It’s night-time and I’m dreaming that it is the summer. I am lying on a tropical beach somewhere in the Caribbean. There are palm trees everywhere, but my eyes are closed and I can only hear the fronds gently swishing in the wind against the sound of the surf.
Gabe is lying next to me, raining tiny kisses on my face, his hands lovingly running over my body. ‘Babes,’ he whispers in my ear. ‘I want you.’
This is bliss. My whole life is back on track. ‘I want you too, Gabe,’ I murmur. To hell with taking my time.
‘Then tell me you forgive me.’
‘I forgive you,’ I assure him, already anticipating the happier times ahead.
‘Open your eyes.’
Torn between the need to sleep after all that love-making and the need for more, I groan and roll over.
‘I’m too sleepy,’ I confess and he laughs.
‘This ought to wake you,’ he says and kisses me deeply.
I wrap my arms around him.
‘Faith, open your eyes.’
‘They’re open,’ I assure him.
He laughs. ‘Come on, open them.’
And that is when I wake up.
Only to find Gabe sitting on the edge of the settee, his hand on my hip.
I jump to my knees with a shriek, something between surprise and joy. ‘Gabe! What are you doing here!’
He grins as he leans in to kiss me. ‘I came back to see my Babes.’
I hang on to him despite myself, then remember where we’re at and move away. ‘You’ve, uhm, lost weight,’ I observe.
He laughs. ‘Is that all you can say?’
‘How… why didn’t you tell me when you were coming? How long are you staying? When did you get here?’
‘Easy, easy, one question at a time, Babes. I got here five minutes ago. I wanted to let you sleep, but I just couldn’t wait to see the look on your face.’
I rub my knuckles over my eyes, trying to get rid of the sleep. ‘I must look like shit,’ I mutter.
‘Nuh-uh. You look amazing as always, and I’ve never loved you more.’ He takes my hand and draws me back to a sitting position. ‘Thank you for forgiving me, Babes. I don’t know what I’d have done otherwise.’
‘Look, Gabe, I’m happy you’re here,’ I assure him. ‘But I need t-time. I can’t just slip right back into a relationship like nothing happened.’
‘I know, Babes. I get it – no pressure. I’m only staying a few hours anyway. I’ve got to catch a flight back tonight.
I get out of bed and straighten my nightie. ‘You came all this way, just for me?’
He yawns. ‘Sorry, jet lag. Just for you.’
I run a hand through the rat’s nest that is my hair. I need a shower like I need my next breath. ‘Tell you what, Gabe. You crash here – the other bedrooms are non-existent at the moment – and when you wake up I’ll have breakfast ready.’
‘I don’t want to sleep, I want to spend every minute with you,’ he insists.
‘Okay, then. Just let me take a quick shower and I’ll be right back.’
He lies back on the settee and gives me a thumbs-up, his eyes already closed.
Grinning to myself, I jump in and out of the shower and get dressed before I pad barefoot to the kitchen to prep a blueberry pancake batter and brew a pot of coffee.
I can’t believe he’s come all this way just for me! He truly does love me. There is such a thing as a happy ending after all. And maybe… I shouldn’t ask for more. He’s back, he wants me back. End of. Stop questioning everything, I tell myself. Just… sit back and enjoy the few good things in life. It’s not like this happens to everybody every day, right?
‘Sorry about that.’ His voice comes from the threshold where he stops to take in the kitchen. His hair is sticking out in every direction and I love him more than ever. ‘Man – I forgot how kitsch this place was.’
I giggle. ‘You didn’t take a tour of the house?’
He pulls me into his embrace, his face still wrinkled by the sheets. ‘Why would I waste time looking at a horror house when I’ve got you to look at?’
I can feel my face burning. After all this time, he still has this effect on me. It feels so strange to be with him under the same roof again. I naturally make no mention of the sex swing in the wet room, nor the bare-chested picture Henry found behind the pleather cladding. I want to put all of that behind me now. I have to, for my own sanity, and for a fresh start.
‘When was the last time you ate? You must be starved,’ I say to change the subject as I turn the cooker on.
‘I am,’ he assures me as he comes up behind me and nuzzles my neck, his body pressing into mine, if you know what I mean. But I laugh, pretending I don’t.
‘Have a seat. Your favourite is coming right up.’
‘Blueberry pancakes? Man, you are da best girlfriend a bloke could ever have.’
I glance at him as I’m about to pour and he coughs, embarrassed. ‘I’m going to make it up to you in a million ways,’ he promises me. ‘I’ve even started writing a song about it. Title is, of course, “A Million Ways”.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ I say.
‘I do. I want the whole world to know what a tosser I’ve been.’
‘I’d rather you kept our relationship private from now on, Gabe,’ I whisper as I pour the batter into separate pancakes that hiss as they quickly solidify. Perhaps we are just like this batter. Perhaps we, too, can be whipped to a froth, and then make it back together again, even if it will take some time. I do believe it.
‘So we still have a relationship?’ he says softly, caressing my arm. ‘Can I hope you will take me back?’
I flip the pancakes over, one by one. How many women have forgiven their men for cheating, and have gone on to be perfectly happy? Lots and lots. I love Gabe, and living without him has been pure hell. I dish up the pancakes and smother them in maple syrup and add a dollop of whipped cream.
‘I’m willing to give it a go,’ I say nonchalantly, while inside I’m literally begging him. Please please please, don’t hurt me again. I couldn’t bear it.
He exhales as if he’d been holding his breath for years and pulls me into his arms. ‘Thank you, love of my life. I swear you won’t regret it.’
I laugh, holding on to him with one arm, the plate of pancakes in the other. He takes it from me.
‘Here, sit down, Babes,’ he says, sitting opposite me and cutting off a huge bit. ‘Open that lovely mouth.’
I obey and take the forkful. Not bad at all, for someone who can’t cook.
He takes a bite for himself and then feeds me the next one, and we continue like this until all the pancakes are gone.
‘This is how it’s going to be from now on, Faith,’ he promises. ‘Together, forever…’
‘That song already exists,’ I quip, trying to hide my emotions welling up through my eyeballs.
He reaches for the whipped cream and grins naughtily. ‘The only music I’ll be making today is with you and this whipped cream. Think of all the babies we can make!’
‘Cheesy!’ I say, rolling my eyes. ‘But doable.’
His eyes are studying my face. ‘Yeah…? Babies and all?’
A family of my own, with the man I love? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. But… so soon? And then that voice inside me reminds me to stop asking so many questions. Maybe, just maybe, things are finally looking up.
I smile shyly. ‘Maybe. Yes.’
‘Cool,’ he says, lifting me off the chair and heading for the music room.
*
Later that afternoon, I wake to the soft sound of my name. He is sitting on the edge of the settee, his hand on my hip.
‘Hey,’ I murmur, propping myself up onto my elbow.
‘Sorry – I wanted to let you sleep as long as possible,’ he says.
‘You shouldn’t have. What time are you leaving?’
‘My taxi is due in the next ten minutes.’
Crap, just as I was beginning to enjoy my new life. ‘Oh. Okay. Do you need anything?’
‘Only you,’ he says, and he pulls me into his arms and kisses me at length. It feels so good to be back in those familiar, beloved arms.
‘When I get back, I’m going to take some time off, Faith. We’ll go off somewhere for a long vacation, just you and me. How does that sound?’
‘Like heaven,’ I murmur, wrapping my arms around his neck.
A horn honks in the front drive.
‘That’s my bloody taxi,’ he groans, getting to his feet.
‘That was a very short ten minutes. Right,’ I say, feeling like the world is once again falling on top of me. But this time it’s different. This time I have Gabe. And he’ll be back after his tour. ‘Let me just get up…’
‘Please stay,’ he whispers, kissing me on the lips. ‘I’m going to come back every time I can. Today is the beginning of the rest of our lives.’
Once again, I want to say Cheesy, but he’s right. Today has been monumental.
He takes my face in his hands. ‘Babes… I love you.’
‘I love you, too, Gabe.’ I can hardly believe this is reality.
‘Hopefully we’ve started a family already,’ he says and I laugh.
‘Highly unlikely. But who knows?’
‘Better get started on that nursery, then…’ he quips and kisses me again, and then groans as the taxi driver honks his horn once more, more impatiently this time.
‘I’ll call you every day, Babes,’ he says as he backs out of the room and through the front door.
I lie back in bed, my arms behind my head as I relive the past few hours. He really does still love me.
The sun is beginning to set. I pull on my robe, retrieve my sketch pad and sit out in one of the deckchairs. Before I know it I am mentally going through the various nursery solutions for ideas. I’ve done this a million times before, albeit for other couples’ babies. But this time it’s for our baby. A child to love. Protect. Teach. Play with. Laugh with. Comfort. He or she will never, ever doubt our love for them, not even when they’re grounded. They will feel secure, warm and happy. I know it’s still too soon, but I can’t wait.
If at first I hadn’t even dared hope for such happiness, now I’m afraid to think that something so beautiful could be an option for us. But Gabe and I will be the best parents we can be. His own parents had divorced when he was little, his mum having moved to Singapore. His parents hadn’t spoken to each other for years, which was the reason why I’d never met either of them. And I had never really had any role model either. As children, all Hope and I had ever wanted was to be loved.
What is more precious than love? I have that to give in spades. I don’t hope for a boy or a girl particularly. I just want them to be healthy and happy, but also kind to others, especially those less fortunate.
My longing for a home is perhaps the reason why I became an interior designer. With every home I have worked on, I have always imagined a happy family, and perhaps even my own home with Gabe and our future family.
Looking out to sea, I begin to imagine the baby’s nursery. It will be seeing plenty of changes over time, so better to plan and leave room for them.
I can almost see our child – or, why not, children – playing with their toys, and then gradually looking at their picture books and then proper books and maybe writing a diary full of wonderful and witty observations on their own young life, possibly while preparing their bags for university. And then my eyes mist up. Seriously? Our baby isn’t even born yet and I’m already missing it?
Perhaps they will be, like Gabe, musically talented. Or perhaps they won’t be able to carry a tune to save themselves, just like me. Perhaps they’ll be obsessed with homes as I am, albeit for reasons differing from mine.
I only hope that this time it’s all for real. But if I’m going to trust Gabe again completely, I have to really trust him. Right?
*
Early the next Saturday morning, I head out to babysit Jowen and Verity as Hope’s had to go in to work the first shift at the restaurant.
It’s been a good working week both on our other jobs and at the beach house. No arguments with Henry, nor injuries, if you don’t count the internal ones of my heart and pride. Henry, who will be fronting all of the joinery aspects of the house, seems to have fit in with the others in the space of a few days, especially my muscle men who have already warmed to him, probably because of his outstanding work ethic. On the days he is working at the house, Henry is always the first one there and the last one to leave. They can see the quality of his workmanship and have begrudgingly lowered their barriers. I’m more of a slow burner. We might not get along like a house on fire on a personal level, but we do work well professionally, and that’s what counts.
As the kids are still sleeping upstairs, I work on sewing their costumes for their World Monument night at school. It is a special evening that will take place in the assembly hall in a few months’ time. Each student is to represent a specific landmark, natural or not. Verity has chosen the statue of the Fearless Girl in New York, while Jowen has decided to not stray from the vicinity and represent the Chrysler building.
I have been working on them for a few weeks now, collating images from every angle. Jowen’s is easier as all I have to do is draw and sew a foam costume for him, whereas Verity’s is more of a study in image. She’ll have to wear bronze spray paint and have her hair and clothes done just right. But where my sister is an excellent chef, she’s useless with a needle, so I’ll be taking care of that for her.
At half past eight, I get up from the table to make them breakfast as it’s time to start their day. There are not to be any lazy bones in this family.
‘Verity, Jowen, rise and shine!’ I call as I slide the scrambled eggs onto two plates to complete a lovely Cornish breakfast, and draw a ketchup smile on each one. Outside it is a cold but sunny morning and I can’t wait to get the kids out walking on the beach for some fresh air.
‘Can we have breakfast in bed?’ Jowen calls from his bedroom.
‘Breakfast in bed is only for birthdays!’ I call back. ‘If you want to eat, you have to get up and come downstairs!’
There is an audible groan, but three seconds later there is a thump-rumble-thump on the stairs and they both appear in their pyjamas, sleepy-eyed but determined not to miss out.
‘There you go,’ I say as they hoist themselves up onto their breakfast stools, already brandishing their forks as if ready for battle.
‘Did you sleep well?’ I ask as I sit down opposite them with a cup of coffee.
‘Jowen was talking in his sleep again,’ Verity complains as she takes a bite of her buttered toast. ‘I heard him through the wall.’
‘Was not,’ Jowen defends, shovelling eggs into his mouth.
‘You were!’ Verity assures him.
‘Guys – pipe down. I’ve got a nice picnic packed for us today and if you behave yourselves you might even get an ice cream.’
‘Ooh, yay!’ Verity claps her hands. ‘And can I feed the gulls?’
I lean over and gently tap the tip of her nose. ‘Of course you can, love. But I wouldn’t get too friendly with them. They tend to take more than you’ve offered.’
‘Okay, Auntie Fi,’ she promises.
I watch them as they finish their breakfast, the two children I love more than my own life and who have kept me sane during the past few months. If it hadn’t been for their cute faces, hugs and kisses and presents of chocolate, I don’t know what I’d have done.
‘Can I get a pasty instead, Auntie Faith?’ Jowen wants to know.
‘If you promise to always be nice to your sister from now on, you can have a pasty for dinner.’
‘Is Mum working at the restaurant all day again today?’ Verity asks as she spears a baked bean and pops it into her mouth.
‘Yes, but she made me promise to take you there after lunch to say hello.’
‘Cool,’ Jowen says as he downs his orange juice. But they don’t fool me. They miss her terribly, and I am grateful for the time I get to spend with them because before you know it, they’ll be all grown up and too cool to hang out with old Auntie Fi.
After breakfast I take them to Perrancombe for a stroll around the harbour. Truro may be beautiful, but Perrancombe is the bee’s knees. Or, as the kids and I used to say when they were little, the pasty’s pants.
As we amble along the harbour with the sun on our faces, I become aware of a figure waving frantically at me. As the ray of light shifts, I see it is Mrs Trengrouse, the owner of our local wool shop, The Cat’s Cradle. It is a tiny hole in the wall, really, but chock-full of wool of every colour you can imagine and I used to spend hours there while decorating the beach house.
‘Faith! Hello! It’s so nice to see you again. How have you been?’
‘It’s lovely to see you, too, Mrs Trengrouse! How are you?’
‘I’m grand, just grand. We’ve missed you around here.’
‘Yes, well, Gabe and I—’
‘I know, pet,’ she says, putting a hand on mine. ‘The whole village was worried about you. And of course everyone was on Team Faith.’
I eye the kids who are inspecting a herd of elephants made out of grey yarn. ‘Awh, thank you, that’s so sweet, Mrs Trengrouse, but—’
She looks at me sceptically. ‘What a stunt to pull on such a sweet girl like yourself! Better off without him, luv.’
I cough. ‘Oh – uhm, well, Gabe are friends again.’
Her glasses fall off her nose like in the funnies, and I struggle to keep a straight face. ‘Really? Are you sure that’s what you want, pet?’
I involuntarily stiffen. Mrs Trengrouse is a lovely woman, and would never say anything to hurt my feelings, or anyone else’s. ‘We’ll see, Mrs Trengrouse. It’s early days yet. But thank you for looking out for me.’
She studies me briefly before squeezing my forearm. ‘You need anything, luv, anything at all, just come and see me, do you hear?’
‘Thank you, I will,’ I promise.
She smiles warmly. ‘Must pop upstairs now. Mr Trengrouse gets cranky when I don’t feed him on time. If you need anything, take it and we’ll sort it later. Take care, now!’
‘You too,’ I reply as, smiling to myself, I shove my hands into my pockets, close the door behind me with a soft jingle and we resume our ambling amidst tourists and patrons of the various shops along the harbour, from the local bakery, Cornish Born and Bread, to the pub, The Dolphin and Barrel.
Couples and families are wandering about, just enjoying the freedom of the weekend, pure joy on their faces. That’s what Cornish landscapes do to you. They nourish your soul, slow down time, lift the burden off your shoulders, fill your lungs with fresh air and beckon you into their beauty, until you forget why you were so uptight and miserable in the first place.
I sit on a bench and watch as Jowen and Verity frolic in the sand, chasing the seagulls and each other without a care in the world. It is so good to see how well they are being brought up by Hope. Even through the divorce, she has managed to give them the stability they need. Who knew that she, a former wild child, would be such a hard-working and loving mother? I am so proud of her and how far she’s come.
About an hour later, the kids and I stretch out on our picnic blanket and break out the goodies, i.e. all their favourite foods in miniature. Tiny meat pies, scotch eggs, pasties, chunks of cheese and tiny rolls. There’s also their daily quota of fruit and veg that I have to literally force down their throats or Hope will kill me.
Tired by their morning of running around, they lean back and, for once, eat their food in companionable silence, looking out at the tiny boats bobbing up and down in the glistening sea that is ensconced within the boundaries of the circular breakwater. These high walls have protected the village from many a storm. Everything is so peaceful here that it seems literally impossible that anything bad could happen. I wish I’d grown up here. But for the kids, things will be better. I will make sure that Hope continues to have my unconditional support even throughout the next few hectic months.
*
On Monday afternoon, Henry comes in with a lovely surprise.
‘Faith – this is my son Orson. Orson, say hello to Faith.’
Orson is a tiny version of Henry, with the same dark moppy hair and the dark eyes that glisten with mischief. And my auntie radar tells me he is adorable.
I smile, bending so that our faces are level. ‘Hello, Orson. Nice to meet you!’
‘Hello,’ he says cheerfully.
‘Orson is going to be coming to work with me for a few afternoons, if that’s okay?’
‘Of course, that will be fun!’ I assure him. ‘Orson, would you like a doughnut and some juice? We have lots in the kitchen.’
Orson looks up at his father. ‘May I, Daddy?’
‘Absolutely, son. You go ahead and help yourself. I have to speak to Faith. I’ll be there in a minute.’
‘Thank you, Daddy. And thank you, Faith,’ he says.
‘You’re very welcome, Orson!’
Henry watches his little boy rush off, then turns to me with a sheepish grin.
‘He’s so sweet. And he looks happy, if I may say so.’
Henry grins. ‘Yeah. He is now. Linda had done her best to break our bond, but I guess it’s too strong even for her, thank God.’
‘Exes can be very mean,’ I observe without thinking. But it’s true. ‘Did she give you a hard time with custody?’
‘Oh, yeah, she tried very hard to go for sole custody, but to no avail.’
I smile. ‘Good. I bet you’re a great father.’
He shrugs to hide the fact that he is obviously pleased at my compliment. ‘Not so much in the past. Always busy. But I’m spending more and more time with him, which is all I really want.’
‘Daddy! There’s chocolate sprinkles, come!’
Henry’s face lights up and I laugh as I follow him into the kitchen where Orson has perched himself upon a stool, his little legs dangling, his cute face covered in chocolate.
‘Is it good, son?’ Henry asks as he ruffles his hair.
‘Hmmmh!’ he answers, nodding vigorously.
I pour him a glass of orange juice and set it in front of him along with a napkin. ‘Here, wash it down with this, Orson.’
‘Thank you,’ he says, reaching for the glass and taking a long gulp.
‘Want to help me sand down a side table later?’ Henry asks him and again, the little boy nods, his face lighting up.
‘Orson’s my favourite helper,’ he explains to me. ‘He’s helped me build all kinds of furniture.’
‘I want to be like Daddy when I grow up!’ he says and I can’t help but laugh again.
‘I think you already are, Orson!’ I say and his eyes widen.
‘Do you think so?’
‘I know so!’ I assure him.
He wipes his darling little face with the napkin and slides off his stool to throw it in the bin.
‘Can we start now?’ he asks, rolling his sleeves up in a gesture I recognise as one of Henry’s.
‘Absolutely, Orson. It’s out on the deck – it’s a table that needs a bit more sanding.’
Henry eyes me good-naturedly and I roll my eyes, but my face is warm with shame.
‘Let’s get your gloves and your goggles on and you can show Faith what you’re made of, buddy boy.’
And I watch them as Henry puts the protective gear on him, explaining what he needs to do, and as Orson nods, I can’t help but feel my throat constrict. What greater joy than to have a child to love and cherish? If I had had an ounce of the paternal love I am seeing here, I would be a much more secure person. I want my own child one day to be just as confident, respectful and happy as Orson is. But our children will be just as happy.
‘Daddy, like this?’ Orson asks as he begins to sand the top of the table.
‘Exactly, Orson! You’re doing a great job!’
‘Right, then,’ I say and Henry looks up, his eyes scrutinising me. ‘I’ll leave you two masters to work!’
I go back to my desk and pull out my spreadsheets and try to re-examine the costs. Not that money is a problem for Gabe, but still.
That little boy is so adorable. I hate to think that he must have suffered during his parents’ split. He is only around six or so, and yet, he has a soulfulness that I’ve never seen before in a child. I huff. Why must some children face such traumas, already being so fragile and helpless enough as they are?
‘Hey,’ comes Henry’s voice from the door. ‘Are you all right?’
I swivel around in my chair, feeling myself turning crimson. ‘Oh! Yes, thank you.’
He continues to study me as he steps into my office.
I swear I can feel my eyes pricking, so I have to turn away again and take a deep breath.
He’s standing behind me, not knowing what to do.
I clear my throat. ‘Funny fact – I think I’m allergic to sawdust.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, I’d better get back to Orson before he sands the table down to a toothpick.’
I laugh. ‘Yes.’
‘Okay. I’ll see you later.’
‘See you later, Henry.’
And he leaves without telling me why he’d come in.
I spend the rest of the day on the phone with my suppliers as the crew occasionally pop their heads in to take a breather from all the packing up. But all day, all I can think about is children.
‘You all right in here?’ Thea asks as she plops herself down next to me.
‘Super all right,’ I assure her.
‘That Orson is cute, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘And he adores Henry, who is such a loving dad.’
‘Indeed,’ I agree, returning to my Excel sheets. Goodness me, why can I not snap out of it? So I still want a baby. And if we’re lucky, we’ll have one sooner rather than later.
*
At half past five, once everyone has gone, Henry calls me from the foyer. ‘We’re off, Faith.’
I jump to my feet, stuff my hands into my pockets and saunter out there, feeling much better than before, but still quite unsettled.
‘Thank you for having me, Faith,’ Orson says.
‘Thank you for coming, Orson! Can you come back tomorrow?’
Orson turns to his father. ‘Oh, can I, Daddy, please?’
Henry kneels to Orson, his face awash with happiness. ‘Of course you can, son.’
Orson reaches out to hug his father who covers him in loud kisses. ‘Who’s Daddy’s pride and joy?’ he asks and Orson rolls his eyes.
‘That’s an easy question,’ he answers. ‘I am! You tell me all the time, Daddy!’
‘And don’t you ever forget it.’
‘I wo-on’t,’ he sing-songs and turns at the door. ‘Bye, Faith, see you tomorrow!’
‘See you tomorrow, Orson!’ I call as Henry turns back and I have a feeling that when he came in, presumably to check on me, for a fleeting moment, he had read me through and through. I close the door behind them and now alone, I grab a cup of tea and sit out on the deck, wrapping up in a throw that I’d salvaged from the storage unit and given a thorough wash.
Tonight, the sun is a huge crimson ball. It is so close it seems I may be just about able to touch it if I reach out. And yet, it is so fleeting and precious, I wish I could hide it forever in my keepsake box just to enjoy it whenever I’m feeling down, or simply wrap it up as a gift to a friend who is having a hard day. It’s true that the most beautiful moments are the fleeting ones.
I truly believe that being in magical Cornwall during this tough time has not only boosted my mood, but it has, along with my closest and dearest, kept me going. Cornwall is a reason for living.
All I have to do is go for a walk on the beach, or go for a drive in the countryside and just absorb its beauty, let it soothe all my senses and slowly, day by day, heal me. There is no place on earth like Cornwall, and I feel privileged to be here.
I shield my hand and look out to sea. Its sluggish, thick waves are lapping at the shore like generous dollops of honey poured onto a golden biscuit. I hug myself, slightly shivering against the rising breeze. It will be good to fall asleep to the sound of the waves collapsing onto the sand.
But in the middle of the night, thunder cracks the sky and lightning flashes throughout the house. I jump to my feet and, barefoot, run around the house, drawing all of the shutters closed, just in time to beat the onslaught of a pelting rainstorm. I get back onto the settee that has lost the warmth of slumber.
I wish Gabe were here.