The Drowning (14 page)

I said no and I meant no!

Who does Meryn think he is?

Comes breezing into my life, gives me supper, thinks he can wave a magic wand and make everything smell of roses.

Well, it doesn’t. It stinks.

She sank on to her bed.

How can I possibly see him again?

I’ve blown everything before I’ve even given it a chance.

Dad and Jenna looked at each other across the kitchen table at breakfast.

Jenna said, “I didn’t hear you come in last night. You
were
late.”

Dad blushed. “Sorry. The time flew by.”

“As long as you enjoyed yourself.”

“Oh, I did.” He stared at his plate. “I’ll be out again on Sunday if that’s OK.”

“Sure,” Jenna said, kicking herself for wanting to say the same.

Dad said, “So who’s your secret admirer?”

Jenna blushed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, the new hairdo, the outfits, they weren’t for me, now, were they? Not for your plumpish, frumpish old dad who never sings in tune!”

“Not exactly.”

“Why are you being so mysterious? What have you got to hide?”

“Nothing. It’s just that if I tell you, I don’t want it to bring back all the memories.”

“Memories?”Dad’s face lost its happiness. “You mean of my Benjamin? How could it do that?”

Jenna took a deep breath. “I had supper with Meryn Carlyon . . . He was one of the lifeguards who helped us . . . who tried to find—” She looked into Dad’s eyes.

He gave her the bravest smile. “I see . . . And I’m sure he did his best.” He squeezed her hand. “Those lifeguards are the salt of the earth, Jenn.”

“Meryn’s dad drowned trying to rescue fishermen in distress. So he knows what it’s like to lose someone you love.” Jenna swallowed. “How’s Hester?”

Dad stood up. “You know,” he said to the teapot, as if it were an old friend,“after all these years,I reckon she’s not changed one single jot.”

The phone rang at midday.

Dad stopped singing. “Could you get that for me, Jenn? I’m making toasted ham and cheese for table four.”

Jenna dashed to pick up the phone.

“Cockleshell Tea Room. May I help you?”

“Jenna? This is Mum.”

Jenna’s mouth seemed to be full of dust. “Hello, Mum. How are you?”

“Where were you last night? I rang several times to speak to Dad, but there was no reply.”

“We were out.”

“I see . . . There’s a surprise . . . Where did he take you? Anywhere nice?”

Assume we were together,why don’t you? That neither of us has friends who might just ask us out!

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good. And how are you keeping?”

Well, I suppose it’s nice of her to ask!

“Fine, thanks.”

“Right . . . Good . . . So, is Dad there?”

No,he’s sleeping on the moon and I’m running the Cockleshell single-handed!

“Of course he’s here . . . Up to his eyes as usual. We both are.”

“Could you put him on? I only want a quick—”

“No, I couldn’t.” Jenna’s voice shook with anger. “He’s busy keeping your one and only business afloat. He’ll ring you back,
if
he can find the time.”

She slammed down the phone.

I thought maybe she wanted to talk to me! Checking up on Dad! That’s all she’s doing . . . He’s out for the first time in months and she’s down on him like a ton of bricks.

“Who was it, Jenn?” Dad called.

Jenna said, “Only your precious Lydia.”

“I’ll ring her back.”

“It’s OK. I said you were busy.” Jenna put her head round the kitchen door. “And by the way . . . Last night. Mum thinks we were out together. She kind of assumed . . . If she asks, you could tell her we had supper together at the Café Pasta.”

Dad stopped buttering some toast. He blushed. “I could, couldn’t I?” he said.

The week dragged by.

On Sunday Dad disappeared to Hester’s, looking excited at the prospect. Jenna mooned fretfully around the house, unable to settle to anything, trying not to imagine herself back at Meryn’s cottage, sunlight streaming in the harbour window, ballet music playing, Meryn watching her dance. As the afternoon wore on, she went for a walk along the cliff path towards Zennor, refusing to look down at Porthmeor Beach, refusing to remember . . .

I’m being stubborn as a mule . . . Well and truly back in that box of mine . . . Shut the lid and hope to suffocate.

But on Monday morning at eleven she walked like a robot into the tea room from the kitchen and was startled to find Meryn sitting at a table by the window. He grinned up at her.

“Hi . . . I’ve come for that coffee on the house you promised me.”

Jenna blushed, overwhelmed with delight at seeing him again. “Of course.”

“I missed you yesterday.” Meryn gazed fixedly at the menu. “Half hoped you’d change your mind . . . Me and my stupid big mouth. Can’t tell you how sorry—”

“It’s not you,”Jenna blurted out,surprising herself. “It’s me. It’s
my
fault. You were only trying to help.”

Meryn grabbed at her hand. “Then come this Sunday. You don’t have to dance . . . Forget I even suggested it . . . We can pretend I never—”

Jenna’s eyes stung with tears. “But I
want
to . . . I’m
longing
to dance again.” She clung to his hand. “It’s just I’m terrified. I don’t know if I can. I feel so stiff and heavy and scared . . . Terrified of dredging up all the memories, of pretending nothing happened to change my life.”

Meryn stood up and took her in his arms. “I’ll be there for you,” he said. “Nobody else will see. No one else need ever know.”

At closing time, Jenna carried a long-handled broom, a pile of dusters and a can of lavender spray polish up to her studio.

She unlocked the door and switched on the light. The room looked dusty and pathetically neglected. Guilt clutched at her heart.

The last time I practised here was the morning of my Advanced One exam.

It was only July, but it feels like a lifetime ago.

I shut myself in here that night to wait for Dad.

I remember now . . . When he got back, we sat together on the floor for hours, not talking, just holding each other and thinking about Benjie.

Then he started to tell me what had happened at the hospital . . .

And then he burst into tears . . . He cried as if his heart was going to flood out of him . . .

I’d never seen him cry before,never felt the way the sobs racked his whole body.

All I could do was sit and hold him in my arms,tell him everything was going to be all right because he still had me and Mum.

Jenna wiped at her face with a duster.

Somehow or other I’ve got to summon the will, the determination to dance over that memory . . .

To heal its pain.

When the studio shone again, Jenna pulled her case out of the corner, opened it and chucked its entire contents on to the floor.

She threw off her working clothes, pulled on an old pair of tights and a black leotard. On went the ballet shoes. She checked her reflection in the wall of mirrors, feeling almost as if she were looking at a stranger. She raised her chin, corrected the line of her back and shoulders, tied her hair in a ponytail, leaving her new fringe in dark strands on her forehead.

She put on a CD and pattered towards the barre.

Gently now . . . very gently . . . half an hour only will be quite enough tonight . . .

I’ll give myself a full hour’s practice session tomorrow.

As she finished the last exercise, she realised that Dad was standing in the doorway.

“Jenna Pascoe! I turned off the TV and heard music coming from the studio . . . Then I thought it’s been so long, I must be dreaming – maybe it’s a ghost!”

Panting to regain her breath, Jenna gave Dad a deep curtsy. “Lots of very real flesh pounding around,struggling to get back into shape!”

Dad’s face gleamed with surprise and delight. “My Jenna dancing again. There’s a sight for sore eyes.” He took off his glasses, polished them on his sleeve. “Why now?”

Jenna grinned at him across the room. “Because Meryn asked me to dance for him. I said I would. But it’s going to take a week’s practice before I’m anywhere near ready.”

She skipped towards Dad and took his arm.

“Sit over there, in the corner, on that stool. I’ll dance my exam routine for you – my ballet variations. Just to prove to both of us I can still get it right.”

Dad’s face lit up with his smile. “The perfect end to my day.”

Sunday dawned grey and cloudy. Surfers raced down to Porthmeor Beach to tackle the heaving waves. Church bells clanged sporadically through the showers of rain. Jenna stood in the studio, practising at the barre, urging her stiff muscles to obey her meticulous instructions.

At midday, she ran through the Digey into Fore Street, down to the harbour and along to St Andrews Street. In one bag she carried her dance gear. In another – a carefully covered basket – she’d packed a selection of Dad’s specialities: a freshly baked walnut loaf, six saffron buns, and a cinnamon and apple crumble.

She stood on the pavement outside Meryn’s front door. The top half of the door had been flung open. Through it she could see down to the basement and Meryn muttering to himself, flinging a pan into the sink. The scent of roasting lamb filtered into the air.

She tiptoed through the door, left the basket of food on the table and sprinted up to the living room. It stood flooded with grey light from the harbour sea and sky. True to his word, Meryn had pushed the sofa against the wall and rolled up the scattered rugs. The wooden floor gleamed up at her invitingly.

She dashed upstairs to the bathroom.

Got to do this quickly, before I lose my nerve.

Five minutes later, she was down in the living room, standing in the middle of the floor, dressed in white tights and her special red leotard.

She heard Meryn climb the stairs from the basement, exclaim with delight at the basket of food.

“Jenna? Are these from you? Where are you? I didn’t hear you come in!” He rushed up the shallow flight of steps. “Wow!”

Jenna blushed. “This is all your fault.”

“You look great!”

“I’ve been very strict with myself all week . . . In my studio twice a day, morning and evening, warming up, exercising at the barre . . . Yesterday I could hardly move!”

“Will you dance for me?”

“Guess I’ll have to if I want any lunch!”

Meryn grinned. “Amazing how the smell of roasting lamb can sway a girl’s heart! I bought a new CD with you in mind . . . All the best bits from
Swan Lake.
Dance for me, Jenna. Let me see what you can do.”

Jenna felt the rhythms of the dearly loved music flood through her body. They eased her nerves, softened her self-consciousness.

She kept her eyes on Meryn’s face as she began to dance for him. Clumsily at first, gradually she gained in confidence. This coaxing of her body back to dancing life felt more important than any exam, any charity show – more important than anything she’d ever done before. She needed Meryn’s approval. She knew from the look in his eyes that she had it. And as she danced, memories of the dreadful summer months wove through her mind: the cold pale dawns when she’d dreaded facing the day; her guilt and anguish as she relived special moments with Benjie; Dad’s valiant attempts at cheerfulness; her mother’s furious silence and contempt.

Life must go on,
she made her body say.
Good or bad,it must go on. Every time I dance, I shall celebrate my little brother’s life – and reinforce my own.

“Thanks, Meryn.” Jenna pushed her plate aside. “Not just for lunch. For making me dance again.”

“If it hadn’t been me, it would have been somebody else. I’m no expert, but you’ve got real talent, Jenna. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Jenna blushed with happiness. “You should have seen Dad’s face when he saw me practising in the studio.”

“I can imagine.”

“I felt as if – just a little – I was healing the hurt of . . .” She took a deep breath. “You know, of Benjie. Before, I reckoned the only way I could do that was by working beside Dad in the Cockleshell.”

“So where do you go from here?”

Jenna shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I suppose—”

In the corner, the phone rang. Meryn darted over to answer it.

“Sorry, Jenna, emergency. Must go.” He blew her a kiss. “Wait here for me. Back soonest.”

He raced out of the door.

Jenna leapt to her feet, ran over to the window to look out across the harbour.

The dreadful warning thud of the maroons shook the Sunday air.