‘As in the Matt Walker?’
It was a week later. Annie had spent her evenings at home getting more and more annoyed with emails from her brother urging her to ditch the cafe. Annoyed at the childish reactions he brought out in her. Annoyed with the phone calls from her mum telling her that Jonathan only had her best interests at heart, and in turn annoyed with her father, furious that he wasn’t still here to sort it all out.
It was like they’d all become caricatures. Their actions and reactions stacking up like a pyramid until they’d peaked, setting in stone traits that they’d never be able to grow up or move on from.
At night though, just before she went to bed, she’d have a sneaky Google on her phone of pictures of Matt Walker. There were pages and pages of images. Articles, websites, fan clubs. Someone had put a selection of clips together on YouTube to a Céline Dion song. She giggled into her camomile tea as she watched, snuggled down in her duvet, her threadbare pyjamas frayed at the cuffs and her hair all flat from a quick post-shower blow-dry. The pictures of him looped round and round to ‘My Heart Will Go On’, starting with the action adventure ‒ abseiling from a sheer cliff face in Thailand, ice-picking his way up a vertical glacier, dangling off a boulder that jutted out over a rainforest ‒ and then settling to calmer shots of him on the beach looking moody with his baby son or leaning against his car, cap pulled low. The last picture made her snort into her tea, he was cross-legged on the beach doing yoga with a bandana tied round his head. Annie had done yoga once and had thought about what she was going to have for dinner for most of the class.
Now she was standing on the landing stage of the Cherry Pie Island boat club with Holly Somers, a girl who she’d mostly got into trouble with at school. Except Holly had been far too clever to ever actually get caught and if she had, had managed to talk her way out of every accusation levied against her. With thick brown hair that was always tied back, freckles that multiplied in the sun, barely any make-up, and a wonky little mouth, Holly shouldn’t have been more than OK-looking. But she had these eyes, luminous green like the weeds in the shallows of the river, that stopped people in their tracks, and as she walked past, left a wake of confusion as to why they’d paused. Those eyes could get her away with murder.
‘Yeah, it’s him. The Matt Walker,’ Holly said, half looking up as she washed down her boat with the hose, rinsing away dirty brown river water. She pushed her sunglasses onto her head to follow Annie’s gaze, to where Matthew was just pushing away from his private landing stage, his sleek single scull rowing boat like one of those bugs that skates along the water, all long limbs and perfect balance. Buster the pug dog was yapping in the garden, running up and down the water’s edge barking in Matt’s direction. ‘You must remember him from school? Got Pamela Chambers pregnant?’
‘Yeah, no I did, I just didn’t realise he became Matt Walker.’
‘He moved back here maybe two years ago. Built the house, gave quite a lot of money to the club, but doesn’t say much. His son’s here,’ Holly put the hose down and reached into a bucket for a sponge. As she bent down, she seemed to get dizzy and steady herself on the trestle supporting the boat.
‘You OK?’ Annie asked.
‘Fine. Head rush,’ Holly said, taking a deep breath and rubbing her forehead. ‘Anyway, the son, River. He works at your cafe, doesn’t he?’
‘Don’t I know it.’ Annie glanced back at Holly, one brow raised.
Holly laughed. ‘Moody little thing, isn’t he? Enid loved him.’ She started scrubbing at a tidemark stain on the white fibreglass.
‘Really?’ Annie leant against the trailer of a motorboat parked to the side of the club, keeping one eye on Matthew’s retreating figure as he became just a shape, silhouetted against the sun, puddles from his blades rippling into nothing before they reached them, and said, ‘I can’t understand it. He’s a terrible waiter.’
‘She felt sorry for him. Because of him,’ Holly nodded towards Matthew’s boat, the stern just clipping the leaves of a weeping willow before disappearing round the river bend.
‘What did he do?’
‘Buggered off. I don’t know the whole story, Annie, it’s all just hearsay and rumour but, as far as I know, he stuck around for a bit when River was tiny and then he went, couldn’t hack it. Itchy feet? Didn’t want the responsibility? Who knows. But he went off and became The Matt Walker, as you put it.’
‘Then what?’ Annie was picking at the old lettering on the motorboat’s name, peeling off an L that someone had already had a go at, trying to look nonchalant but hoovering up the information like it was gold dust.
Holly laughed. ‘I don’t know. I just have rumours. Can you not pick the name off that boat, please?’
‘Tell me the rumours.’
‘Once he’d climbed every mountain there was to climb, as far as I know he decided that the equipment wasn’t good enough and designed his own. From that, and then that survival programme he did, he built his mega-brand and then couple of years ago sold it and here he is.’ Holly paused, rubbed at a stain on the boat with her fingernail then looked up at Annie. ‘From some chat he had with my dad, and just the fact he’s in that cafe most days, as far as I can gather, he’s ready to be a dad to River.’
‘And what does River think?’
Holly shrugged. Then, pulling on a jumper as the sun disappeared behind a wall of cloud, her voice muffled by the material, she said, ‘River doesn’t want a dad.’
Annie bit her bottom lip, glanced towards the bare horizon then back towards the huge house to her right, imagined him standing there at the window and saw just how lonely it might be.
‘So you got the cafe, huh?’ Holly asked, hoiking the boat up in one fluid movement onto her shoulder and carrying it into the boathouse.
‘Yeah,’ Annie pulled absentmindedly again at the L of the boat name and half of it came away. She looked round to check Holly wasn’t watching and tried to patch it back together, sticking it back on but it fell to the ground. Sheepishly, she scuttled to the other side of the landing stage.
‘Is your dad still boatman here?’ she called into the boathouse, towards where Holly was racking her boat.
‘Of course,’ Holly shouted, ‘He’ll never leave!’
Annie laughed, remembered many afternoons after school spent sitting in the warm sun, legs dangling in the river, sanding down blades for Holly’s dad in return for Saturday-night-out cash.
As she moved herself as far from the motorboat with the missing L as possible, she came across a battered old ice cream van, tucked round the side in an overgrown alleyway. Pastel blue and white, it had a wonky awning and a broken window. The wheel arches were speckled with rust but otherwise it was a vintage classic. Stickers for 99s and raspberry ripples decorated the glass and inside were ruffled curtains patterned with forget-me-nots and pink and white striped bunting.
‘Well I got that,’ Holly said, coming to stand beside her.
‘This?’ Annie pointed at the little van.
‘Uh-huh. It was Enid’s. Don’t you remember, she’d sell ice cream at weddings? Dressed it up with bluebells and blossom.’
Annie laughed, ‘And I suppose you’re far too cool for bluebells and blossom, Holly?’
Holly raised a brow, ‘Too right. You should be thankful. Who do you think it is who’s kept Gerty out of those dreadful dresses Suzi wants to put her in? It’s me that bought her the yellow jeans and red converse.’
Annie frowned, ‘How did you manage that?’
‘She’s learning to row. On the first day she appeared all covered in frills and lace and looked so uncomfortable. I took pity on her.’
‘Aww!’ Annie tipped her head to one side and smiled at her friend. ‘I didn’t know you had this maternal streak.’
Holly scoffed, then reached forward and ran her hand down the rusty paintwork, changing the subject back to the van. ‘Well, Enid left it to me. God knows why. And it’s just sitting here gathering dust and mice.’
‘Maybe you should fix it up?’ Annie shrugged.
‘And do what with it?’
Annie smiled, ‘Travel the world, my dear. Wasn’t that always your plan? Sell ice cream from it at weddings? Convert it into a caravan? I mean, Holly, what are you still doing here anyway? There’s only so long a beautiful young girl can live on an island.’
Holly shook her head, was about to say something and then changed her mind. Instead she turned her back on Annie and gestured towards the river to where Matt was rowing back, the clouds darkening on the horizon, the boat skating past them, cutting through water flat as ice. ‘Why would I leave? Look at me, I’m surrounded by eligible young men...’ She glanced back at Annie over her shoulder, ‘But I have a feeling someone else might have their eye on him...’
Annie blushed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have enough problems with the cafe without adding some brooding adventurer to the list. Oh shit, he’s going to hit those ducklings—’
Annie pointed to just in front of Matt’s boat where a trail of eleven little brown and yellow ducklings were in a line behind their mum, the bow of his boat powering towards them.
‘Stop!’ Annie shouted, running to the edge of the water. ‘Stop! Stop!’ She waved her hands above her head. ‘You’ve got to stop!’
Matthew did a sudden movement with his blades and his boat halted on the spot. Sweat pouring down his face, his breath coming in short bursts, he leant forward to pause his stopwatch. ‘What?’ He looked around for the danger, clearly ready to act. ‘What’s happened?’
The ducklings were well across the river, hadn’t ever really been threatened, Annie realised. ‘Erm…’ she frowned. ‘It was…Erm…’
Matthew was just getting his breath back. ‘What’s happened?’ he said again.
Annie winced. ‘It was them,’ she pointed to the little fluffy gathering on her side of the river. ‘The ducklings.’
‘The what?’
‘The ducklings,’ she said again, a little quieter.
‘Oh for Christ’s sake!’ Matthew shook his head, his expression thunderous. Spitting a load of phlegm into the water, taking off his cap to wipe the sweat from his forehead, he pulled it on low again and took off at the same speed he’d halted at.
Annie felt Holly sidle up next to her. ‘Good one.’
Annie didn’t say anything.
‘You made a good impression there, Annie. Very nice.’