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CHRISTIE ADDED TO THE mind map with a black marker. There had to be answers here.
She drew a new line out from Cottage under Thomas’s name, then wrote - Thomas’ wife. She connected the two and added - Believed married 1968.
So, who had Thomas married? Christie reached for Martha’s letter. Rereading it, there was no name mentioned.
She told me all about it. Gloated in fact. By the time you read this letter, you will be just days away from getting married. To someone else.
Was “she”, the friend entrusted with Thomas’ final letter to Martha, the same person he married? Or just a messenger? There had been mention of Frannie taking their photo on the beach. Frannie could be anyone in their circle of friends, not necessarily Thomas’ future wife.
What made absolutely no sense to Christie was the fact she had Thomas’ letter here, unopened. Presumably the one he wrote to send with this friend to give to Martha. The same friend who told Martha that Thomas was to marry another. Someone who would gloat was clearly not a true friend.
Christie gazed around the kitchen. Once, a family lived here. More than one family over many years. Children raised here, meals prepared and eaten at this table. Laughter and tears, joy and sorrow. The last of the stationmasters was Thomas’ father, who retired around the time Thomas and Martha broke up. Had Thomas and his new wife lived here? If his future wife was the one he entrusted with the letter and painting, maybe she had gone one step further than withholding them from Martha, by keeping them.
But Gran had them! It was the shoebox with its rings and letters hidden in the attic. Half a puzzle in one house and half in another. Almost as though there was some conspiracy between two parties to stop Martha and Thomas from reuniting. Presumably, Thomas’ wife was one party, but it was inconceivable Gran was the other.
Christie placed the pendant from the graveyard on the table and scrolled through her phone to find the photo of the engraving on the cliff face. Of course, it was not there because throwing her other phone at the wall destroyed everything not on the sim.
This had to stop. She could not just run from one place to another, breaking things. Relationships, jobs, phones, who knows what else. Losing Gran, losing Derek, losing her last contract – it all added up to a whole lot of unrest. Regardless, getting emotional enough to throw a phone at a wall or run away from Martin when he upset her was not Christie.
After Jess had been this afternoon, she would return to the beach and take some more photos. At least being near the sea would help calm her soul again and going for a walk along its shore was a most enticing thought.
***
BELINDA AND JESS ARRIVED at four. They walked up from the town, Belinda carrying a suit bag and backpack. Christie opened the door with a smile.
“Come on in, ladies. The kettle just boiled and there is tea, coffee and some rather yummy hot chocolate to help yourselves to.”
Jess scurried in with her head dropped, but Belinda beamed. "Well, that's perfect because I have some of our world famous eclairs in this backpack!"
“There goes that diet again!” Christie sighed.
"As if you need it." Belinda laughed. "You two get to work, and I'll make afternoon tea."
“Yes, ma’am.” Christie kept a straight face as she turned to Jess. “She’s bossy, isn’t she?”
Earlier, Christie set up an area in the kitchen to do the makeup. The big kitchen table was ideal to spread out makeup, hair products, and her laptop, ready with photographs Christie wanted Jess to see.
“Okay Jess, sit here and go through these first.” Christie passed the mouse to Jess, who seemed overwhelmed by the table full of beauty products. “I can do any of those styles on the laptop. You have lovely hair!”
Jess’s hair was just below shoulder length with a hint of a wave in it. The colour was a true golden blonde, healthy and glossy.
“Oh?” Jess touched her hair in surprise. “You can do that. To me?”
“Sure. Part of my original beauty course included special occasion hairdressing, you know, weddings, deb balls, that kind of thing.”
“How many courses have you done?” Belinda plugged the kettle in.
"Two. I started by doing a Diploma of Beauty Therapy and went on to a Bachelor of Health Services, specialising in Dermal Therapies. I've also done one on one training with an industry expert. So, I can do stuff to help burns victims, or change the colour of someone's skin for a movie, or even," she lifted Jess' chin to scrutinise her cheek, "disguise birthmarks."
“Mum says I shouldn’t hide it. Mum says it is part of me and I shouldn’t let other people upset me about it.”
“Well, I think your Mum is right about that. It is part of you and what other people think shouldn’t matter. But, sometimes it does, hmm?”
Jess nodded, her eyes fixed on Christie.
“So, what if I show you some simple tricks to cover it a bit and will also protect your skin against the sun. That way, if you have a special occasion, like tonight, you can cover it up if you choose to.”
Christie sat near Jess. "Sweetie, you have beautiful, clear skin. Pretty eyes and a gorgeous smile. But you need to let people see that smile more often. Your birthmark isn't who you are; it's a patch of different coloured pigment. A tiny part of you. What matters is that lovely person inside the skin, and I'll bet anyone who knows you doesn't see anything but your smile and eyes."
Jess’ lips quivered and flickered into a tiny smile. Taking the mouse, she scrolled through the images. Christie glanced over her head to Belinda, who stood with a cup in one hand, a teaspoon in the other and tears streaming down her face.
Picking up a tissue box, Christie hurried to Belinda. “She’ll be fine, you know that?”
Belinda took a few tissues and wiped the tears away, nodding.
Christie squeezed her hand. "Where're those eclairs?"
***
AT ALMOST SIX O’CLOCK, there was a soft tap on the back door. Christie had finished packing up everything off the table. She opened the door to find Belinda and Jess’s mother standing back near the steps.
"Hello, good timing, Jess is almost ready." Christie held the door open, but the other woman did not move. Her expression was stern.
“Would you like to come in?”
“No. Thank you. I’d rather speak outside for a moment.”
"Sure." Christie stepped onto the small porch and closed the door behind her. "I'm sorry, we've never been introduced. I'm Christie." Christie held her hand out, and after a moment, the other woman took it and shook it without any pressure.
“I’m Sylvia. Sylvia Crossman.”
“You have two wonderful daughters in there! Belinda adores Jess and Jess—“
“That’s what I want to talk about.” Sylvia interrupted. “I know you think you’re helping and it’s generous of you to put some makeup on Jess, but she can’t start believing things will be different. She’ll end up sad and disappointed.”
Christie saw the worry in Sylvia’s eyes and her fingers twisting around each other.
"You've raised her so well if you don't mind me saying. Jess said you've told her the birthmark is part of her and not to let others upset her. Wise words."
“She said that?”
"She did. The way I view covering up scars and blemishes and the like is that it doesn't change you; it gives you a bit more control and confidence. Don't know about you, but when I was about Jess' age, I thought everyone was staring at me and whispering about me."
“Because you’re so beautiful! And rich. People stare at what they don’t understand.”
Christie was stunned. "Oh Sylvia, if only you'd seen me! Gangly and awkward and shy and not at all what you think. But what you said hits the nail on the head. People do stare if they don't understand. So, Jess now knows a couple of simple tricks that not only make the birthmark less obvious but will protect her skin. Just having that ability will give her a bit of confidence and every teen needs that."
Sylvia listened, unconvinced.
“Why don’t you come and wait inside? Belinda is helping Jess with her dress.”
Before Sylvia could answer, Belinda opened the back door. “There you are! Okay, now stand back, well don’t fall down the steps or anything. May I present...” she glanced over her shoulder. “Mum’s here! Come on. So, as I was saying, may I present Miss Jessica Crossman, ready to dance!”
Standing back with a big grin, Belinda watched Jess walk to the doorway, where she stopped. Sylvia gasped and put a hand over her mouth. Wearing a short blue dress and matching shoes, Jess could have been dressed for a school dance in any city. Her hair was in a sleek high bun with loosely waved tendrils around her face.
“Jess? Darling, you...” Sylvia shook her head, not able to go on.
“Oh, Mum, don’t get all soppy.” Belinda laughed. “She doesn’t look that amazing!”
“Hey! Mum. Is this okay? The dress?”
Sylvia took a deep breath. “It’s lovely. You’re lovely.”
Jess’ makeup was natural, her eyes highlighted to match her dress and her lipstick a soft pink. There was no sign of the birthmark at all.
“Is it time to go?”
“Yes. If you’re all ready?”
“I need my bag thingy.”
“Clutch.” Belinda reminded her. “I’ll get it.”
Jess hugged Christie. "Thanks. Thanks, lots, Christie."
“My pleasure. Make sure you have the best time tonight. Remember what we talked about, okay?”
“Every girl is a princess. Sometimes they look like one and sometimes they are a mess, but they are still princesses inside.”
“Hmm. Don’t remember saying a mess, but you’ve got the gist of it.”
"Come on, Belinda! I'll be late!" Jess called out, and everyone laughed.
***
CHRISTIE STOOD AT THE top of the stone steps; breathing in the ocean air. Those couple of hours with Belinda and Jess had been rewarding, but hard work. Mostly with Jess, who took convincing almost every step of the way. The difference in self-confidence between the girl who had been almost afraid to walk into the kitchen and the one who virtually dragged her sister back out was incredible.
Even Sylvia changed. Christie had walked with them to their car and Sylvia grabbed her hand. Not to shake, but to hold it for a moment and squeeze the appreciation she could not vocalise. Belinda’s earlier tears reinforced Christie’s love of this side of her work.
The sun was low in the sky as Christie made her way to the beach. The air was balmy, and she was pleased she had changed into shorts and a T-shirt. As soon as she reached the bottom, she slipped her sandals off and dug her toes into the sand, grinning in almost childish pleasure.
She found the engraving in the cliff face and traced it with her finger. So much had happened since finding this poignant symbol of the love-that-was-no-more. T loves M. There for eons in the limestone until natural erosion took it forever. How often had Thomas stood at this spot, remembering the day he carved it for Martha?
Christie took a few photos, and afraid of losing them, emailed them to herself. She turned her attention to the jetty, capturing its image from near the cliff, and right at the waterline. The tide was rising, and as she stood on the edge of the wet sand, her attention on the photos she was taking, warm water unexpectedly rushed over her feet.
She jumped back, dropping her sandals – and almost the phone - into the waves. Hurrying onto the dry sand, she buried the phone in a pocket, heart racing. As she stood there, chiding herself for such a ridiculous response and rechecking the phone, her sandals began to disappear into the sea. Another wave scooped them up and carried them further away from Christie.
She watched the water recede, trying to judge whether she could reach them between waves. It was a battle between woman and ocean. Or, her logical side corrected, woman and woman's phobia. Christie ventured back to the wet sand. She counted the seconds between waves. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three-one-thousand. The waves were quick and coming up the beach a fraction higher every time.
As she hesitated, the sandals drifted further away with each onslaught of water. She wanted to get them, to prove to herself she could. A wave rushed in, almost to her toes. She watched the foam sparkle on the sand as the water retracted. There was no way she was following that wave back out. Tears of frustration and despair filled her eyes.
“Do you intend on polluting the sea?”
Martin was at her side, watching the sandals float in and out again with the surf. “I would imagine a sea creature might become entangled in those.”
Panic overwhelmed Christie, replacing a whole other set of feelings that bombarded her when she heard Martin’s voice. She had to get those sandals. In her mind, she was running into the surf and getting them.
Unable to speak, she anxiously turned to Martin. Seeing the fear in her face, his own expression softened. Without a word, he strode into the ocean and scooped the sandals up in one motion. There he remained.
“Christie, it’s safe. The tide’s still pretty low.”
She stared at him with wide eyes. He held a hand out. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Come here.”
She wanted to. Martin knew the sea. He knew the area and the tides, and he was only in knee-deep water. She was being crazy. His hand stayed outstretched as he watched the struggle in her face.
Christie shook her head.
Martin dropped his hand and waded back out of the sea. He stopped in front of Christie with the sandals. She took them, her head down to escape Martin’s puzzled expression.
Randall raced across the sand and Christie dropped to her knees to throw her arms around him, burying her face into his coat, loving his wet dog smell. Randall licked her face, and she laughed.
After a moment, Martin wandered away in the direction of his house. He called, “Are you coming?”
Christie thought he meant Randall.
Martin stopped. He half-smiled at his dog and Christie, still cuddling on the sand. “We need to talk. Walk with me.”
It was a command, not an invitation. It took all of two seconds for Christie to get back to her feet and jog after him, Randall in tow.