Scottsdale, 14 March 1989
As Lewis drove past Langely Art Gallery, he could see Doug inside wearing his signature black Stetson. Samantha hated her father dressing up like a cowboy, especially since he was Boston born and bred, but Lewis had always found Doug Langely’s love of cowboy culture endearing. And the old man had picked the right town to live in.
Every day Lewis drove past the large cowboy signboard on the corner of Scottsdale Road and Main Street proclaiming Scottsdale as ‘The West’s Most Western Town’. Around the time his in-laws Doug and Dora had moved to Scottsdale in the early seventies, a replica 1880s Old West town was built at the south-east corner of Scottsdale and Pinnacle Peak Roads. Millions came from around the world to ‘play cowboy’ for the day.
When he and Samantha had first arrived in Scottsdale, Doug used to drag him along to see staged gunfights on Main Street, or ride a hay wagon into the desert for a cookout under the stars. He’d never had the heart to tell Doug that, much as he admired his father-in-law’s passion, he couldn’t identify with cowboy culture himself. In fact Lewis found it a little distasteful the way the Native Americans had been passed over. There were the cursory souvenirs in the shops, and bits and bobs of native artefacts they would sometimes come across, but the truth was it was rare to see one of the Native Americans from the Salt River Pima Maricopa Community in town.
He had heard Scottsdale described as the town millionaires built, and there was no denying that it attracted the rich and famous. With his background in art and design, Lewis should have thrived here. That was what Samantha had expected of him, but instead of setting up on his own he had taken a job in his father-in-law’s art gallery, assisting him with typesetting jobs and print work when it came along.
Where had his old world gone? How had he ended up in this urban desert doing such a menial job? He was supposed to have become someone.
He had to stop thinking about the past and move on. This business with the postcards was just making him feel bad. He had to keep reminding himself that there was nothing to go back to. His life in London had been wiped out. It wasn’t the same any more. He was married to Samantha. She was the woman he was meant to be with, not Marnie. Her family had taken him in when he had been so completely alone in the world, and he was genuinely fond of his in-laws. They were good people, and they had taught him a lot too. Doug in particular. Time and again, Lewis found himself staying late to help Doug with flyers for all the local fundraising events he took on. He could relax with Doug in a way he had never been able to with his old boss George. His father-in-law made him feel that he was appreciated, no matter what he did.
‘Morning, Lewis!’ Doug gave him a cheery wave as he walked into the gallery space. ‘There’s fresh coffee in the pot.’
Lewis grabbed a cup before sinking into his chair in the back room, which despite Doug’s best efforts was still rather dingy and dark, but at least it was cool. These spring days were pleasant, but once they hit the summer months he found the intense heat almost unbearable.
All year round in Arizona the air was so dry. Sometimes he felt like he was literally pruning, his skin itching, his lips parched and his hair so flat and static. He missed the rain. He wished for showers of sleet and wet, blustery days.
It rained a lot in Ireland. Just the idea of standing on a beach in the west of Ireland and feeling the spray from the waves, letting the rain just soak right down into his very bones, was the most blissful fantasy. In Arizona day after day all he might see were clear blue skies. He found himself chasing elusive clouds, praying for them to spill open.
He picked up his cup of coffee, took a sip. Thinking of Ireland brought him back to those postcards yet again. What did Marnie want from him?
*
Joy’s parents were both from New York City, a place so exotic that her heart would race with the idea of living there. She had always felt out of place in Scottsdale. Yet her parents had avoided talking about their family in New York – not once did they visit during her childhood.
‘Here in Arizona your dreams can come true,’ her mother would sometimes tell her.
‘Did yours, Mom?’
‘Oh yes,’ she’d say, flashing Joy a rare and genuine smile. ‘I have you.’
They’d had a big house near the centre of Scottsdale that her parents had had built out of adobe blocks when they’d moved to the town in 1953. Her father would entertain her with stories of all the pioneer characters he knew in the early days when the town was small and everyone mixed, whether they were old timers, friends within the Mexican immigrant families or old Chief Joseph from the Salt River Pima Maricopa Community. Things had changed so much since those days. The town of Scottsdale had grown up into a city, and then just kept on growing. It was pushing into the desert and that had worried her father.
‘We’ve got to protect the nature out there,’ he’d told her. ‘We’ll never get it back if we let it go now.’
Joy had recently joined a group of Scottsdale residents who were trying to get the McDowell Mountain desert turned into a preserved area. She was also working as a volunteer at the Desert Botanical Garden. If she had left Scottsdale to live in New York she wouldn’t have these things in her life. Moreover she could not deny the seduction of an Arizonan spring – the heady fragrance of all the blossoms as she walked down the street this very morning. She surveyed all the flowers opening their petals, a cacophony of colour and scent in this desert oasis, reminding her of the miracle of those iridescent Northern Lights. She felt like there was a shift in the air. Something was about to happen.
*
There was a stack of work waiting on Lewis’s desk. He leafed through the jobs lined up for the day, but rather than feeling safe in his little back room and engrossed in the meditative task of aligning letters, he felt restless.
‘Hey, Lewis.’ Doug was standing in the doorway. ‘I have to go out. Can you look after the gallery for a couple of hours until I get back?’
‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘I fancy standing out front for a bit anyway.’
He followed Doug out onto the gallery floor. The main space of Langely Art Gallery was filled with a variety of paintings, sculptures and crafts, which to Lewis’s eyes seemed to have no set style. Even after all these years he couldn’t work out what Doug’s taste was. Some of the work Lewis found unappealing: the overly naturalist oil paintings of children and little dogs, and the watercolours of the Arabian horses that always proved a bestseller during the annual Arabian Horse Festival. Yet he never criticised. Who was he to put down someone who was brave enough to put their work out there?
Sometimes, though, art came in that Lewis really did admire. At the moment they had a small exhibit of bird paintings by the artist Charley Harper. He loved the graphic quality of Charley’s work, and the humour he infused into his pictures. It reminded Lewis of his own design days – how this artist was aiming to communicate as much with the viewer as to express himself.
‘So are you and Sammy coming over for Easter this year?’ Doug asked, hovering around the exit.
‘No.’ Lewis shook his head, avoiding his father-in-law’s penetrating gaze as he reshuffled their flyers by the cash register. ‘Samantha’s going to Santa Fe.’
‘Are you not going with her?’ Doug asked.
‘She’s going with Jennifer. Staying with Jen’s sister. Not my scene.’
‘Well, you’re welcome to come on over. Dora and I would love to have you.’
‘Thanks, Doug, but I’m going away too.’
‘Really? Where?’
‘Ireland,’ Lewis heard himself say.
‘Ireland! That’s a hell of a way to go for your Easter vacation. Why do you want to go there?’
‘I’ve friends there,’ he lied. ‘I haven’t seen them in years.’
‘You never mentioned anything about Ireland before,’ Doug said, his expression curious.
‘Actually my mother was Irish.’ Lewis considered telling Doug more. In all these years he had never told him the whole story about his childhood. But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want Doug to feel sorry for him.
Once Lewis was on his own, he poured himself another cup of coffee. Already the heat was blazing on the street outside, and he watched Scottsdale folk walking up and down, some holding up umbrellas to keep off the sun. This is my home, he reminded himself. But he knew he was just fooling himself. Were any of these people fugitives as well?
He watched a voluptuous dark-haired woman in a flowery red top, denim shorts and a pair of splendid blue cowboy boots as she walked down the street. Unlike everyone else she seemed to be taking her time. He saw her pause by one of the old olive trees, its base surrounded by bright pink flowers. She was looking at something. He strained to see what it was. She stepped back to reveal a hummingbird feeding at the flowers. He had never seen anyone so close to one of them before, and for some reason he was quite excited to watch. The hummer was fluttering right in front of her, unperturbed by her presence. Then it was by her arm, and he could see the woman was staying very still, holding her breath and watching the bird as it hovered beside her.
It landed on her sleeve. He looked at the woman’s face, and he could see that she was transfixed, just like him.
Then, suddenly, the hummer darted away, its movements more bee-like than bird. The woman slowly turned away from the flowers and continued on her way. He watched her as she got closer. There was something familiar about her. In fact he wondered if he might have met her before, maybe through Samantha.
To his surprise the woman stopped right outside the gallery. She took a piece of paper out of her bag, read it, looked at the door and then pushed it open.
*
Joy started when she opened the door to see a man standing right in front of her, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. Moreover he was staring at her. She could feel an unwelcome blush creeping up her chest and neck, towards her cheeks.
‘That was amazing,’ he said to her.
‘Excuse me?’ she said, confused.
‘I saw you with the hummingbird.’
‘Oh, well, if you stand very still they will come up close. It was probably attracted to me because I’m wearing a red shirt.’
The man was still looking at her. She was embarrassed by his scrutiny. She opened her bag and rummaged around inside it.
‘I have something that needs to be printed up,’ she mumbled.
He seemed to stir himself and put down his cup of coffee.
‘Of course, and what would that be?’
His voice – she had heard it before. She looked up with a start.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said.
No man had looked at her like this in years. She should be getting annoyed. Yet for some reason she liked it.
‘I’m sorry,’ he asked her, ‘but do we know each other?’
‘Last night. On Papago Butte – the Northern Lights. You were there.’
The hummingbird woman was looking at him with interest. Her blush had subsided and she was now pale again. He wondered how she kept her skin so unmarked by the sun, living in Arizona. It looked like cream to him. A complexion more common in England than America.
‘So that’s what they were,’ he said. ‘I thought you could only see them in the Arctic.’
‘Usually. It was a very rare event to see them so far south.’
‘I’ll say.’
She smiled at him. It opened her eyes up. He noticed how blue they were. He pulled his gaze away and gently tapped the piece of paper in her right hand.
‘So how can I help you?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said as if woken from a reverie. ‘I’ve come to order some wedding invitations.’
‘Congratulations,’ he said, experiencing an unexpected surge of disappointment. ‘Let’s see what you want.’
‘Oh no,’ she said, colouring up again. ‘It’s not my wedding. It’s my daughter Heather’s wedding.’
He couldn’t help smiling at her. ‘Well, you just don’t look old enough to have a daughter who’s getting married.’ He beamed.
She gave him a shy smile back. ‘That’s real nice of you to say that but actually I have a son who is older than Heather. Ray is twenty-one.’
Lewis would not have put this woman past thirty yet she had to be almost forty. Nearly the same age as him.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘you must have been a teen bride yourself.’
‘I was,’ she said, her smile fading.
His eyes brushed over her left hand and he saw her wedding band, solid and bright in its statement of possession. She was not divorced, yet there was a sense of a woman who wasn’t used to being complimented. And more than that, a sadness tinged her shyness.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Lewis Bell.’
She seemed startled by his formality. ‘Joy Sheldon.’ She shook his hand in return.
He suddenly felt embarrassed. What exactly was he doing? Was he flirting with a married woman?
‘Okay, so let’s take a look at this invite,’ he said, trying to regain some kind of professionalism. ‘When’s the wedding?’
‘April twenty-ninth at the Princess Resort.’
He gave a whistle. ‘Fancy wedding?’
‘Yes, her daddy wants her to have the best. I think she’s too young though,’ she said in a hushed voice.
‘I see, but there’s no persuading her?’
‘You got it. I guess I was the same. Thought Eddie was the love of my life.’ She blushed again. ‘Course he still is.’
She went over all of her daughter’s requirements for the invite. He noted that it was Eddie and Joy Sheldon who were inviting the guests to the marriage of their daughter Heather to Darrell Winters. There were two golden hearts to be printed at the top of the invite and they had chosen a romantic Gothic font.
When Joy left thirty minutes later, her presence lingered in the gallery, as if the scent of all those spring blossoms around the olive tree had found their way inside.
*
The incident in the gallery had unsettled her. Joy couldn’t forget the way that Englishman had looked at her when she’d first walked in. It was with such admiration, as if she was a beautiful thing, just like the pictures on the walls or the flowers outside. She couldn’t remember the last time Eddie had looked at her like that.
She chastised herself as she walked back down the street to her car. She was lucky. Eddie might not display that raw desire of their early days any more, but that was only natural. They shared a bed, and they still made love. Most of the other women Joy knew were either divorced or trapped in loveless marriages where their husbands no longer desired them, and they slept in separate bedrooms. Men had become their enemy.
Darrell’s mother Erin was one of those women. Recently divorced, she was constantly putting down her ex-husband, even in front of her son. Joy found it uncomfortable. Whenever they had Erin over for dinner it seemed as if she was scrutinising her and Eddie, looking for cracks. She could also be quite rude to Eddie sometimes, although for some reason her husband never complained.
‘Don’t you mind Erin talking over you?’ she had asked Eddie after the last time Erin had come over for dinner.
‘Does she?’
His answer had surprised her. One of Eddie’s criticisms of Joy was that she talked too much when they had company.
‘Have you not noticed?’ Joy pushed her husband. ‘She’s always talking over you and running men down . . .’
‘Well, you can hardly blame her. Her husband ran off with a younger woman. Of course she’s sore.’
‘But do you like her, Eddie?’
‘Of course I do. She’s going to be family soon. And she’s giving Heather a job.’
Joy stopped walking all of a sudden. She was standing outside a new art gallery that had just opened up. She stared in at a display of Navajo basketry, but she wasn’t really looking at it. Her brain was ticking over. What day was it? She opened her bag and hunted around for her diary. Her stomach sank when she read her entry for today. She had been invited over to Erin’s house to meet some of her girlfriends tonight and there was no getting out of it.
‘The girls want to welcome you into our gang,’ Erin had said on the phone.
Joy couldn’t think of anything worse than an evening with Erin and her friends.
She had already tried suggesting she cancel, but Eddie had insisted that she should go. It had surprised her, because he usually never liked her to go out without him, but he said it was important for her to get on with Darrell’s mother. The wedding was just six weeks away, and after the honeymoon, Heather was going to be working at Erin’s beauty salon. It was important that Joy bond with Erin for her daughter’s sake.
Erin Winters might have been a divorced woman, but she was certainly no victim. From her settlement she had not only kept hold of a big house in one of the new housing developments in Gainey Ranch, but she also had enough money to set up a beauty salon at the exclusive Hyatt Resort. Despite being older than Joy, Erin had flawless skin and not an inch of fat anywhere on her body, apart from her ample breasts. Her hair was long and golden, always glossy and expertly styled, and she wore just enough make-up to enhance her features: perfectly arched eyebrows, long dark lashes, pale pink lips. Joy couldn’t think how Mr Winters had managed to find a better version of Erin, but according to his ex-wife, the ‘bitch’ as she called her was the same age as her son, Darrell (who was twenty-three), and stunning to boot.
‘An underwear model,’ Erin had told her. ‘Talk about my husband being a cliché. There’ll be war if that bitch comes to our kids’ wedding!’
Being around Erin always made Joy feel frumpy. Joy had good days and bad days, but any day she saw Erin was always one of the worst. She would have a pimple on her nose, or her hair would have tangled itself into knots, or she’d be unable to squeeze into her best jeans.
Nothing she possessed was smart enough, or classic enough. Erin always looked immaculate in her high heels and skirt suits, and tonight Joy couldn’t wear jeans, her fail-safe staple, because all the other women would be dressed up in silky wrap dresses like cast members of Dynasty. In the end she put on the dress her father had liked the best: a simple, short-sleeved jersey dress with a pattern of red roses on it. She tried to arrange her hair, piling it on top of her head, but gave up and let it fall loose. She did attempt some make-up though, painting her lips the same shade as her dress.
It turned out that Erin was an excellent cook too. She had invited Joy into her closest enclave. Her best friends, Alison, Tammy and Dana, were joining them for the evening and she fed them a full three-course dinner.
At first things were fine. In fact Joy was almost relaxing. The women asked Erin about her beauty salon and if there were any new treatments to make their skin stay wrinkle free. Joy tried to take note of all of this for Heather’s sake, but as soon as the other women hit their third bottle of Chardonnay the tone of the conversation changed.
They were sitting out on Erin’s patio by the pool, surrounded by a hotchpotch of cacti and half-dead plants. It surprised Joy that a woman who put so much care into her own appearance could be so blind to the sorry state of her garden. Joy was itching to get up and tend to Erin’s abandoned flora yet she was forced to stay put and listen to stories of Erin’s friends and their husbands’ infidelities. It seemed that not one of them was in a normal committed relationship.
The intimate nature of the conversation was embarrassing her. She tried to shrink into her chair, sipping on her wine spritzer, and merge into her leafy surrounds, but it was no good. Eventually all their attention turned to her.
‘So what about you?’ Erin asked, hooking her with her beacon stare.
Despite her great body and outward beauty, Joy found Erin’s eyes chilling. They were pale blue and watery, big and round, devoid of any kind of emotion no matter what was coming out of her mouth. Darrell had the same feature. Joy often wondered what her daughter found attractive about him. Something about his eyes made her spine crawl.
‘Have you ever, you know, slipped up?’ Erin pushed, her eyes still expressionless.
All four women stared at her, as if waiting with the bated breath of one.
‘Oh no – no,’ she said, blushing.
‘Surely you have?’ Erin continued. ‘I mean, you’ve been married to Eddie for years – since you were kids –’
‘How old were you when you got married?’ Dana, a plump blonde woman interrupted Erin.
‘Seventeen.’ Joy’s voice dropped to an embarrassed whisper.
‘Gee! That must have been a shotgun wedding,’ Tammy commented.
‘Well, yes, I was pregnant with Ray at the time, but we were in love, you know. We still are.’
Erin raised her eyebrows, although those big fish eyes remained blank.
‘Oh please!’ Tammy groaned, grabbing the wine bottle and refilling her glass.
Joy felt her blush deepening.
‘I think you’re lying,’ declared the brunette, Alison, the only other divorcee there besides Erin. ‘I mean, you’ve gone as red as one of them Barrel Cactus red blooms. Come on, Joy – spill the beans. Surely you’ve slipped up once?’
‘No, I haven’t . . . I believe in my wedding vows,’ she said defiantly.
‘Christ how boring,’ Tammy said, knocking back her wine. Joy tried not to be offended – the woman was obviously drunk.
‘We don’t believe you,’ Alison said, grinning at her. ‘No one is perfect. I mean, how long have you guys been married?’
‘Twenty-one years,’ she said stiffly. She felt like she was under interrogation. She wished she had the courage to get up and walk out, but she needed to get on with Erin. Her daughter would kill her if she fell out with her new mother-in-law, and employer.
‘My, you deserve a medal,’ Erin said, but her voice was laced with cynicism.
‘And are you really telling us that you haven’t cheated in all these years?’ Alison asked again, disbelief plastered on her face.
‘That’s right,’ Joy said tightly. ‘I’ve never wanted any other man.’
‘Oh that is so, so sweet, isn’t it, girls?’ Tammy declared, but Joy had the feeling she was being as sarcastic as the others.
‘You’re so lucky. Does your husband still have sex with you?’ Dana asked. The impertinence of her question was softened by the genuine curiosity on her face.
‘Are you and Eddie still getting it on, Joy?’ Tammy drawled, giggling.
Joy took a slug of her spritzer, trying to quell her anger at this stupid woman. She hated this kind of chat, but she knew if she refused to answer they would all think the worst, and then she would become part of their gossip. She wanted to show them that she wasn’t some sad little housewife. Her husband still wanted her.
‘Of course,’ she said boldly. ‘We’ve always had a good sex life. We just met each other young, that’s all. We’re meant to be together.’
‘You really believe that?’ Dana asked her. ‘When I was a kid I thought it was true, you know, that there’s a “one” – your very own Prince Charming – but now I think that’s just some stupid fairy tale they tell girls.’
‘Yes, I do think it’s true,’ Joy declared. ‘For everyone there is someone, and some of us just find that special person early on in life. It’s not something you can be logical about . . .’
‘Oh please!’ Tammy hooted. ‘That’s just crap. You might not have cheated but believe me I bet your husband has. Men like variety.’
‘Shut up, Tammy,’ Erin said. ‘I think it sounds very romantic. You’re a lucky girl, Joy.’
Again Joy had the feeling Erin was making fun of her.
‘You sure are. For most the passion wears off after a few years,’ Dana said glumly. ‘And then they start cheating.’ She sighed, gazing into her glass of wine. ‘And I guess once your husband starts playing around, why the hell can’t you do the same back?’
‘But wouldn’t it be easier just to break up?’ Joy suggested. ‘Wouldn’t that be more honest?’
‘Oh listen to her! Yeah honesty is all great and good, but you got to think of the kids, and then money . . . Most wives would be up shit creek if their husbands dumped them,’ Tammy said hotly.
‘No more afternoons at your salon,’ Dana said, patting Erin on the knee.
‘I think Joy is right,’ Erin said, looking at her again with those dead eyes. ‘I feel so much stronger since I broke up with Clive. It’s hard, of course, but now I’ve my own house, my own business and . . .’ She paused, smiling slyly. ‘My own lover.’
‘Go, girl!’ Tammy raised her glass.
‘I’m with Erin,’ Alison said, her voice cracking. ‘I might not have met anyone else yet, but I don’t care if I’m on my own forever. I’m never going to let another man have control over my life.’
‘Alison’s husband was emotionally abusive,’ Dana whispered to Joy.
‘He fucked with my head,’ Alison said, overhearing.
‘Marriage is for fools,’ Erin declared, refilling their glasses.
‘But your son is getting married to Joy’s daughter,’ Tammy pointed out.
‘I know, but don’t you think they’re too young, Joy?’ Erin said, sticking the cork back into the bottle.
Erin’s attitude annoyed her. Her presumption that she was an idiot to still be married, her sneering tone of voice. Erin had it all worked out with her freedom, her business, and she still got to have a man in her life. Her condescension was irritating the hell out of Joy, and even though she actually did agree that their children were too young to get married, she found herself responding differently.
‘No, I don’t think they’re too young. If it’s love then it’s love. Just like me and Eddie. And we’re still together.’
‘Forever, do you think, Joy?’ Erin asked. All the women looked at her.
‘Yes,’ Joy said, under a spotlight again.
The evening had unsettled her. It felt as if Erin and her girlfriends were in on some big secret she didn’t know about. She was the dumb one who’d married at seventeen and had only known one man her whole life. But so what? If she still wanted Eddie, and he still wanted her, then they were good, right?
Joy drove home, trying to silence their words inside her head. What bothered her most was what Tammy had said.
‘You might not have cheated but believe me I bet your husband has. Men like variety.’
Could it be true? Was she completely naive to believe that her husband was faithful?
That night she went down on Eddie and gave him the best blow job he’d had in years. She listened to his sighs of satisfaction, drank in his pleasure. It made her feel good to have him stroking her hair and saying, ‘Oh, baby, don’t stop. Oh yes.’
Afterwards he held her in his arms, and it felt so good to be cradled by him.
‘Joy, baby,’ he said. ‘That was amazing. Why don’t you do that more often?’
She didn’t reply, just kissed him gently on the cheek.
He fell asleep with her arm underneath his back. She tried to settle, but eventually she was too stiff, and her arm was going dead. She pulled it out slowly from underneath him and slipped out of bed. There was no one else in the house. Heather was still out with Darrell. She might even stay over with him. Eddie hated her doing that, but she was an adult now, and soon she would be Darrell’s wife. Eddie could no longer lay down the law.
She put on one of Eddie’s sweaters, picked up her Walkman and went out onto their tiny porch. It was her favourite spot, sitting on her father’s old rocking chair. She put her headphones on and looked up at the stars, remembering the sight of those incredible Northern Lights, and pressed play. It was a new cassette that Ray had sent her, and she’d been playing it non-stop since it had arrived in the mail. At first she hadn’t been so sure she liked the music, but now she was hooked. It was a compilation tape of all of her son’s favourite bands. Sometimes when she listened to it she felt like all the songs were about her life. How could Ray know? She particularly loved a new band called The Stone Roses, and their track ‘Elephant Stone’. She had no idea what an elephant stone actually was, but the song itself seemed to be about broken dreams. She loved the images it created in her head of sunsets, fields of wheat, clouds and a home someplace else where she belonged.
The night air was mild. Already it was warming up for the summer months. She inhaled and smelled orange blossom from a neighbouring garden. The scent made her sad, reminding her of her own orange tree. She pushed the memory away and tried to relax into the music, yet she couldn’t. She felt restless, and, as she slowly began to realise, unsatisfied. It occurred to her that even though she and Eddie had sex regularly, she wasn’t actually making love with her husband out of desire but out of the fear she would lose him. She was entirely focused on his pleasure, for every time Eddie tried to do something for her, she told him to stop. ‘It’s okay,’ she’d say, shifting over to her side of the bed, wanting space.
Why did she not want her husband to satisfy her? She really was no different from Erin and her friends, for what they were saying was that if you didn’t sleep with your husband, whether you wanted sex or not, he would find someone else who would. Just tonight she had been spouting off how Eddie was ‘the one’. It had to be true because if not her whole life made no sense. Yet the truth was Eddie didn’t turn her on any more.
So what? Sex wasn’t the most important thing in a marriage.
Eddie and she were a partnership. But Joy knew that even that wasn’t true. Eddie was the leader in their relationship and in their family. She just fell in behind him and always did what he wanted.
Like her, their son Ray possessed wanderlust, and yet unlike her he had actually acted upon it. She guessed it was easier for boys to do that. The last time she’d seen Ray had been at her father’s funeral a year ago. It felt like an eternity ago to Joy. Ray had travelled all around Europe, sending her cards from everywhere. She had them all tacked up on a board in the kitchen: Paris, Rome, Berlin, Vienna and London. He had settled in the English capital now. His passion was music, a type she didn’t quite understand – alternative rock he called it. The names of the bands were all obscure and rather disturbing like Stiff Little Fingers, The Cult, The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Stone Roses and Joy Division, Ray’s favourite. It pleased her that her son liked a band with her name in it.
Ray not only loved music, he made it. He sent her tapes. At first the sounds alarmed her. It was so different from her favoured country music, but gradually she found herself listening to it more and more. She began to understand why her son had needed to leave Scottsdale. Why he had worn only black clothes, had spiky hair and a pierced nose. She wasn’t afraid of how he looked any more. In fact she was inordinately proud of Ray’s need to stand out from the Scottsdale crowd, although she was careful not to say so in front of Eddie. Her husband had been appalled by Ray’s look and seemed almost relieved when their son hit the road.
Joy looked up at the night sky again and caught sight of a shooting star. She loved these Arizona night skies, full of so much activity. She wondered if the Northern Lights would be back tonight. The stars to her seemed like breathing entities in an endless celestial dance.
This morning she had been so sure that change was coming into her life. An image of the Englishman she’d met that day came into her head – Lewis. What a quaint name. The same name as the man who wrote those children’s books, Alice in Wonderland and Alice Through the Looking Glass. She had loved those stories when she was a little girl. How you could walk through a mirror and have another life altogether. She used to dream about the idea of living in two worlds, and now it seemed that she did. There was the American side of her, the part she lived with every day, and then there was the Irish side to her, unknown – and undiscovered.
Everyone would talk like Lewis if she ever visited Ray in London. She had to admit she found his accent attractive. And had he flirted with her just a little? He’d said she was too young to have grown-up kids, but then everyone said that. It had been odd the way they had stood next to each other watching the Northern Lights, only to meet again less than twenty-four hours later. She found herself wondering what it would be like to have Lewis touch her rather than Eddie.
She squeezed her hands tight, pinching the flesh between her fingers. She needed to get real. She was a married woman. She couldn’t even start with these straying thoughts. She and Eddie were part of each other. How could she even think of being with another man? Besides, Lewis hadn’t been flirting with her for real. He had merely been friendly because of the coincidence of their meeting again.
Scottsdale, 15 March 1989
No postcard today. Lewis didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Yet even if he never heard from Marnie again, the damage was done.
The two other postcards plagued him, scratching at his subconscious all day long. As soon as Samantha went out after dinner, off he went into the garage to open up his toolbox and retrieve the two cards. They were all he had of Marnie.
He had left London with nothing from their time together. Not one picture or memento of their relationship.
Lewis sat on a stool in the dusty garage, under the buzzing bare bulb, and tried to remember what Marnie looked like. He could not conjure her. Instead, to his consternation, he saw an image of the hummingbird woman from yesterday. Her raven hair, her bluer-than-blue eyes and that northern skin. It was one thing to dream about Marnie, an echo of beauty from the past, but it was another thing altogether to have thoughts about a married woman here in Scottsdale. He felt guilty, as if he had betrayed Samantha already.
Lewis’s heart was heavy with regret. After suppressing his memories for so many years, now they were rushing back. Those heady days at Studio M. His self belief, his ambition and his vanity. He had presumed too much.
London, 14 April 1967, 9.08 a.m.
George Miller was scattering pigeons as he charged through Bloomsbury Gardens, hand in hand with his wife, Eva. Lewis looked down at them from the second-floor window of Studio M. His boss looked like any other middle-aged businessman. Yet despite his uniform of long dark mackintosh, black bowler hat, black umbrella with cane handle and black lace-up shoes, George was far from ordinary. It was Eva who gave him away. Ten years younger than her husband, yet ten years older than Lewis, Eva Miller was an exceptionally beautiful woman. Dressed in a flamboyant Zandra Rhodes full-length coat, with her geometric Mary Quant bob and swinging a Biba bag, his boss’s wife was the epitome of all that George Miller stood for. STYLE in capital letters.
George was a small man with a big talent. Eva towered over him, and yet still appeared graceful. Lewis stared down at them both. They had stopped walking and were standing outside the office building. George took out his wallet and handed Eva some money, which she slipped into her handbag. She kissed her husband on the cheek, and he almost swatted her away before charging into the Studio M building. What an odd couple they made. Eva seemed like such a modern woman, yet George’s chauvinism was blatant. How did she tolerate him? What did she even see in him? His boss’s powers of graphic observation were outstanding. He saw every tiny visual detail in the world around him, yet the subtext of the unseen was lost on him.
Lewis watched Eva for a moment longer. He had never really thought about her before. She was just the boss’s wife, and he had considered her life enviable. After all, she had a full-time housekeeper, and her boys were now away at school, so she could spend all her time swanning around London, meeting girlfriends for lunch and spending George’s money on the newest fashions.
But as he watched her, standing outside the Studio M building, staring at the door as it closed behind her husband, he realised that she was sad. It was as if now that George had walked inside she could stop pretending. Lewis had never seen Eva look like that before. She was always so upbeat and chatty, smoothing out her husband’s rough edges, but today she looked lonely as she walked away down the street. No matter how hard he tried, Lewis could never imagine Marnie accepting that sort of life. If he did marry his Irish girlfriend, she would not want to stay at home and look after the children while his career took off. She would want to shine just as bright as him.