Saturday, 29 October
Isla lifted her throbbing head from the pillow, and squinted at the digital clock on her bedside table, trying to bring the numbers into focus. Finally, they de-blurred: 10.15 a.m.
‘Shit,’ she whimpered, thudding back onto the pillow. She’d hoped to get up at nine to work on her book.
The half-open curtains let in a beam of sunlight that reached across the bedroom and highlighted dust particles raining down. She squinted again, eyes now on the window. Heavy grey clouds had gathered in the sky, like demons determined to overpower the sun.
She’d got up earlier, desperate for the loo and a drink of water to quench her thirst, but eventually she’d returned to bed, and taken hold of Jack’s hand as he slept. She hadn’t called him the night before when she reached Letchworth Station, deciding a walk in the mizzling rain might unclutter her mind. It hadn’t.
At home, the blisters on her heels throbbing, she’d found Jack in bed asleep. His phone on the cabinet beside him, telling her he would have been there, had she needed him. He hadn’t woken then, or when she got up earlier, but now he was gone. Just a crumpled sheet and the familiar smell of him remained.
She pulled herself to a sitting position, dragged her legs round, and slipped her feet into her slippers. She hadn’t slept well, her mind too full of everything that had happened over the last few days. She sighed, eyes falling on her screwed-up skirt suit on the floor. She would never wear it again. Why the heck did she think it would impress Ben Martin? What had she been thinking? Publishers are interested in words and pictures, not bloody brown skirt suits, and certainly not her. She shook her head, cross at how unbelievably naive she’d been, and a wave of confusion, sadness and embarrassment filled her senses. How could she have been so stupid?
And why hadn’t Trevor Cooper come over? He’d been friendly on the train.
The door creaked open, and Luna jumped onto the bed next to her, meeting her eye to eye, her stance and lack of a purr saying, Thank God I didn’t rely on you for my breakfast. Isla stroked her, comforted by soft fur under her hand. ‘Oh, Luna,’ she whispered. ‘I’m a first-class idiot.’
The cat turned, giving Isla a view of her bum, twitching the tip of her tail.
‘I deserve that, I suppose,’ she said, grabbing her robe and pulling it on over her pyjamas.
She stumbled across the bedroom and into the bathroom, where she scrubbed off last night’s make-up and cleaned her teeth. ‘Jesus,’ she said, and quickly turned her back on her reflection, hating the pale, dark-eyed monster staring back at her.
She padded towards the kitchen. Passing the photographic prints she’d taken over the last two years that hung on the walls of the hallway. Black and white studies of her and Jack in each other’s arms, looking so happy.
She opened the kitchen door, the aroma of toast and coffee hitting her.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ Jack called from the lounge, where he was sprawled on the sofa, watching a catch-up of a sci-fi programme she’d never been interested in. ‘How was it?’
‘How was what?’ she said, moving towards the coffee machine, craving caffeine.
‘Last night, the big reunion.’ He aimed the remote control at the TV and froze the screen on a weird-looking alien. ‘I saw the photo on Facebook.’
‘It was OK,’ she said, filling a mug with coffee, and splashing in skimmed milk. She grabbed some paracetamols from the cupboard, and popped two from the foil casing.
Jack got up, and walked over. ‘You don’t sound convinced,’ he said. ‘Did they all turn up?’
‘Barely anyone came.’ She sighed, wishing she hadn’t gone. ‘Just two of us in the end – Sara Pembroke, who seemed OK, and me.’ She pulled herself onto a stool, rolling her head from side to side, in an attempt to ease the tension in her neck, before swallowing the tablets with her coffee. ‘No idea what happened to the others.’ She paused, unsure whether to tell Jack about the message from Trevor.
‘You OK?’ He sat down opposite her, concern in his eyes.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, deciding to put Trevor out of her mind. ‘Jaded, that’s all. I haven’t even attempted to type up my travel notes, and on top of that I’ve given myself a bit of a hangover. Remind me next time that three large wines on an empty stomach isn’t a good idea. I can’t take the pace any more.’
He smiled. ‘I said you should have had some Chinese.’
‘Yeah, I know. What can I say? I’m a numpty.’ She took another sip of coffee. ‘Hopefully a boost of caffeine will inject life back into me,’ she said. ‘Then I’ll crack on with typing up my notes.’ Her tone was reluctant. ‘I need to get it done.’
‘OK, I’ll leave you to get on.’ He sounded disappointed.
‘Is that all right? You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No worries. I have loads of things to watch on Netflix.’ He smiled again, but there was something in his eyes.
‘Oh, no … we were supposed to be going out, weren’t we?’ she said, spotting a picnic basket. ‘I forgot. I’m so sorry.’
‘No worries, it’s nothing that won’t keep for another day.’ He glanced out of the window. The sun had gone. The grey clouds had won. ‘Anyway it’s too cold for the seaside.’
‘And it looks like rain.’
‘Yeah, we can go some other time.’ He shrugged, got down from the stool, and threw himself back on the sofa.
A pang of guilt radiated through her. ‘Although we have umbrellas,’ she said.
He turned back, face brightening. ‘I could even break out my cagoule.’
She laughed. The thought of the sea air was tempting. She could do with getting as far away from home as possible. ‘OK, why not?’ she said, taking another gulp of coffee. She stood up, yawning, and stretching her arms above her head. ‘Although don’t get any ideas about staying over – my mum’s invited us round tomorrow for one of her famous Sunday dinners, and I haven’t seen her since Canada. If we don’t turn up she’ll go into meltdown.’
‘No problem. I’d never say no to one of your mum’s roasts,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Her Yorkshire puds are to die for.’
‘Well, I’d better get dressed then. It’s already ten thirty,’ she said, her brain untangling by the moment. ‘I’ll grab a shower and then we can head off.’
Facebook: Hunstanton for the day with Jack Green. Umbrellas and cagoules at the ready. Haven’t been there since I was a kid. Feeling excited.
***
Jack appeared from the joke shop, and, pretend-sulky, headed towards the bench where Isla had been sitting for the last ten minutes huddled in her coat, looking out to sea.
She’d been ravenous since she got there, first tucking into the picnic, and now she was finishing off a bag of chips. ‘It must be the sea air,’ she’d said earlier, dashing into the fish and chip shop. But it was more that she’d barely eaten anything the day before.
The rain had kept off, and a strip of pale blue sky, sandwiched between grey clouds and the sea, seemed determined to break through.
Jack dropped down next to her on the bench, as she wiped her hands clean on a serviette.
‘I’ve bought a Spider-Man costume for Millie’s party,’ he said.
‘Brilliant,’ she said with a smile, screwing up the chip wrappings. ‘Spider-Man’s cool.’ She laughed. Truth was, Isla could take or leave Marvel and DC, but Jack bordered on obsessed. Their spare room shelves were brimming with collectable action figures and Pop Vinyls, although she’d drawn the line at an Avengers duvet cover he’d hinted he wanted.
He pulled a cloth Spider-Man mask from the bag, and dragged it over his head. ‘What do you think?’ he said, voice muffled by the cloth, and a little boy with wide blue eyes and curly blond hair stopped and stared, hands on his hips.
‘Jacob,’ his mother called.
‘But, Mummy, look, it’s Spider-Man,’ the boy said, as she grabbed his hand and whisked him away with a smile.
Isla laughed, took out her phone, snapped a photograph of Jack, and put it on Facebook.
Jack’s mask for Millie’s 40th #Spider-Man. Thought I’d put it on the Web. Ho Ho! Sorry!
‘Well? What do you think?’ Jack repeated, as she put her phone away. ‘Be honest. I can take it.’
‘Whatever turns you on, I suppose,’ she said, giggling, and tossing the screwed-up chip paper into a nearby bin.
‘But does it turn you on?’ he said, pulling the mask free, so his hair stood on end with static electricity. He leant forward and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘That’s all I care about.’
Isla laughed again, and flattened down his hair with her hand. ‘So, what do you want to do now?’
‘Arcade? I have coins.’
‘How old are you? Five?’
‘I was deprived as a child,’ he said, rising and shoving the mask in the plastic bag with the rest of the costume.
He took hold of her hand as they walked down the hill towards the amusement arcade near the beach, passing gift shops and a café where people sat outside, despite the cold.
‘Wait,’ she said, dashing into one of the gift shops. ‘I need a Hunstanton fridge magnet for my collection.’ Moments later she reappeared, shoving a paper bag into her coat pocket.
Jack smiled, and took her hand once more. ‘You’re so easily pleased,’ he said.
They crossed the road on a zebra crossing, and dived inside the arcade, like a couple of kids.
‘Did you come to the seaside as a child?’ she said later, as Jack tried his luck catching a cuddly toy at the metal claw machine.
‘Sometimes,’ he said, looking at her from the corner of his eyes, as the claw caught hold of a Minion. He twisted round to look at her, and the Minion dropped from the claw’s grasp. ‘My dad, before he left, would take me to Chesil Beach, and we’d search for dinosaur fossils, that kind of thing.’ He looked into her face, a hint of sadness in his eyes. ‘But then he left, and Mum and I moved, and we lost touch.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, not for the first time.
‘Yeah well it’s in the past now.’ He shrugged. ‘Ancient history.’
The incessant bleeping, the robotic voices of arcade games, and money crashing into metal trays jarred with his sad tone. He moved away from the grabber machine. ‘Talking of walks along the coastline,’ he said. ‘We were, weren’t we?’
She smiled.
‘Do you fancy going down on the beach?’
They left the noise of the arcade, and climbed down concrete steps onto the sand. A seagull squawked overhead, its wings spread wide. Isla pulled out her camera and snapped a picture as it flew down and settled on a wooden post. It looked sure of itself as it continued to squawk. ‘I’m convinced seagulls get bigger every year,’ she said.
‘Yep, pretty sure they’re going to take over the world,’ Jack said, with a grin. ‘The invasion of the seagulls.’
‘Sounds like a Hitchcock film.’
They walked for a while before Isla said, ‘I came here as a child sometimes. Mum and Dad would race Millie and me along this very beach, and somehow I always won, even though I had the littlest legs. Millie would scoop me up and swing me round as she ran through the finish line.’ She smiled at the thought of her sister. ‘She used to tickle my cheek with butterfly kisses,’ she said.
Jack smiled too. ‘It’s funny how when we are young we always win. Dad used to let me win at chess.’
‘Chess?’ she said, eyebrows rising. ‘You’ve never told me you played chess as a kid.’
‘Isla, you keep forgetting I was a geek back then.’
‘Back then?’ she said, with a cheeky tone.
He tickled her waist, and she laughed and ran off in front of him, her coat flapping in the breeze. When she was some distance away, she turned and began walking backwards, snapping photographs of him. ‘I’m afraid you’re still a geek, Mr Green,’ she said.
‘OK, fine. But I’ll have you know, geek is the new orange.’
‘What? I don’t even know what that means.’
‘Nope, me neither.’
They walked on in silence for some time, Isla’s feet sinking in the soft sand, her trainers heavy. The sounds of the town faded into the distance. It felt good to get away for the day. Good to clear her head a bit.
‘You know I love you, right?’ Jack said, stopping, as the clouds separated and a watery sun beamed down on them. ‘That I’d do anything for you.’ He fumbled in his pocket, and dropped down onto one knee.
‘Oh God, Jack, what are you doing?’ The crash of the waves against the sand sounded loud in her ears.
‘Isla Jane Johnson, will you marry me?’
Isla’s heart thumped as she met his eyes, noting his cheeks reddening. She knew her silence was worrying him, but time seemed to slow, the seagulls circling above making her dizzy. Getting married was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to turn away – run along the beach until she reached a silent cove, where she could sit and think and think and think.
‘Isla?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry?’ He stood up, his wide, green eyes searching her face. ‘I don’t understand.’ His voice was so quiet. ‘I thought you loved me.’
‘I do, Jack.’
‘We talked about getting married one day, didn’t we? I just thought …’
She looked again at the ring, noting the slight tremor in his hand, and then back into his sad face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, tears filling her eyes.
‘Don’t be sorry, Isla. Just say yes. Please. You’re killing me here.’ He began to pace back and forth, his trainers scuffing the sand. ‘I thought you loved me. I thought we were solid.’
She bit down on her lip, watching his eyes grow watery. Lovely, sweet Jack deserved so much more. She couldn’t bear that she was hurting him. ‘OK, let’s get married,’ she said, on impulse, wanting to bite back the words as they entered the sea air and became fact. This was the wrong time.
He stopped pacing. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course.’ But she was far from it. She wasn’t sure about anything any more.
He took her hand and slipped the solitaire diamond ring onto her finger, and her heart continued to race for all the wrong reasons.
On the way back, she pulled out her phone, and opened Facebook. The place where she could pretend Carl Jeffery hadn’t set up home in her head. A place where she could make believe everything was OK.
Got engaged to Jack Green. Feeling wonderful.
Within moments the ‘likes’ and ‘loves’ appeared, and people began commenting. With a jolt, she realised Trevor was one of them.
So pleased for you both. I hope you’ve made the right decision.