‘But recently, I don’t know.’ She kicked at the sand with her toes.
‘Tell me.’ He spoke in a way that was calm, encouraging her trust.
‘Recently’ – she took a deep breath – ‘I keep thinking of what comes next and how the last decade has gone by so fast. I’ve always liked the idea of becoming a midwife, but never felt able to, erm, toleave, not really.’ Her face flushed. In her mind, admitting she was anchored to her home, her family, still smacked a little of failure or dire inaction.
‘Why not?’ His expression was one of interest, far from mocking, which she might have expected from someone less empathetic.
‘I like to be close to my nan, she’s ... she’s been through a lot. And I know that I make things better for her and my mum too, I guess. I’m like the sticker after the dentist, the sugar after the medicine.’ She gave a short laugh, but the truth was sharp and hard to swallow, like a stick in her craw. ‘I know things would be harder for them if I wasn’t there.’
‘So not only sugar after medicine, but a sacrificial lamb too, giving up your own dream and happiness. Sorry, that sounded really judgey. What’s it got to do with me?’ He looked anguished, at no more than the thought of overstepping the mark. It was endearing.
‘I am happy.’ She pressed this truth. ‘I am. Content in many ways. There are worse lives.’
‘There are.’ He smiled, looking out over the wide sweep of the beautiful bay.
‘I guess it’s an age thing where I’m starting to realise that I don’t want the next decade to whizz by just as quickly without achieving more.’
He twisted to face her, concentrating on what came next in a way that made her stomach bunch with longing. She folded her hands into the hem of her t-shirt.
‘Losing someone in the way you lost your dad is awful – it must change how you feel about everything. Distort a regular life.’ His voice barely more than a whisper.
‘It does. It did. And it is awful – for me, Mum, my nan, all of us.’
‘Yes, but it’s not too late, never too late.’
‘It’s not that easy, though, is it?’ She needed him to understand the bonds that kept her tethered.
‘It’s not.’ He swallowed. ‘And I understand. But wouldn’t your family want you to set your goals and go for it?’
‘They would, definitely, but it’s howIfeel that’s the stumbling block.’
There was a beat of quiet while he, like her, stared at the moving sea as if reflecting. It was, however, a comfortable silence.
‘I know you said memories of your dad were sketchy, but there must be some that stuck?’
‘Yes, one or two. But it’s like I only remember bits of him, and not as much as you’d think.’ Her voice was low as she whispered the private sadness. ‘I don’t know if I’ve blocked a lot of things out, but it’s almost like my grief reset my mind in some way. I don’t remember too much about my early childhood at all.’
‘So what do you remember about him?’ She liked how he was trying to get closer to the man who had meant so much to her.
‘I remember him singing when he was in the bath, loudly! I remember the feel of his chin on my cheek when he kissed me goodnight and he hadn’t shaved. I smell nail polish sometimes when I think about him, which is odd. And I remember he used to bring me a big punnet of cherries in the summer and we’d eat them together on the terrace and spit the stones into the flower bed. Like we were rebels, laughing and spitting stones when no one was looking.’ She smiled at the memory, the scent of fresh cherry now strong in her nose. ‘I don’t think there has ever been anything quite as beautiful as those glossy red cherries with their delicate green stems, sitting in a white china bowl on the table and what they represented – that he’d thought they were perfect for me – and what they represent now – one of the strongest and loveliest memories of time spent with my dad. A time when I didn’t know whatit felt like to have a blanket of sadness thrown over Signal House. Happiness. Security.’
‘I love that. And of course you have your mum too?’ He was joining the dots.
‘Uh-huh, she ...’ How to phrase it. ‘We’re not exactly close, not like I am with Freda. My mum drinks a lot.’ She hated that she had to share this, a negative. A reason for him not to like her: a minus point, a burden, something problematic, a dark cloud that hung over her rosy life. But what was the alternative? Hide her mother away? If only that were possible.
‘Don’t we all, given half the chance.’ His tone was jovial.
‘No, Ed.’ She cut him off, this the one aspect of her life where there was no room for humour or excuse. ‘Not just a lot, more than a lot. She’s ... she’s an alcoholic.’ It wasn’t a word she used often; the connotations too difficult to jostle with.
‘I’m sorry, Taw.’ His body stiffened and he sat up straight, as if awkward to have misjudged it. ‘That must have sounded flippant. It’s a horrible disease, it really is. It affects so much more than just the person drinking.’
‘Mmm.’ She was disinclined to match his empathetic tone. Too many thoughts and experiences had filtered through the bedrock of despair for too long. Was it her mother’s drinking that encouraged her dad to seek solace on his boat? How happy could he have been living with someone like that? It was a hook on which to hang her anger and it had always been this way.
‘It can’t be easy for you.’ He placed his arm across her shoulders and she sidled even closer, resting her head on his chest, liking the safety of it.
‘It isn’t, but I’m used to it.’ She shrugged, wanting to change the subject, as she felt perilously close to opening up about her feelings towards Annalee, and that was not where they were at. Yet.
‘So, I know you said your dad drowned.’ He spoke reverentially. ‘Was it in a pool, the sea? If you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine, of course.’
