting on my bed waiting for David to come in—
David, there’s something I have to tell you
—when my phone rang. It was Daisy.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked.
‘I’m…all right.’ She didn’t sound it.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s just that…well, I was going to go microlighting again today, but my friend’s just cancelled and so, well, I can’t help feeling rather…disappointed.’
‘Oh dear. And when did you arrange that?’
‘Last week.’
‘Did he say why he had to cancel?’
‘No. He just said that it wasn’t convenient, after all.’
‘I’m sorry, Daisy. But in any case you really ought to be spending your free time with Nigel.’
‘Oh, I am,’ she replied. ‘He’s decided not to work today, so we’re going out to lunch with a few of his crowd—including that awful baggage, Mary.’
‘She is rather awful. You have my sympathies. Her bite is worse than her bark.’
‘That’s true. Anyway, what’s the hotel like?’
‘Heaven. It’s a ruined castle.’
‘A ruined castle,’ she repeated achingly. ‘
How
romantic.’ There was such profound longing in her voice. ‘And have you told David yet?’
I felt my pulse quicken. ‘No. I’m going to do it today. I don’t want to do it here, though, and spoil the memory of this lovely place. But he wants to go to Brighton for lunch, so I’ll find a quiet place there, and then I’ll tell him.’
‘Well… I’ll be thinking of you—good luck. But don’t
worry
, Miranda. He’s obviously very attached to you—I’m sure he’ll be fine.’
Suddenly, David was standing in the doorway. ‘Tell me what?’ he enquired, as I put the phone back in my bag. My heart looped the loop. ‘How irresistible you find me?’
I nodded. ‘I do. I do find you irresistible. I find you…’ I suddenly rushed up to him and flung my arms round his neck. ‘I find you
so
nice, David, and
so
gorgeous, and I’m
so
glad I found you.’
And I’ve got this awful, awful thing I have to tell you. And it might ruin everything
. I felt tears spring to my eyes.
‘Hey,’ he said soothingly. ‘You’re not crying, are you?’ He looked at me. ‘There’s no need for tears.’
Oh, there is. There is
. ‘Or, don’t tell me, you’re crying with happiness?’
‘Yes,’ I sniffed. ‘I am.’
Happiness, and also acute anxiety
.
He handed me a hanky. ‘Don’t cry. There, Miranda. Please,
don’t
. Now,’ he added, after a moment, ‘let’s drive straight there, and have a walk along the sea front. Then we could find somewhere nice for lunch—maybe Beachy Head?’ I nodded. ‘I’ll drive, shall I?’
Why not just tell him now? This second. Get it over with, at last
.
‘David, I—’
Suddenly his mobile rang. ‘Oh, hi, Mum.’ He went back
to his room and talked to his mother for a few minutes, then he reappeared with his bags.
‘Sorry about that—we usually have a chat on Sunday mornings. She says she’d love to meet you.’
She won’t, she won’t. Not when she knows
.
As we drove through the Sussex villages, down curving lanes fringed alternately with beech and then bracken, I kept trying to imagine how David would react. Brighton was only fifteen miles away, so in less than an hour I’d know. And now we had come to its fringes and were driving through Hove, along the Promenade, past the hotels. I gazed out to sea at the white sails dotting the glinting water, and at the sunbathers on the shingled beach.
‘You know what I want to do, don’t you?’ I heard David say. I looked at him. ‘Before we have lunch?’
‘No. What’s that?’
‘I’d like to show you where I used to live.’ A sudden jolt ran down my spine. ‘Let’s see if I can find my way to the house.’ We drove past the ruined West Pier, then the Palace Pier and then, at Marine Parade, he turned left. And now we were negotiating the backstreets of Brighton, with their colourful Regency villas painted in pale pink and green and blue, and we were climbing now, rising high above the city. ‘Egremont Place,’ he said. ‘I think that’s the one I want.’
‘Yes, it is,’ I said, before I could stop myself. I felt David’s slightly curious glance pass over me.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘And here’s the memorial arch. Gosh, I remember this.’ We passed under it and now we were in West Drive, with Queen’s Park below us on our right; the shrieks of children playing on the swings rising to our ears, and the soft ‘thwock’ of tennis balls. David drove slowly to the end, and I saw his hands tighten on the wheel as he drew to a halt opposite his old house.
‘Christ, Miranda,’ he breathed. My heart was banging. ‘I suddenly feel rather…strange. This is quite…emotional for me, actually, this little trip down memory lane.’
And for me. And for me
. He shook his head, and I saw the muscles around his eyes tighten. He turned and looked at me. ‘Oh, you look upset too.’ He put his hand on mine. ‘It’s sweet of you, Miranda, but it was sixteen years ago and I’ve long since got over it. It’s just…’ he shrugged, ‘…seeing it again. Actually
being
here. It’s bringing back the memories—that’s all. We were quite happy here, until, well…’ he heaved a painful sigh. ‘Until…that. It was a good place to live. Our neighbours were nice,’ he added, suddenly. ‘The McNaughts. I wonder whether they still live here.’ I felt sick. ‘I’d love to see them again. In fact…’
No! No! No! Please DON’T!
His hand was on the car door. ‘I’ll just ring the bell. You don’t mind, do you?’
YES! I DO!!!
‘No, of course not,’ I heard myself say.
‘You can come with me, if you like.’
‘No!’ David looked at me strangely. ‘I mean…no,’ I repeated. ‘I…don’t want to.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well…because if they
don’t
live there any more, and there are two of us standing on the doorstep, the present owners might feel a bit intimidated.’
David nodded. ‘That’s true. Okay, you stay here. I’ll just knock, and if they are still living there I’ll give you a wave and you can come and say hi.’
Please, dear God—let them be out
.
I watched David cross the road, my heart beating like a kettle drum. I saw him look at the front of number forty-four for a moment, then he opened the gate of number forty-six, walked up the short path, and rang the bell.
Let them be out. Please, please, let them be out
. Then I saw him ring it again.
And now a third time. My heart-rate began to subside. Now David was looking at the upstairs window, then he rang once more, turned and came back to the car.
‘They’re obviously not there.’
Thank you, God
. ‘Or they’re away. Are you okay, Miranda?’
‘Of course.’
‘You look a bit…agitated.’
I am
. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘Do you want me to drive past your old house? It’s not far from here, is it?’
‘No. It’s in Sandown Road, but I’m not really bothered.’
‘Okay then, we won’t.’
We went down to the sea front and strolled through The Lanes, then crossed over to the Pier with its gaudy entertainments.
‘We used to love this,’ David said, as we walked through the amusement arcade. ‘Michael and I used to hang out here when we were kids. I remember there was a girl I used to meet here. I was crazy about her,’ he confided with a laugh. ‘She was a French language student, Chantalle. I lost my virginity to her in 1982. And who did you lose yours to?’
Jimmy. Jimmy. In March, 1987
. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Miranda. I’ve embarrassed you. Ignore that utterly ungentlemanly question.’ He took off his linen jacket. ‘It’s hot, isn’t it? Let’s walk by the sea for a while.’
We walked eastwards towards the marina, hand in hand, the light breeze blowing our hair. He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s one. Shall we go for lunch in half an hour? Or are you hungry now?’
Not in the slightest. I’m much too stressed
.
‘I’m fine,’ I replied. We crunched over the shingle, then, in a fairly quiet part of the beach, I saw an empty bench.
‘David,’ I said, my pulse racing. ‘Can we sit down for a few minutes?’
‘Of course we can.’ We sat side by side, our thighs touching, our fingers entwined, listening to the shrieks of children, the plaintive squawks of the seagulls as they wheeled overhead, and the rush and suck of the breaking waves. I closed my eyes. In… Out… It sounded like a gigantic inhalation. I synchronized my own breath with it, to steady my nerves.
This is the moment. Now
.
‘David,’ I said. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’
I heard him laugh. ‘Not this game again. I thought you’d given that up.’
I stared at a bit of dried seaweed by my feet. It was black and brittle.
‘It
isn’t
a game. There really
is
something I have to tell you. Something very serious about myself that I should have told you when we first met.’ His features tightened now, as he realized, at long last, that I wasn’t joking. ‘But the reason why I didn’t was because something completely unexpected happened. I fell in love with you. And once that had happened, I found it not just difficult, but almost impossible to tell you. I’ve been wrestling with it ever since.’
David shook his head in confusion. ‘You look so
serious
, Miranda.’
‘It
is
serious.’
He blinked. ‘What is it?’ I didn’t reply. ‘You’ve got a child?’
‘No.’
If only it were that simple
. I stared down at the shingle, noticing the navy flints amongst the beige.
‘You can’t
have
children? Is that it? Because if so, it doesn’t matter. There are other ways…’
I shook my head. ‘That’s not it either.’
If only it were—it would be far easier to say
. Behind us an ice-cream van passed by with its curiously merry-yet-melancholy jingle.
‘You’re ill…’ David said suddenly. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re ill, Miranda.’
‘No. I’m not.’
A look of relief passed over his face. ‘Then what is it? This serious thing?’
‘It’s something I did,’ I explained quietly. ‘When I was young. Something very bad.’
‘Oh,’ he said flatly. ‘I see.’ He didn’t say anything else for a moment, and we just sat there, aware of the sound of the waves breaking on the beach, then withdrawing with a soft rattle of shingle. ‘Was it drugs?’
‘No.’ I looked out to sea where a distant motor-boat was throwing up a twin wall of spray.
‘You…robbed a bank? Is that it? You committed a crime? You’ve been in prison?’
‘You’re warmer now,’ I said dismally, my eyes still fixed on the horizon. ‘And although, no, I didn’t ever go to prison, I could have done, and perhaps I
should
have done.’
‘What do you mean?’ I breathed in and then out, emptying the air out of my lungs. ‘What do you
mean
, Miranda? What
did
you do?’
The moment has come. Here it is
.
‘I hurt someone,’ I whispered. My heart was banging.
‘You
hurt
someone? God.
Who
?’
‘Well. This is the awful thing—’
‘
David
?’ we suddenly heard. ‘David White?’ David looked up, stared, and then suddenly began to smile in surprised recognition.
‘I don’t believe it!’ he exclaimed softly. ‘Mr McNaught. And Mrs McNaught.
Hello
.’
‘I
thought
I recognized you,’ said Bill McNaught. Their
black cocker spaniel was nose to nose with Herman now, their tails nervously twitching. ‘I said to Shirley, that’s young David from next door. You haven’t changed much, lad.’ He extended his hand. ‘Nice to see you again.’
‘You too. I’ve just been up to West Drive actually,’ David explained. ‘I even knocked on your door, but there was no reply.’
‘We always walk along the beach on Sunday mornings,’ said Mr McNaught. ‘Come rain or shine.’
‘Come rain or shine,’ agreed his wife.
‘Come rain or shine,’ he said again. ‘Then we go home for lunch.’ Now, to my horror, he was looking at me and smiling.
Don’t say it! Don’t, don’t say it!
‘So I see you’ve found your young man then.’ There was a split second while David absorbed this, then I was aware, as if in slow motion, of his head turning towards me. ‘Isn’t that funny, Shirley?’ Bill McNaught went on happily. ‘This is Miranda. The young lady who was looking for David just a few weeks ago.’
‘Oh,’ she said with pleasant surprise. ‘Hello there. Nice to meet you.’