I woke early, wrote a note for Estelle and took it to her room. I pushed it under her door, then went to Mother’s room. She was sitting at her dressing-table, brushing her hair. She smiled when she saw me, stood up and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Duncan,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘We were worried. Clive was frantic.’
She hung her head and said in a dying voice, ‘I’m nothing but trouble for you.’
‘No you’re not...’
‘And for Clive. Isn’t what I said about him true?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘He’s a good bloke. I like him.’
She smiled, turned and went back to the dressing-table. She put her hairbrush down, and took a towel to the bathroom. While she was in there, I said ‘I’ve got to move out.’
‘Sorry, dear?’ she called.
‘There was a bit of trouble last night.’
‘What sort of trouble?’ She came out of the bathroom carrying her dressing-gown.
‘Estelle was in my room…’
She hung the gown on the back of the door. ‘Not the manager’s daughter?’
‘Yeah.’
‘She’s a nice girl...’
‘He came to the room,’ I said, ‘knocked on the door; we were in bed together.’
‘And why did he do that?’
‘To complain about the noise.’
Mother looked sideways at me, then put her hand up to my face and tapped my cheek with the tips of her fingers. ‘The noise?’
‘Yeah.’
She shook her head, went to the windows and opened them. She stepped on to the balcony. I followed her, and we looked down at the cliff path, the rocks and sea. The swell was running strong, the sky was blue and the sun was shining. There were some puffs of cloud, but they moved high and fast. A pair of seagulls flew by, flapping their wings with long, lazy beats. They turned to look at us, the one in front squawked and shat on my car. The air was fresh and bright, like a lemon.
I could smell a wave, far out to sea. As I stood there, it was only a hump, cruising at twenty-five knots in open ocean under a bowling sky. It was strung out in an irregular line and, though it had sensed land, it had not slowed. It was six hours away. I looked at my watch, shook it and held it to my ear. It was half past seven. Mother said, ‘And so you’ve got to leave?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Porthleven. There’s a bed and breakfast I know. Mrs Kertész’s. She’ll give me a room. I’ll leave you her address.’
‘Have you paid your bill?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Let me.’
‘No.’
‘I insist,’ she said. ‘Absolutely.’
‘But...’
‘Tell them to put it on mine.’ She looked straight in my eyes and did not let go. ‘If it’s the last thing I do...’
‘OK,’ I said.
‘Good.’
‘But let’s meet later. On the harbour wall.’
‘Where?’
‘Porthleven.’ I took her hand and squeezed it. ‘You know how to get there?’
‘I’ll find it,’ she said.
‘Six o’clock tonight. I want to talk to you properly.’
‘What about?’
‘Last night,’ I said, ‘when you said that you knew what you had to do. What was that?’
She turned away. ‘What I thought then I don’t know if I think now. Too much confusion and not enough time. Of course, that’s my own fault...’
‘Not really,’ I said.
‘Really.’
‘Are you going to Canada?’
She stared ahead, and her gaze was caught by another seagull. She followed its flight, over the scrubby tops of the cliffs, down towards the hotel, past the balcony and round the back. ‘It’s Saturday,’ she said, ‘and Canada’s Monday. Monday’s another day.’ She walked back into the room, dabbed her neck with perfume, looked at the bottle and said, ‘Always put it on cold skin. The skin’s more important than the scent. Did you know that?’
‘No.’
‘Well now you do,’ she said.
She went to breakfast and I went to Clive’s room. He was brushing his teeth; as he gargled, I told him I was leaving, and asked him to make sure Mother visited me in Porthleven. He spat, wiped his mouth and said, Why? Don’t you trust her?’
‘I trust her,’ I said, ‘but I don’t think she trusts herself.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I think that half of her doesn’t know what the other half’s doing, and that the ignorant half will get the better of her.’
‘Well,’ he said, unrolling his shirt-sleeves and buttoning them up, ‘if that happens, there’s precious little we can do about it.’
‘Aren’t you worried?’
He took his jacket from the back of a chair and slipped it on. ‘Of course I am, but worrying’s not going to help her.’
‘What is?’
‘Acting normally,’ he said. ‘That’s the only thing you can do; if you start trying to protect her from something you imagine she’s going to do, you’ll only end up pushing her in that direction.’
‘And what direction’s that?’
‘The one you’re thinking about...’
‘You don’t think she needs protection?’
‘Absolutely not.’ He went to the window and closed it. ‘Believe me,’ he said.
‘That’s difficult.’
He patted my shoulder. ‘I know what you went through,’ he said, ‘and I know exactly what you’re afraid of, but the best thing you can do is act normally.’
‘These aren’t normal circumstances.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘but do you want them to be?’
‘I wouldn’t mind.’
‘You surprise me.’
‘Why?’
‘Aren’t you the sort of lad who thrives on the unusual?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but there’s unusual and there’s unusual.’
‘Let’s not split hairs.’
‘That’s not what I’m doing. All I want is...’ I looked away from him, through the window.
‘Breakfast?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Well, I am,’ and with another pat on my shoulder he said, ‘don’t worry. She’ll be alright.’
‘Is that a promise?’
‘No, but I’m a doctor. I’m not used to making promises.’
I laughed.
‘But at least I can make you laugh.’
‘That’s not because you’re funny.’
‘Why then?’
‘I laugh because I don’t want to cry.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with crying.’
‘I know,’ I said, ‘but there’s something wrong when you can’t.’
He kept his hand on my shoulder for another moment, then took it away, ran his hand through his hair and opened the bedroom door. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘it’s another day.’
‘Saturday,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and I love Saturdays.’
I carried my bags down to the reception and rang the bell on the desk. After a minute, Estelle’s father appeared from his office. I stared straight at him, he glared back, the air between us was like steam off a vindaloo. His eyes had very small pupils, and his cheeks were covered in a network of fine lines. I said, ‘My mother’s going to settle the bill.’
‘Which bill?’ he said.
‘Three nights half-board and a plate of sandwiches from room service.’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that bill.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘but are you trying to be funny?’
‘No.’
‘Now,’ I said, ‘that is funny.’
‘You,’ he said thinly, ‘will be laughing on the other side of your face.’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘It’s a promise,’ he said smartly.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I think I’m going to shit myself. In fact, I think I’m going to now.’
He reached out a hand, I took a step back. ‘I’m going to have you,’ he said.
‘Unfortunate choice of words,’ I said.
He looked quizzical. He turned what he’d said over in his mind, looked at the words, took them apart, put them back together and then shook his head. ‘And you’re unfortunate,’ he said.
‘Ouch!’ I said. ‘I’m going to tell my Dad about you.’
‘Go on then.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘that was a joke. My Dad’s dead.’
He narrowed his eyes, thinking about this. As he thought, I picked up my bag and left the River Cove Hotel. I took a deep breath of air at the top of the steps, and listened to my wave. It was closer, still cruising, and everything was beautiful. I ran down the steps, jumped into the Beetle and it started first time. It always does, it never fails, and I drove away. Estelle was waiting for me around the corner. As I approached her, she put out her thumb and a big smile covered her face. I stopped, she threw her bag in the back and climbed in. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed it. I kissed hers, held her breasts through her shirt, put my nose in her hair, counted to twenty-five and then back again.
‘You needn’t have left the note,’ she said. ‘I was going to be here anyway.’
‘Just checking,’ I said.
‘What a man.’
‘What a woman.’
The road was dry and clear, and I drove with my elbow resting on the window ledge, The Waterboys singing ‘Somebody Might Wave Back’, the wheel in one hand and Estelle’s thigh under the other. The engine sounded as sweet as a nut, the gear-stick slipped easily between the gears, the sun was slowly rising. The sea shone like chrome and birds sang in the hedges. An aeroplane’s vapour trail hung high above us, and the smell of salt and hot breath filled the car. I said, ‘Did you see your old man?’
‘No. I left by the back door. I saw Mum, said goodbye to her and the cat.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Miaow.’
‘No, idiot.’
‘Calling me an idiot?’
‘Yeah, idiot.’
She reached across and tapped my cheek.
‘Your Mum...’ I said
‘Nothing much. She’s been expecting it. I think she’d do the same, given half the chance.’
‘Why doesn’t she?’
‘She’s scared, I suppose. She wouldn’t know what to do, and I don’t think she knows what he would do. The stupid thing is, he’s all hot air. He threatens and makes a show of it, but when the shit hits the fan, he’s the first to take cover.’
‘Typical Tory wanker?’
‘I don’t know about the typical, but yeah. You know, a few years ago, when the stock market crashed, he lost thousands. Now he’s being skinned alive by business rates, he gets half the number of guests he got last year, VAT’s got him by the bollocks and he still votes for them.’
I laughed like a drain.
‘If the papers told him to stick his head in a bucket of shit and wait two years for eighteen fat camels to pass by in a snowstorm, he’d do it.’ She shook her head. ‘Poor bastard.’
I slowed down to let a farmer drive some cows across the road, and I didn’t stop laughing. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘No you’re not,’ she said.
I waved at the farmer and he waved back with his stick. His cows were big and healthy, and started running and bucking when they got in their field. There were big rocks in the field, sticking out of the grass like the backs of dead elephants, and we passed a barn with holes in its roof that had been patched with straw and cow shit. We followed a milk tanker for a few miles, and stopped for breakfast outside Penzance, at a café on the main road. We drank tea from mugs the size of buckets, and ate toast cut as thick as a brick. The marmalade was sad and thin, and cheap margarine came between the two, running over the crusts of the bread and pooling on the plate, but it didn’t spoil the occasion. This was a feast. I said, ‘I’ve got to get a board today.’
‘Where?’
‘I know someone in Porthleven. He’ll set me up.’
‘And then what?’
‘I’m surfing. There’s a big wave coming and it’s got my name written on it.’
‘Like a bullet?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘yesterday’s was like a bullet. Today’s is the Master of the Cure.’
‘What?’
‘The Master of the Cure.’ I filled my mouth with toast and marmalade, chewed slowly and pointed out of the window. Over the road, past the heliport and a warehouse, St Michael’s Mount rose out of the sea. The sun glinted off the Abbey’s windows, ‘It’s there...’ I said, swallowing, ‘two hours away.’ I banged my chest. ‘I can feel it; I know it, and when that happens, look out!’
She grabbed my hand, pulled it towards her and rubbed it in her lap. ‘Look out for what, Dunc?’
‘Just look out,’ I said.
She squeezed my hand. ‘And when I’ve done that?’
‘I’m all yours. Do what you want with me.’
‘I was going to do that anyway.’
I finished my toast, licked around my teeth and swilled my mouth with tea. ‘Good,’ I said.
‘Is that all you can say?’
‘What more can I say? My mother’s going to Canada on Monday, at least that’s what she says she’s doing. Then I’ve got to go back to Sussex, pick up my stuff and head this way again. This time next week I’ll be in Exeter.’
‘You’ve got a place to live?’
‘Yeah.’
She rubbished her hair and drank some tea. ‘I like Exeter,’ she said. ‘There’re some good shops there.’
‘You can come if you want.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘No problem.’
She sat back and ran her finger around the rim of her mug. The sun shone through the café’s windows and splattered across the floor in stripes and ovals. Steam billowed out of the kitchen door, and the sound of sizzling bacon crackled through the air. The cook came over and took our empty plates. ‘Anything else for you?’ he said. He was a fat, bald man with a speck of egg yolk on his forehead. ‘More tea?’
I shook my head and Estelle said, ‘No thanks.’
He looked at her and licked his lips. He had a tattoo on his arm in the shape of a heart, with ‘MUM’ scrolled underneath it, and he had the word ‘LUST’ written across his eyes. His nose was flat, a boxer’s nose. His eyes burned and flashed, they looked up and down Estelle, his breathing was difficult and heavy. ‘Sure?’ he wheezed.
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘we’re sure...’
He didn’t look at me.
‘... Thanks,’ I said.
Estelle looked at me. ‘OK?’ she said.
‘Ready when you are.’
At ten o’clock, the wave began to feel the seabed in its feet and it began to slow. It narrowed its watery eyes and focused on the Cornish shore, and the Cornish shore focused on it. It began to throw spindrift from its lip, and it filled its cheeks as it moved. The sound it made came from its solid and roaring throat, crescendoing steadily, its heartbeat was slow and regular, and all the fish that swam through it moved carefully. I stopped the car above Porthleven, shaded my eyes and looked out to sea, but I couldn’t see it. Estelle put her hand on my knee; I looked at it. She was wearing a short brown skirt, and had bare legs. Her knees were like pink oranges, her eyebrows were pencil thin and her lips pouted. I kissed her. ‘Estelle,’ I said.
‘Yes?’
‘I meant what I said.’
‘What was that?’
‘About Exeter. Come with me,’ I said. ‘I want you to. I’m all set up there; all you’d have to do is move in.’
‘Sure about that?’
‘Yeah. You’re everything I want.’
‘Everything?’ she whispered.
I looked at the sea and I looked at Porthleven. I saw gulls over houses and the sun on roofs. I saw people coming and going from the houses, and cars in the streets. I saw a dog trotting along the pavement, and an old woman in her garden. She was pruning a bush, she was putting the cuttings in a basket. There was a line of washing flapping behind her. I watched a couple walking along the beach, hand in hand. ‘Everything,’ I said.