Authors: Grace Wynne-Jones
So now I’m walking beside the waves with Fred and wondering
if Sammy would enjoy a camper-van weekend with me. I doubt
we’d have much to talk about – he’s obsessed with football – but
he’d be an ideal toy boy. And he’d probably be able to bring along
quite a few tasty tidbits. He must get discounts.
As I’m thinking this, the seagulls are calling and the wind is blowing mightily, and it looks like it might rain, which is not unusual. ‘Fred,’ I call. ‘Come here. It’s time to go home.’
He doesn’t seem to hear me.
‘Come on, Fred! Food!’
That usually gets him to come back straight away, but this time
he runs ahead. He is running towards a man in the distance.
‘Come back, Fred!’ I shout, as the man draws nearer. I watch the lanky strides, the mixture of looseness and purpose as he
walks. Even from here I can see there is something different about
him – a lightness; an intensity.
I squint my eyes against the flecks of seawater. And then I stand
stock-still. It’s Nathaniel, and he’s seen me. In a few seconds he
will be by my side.
Chapter
Forty-Six
He’s wearing jeans and
a thick woollen jumper, which has a
hole in the left elbow. ‘Greta told me I’d find you here.’ He
is out of breath. He must have been walking very quickly.
‘Oh.’ I just look at him. His hair is shorter and he seems taller
somehow, and thinner and sadder. That’s what I’ve always known
about Nathaniel – that part of him is sad, despite the gleeful
smiles and laughter. And I suppose he sees the same thing in me.
There are some people you just can’t hide from.
‘What… what are you doing here?’ I stutter.
‘Looking for you – and Fred, of course.’ Fred is jumping up
and down as though he’s on a trampoline. Nathaniel bends down
and Fred licks his hands.
‘Hi, sweet thing,’ Nathaniel says, caressing Fred’s long untidy
ears. ‘So you missed me, huh?’
‘Yes, he did miss you.’ I try not to say it too reproachfully. ‘In
fact, he missed you a lot.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Nathaniel gazes at me, and I see that bruised light
in his eyes that always goes straight to my heart.
‘He tried to bury my keys the other day.’
‘You’re a delinquent, Fred,’ Nathaniel laughs. ‘What on earth
are we going to do with you?’
I stare out to sea. Why did he have to turn up just when I was getting used to him not being here?
‘It’s good to see you again, Sally.’
‘And likewise,’ I say. When did I last say ‘likewise’? We fall easily into step beside each other. Why is it always like this with h
im? Why couldn’t it have been like this with Diarmuid?
I begin to feel awkward. I begin to feel I should be saying
important things, but I don’t know what they are. ‘Are… are you
over here on holiday?’
‘Sort of.’
‘What do you mean, “sort of”?’
‘Well, I’ve finished the job I was doing in London, so I suppose
that means I’m sort of on vacation – though Greta will be roping
me in to help with her press receptions any minute.’
‘I… I thought you’d settled there.’ I look up at him.
‘Where?’
‘In London, of course.’ I’m getting irritated.
‘No, that wasn’t the plan.’
‘So what was the plan?’
‘To make some money so that I could buy some new shirts.’ He
smiles at me. Why does he never answer my questions properly?
‘You’ve got a hole in your jumper,’ I say pointedly.
‘I know,’ he replies calmly.
We just keep walking. I don’t even know where we’re going; we’ve passed the small road that leads to Greta’s house.
‘Were… were you in London on your own?’ I feel I have to ask i
t, even though it’s somewhat nosy.
‘No, I shared the city with millions of others. Far too many p
eople, really. I think some of them should move to Manchester.’
I look down at the sand and the tiny pebbles. I’m tired of this g
ame of hide-and-seek he plays with me. I’m tired of his teasing. ‘I didn’t find love there, if that’s what you mean.’ He glances at m
e quickly and then looks away.
I should tell him I love him,
I think
. I should get it over with.
He’ll be understanding and sweet; he won’t make me feel rejected.
He’ll say he values me dearly as a friend, and I’ll tell him I can’t
just be his friend. I don’t want to be good old Sally who, unlike the others, wants nothing from him. It’s gone way beyond that
.
It’s time he knew the truth
.
I open my mouth to say this, only what emerges is, ‘I suppose
you’ve sold your car.’
‘No, I’m getting Gloria all done up,’ he says.
‘Gloria?’
‘Yes. That’s what I’ve decided to call her. She’ll be as pretty as
a picture. Of course the people in the garage have been trying to
frighten me with talk of sprockets and valves and suchlike, but I’ve told them I’m not intimidated and I’ve studied karate.’
‘Have you?’
‘Of course not. I tried tai chi once, only I couldn’t remember any of the movements afterwards.’
I look at a yacht in the distance. How can we be so alike and
yet so different? It doesn’t seem fair. The pebbles are crunching beneath our feet, and every so often I stumble slightly. The wind
is stinging my cheeks. It really is time I headed home. I have a long article to write about vases.
‘So what about you, Sally? Have you found love again?’ Nathaniel suddenly asks, apparently casually.
For some reason I think of the time Diarmuid found us
together on my sofa. I recall Nathaniel’s horrified expression, his
embarrassment, how eager he was to reassure Diarmuid that
nothing had happened between us. Even when I told him
Diarmuid had gone off with Charlene, he still acted as though I was firmly married. He just doesn’t fancy me; that’s the truth of
it. He seems to, sometimes, but that’s just because he’s so good at
intimacy. He’s expert at making people feel special.
I decide not to answer his question. I want to be a woman of
mystery for a change. I stare moodily out at the sea and leave him
wondering.
‘Greta tells me you’ve been dating a very rich, dark and handsome man called Brian.’
So Greta has been gossiping behind my back, and making
Brian sound much more desirable than he actually is. I find that I’m grateful, if baffled.
‘Yes, I’ve been dating a man called Brian,’ I say. ‘I think I’ll head home now. It’s really getting rather late.’
Nathaniel suddenly reaches out and brushes a stray hair from my face. His hand briefly touches my cheek. It feels strong and
warm. I wish he wouldn’t do things like that. All the old glowing
feelings are coming back, the pointless, beautiful longings. Fred runs back to us and shakes himself vigorously. We are suddenly
covered in droplets of water.
‘So you thought I could leave Fred without a backward glance?’
Nathaniel says, picking up a flat stone and skimming it across the
water. ‘You thought I could just completely forget him?’
He hasn’t even asked who Brian is or what I feel about him,
I
think
.
Even a friend should show some curiosity.
‘There’s also a young man called Sammy,’ I find myself adding,
wanting to prove to Nathaniel that he’s not the only person who
can have a number of admirers. ‘We… we’re getting quite close,
actually. He gives me wonderful advice about cheese.’
‘What?’ Nathaniel frowns.
‘He works in the local deli.’
‘I see.’ Nathaniel looks worriedly at an approaching terrier, who is growling. ‘Come here, Fred,’ he shouts. Fred returns obediently. He doesn’t do that for me.
The wind is stronger now and the waves are larger. I move away from them, onto the stretch of sand that is covered in
seashells and stray bits of wood and seaweed. It’s utterly pointless
trying to make Nathaniel feel jealous.
‘What were you actually doing in London?’ I finally ask. We are heading back towards Greta’s house and my cottage.
‘I was a social worker. It was just for five months. The guy I
was replacing needed some time off to finish his PhD. Now I plan
to see if I can get a social-work position here. If I can’t, Greta t
hinks I could make a good flower-arranger. I’d enjoy getting big
displays ready for VIP parties, and helping famous people choose
orchids. I’d love bossing people around.’
I look at him wearily. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’
‘All right, then, I wouldn’t. I want to be a social worker again.
It’s kind of interesting… and it’s better than working for Greta. She’s very bossy.’
I pick up a stick and throw it. Fred runs after it and carries it into the sea.
‘So how have you been, Sally?’
‘Oh, you know… busy,’ I say brightly. ‘I’m involved with
refugees and ethnic recipes, and I’ve got the columns. And Erika’s
pregnant now, so she likes being fussed over. My parents are getting a new lawn, and…’
‘No, I mean how have you
really
been?’
I pick up a small white seashell. ‘I’ve just told you.’
‘No, you haven’t.’
I consider walking away from him, onto the nearby road with its cars and its traffic lights and its crowded buses. Instead I just
walk more quickly, trying to put some distance between us. He catches up with me easily.
‘Do you fancy a Chinese takeaway?’
‘No.’ It’s getting darker; the orange and pink sunset is marbling
the sky.
‘Burger and chips?’
I shake my head.
‘Chocolate cake and tea?’
I hesitate. ‘No. I’m not really hungry.’
I start to walk again; in fact, I’m almost running. I can’t bear
this any longer. I keep wanting to reach out and touch his cheek,
bury my face in his shabby jumper. I keep wanting
him,
but I
mustn’t. I
enjoy
being single. I don’t need him. What I really need
is a very long bath.