NEXT MORNING, WHEN Ben comes downstairs, his heart is full of grateful peace; how he loves this place. It’s doubly wonderful now that Charlie knows about Evie’s will.
‘It’s the perfect solution, Benj,’ he said, as they sat in the drawing-room after supper whilst Ange was packing. It was a chill evening and Ben had lit the fire. ‘So clever of Evie to think of it. We’re all winners.’
‘Even Ange?’ Ben asked sceptically.
Charlie frowned; he looked puzzled. ‘She’s pleased,’ he said. ‘No, honestly. She can see that it’s right for everyone. I must admit I was rather taken aback by her enthusiasm. I was so pleased that I kissed her.’
Ben laughed. ‘Don’t make it sound so unusual.’
‘No, I didn’t mean that. It was just so wonderful to be singing from the same hymn sheet for a change. I hate discord, Benj.’
‘Me, too,’ he said. He didn’t add that it was one of the bonuses of not being married any more. ‘Pity she didn’t suggest you could stay on, like at regatta.’
Charlie shrugged. ‘I wish. It’s been a bit of a week, hasn’t it, but it’s worked out surprisingly well in the end. That scene in Alf’s aged me by about ten years. First Maisie walking in, then Jemima. I wasn’t designed to live a double life.’
‘We had it under control,’ Ben said. ‘Me and Mimes. It’s a pity we couldn’t all get together this time.’
‘It’s hell not being able to be in touch with her,’ Charlie said, staring down into his empty coffee cup. ‘But it’s the only way I can hack it. We were able to have a brief talk together in Alf’s, except that Miranda was there, and Maisie, of course. But Jemima seems to understand. I told her we were off tomorrow. It’s weird how I feel, Benj. It sounds so selfish if I try to verbalize it. I want her in my life but on my own terms.’
‘But doesn’t she feel exactly the same way? If you can both hack it, why not?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘I don’t know. It just sounds bizarre.’
Ben watched him compassionately. ‘Jemima doesn’t want to live with you in London and you wouldn’t last ten minutes down here. So you get together for a few days a few times each year. It’s tough but it’s been done before. Give it a go and see how it works. It might become easier, less dramatic, if you see what I mean.’
Charlie nodded. ‘It’s just this feeling that I’m being kind of unfaithful to Ange even though we’re not having a physical relationship,’ he says wretchedly. ‘It feels like I’m cheating.’
‘Well, you’re just going to have to deal with it,’ Ben told him brutally. ‘If you continue to feel like that and you can’t hack it then you’ll just have to avoid seeing Jemima when you come down. But, hey, give it a chance. Why don’t you take it a day at a time and see how it goes?’
Charlie gave a great sigh and smiled at him. ‘Crazy, isn’t it? Such a fuss. I’d better go and see how Ange is doing.’
Now, as he begins to prepare breakfast, Ben sympathizes with Charlie’s dilemma. It is specious to say that because sex isn’t involved Charlie isn’t cheating on Ange, and he wonders how the relationship can possibly go forward between his cousin and Jemima; whether they will be able to contain it and bring it into a simpler kind of love. There are so many different kinds of love; so sad that any of it should be wasted.
He hears someone coming down the stairs, the sounds of bags being dumped down in the hall, Ange calling to Charlie to remember the coats in the hall cupboard. The holiday is over.
Jemima drives slowly. The autumn lanes are full of delights: a crown of pale honeysuckle trailing in the thorny hedgerow where scarlet rosehips cluster amongst the brambles; a few inquisitive bullocks trampling and jostling at a muddy farm gate; the delicate shining silk of a spider’s web flung between bare twigs. A pheasant runs out from the ditch; it jinks from side to side in front of the car, and rockets upwards, screeching noisily. Fields glimpsed through gateways are a rich mosaic of colour: new-turned crimson from the plough and pale stubbly gold, just harvested. Black plastic-covered bales looking like giant cotton-reels are stacked against the hedges.
Jemima is aware of the autumn magic though, at a different level, she is trying to contain her excitement. This morning, soon, she will see Charlie. She’s convinced herself that they will meet as they did before, by accident, by chance; just as they did at regatta, and when he gave her the little piece of glass. Ever since yesterday morning in Alf’s she’s been living on a high, remembering the look that passed between them, which has enabled her to push to the back of her mind the hopelessness she experienced when she saw him with Ange outside Dukes. Just for now he is again the Charlie of regatta, separate from Charlie the husband, the family man.
They managed to exchange a few words in Alf’s, saying nothing, saying everything. He told her that they were leaving earlier than planned to go to Polzeath and at once she was seized with the hope that Ange might go alone again and leave him behind with his family.
As she drives she’s persuaded herself that this has been the case and that somehow they will share a few precious hours together. She pulls into a gateway to check her mobile for a text from Benj but there is no signal and she wonders if she has the nerve simply to knock on the door of the Merchant’s House. After all, since Alf’s it’s been established that she is Benj’s friend. She has a few hours free so she’ll throw it in the lap of the gods. If there’s a parking place she’ll take the chance, if not she’ll park in the town and hope to bump into him.
And there is a space almost opposite the house. Her heart knocking about madly in her breast, her knees trembly, she puts the windows down a few inches for Otto and locks the car. Glancing each way, she crosses the road, and seizes the knocker.
Benj answers almost immediately, opening the door, gazing down at her as she waits there full of anticipation, beaming happily. He guesses straight away.
‘He’s gone,’ he says.
She stares at him, her smile slowly crumpling into disbelief: ‘Gone? What, gone already?’
He takes her arm, pulls her inside and slams the door behind them.
‘I thought you knew,’ he says, almost angrily. ‘He said he told you they were going to Polzeath.’
She can scarcely answer him; her disappointment chokes her and the illusion of the bright morning folds gently, like a magician’s coloured cardboard props, and collapses into dust and ashes.
‘He did,’ she says dully, ‘but I didn’t quite believe him. I didn’t want to, I suppose. I thought he’d stay, like at regatta. And, anyway, I didn’t realize they’d go so early.’
Benj leads her into the breakfast room and she stumbles along behind him as if she is suddenly old. He pushes her down on to a chair.
‘Damn,’ he says quietly. ‘Damn and blast.’
She puts out a hand to him. ‘Sorry, Benj,’ she says. ‘I’m such a fool. Don’t be angry. I thought I was OK with it, I really did.’
‘I’m not angry,’ he answers, with weary exasperation. ‘But do you realize how hard this is? First Charlie, then you. What the hell am I supposed to do?’
He kneels beside her and puts his arms round her, and she leans against him, too shocked to cry or complain.
‘I was so sure, you see,’ she mutters into his shoulder. ‘I really believed he would be here.’
And then she does begin to cry: she weeps as if she will never stop. Her disillusionment is simply too much to bear, and Benj is so kind that it makes it even more difficult to pull herself together.
‘Come on,’ he says at last. ‘I’m driving you home. We don’t want Claude or Evie seeing you like this. I can get the bus back but we need to get you home. Give me your car keys.’
As they drive the familiar coast road she tries to control her tears, even to smile when Benj says, ‘Get a grip, you’re frightening Otto,’ but she sees now how foolishly she’d hoped for some recreation of regatta, some special magic that would materialize just for her and Charlie.
‘Sorry,’ she keeps saying, wiping her eyes. ‘I’m really sorry, Benj. I thought I’d come to terms with it,’ and he reaches out to hold her wrist tightly for a moment.
When they get indoors Benj fills the kettle whilst she goes upstairs to wash her face and make repairs. She looks a complete mess; staring at herself in the little glass she is shocked by her shadowy, drowned eyes, her straggly hair streaking over her wet cheeks, and her grim, down-turned mouth.
I look old, she thinks. Old and haggy.
She tidies up, brushes her hair, and by the time she’s finished, Benj has carried the coffee up to her little sitting-room with two glasses of red wine. Her heart swells with gratitude and affection for him and suddenly she remembers Evie saying: ‘What a pity it isn’t Ben.’
‘The bottle was open and I thought it might help,’ he says.
She sits beside him on the sofa, takes a sip of coffee and then picks up the glass: the mouthful of Merlot is smooth and delicious.
‘I feel such a complete fool,’ she tells him. ‘It’s like when I saw him in the town with Ange, isn’t it? Every time I think I’ve got it under control it all starts up again. I’m really sorry to keep draining down on you, Benj.’
He slips an arm along her shoulders, gives her a hug. ‘Stop saying sorry. It’s OK. I just wish I could think of something helpful to say. I feel so damned helpless.’
‘We both need you,’ she says, leaning against him gratefully.
‘What a hopeless pair you are.’
He smiles down at her, taking any sting from the words, and he looks and sounds so much like Charlie that when he kisses her she responds readily, almost with relief. This time neither of them draws back – and so it begins.
Mikey waits nervously outside Evie’s door. Ever since he phoned, and they arranged to meet at the boathouse again, he’s been wondering exactly what he should say: how he should explain this sudden change of plan. Now that he knows what his father thinks about Evie it’s going to be almost impossible to be easy and relaxed with her.
‘Be nice,’ Dad said, just like he did before, and Mikey felt confused and angry. He wanted to shout, ‘The other day you said you’d like to break her neck,’ but he can’t because of Aunt Liz and because he’s beginning to be afraid of his father.
And here is Evie, opening the door and smiling at him.
‘This is kind of you, Mikey,’ she says. ‘I’m so glad you’ve managed to dash over before you go.’
‘My aunt’s come down,’ he says, following her inside, amazed again by the light and the reflections. ‘She had to see someone about the flat so we’re going back with her. We came on the train. We’ve got a car but it’s old and a bit dodgy.’
He feels better now he’s with her again but he still can’t get his father’s remarks out of his head.
‘I’m glad your aunt is here,’ she says. ‘We wondered when we saw Jason whether he is quite well. He seemed very stressed.’
Mikey feels his face go hot and scarlet; he is ashamed and miserable.
‘I think it’s to do with Mum dying,’ he mumbles. ‘He has tablets for depression and sometimes he doesn’t manage very well. That’s why I phoned Aunt Liz because he was … well, like you said. That’s why she came.’
‘Jason doesn’t like me very much,’ says Evie, and he stares at her in surprise. ‘Well, he doesn’t, does he? Your grandfather and I were very close friends, perhaps too close, and your grandmother – Jason’s mother – wasn’t very happy about it. She was an invalid in a wheelchair and he probably still feels angry on her behalf.’
Mikey nods, still taken aback by Evie’s honesty. ‘He did say something about it.’
She looks so kind and understanding that he wants to tell her everything: about how Dad’s always been like a child, needing looking after, how he rages and loses it. But it’s being disloyal, which he knows is wrong.
‘Sometimes,’ she says, ‘when people aren’t well, or grieving like your father is, they need something or someone on which to project their anger and grief and pain. It gives all those emotions a different direction and it can be a huge relief. Probably, seeing me again after all these years, that’s what’s happened to Jason.’
Listening to her Mikey is filled with a sense of understanding. Since Mum died he’s experienced all sorts of things: anger, fear, guilt, misery. It would be good, sometimes, to let it all out in a huge fit of rage.
He nods. ‘I get that. Even so, I wish it wasn’t you.’
She smiles. ‘So do I,’ she says cheerfully. ‘Will you write to me, Mikey, and let me know how things are with you? From school this time, perhaps?’
And then he smiles too, and nods, because it’s as if she really does understand what it’s like and how Dad watched him write the letters.
‘Good,’ she says. ‘Let’s have something to eat and drink, shall we?’
Later he walks back to the flat with a greater sense of security, believing that he has a friend who is grown-up, responsible, and asks for nothing but his friendship.
‘Come back and see us soon,’ Evie said, and he promised that he would. Some instinct tells him that this place will always be special to him.
Mikey glances at his watch and hurries his pace; they want to be off before lunch. He takes one long last look across the Boat Float out towards the river and turns back into the town. The holiday is over.