The Summer Without You

The water felt silken over her skin, air bubbles rushing past her ears as her fingers touched the wall and she turned without breaking cover. One more length. Every fibre of her body was straining for fresh oxygen now, one more breath on which to power, but she kept on kicking, fighting the urge that felt so natural and right, and going with the defiance that kept streaking through her like a wilful child: why should she breathe? Why should she stop? She could decide what she did and when.

The wall was there suddenly, her hand flat against it, and she burst through the water like a torpedo, gulping down air, her heart on a sprint her lungs couldn’t keep up with. She collapsed her arms onto the side of the pool, resting her cheek on her arms, eyes closed as she let her body recover from the sudden, fierce punishment she had meted out against it. It was fair to say yesterday’s meeting still rankled.

‘I thought I was going to have to go in there and fish you out.’ Florence smiled from her position at the table. A deep tray of what looked like soil was in front of her as she balled the seed mix into small ‘bombs’ and put them in brown-paper bags.

Ro raked her hair back from her face and waded over to the steps. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I just . . .’ She shook her head, her breath still coming hard. ‘I don’t know, I just wanted to really go for it. God, I haven’t done that for years.’ She blew out through her cheeks. ‘Wow. Exhausting.’

Ro climbed out of the water with wobbly legs and wrapped a striped towel round her. She picked up the glass with ghoulishly green contents, managing not to grimace this time, and took a sip. ‘Mmm, that’s surprisingly good.’

Ro collapsed down on a curvy wicker chair opposite Florence. ‘I’ll help you with some of those as soon as my hands are dry,’ she said, holding up her wet palms. One touch of the brown powder and it would turn into a gloopy mess. ‘So, this is how you spend every morning, is it?’ Ro asked, looking past the bottom of the garden to the dunes and the ocean beyond. It glittered like a sequin belt, thrown out over the horizon, and she could make out the red and blue sails of some windsurfers, jibing into the wind.

‘Pretty much. There’s something about the wind off the ocean . . .’ Florence closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the gentle breeze that pushed her silver hair away from her face.

‘I feel like I’m in a film.’ Ro looked slowly around the mature garden, which had clearly been developed over decades, with meadows in the furthest stretch of lawn leading down nicely to the dunes on the outer boundary, and wildflower arrangements in the artfully dishevelled beds.

Ro watched a man walking along the shoreline, a dog no doubt bounding somewhere ahead of him. His hands were raised against the sun as he looked up at the big houses with the bigger views, and she could imagine a lot of people stared up here, at Grey Mists, wondering what it was like to sit where she was sitting.

She turned back to Florence. ‘So, I think I cracked it. The campaign, I mean.’

‘I can’t wait to see it. You’re just a marvel to have done it so quickly.’ Florence leaned over and patted Ro’s hand. ‘And thank heavens I got you when I did. You’re going to be inundated when Lauren and Paul’s pictures come out – they’ve been telling everyone, you know. And they’re so excited about the idea of the movie and how you’re going to add to it every year. Nan was saying the other photographer never even offered them anything like that. Did you get to talk to everyone you needed?’

‘Yes, Nan was on the case. We set up in the library and interviewed people individually in there. There were some good stories and insights. I’m pretty excited with what we’ve got.’ Hump had been a trouper with the footage he’d shot.

Florence leaned over and patted Ro’s hand with her dusty one. ‘What you did was very kind, stepping in like that when you no doubt had other plans yourself. It won’t be forgotten, you know.’

‘So, this big idea – let me see it.’ Florence put on her half-moon reading glasses, which hung from a silk cord round her neck, and rubbed her hands together in keen anticipation as Ro reached down for the board-backed envelope she’d stolen from Hump’s desk. Biting her lip anxiously, she pulled out the sheet of paper she’d spent all of yesterday working on after Ted had left.

‘Now, this is just a suggestion, an example. I don’t expect you to go for it completely as is. I’m not an ad guru. I just wanted to clarify the angle I’m coming from.’

She took a deep breath and let Florence examine the poster; she had tweaked the colourings of the photo, printing it in sepia so that the sunset was amplified and the golden and bronze tones of the sand and ocean were deepened against the black silhouettes of the children, the dune grasses in the background picked out against the clear sky. ‘Legacy,’ was rendered across the top of the image in fine gold lettering and below it, ‘Protect the dunes.’

‘I thought that by bringing the children to the forefront of the image, it reinforces the idea that what we do now affects future generations. That we’re doing this for them, not ourselves, not some philanthropic ideal – our kids. So that they can enjoy what we do.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s the emotional link you need, in my view.’

Ro waited apprehensively as she watched Florence’s eyes roll over the poster, the silence pregnant with expectation. Eventually, Florence looked at Ro over her glasses. ‘You know, I had a feeling about you the day we met. I really did.’ Florence smacked her hand to her chest, squinting as she looked at it more closely. ‘And, oh my goodness! Aren’t they just the most adorable children?’ she asked, pointing to Ella and Finn, delight dancing in her voice.

‘It was pure chance. They just happened to be playing there when I was out with my camera. Sometimes you get lucky like that.’

Florence sat back in her chair, nodding intently at the poster, unable to take her eyes off it. ‘I just love it. I can’t wait to present it to the committee. We have a meeting tonight. I’ll take it with me then.’ She smiled at Ro. ‘It’s just perfect. I’m not going to change a thing.’

‘Really? Oh phew! I’m so glad you like it,’ Ro laughed, mock-wiping sweat from her forehead and looking back down the garden again. She saw a man walking on the boardwalk that led over the dunes to Florence’s garden from the beach. Ro watched him. It appeared to be the same man she’d seen just moments ago walking along the shore. He didn’t seem to be looking for his dog, and from the surety of his stride, he didn’t appear to be lost either. He was holding something in his hand, something he raised to his face. A camera? Ro squinted. No. Binoculars.

She glanced at Florence, who was still examining the poster, one hand on the arm of her glasses as though adjusting them like a microscope. Ro watched the man. He was definitely staring up at the house, gradually turning his view across the garden to the pool house and pool terrace where she and Florence were sitting.

She saw the man freeze and knew the two of them were in his sights. She stood up – as suddenly angry as she was uneasy. The man didn’t hesitate; he turned round and marched quickly back down the boardwalk to the beach again.

Ro stalled. The man was almost out of sight already, not even a footprint in the sand to indicate he’d been there. ‘Uh . . . cramp. I always get it if I don’t stretch out.’ She made a play of massaging her thigh, her eyes flicking back to the end of the garden repeatedly. But there was no sign of him. He had gone.

Ro sat back down, unsure whether to say anything. She didn’t want to alarm the older woman. She lived here alone, after all. But then again – she lived here alone. ‘Florence, that boardwalk. Is it private, or can just anyone use it? Is there a path that leads off from the beach to the lane down there?’

‘Oh no. It only comes into our backyard. It used to happen occasionally. As you can see, our drive runs parallel to the dunes, along the bottom of next door’s yard, before it comes up the side of the lawns and sweeps round to the front of the house. Well, a few times we’d get people who thought they could access the beach by walking along our drive and cutting across the boardwalk. That’s why we put the electric gate in, and there’s now a chain and a trespass notice at the bottom of the boardwalk steps, which has done the trick. Why? Was somebody trying their luck?’ She frowned and turned in her chair, looking down towards the empty boardwalk.

Ro knew she had to say something. ‘Well, someone did just come up, but they turned round again as soon as they saw us sitting here.’ She bit her lip. ‘I think they had binoculars.’

Florence shook her head sternly, her lips pursed. ‘Some people are so damned nosy. It can be like living in a fishbowl sometimes. Everyone assumes the people in these houses must be billionaires or celebrities. We had one summer where that singer Jennifer . . .’ She waggled her finger distractedly, trying to recall the name.

‘That’s her! Well, she took a house further up the lane and some enterprising Tom, Dick or Harry with a beach permit arranged drive-bys in his beach buggy. Every morning we had people with cameras looking in on us eating our breakfast.’

Ro bit her lip, hoping to goodness it hadn’t been Hump. It certainly had his stamp of entrepreneurialism all over it. No doubt he would have tried to seduce J Lo too.

‘They never think we might just be ordinary people who happened to live here long before this crazy real-estate bubble started—’ Florence stopped, as though catching herself. ‘Tch, listen to me ranting on like a crazy woman and not stopping to count my blessings.’

‘I think you’re entitled to be angry if people are invading your privacy,’ Ro said, the words catching slightly as she remembered Ted Connor’s same accusation against her. But what she had done hadn’t been the same, had it?

‘Well, sometimes I do wonder whether I wouldn’t be better moving to somewhere smaller anyway. It is a little ridiculous for me to be rattling around such a big house.’ Her eyes gazed up at the building. ‘But there are just so many precious memories locked up with this place. I worry that I might lose them if I left. Bill and I shared so many happy years here. I can look out into the backyard and almost see my girls playing leapfrog on the lawns.’ Her eyes misted up as she retreated into the past, before quickly pulling herself back to the present with a bright smile that didn’t quite touch the sadness in her eyes. ‘And of course, now I get to see my grandchildren playing the same games as their mothers. It’s like a second chance to live it all again.’ She placed a flat hand against the poster. ‘This house is my legacy.’

05/23/2010

04h38

‘Stop it. You can’t video me now.’ Laughter. The blonde woman leaning with her hands on the back of the sofa turns her head away. A look of pain crosses her face. Her long hair falls over her face. She is flushed. The room behind is panelled in dark wood. The sofa is coral-coloured.

‘Why not? You look incredibly sexy.’

She looks up. ‘I look like a hippo!’ Panting.

‘Well, an incredibly sexy hippo. The sexiest hippo I ever saw.’

Laughter. A light pink cushion is thrown and hits the camera screen.

‘You could be more useful, you know. We’re never going to want to see this again, anyway. I know I certainly won’t.’

‘I will always want to look at you.’

‘Oh no! Don’t go Prince Charming on me. It’s because of that that I’m standing here with my ass hanging out at all. Quit it. Put that thing down. Come and give me a pelvic-drainage massage.’

‘Really? Because I was thinking I might hit the gym. You know, while we’ve still got time.’

The blonde woman’s eyes narrow. ‘Ted Connor, if you want to live long enough to actually meet your firstborn child, I suggest you put that thing down now and come and drain my pelvis. No, don’t make that face.’

‘Isn’t there a massage that makes your breasts bigger? I’d rather do that.’

‘You think they could get any bigger? Besides, nothing that is about to happen in the next twenty-four hours is going to be about what you want. In fact, scratch that – nothing that happens for the next twenty-four years is going to be about what you want. They call it parenthood, you know.’

A deep chuckle next to the camera. The room tilts.

‘All right. Let’s dredge your pelvis.’

‘Drain it, you pig! Drain it.’ Laughter. Panting.

Blackness.

05/23/2010

10h48

Whispers. ‘World, welcome to the little girl who’s going to change you forever: Ella Margaret Connor, so named after her grandmother and the singer to whom her parents danced their first dance at their wedding.’ Pans in on sleeping baby swaddled in ivory blanket, a pink beanie pulled down, wisps of dark hair visible, tiny fists tightly bunched with long fingers, sharp nails.

‘And her beautiful mother, Marina Louise Connor.’ Camera sweeps in on the sleeping blonde, pink-cheeked, a pale blue nightdress, a tube coming from the back of her hand, a plastic tip attached to the end of her finger. ‘Too clever for her own good, too pretty for mine.’

Pans back to Ella. ‘My girls. Both of them. Always.’

An unseen door opens. Someone enters.

Blackness.

05/24/2010

11h04

‘I don’t understand how there can be so much of it. It’s only been twenty minutes since the last.’ Marina. Camera tilts. ‘Is this on?’

Hospital bed. Bowls of water and cotton-wool balls. Two pots of cream. Wipes. Two tiny nappies. Ted squints at the camera. Hair upright. Pale. Unshaven. Grey T-shirt and jeans. Barefoot. Nods.

Camera steadies. ‘So this is it: Daddy’s first diaper change. This should be in-ter-es-ting.’

Ted pulls face at the camera. Leans back over the baby.

‘You’re not going to cry for Daddy, are you? You know Daddy’s going to do this so well. Not like Mommy, who got your leg stuck, no.’ Ella scrunched up small, knees in on her tummy, arms flailing to the sides sporadically. She goes red, looks set to cry. Ted rests hand lightly on her chest. Her breathing changes.

Camera zooms in on baby’s face. Eyes dark, almost black, irises seem undefined. Like seal eyes. Small pointed chin. Mild rash on cheeks.

‘Are all babies this beautiful?’ Marina.

A foot comes into shot. Ted frowning. ‘How did it get all the way up there? It’s by her neck . . . Is it supposed to be green?’

Camera shakes slightly. Camera pans out. Nappy is off, Ella held on her side as Ted wipes her back.

‘Tula-lula-lula-lula-bye-bye, in Daddy’s heart you’re dreaming . . .’ he half sings, half whispers. Takes both Ella’s ankles in one hand and lifts her bottom off the mat, quickly placing nappy beneath her. He glances at camera, triumphant look.

‘Pleased with yourself, aren’t you?’ Marina.

‘Well, I got you to marry me, didn’t I?’ he grins, fastening tabs at the sides of the nappy. Winks at camera. Handsome.

Rolls Ella onto her side again. Quickly places sleepsuit beneath her.

‘Oh, I got this. Yeah, Daddy’s got this, baby.’ Gently places Ella’s feet and arms into sleepsuit. Fastens poppers.

Slides one hand behind Ella’s head, scoops her under the bottom with the other. Carries her tenderly towards the camera. His cheek beside hers. ‘And that, ladies and gentlemen and Marinas, is how it’s done.’ Blinks, looks straight into the camera. Handsome. Turns and kisses Ella lightly on the nose. ‘Who’s Daddy’s little princess? We said you wouldn’t cry for Daddy, didn’t we?’

‘There’s just one thing.’ Marina.

Ted raises eyebrow. Invincible.

‘The diaper’s on back to front.’

Ted looks at Ella, back to Marina. ‘No.’

‘Oh yes.’

Ella strains. Goes red. Redder. Purplish . . . Begins to cry. Ted frowns, looks at his arm. Eyes widen. Holds Ella out towards the camera. ‘Mommy’s turn.’

Blackness.

05/24/2010

13h09

‘I’m not sure she’s on properly.’ Marina, head bowed, Ella in her arms, feeding. ‘Ow.’ She winces, hooks her little finger into Ella’s mouth. Shifts position. Ella cries. Perfect breast exposed. ‘Shh, shh. Let’s try again.’

Ella starts feeding again.

‘Is that better?’ Ted.

Marina bites her lip. Looks up to camera with anxious eyes. Blue eyes. ‘I’m not sure. It kind of hurts. But then, maybe it’s supposed to? I mean, I’ve never had anyone chomp on my nipple before – except for you.’ Smile.

‘Hey!’ Ted.

Silence. Ella feeding.

‘Didn’t they say she’s not supposed to be actually on the nipple but the areola?’ Ted.

‘In theory, but what good is theory when I can’t actually see? Can you look?’

Blackness.

05/24/2010

16h13

‘Look at the camera, Mom.’ Ted.

Ash-blonde woman, early sixties, beige jacket, orange paisley shawl, pearl earrings, holding Ella, sleeping, arms angled to show her face to the camera.

‘My first grandchild. And so beautiful.’ Smiles. Looks back at baby. ‘I’d forgotten how small they are.’ Wriggles her pinkie into Ella’s closed fist. Ella grips it hard. ‘Just look at those divine little fingers.’

‘Marina can’t stop counting them. She’s OCD about it. Every time I come back in the room, she’s counting her fingers and toes.’ Ted.

Marina. Sitting up in bed. Sticks her tongue out at the camera. Looks tired.

‘I was the same with you, Edward. I couldn’t stop inspecting you. I could scarcely believe you were as perfect as you appeared.’

‘But I am.’

Both women look at each other, shake their heads.

Camera pans in on Ella. White sleepsuit and beanie embroidered with bumblebees.

Long silence.

Camera moves over towards man sitting in a chair, previously out of shot. ‘How about you, Dad? You want to hold her?’

Man gets up. Sports jacket and patterned tie. Grey hair, tanned. ‘I don’t want to wake her up. Marina needs to rest.’

‘I’m fine.’ Marina smiles. ‘Besides, sleep’s impossible anyway. I can’t stop looking at her.’

Man stands by his wife. Looks down at Ella. Cups the top of her head with his hand. ‘It’s like rolling back thirty years. She looks just like Ted when he was born, do you remember?’

His wife nods, carefully hands over Ella. He awkwardly holds her, his elbows sticking out at odd angles.

‘Smile for the camera, Dad.’ Ted.

He smiles.

‘Mom, stand closer next to Dad.’

The man and woman angle their heads together, matching smiles, Ella between them.

‘Perfect.’

Blackness.

05/26/2010

17h41

Silence. Slow zoom on Marina, eyes closed, cabbage leaf on her left breast.

‘Does that feel better?’

She nods. Sinks back into the pillow. ‘Like you wouldn’t believe. I will never be able to look at a goulash without gratitude ever again.’ She smiles, opens her eyes. Frowns. Gasps. Pulls up her nightdress. ‘Turn that thing off right n—’

Ro turned with a start as Hump jumped through the doors and threw his bag on his desk.

She hurriedly pressed ‘pause’ and took off her headphones, letting them hang round her neck. ‘What are you doing here?’ She checked the time on her phone: 10.14 p.m.

‘Just popped back to check on emails. I’m waiting to hear from a dealer about a Landy import. Thinks he might have something for me.’ He sat down on top of his own desk, squashing a day-old sandwich, the remains of yesterday’s lunch, and scattering papers onto the floor. He took a slurp of his iced coffee. ‘And so much for breakfast in bed, by the way! You sidled out of the house without fulfilling your obligations.’

‘You had company again! I’m not walking in on you doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who.’ She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, but it was beginning to bug her that Hump was getting all this action while she was suffering an enforced celibacy. ‘Besides, I had a breakfast meeting with Florence for the campaign.’

‘You see?’ He winked. ‘You’re getting there. The wedding and now this . . . it’s beginning to happen for you. I knew it would. You’re too good to stay a secret in this town.’

Ro kept quiet. She didn’t want to tell Hump about her newest client. There’d be too much teasing and she didn’t feel like it today. The combination of missing Matt’s call on Saturday and a non-stop weekend had left her feeling tired and emotional.

Hump nodded towards the screen behind her. ‘So is that the wedding you’re watching? Please tell me I didn’t leave the lens cap on. I woke at three a.m. in a cold sweat convinced I’d recorded eight hours of black and you were going to murder me in my sleep.’

Hump squinted at the screen. ‘What is that you’re watching? It’s no wedding . . . It looks more like porno from here!’ he grinned, getting up off his desk and leaning across her counter. ‘Wow! She’s a hottie!’

Ro turned back to the screen and saw she had freeze-framed Marina Connor, breasts overflowing, her nightdress half off. ‘Hump, she is a breastfeeding woman with mastitis.’

Ro hesitated. There was no way she was going to be able to keep it a secret from him. No way. She may as well get it over and done with. ‘Ted Connor’s wife.’

Hump’s jaw dropped open, exaggeratedly wide, his eyes bright with delight. ‘Long Story?’

‘Please stop calling him that. It makes light of what he did and there was really nothing funny about it.’

‘So why are you working for him if he upsets you so much?’ Hump asked, hoisting himself up onto her counter to get a closer look at the screen.

Ro sighed and pressed the ‘minimize’ button to preserve Marina Connor’s modesty. ‘It’s a long story.’ The words were out before she could catch herself.

Hump threw his head back and laughed at her slip. ‘You two have got some weird shit going on.’

‘I’m not in any position to be choosy about who I do and don’t accept as clients. I either take the money or . . . or have to fly back to London at the end of the month.’ She knew she was being overdramatic, but if it shut him up . . .

‘Is it that bad?’ Hump asked, looking genuinely shocked and making her feel instantly guilty. It was like kicking a puppy.

‘Tch, it’s fine – if this tape is anything to go by, they’ve practically filmed the child’s life in real time and I’m never going to catch up. I’ll be busy watching them for the rest of my life, permanently four years behind.’

‘Madam, I am no lady,’ he protested in a faux-Shakespearean voice, vaulting one-handed off the counter and landing just a metre away from Melodie, before flexing a bicep.

She was nonplussed. ‘If you’re not man enough to handle a yoga class . . .’ She pinched his bicep with a look of withering disdain, leaning casually against the door frame in tight aubergine, navy and khaki layers, her silhouette thrown across the white floorboards like a painting.

Without a word, Melodie stepped into a handstand, her body as strong and still as Nelson’s Column. After half a minute or so – though she could clearly go longer – she stepped down again. ‘Your turn.’

Hump pretended to roll up his shirtsleeves – he was wearing a muscle vest – and stepped into one too, except his ankles were three feet apart, his knees bent down towards his head, and he had to start walking on his hands to stay upright. Just to show off, though, as he started to tip over, he flexed his arms and pushed off into a handspring, landing on his feet like a cat.

Ro watched, bemused, at her two new friends squaring up to one another, relaxed and informal together already, even though they’d only met for a few moments once before. She wished she could join in, but thirty years of British reserve wasn’t going to disappear overnight, and besides, she just wasn’t built that way: she didn’t rush into relationships – being orphaned at twelve had been a cosmic warning about the dangers of handing over your heart – and she certainly didn’t trust instinct. It was the opposite of security, as far as she could see.

‘OK. Follow me,’ Melodie said, this time getting down on the floor and resting on her elbows and toes, her body as straight as a plank.

Ro looked at her watch and then back at the two of them, immobile and silent on the floor.

‘Honestly, guys, if any clients walk in right now, they’ll think you’re coffee tables.’

‘Ro, no clients ever walk in,’ Hump quipped, his voice sounding strained and his arms beginning to tremble.

A minute and a half later, it was all over – Hump sprawled on the ground, groaning and out of breath.

Calmly, Melodie stepped out of the pose and stood over him, arms crossed, serenely victorious.

‘I’m so glad you think that.’ Melodie smiled, satisfied, over at Ro. ‘Your usual?’

‘Yes, please,’ Ro nodded, rooting in her purse to give Melodie her coffee money.

Her shadow left the floor and Hump stared across the room at Ro. ‘That’s why she came in? For a coffee run?’

‘Well, obviously for the great pleasure of making you eat your words too.’ Ro shrugged, turning back to the video screen and clicking out of the Connors’ baby videos. She really wasn’t in the mood for it today, and besides, she had another deadline to fulfil first. She retrieved Saturday’s wedding footage and booted it up. With her chin resting on cupped hands, she moved on from watching the first day of Ella’s life to the first day of the rest of Paul and Lauren’s lives. The irony wasn’t lost on her that her own life was firmly stuck on pause.

Chapter Fourteen