Rachel stepped out of her front door and waved to her neighbours of four months. It was a shared student house of six, as far as she could make out. Certain names she heard regularly – Josh, Olly and Jasper – although other faces seemed to come and go, often girls holding high heels in their hands, tiptoeing barefoot along the path of a morning. This sight of their lives laid bare, evidence of parties, empty bottles on the pathway, discarded pizza boxes on top of the bin and music drifting from beneath sash windows cracked open just a little, all took her back to when she first met James and life had been good. Interestingly for her, it was these times she held in her mind as the heydays, and not the opulent fine dining and fast cars that came later with his success. The student crew were always polite, smiley, and why not? They were young, living in this incredible city without too much to trouble them other than the odd assignment and what appeared to be a very healthy social life. She felt the familiar pang of regret that Oscar would not get to do this. Forever seven, my little boy . . .
Today, three of the boys sat smoking on the front step in jeans and sweatshirts and beanies; she wouldn’t mind betting they were coming in late rather than having woken early. With legs stretched out in front of them, they soaked up the rays of morning sun that managed to sneak past the high chimney pots and into their front yard. They had their tunes turned up. Rather than take offence at how they hijacked the quiet of this chilly morning, she liked the sights and sounds of life around her.
‘Morning,’ one of them called. As she looked up to respond, her eyes shot to the back of the hallway of the house through the open front door.
‘Oh my God!’ she called out. The boys stared at her and one sat forward and removed his sunglasses.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked a little nervously. Ignoring him, she locked her front door, shoved the key in her bag and marched determinedly up their path.
It was fortuitous that Vicky and Francisco were in situ when she arrived at work for her late shift. Francisco, newly walking, beamed, clearly pleased as punch with his new skill as he teetered from chair to chair. Quite right too. She smiled. It really was some achievement.
Last week she had stood watching him wobble like a drunk, and Sandra, en route to the kitchen with a tray loaded with dirty plates, had winked at her. ‘Don’t tell me you’re feeling broody?’ Rachel had not known how to answer; instead she gave a small nod and concentrated on wiping down the tables. She had in truth been thinking of Oscar’s first steps, recalling how she and James knelt at either end of their lounge of the flat in Richmond, hoping the soft carpet would cushion his inevitable fall. They had cooed and coaxed with their arms spread wide, encouraging their boy to go it alone, whooping with euphoria when he managed one, then two steps unaided. As Sandra laughed, Rachel had looked over at Glen and smiled, grateful that he had kept her confidence, Sandra displaying no sign that she knew her story.
Using her hip now to push open the front door, she rushed in and stood, waiting to be noticed.
‘What the . . .?’ Glen came out from behind the coffee bar and Sandra bent double, laughing, as she stared at Rachel, who stood with her back to the window.
‘Keith! Come and look at this, will you!’ Sandra hollered to her husband, who duly walked from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishcloth.
‘Where on earth did you get that, girl?’ he asked, with a rare and genuine smile.
‘The boys who live opposite me. It was hanging on the back wall of their hallway!’
Glen shook his head and stepped closer.
‘Yours, I believe.’ She smiled and handed him the large B that the students had apparently stolen for a bet on a night out a little over a year ago whilst under the influence. ‘It was in the house opposite mine; the boys were a little sheepish when I asked how they came by it.’
‘The little sods!’ Vicky joined in.
‘Yep, and I told them as much. Not that it is excusable, but they have agreed to give out flyers for the café at strategic points along the road for at least three Saturdays, for free.’
Glen looked at the large acrylic B that he could barely handle. ‘I never thought I’d see you again!’ He kissed the top of it. ‘The big question is, do we reinstate it and change our name, or do we hang it in the bathroom in homage to our original name?’
‘I think we need to vote.’ Rachel spoke up.
‘Yes, good idea.’ Glen popped the letter on the floor and clapped. ‘All those in favour of returning to “Brewer” – put your hand up now.’
Everyone looked from one to another but no one raised their hand.
‘In that case, it’s unanimous – we place this fella in the loo and will be thankful for his safe return.’
Rachel felt the bloom of something a bit like pleasure in her gut, the sensation pulled from a memory of a time before, when she had the capacity for feeling this way. It felt strange, but welcome. It had been a long time since she had allowed the flames of happiness to flicker inside her. Vicky caught her eye and smiled at her, giving her a small nod.
It was at the end of a long day that Rachel took a seat at Vicky and Gino’s kitchen table.
‘So tell me again.’ Gino chuckled, shaking his head as he stirred the pasta sauce with a wooden spoon and sipped red wine with his free hand.
‘The students opposite Rach’s flat had nicked the B!’ Vicky explained.
‘And they handed it over without a fuss?’ He laughed. ‘Standards are definitely slipping. In my day there would have been talk of a ransom!’
‘Ransom?’ Rachel narrowed her gaze. ‘They are lucky they didn’t get into trouble. Anyway, they didn’t have much choice about handing it over: I marched in, straight past them and went very schoolmarm on them.’
Gino turned to look at her. ‘You know, Rachel, it sounds like you have got a bit of your spark back, and that’s a good thing. Anyway, I’m just going to check on Francisco.’
‘You mean check the football scores, don’t you?’ Vicky tutted.
‘I don’t know what you mean! Is there football on tonight? Who knew?’ Gino held his arms aloft in protest and grabbed his wine before sneaking from the kitchen.
Vicky refreshed her glass. ‘He’s right. You do seem to be a bit more’ – she exhaled, looking for the word – ‘I don’t know . . . a bit more awake, engaged.’
Rachel considered this and sipped her wine. ‘I guess so. It’s an odd thing; usually when you feel this bad you want to reach a point when you feel better, but I can’t say I wholly welcome the change. I mean, I am sleeping better and I have had days where moments of sunshine peek into the gloom, and it feels nice in that instant, but rather than feel really good about it, I actually feel guilty that the fog is lifting and worried about what that means if my heart hurts a little less.’ She paused. ‘I mean, what kind of mother am I if I can shake this off? Even a little bit. As it is, if I don’t think about him for an hour or so, I cuddle Mr Bob to feel close to him and I throw a kind of prayer out into the universe with my little Tic-Tac box full of sand between my palms.’ She didn’t feel stupid sharing this with her friend, who knew her back to front and inside out. ‘I don’t know if I want to feel better, Vicky. Not really. I think I want to spend my life missing him and keeping him here.’ She touched her heart.
‘But, Rach, it doesn’t have to be either/or. You can love and miss him every second of every day for the rest of your life, of course! But you can still move on. That’s just life and you can’t stop it.’
‘No, sadly.’
There was a moment of quiet while the two exchanged a knowing look. Vicky put down her wine and sat up straight.
‘Don’t say that,’ Vicky spat. ‘Don’t you ever say that!’
Rachel hated the glint of tears in her friend’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Vick, I didn’t mean it. Not really. I am okay now – getting better, I think – but there was a moment back there . . .’
‘A moment when? What happened?’ her friend asked with a look of pure anguish.
Rachel looked down and let her words tumble out on a carpet woven of shame and sadness. ‘I . . . I asked James to take me out on the boat and . . .’
‘And what?’ Vicky whispered.
‘I tried to join Oscar.’ She was unable to keep the tremor from her voice.
‘Oh my God! Babber!’ Vicky laid her hand on her arm.
Rachel looked around the kitchen at the wonderful paraphernalia of family life, someone else’s family, and felt alone, despite the physical reassurance from her friend.
‘I can’t stand to think of it,’ Vicky said.
‘Me neither,’ Rachel confessed. ‘I was at my lowest point and I didn’t know how to carry on without him; I didn’t want to. James jumped in and pulled me out of the water—’
‘Bless him.’
‘Yes. It’s partly the reason why we are where we are – he said as much. I mean, not that we weren’t totally on the cliff edge, we were, but he said to me: “How could you do that to me, Rach?” And I tried to explain that it wasn’t really me, I mean it was, but it was me with every thought fogged, muddled.’ She closed her eyes, threw her head back and took a deep breath, recalling the burn in her lungs when she was wanting for air. ‘Cee-Cee has this belief system that I envy.’ She smiled, thinking of the woman. ‘She thinks she will see those she has lost again in heaven.’
Vicky reached across and held her friend’s hand. ‘Who knows, my darling. Who knows. And if ever you feel like that again, if ever you think that checking out is an option or a possibility, promise that you will call me.’
‘I will.’
‘Promise me!’
‘I promise.’
The two friends exhaled and sat quietly, letting the words permeate.
They both looked towards the door as Gino yelled from the sitting room, ‘Come on, you reds! Get in!’ Vicky laughed and Rachel joined in. It broke the tension and they sat up straight, smiling, as if trying to steer the evening into happier waters.
‘Glen’s nice.’ Vicky sighed into her wine.
‘Yes, he’s great. It’s a good place to work and I’m grateful that he gave me the job. I know it’s kept me sane. Well, nearly.’
‘Do you think if you were more . . .’ Vicky faltered.
Rachel stared at her. ‘More what?’
‘I don’t know, I was thinking that maybe down the line a bit . . .’ Again she hesitated.
‘Spit it out, Vick!’
‘Okay. Glen kind of hinted to me that he might quite like to take you out for a drink – a drink drink. Like a date. I told him you were way off that.’
Rachel stood hurriedly and sought out her bag and coat with her eyes. ‘I have to go.’
‘No! No, you don’t!’ her friend implored.
‘I do. I want to go home.’ She pushed in the chair and pulled her hair from her collar.
‘Don’t be like that! I was only saying . . .’
‘Yes, I know what you are saying and it makes me feel sick and angry and I can’t fully explain why, but it means that Glen and even you don’t know what it’s like to feel this way.’ She swallowed. ‘Because if you did, you would not ever think, you wouldn’t dare to suggest . . .’ Rachel felt the surge of tears. ‘I am only just hanging on, Vicky. Literally, hanging on by my fingertips – I am still on that cliff edge! Clawing each day to stay anchored to this world. There is no room for anything or anyone other than missing Oscar, and if there was’ – she drew breath – ‘if there was an inch of space for something or someone, I would fill it with James.’ Her tears turned to sobs that robbed her of speech and contorted her face. ‘I would,’ she cried. ‘I would fill it with my James.’
Vicky rushed around the table and took her friend in her arms. ‘I am sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just chat. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’
Rachel shook her head against her shoulder; it wasn’t Vicky’s fault. She didn’t understand, had no clue what this felt like and she so loved her best friend that she was glad she did not.
Rachel considered the rather subdued supper they had eaten after the change in mood the night before. She walked into the café with a new and uncomfortable awkwardness, aware that Glen and Vicky had discussed her and conscious of his intentions. She felt sick at the idea that she might have given him any reason to think their relationship was anything other than friends and tried to recall the exact nature of their conversation when they had shared secrets over coffee. It meant she now had her guard up, and this in itself made her more than a little uncomfortable.
‘Any more Miss Marple activity to report? Not located Shergar, have you, on your way in this morning?’ Glen chuckled from the coffee bar, still happy to have his missing letter returned.
‘No.’ She hated the curt nature of her response, aware of how off she sounded, but not sure of where the happy medium lay between being friendly and giving off the wrong signal.
‘Oh. Okay, then.’ Glen made a clicking noise with the side of his mouth and turned his attention to the women at a side table who had waved that they were ready to order.
Rachel cleaned the shelves at the back of the coffee bar, removing the jars of coffee beans, stacks of mugs, the box of filter papers and all the other natty accoutrements that gave the place its vintage edge: old coffee tins, a battered tin sign depicting a 1950s diner, and three old caddies in rusted green metal with ill-fitting lids. As she bent forward to swipe the damp, bleach-soaked cloth over the back shelf she heard a clatter and without pausing to think she stepped back, crushing the Tic-Tac box beneath her foot and scattering sand and tiny shells over the stripped wooden floor.
‘No! Oh please, no!’ she shouted.
‘Rachel!’ Glen dropped his order pad and rushed over as several customers abandoned their food, drink and conversations, looking over with necks craned to see what might be the cause of such an unearthly yell. Keith came running from the kitchen with the first-aid kit in his hand and Sandra looked on, deathly pale.
‘Has she hurt herself?’ she asked with one hand at her chest.
‘It’s okay, Mum. I’ve got it.’ Glen signalled with his eyes to carry on.
‘Oh no, no!’ Rachel wept as she knelt on the hard floor and tried to scoop what she could into her hands. She stared in dismay at her cupped palm, in which sat a mixture of sand, fluff, shards of plastic, coffee grinds all bound with licks of milk and scraps of dirty napkin ‘No . . .’ she whimpered, unable to articulate the swirl of emotions and refusing to believe what had happened in a single, careless moment.
‘It’s okay, Rachel.’ Glen spoke soothingly and laid a hand on her shoulder.
‘It’s not okay!’ She shook her head and wiped her nose on her sleeve as she sat back against the wall on the other side of the bar. ‘It’s not okay. Nothing is okay.’
‘Can . . . can I get you anything?’ he asked with an air of reticence, placing his hand in his apron pocket, which she had inadvertently shrugged off.
‘No.’ She looked up at him briefly. ‘I just need to sit here for a bit and work out how to stand up.’
‘Okay.’ He spoke softly. ‘Well, you take your time. We don’t need that, Dad, but thanks.’ She heard him dismiss his father and whisper something to his mum. Not that she cared, only able to concentrate on the gritty, contaminated contents in her hand.
As she sat hidden behind the coffee bar, listening to the hum of conversation reigniting all around her, she felt as if she were floating, looking down on the heap of a woman sat on the floor of a coffee shop, miles and miles away from where this sand had been gathered; miles and miles away from where her little boy rested. And she saw this was her life, adrift in a sea of people where lives carried on and she tried to move among them, broken and bent out of shape. Again, loneliness washed over her.
Her phone rang in her pocket. She was surprised to see it was James on the line. It was eleven a.m., making it six o’clock in the morning in Bermuda. Her heart thudded and she suspected that for him to call so early it would be nothing good. She pictured Mackenzie knocking on the door in his neatly pressed shirt and straightened cap. Mr Croft . . .
‘James? What is it? What’s happening?’ She clutched the phone to her face, cursing the tears that fell.
‘It’s okay, Rach, don’t cry.’
She felt an instant relief. ‘James, I . . . I broke my Tic-Tac box. I trod on it and it’s gone everywhere and the contents are all mixed up and—’ She broke off.
‘Shh . . . It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.’
‘It matters to me,’ she squeaked.
‘I know.’ He sighed. ‘I know.’
There was a hush while she listened to him breathing, remembering how she had scooped the soft wet sand from the pockets of her dressing gown and how it had felt so vitally important to preserve it.
‘It’s early there.’ She sniffed. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Not really, and now I’ve heard you are upset, I’m not sure if I should call back later.’
‘No. James,’ she cut in, ‘whatever it is, please tell me now. I couldn’t spend a day waiting and wondering – that would make anything you have to tell me infinitely worse.’ She coughed and sat up straight, pushing her feet down on to the floor, trying to steel herself, as she closed her eyes.
What have they found? Tell me now! What have they found?
‘I understand.’ He took a breath. ‘The thing is, Rach, I have just had a rather distressing call from one of Cee-Cee’s neighbours.’
‘Cee-Cee’s neighbours?’ She swallowed, still thinking the news might be related to Oscar and trying to piece together how.
‘Yes. It’s really sad, but Cee-Cee passed away last night. Her neighbour saw her front door had been left open, which was unusual, and so went in to check and she was in bed, asleep and had gone. The woman said she looked peaceful and the church and her cousins are dealing with everything.’
‘Oh,’ she said with a strange sense of relief and such sadness. She still lived with the dread of them finding proof that Oscar was gone. Some people, Vicky included, had suggested that the retrieval of skin and bone would give her some kind of closure. She felt quite the opposite, knowing that the discovery of anything physical would provide her with a million fresh images that would keep her awake in the middle of the night and was highly likely to take her back to square one of grief. She remembered all too well how it had felt on that terrible day when she lay on the bottom of the police boat and Dr Kent met her on the dock and slipped a needle under her skin, trying to contain her rising hysteria.
‘Poor Cee-Cee. Poor Cee-Cee.’ She pictured the kindly woman who had cared for them through good and bad. She thought about the long, long letters written to her in love, making Rachel the custodian of her stories.
‘Yes,’ James croaked, and she realised that the housekeeper had been one of the only constants in his life of late too, now gone.
She felt a flash of guilt that he was alone. ‘She loved Oscar. She really did.’
‘Yes,’ James agreed. ‘And he loved her.’
‘He did,’ she managed. ‘He used to run her ragged, I am sure, but she said he gave her new life, energy.’
James gave a snort of laughter. ‘They were friends.’
‘Yes. They were friends, that’s true; age didn’t come into it.’
‘She was my friend too, actually, Rach.’ She heard the emotion in his voice and felt a bolt of guilt fire through her at the fact that their housekeeper had had to take care of James when she had been unable to, followed by a wave of love and gratitude for Cee-Cee who had been happy to do just that.
‘Mine too. I shall miss her. I shall really miss her. I liked knowing she was there. I liked getting the letters she wrote to me, and her advice has helped me more than she ever knew. She knew sadness, James, like us, but she believed it was part of a bigger plan that she was not meant to understand. She told me she didn’t fear death; she believed she would get to see the people she had loved and lost, her Grandma Sally and her baby Willard.’
And Oscar . . .
‘I think that’s nice.’
‘Yes, it is.’ She sighed. ‘Can you let me know when the funeral is?’
‘Oh, of course.’ She heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘I honestly didn’t think you’d come back, but I am really glad that you are. That’s great, Rachel, really great. It’ll be good to see you. And I think it’s about time. There are things that are much easier to say face to face than over the phone. And as I say, it’s time.’
‘I . . .’ she stammered, without the heart or confidence to tell him that in fact she had only been enquiring so she could send flowers and hadn’t considered flying back to Bermuda, not until he had suggested it.
Rachel finished the call and found the strength had returned to her legs. Looking at the mess all over the floor she knew it would be impossible to sort. She ran her fingers through it and pictured Oscar waving to her through the water. She stood slowly and popped her head up above the bar.
‘Glen, is it okay if I nip out for a bit?’ She acknowledged the fascinated nudges and stares of some of the customers.
‘Of course! You take your time.’ He smiled. Kind and lovely Glen. Rachel grabbed her bag from the back and walked slowly down the street, thinking about her dear friend Cee-Cee and wondering if she had got her wish, if she really was reunited with those she loved right now. The thought made her smile.
Vicky answered the front door with Francisco on her hip. ‘Well, this is a nice surprise! Are you okay, honey? I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve been thinking about our chat last night; I couldn’t sleep. The last thing in the world I would want to do is upset you. You know that. I wouldn’t offend you for the world. It was wine and it was supposed to cheer you up; it all went wrong.’
‘I do know that. It’s okay.’
‘You look pale,’ Vicky added, studying her face.
She nodded. ‘I’m having a bit of a day.’
‘Blimey, it’s only just gone eleven! Come in, come in!’
Vicky walked into the little study and handed her son to Gino. ‘I’m working, Vick! Or trying to!’ He tutted, still managing to kiss the face of his son, now plonked on his lap. ‘Hi, Rach.’
‘Hi.’ She waved.
‘I know, Gino, but I just need five minutes with Rach. Thank you! I love you! I love you!’ She blew a kiss and closed the door before he had time to further protest. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘No, thanks.’ Rachel shook her head and sat at the kitchen table. Vicky sat opposite, mirroring their positions of the previous evening.
‘So, what’s up? Why is today such a write-off?’
Rachel ran her hands over her face and planted her elbows on the tabletop. ‘Cee-Cee, our lovely housekeeper who used to look after Oscar, passed away last night.’
‘Oh no! That’s sad. How old was she?’
The question by comparison confirmed the absolute horror of her son’s passing. Seven . . . he was just seven . . .
‘She was well into her seventies, but very young in mind and body; a dynamo. She was lovely. Quiet. Oscar loved her; they had a wonderful connection and that’s really hard for me. There aren’t that many people who knew him like she did and now she’s gone too. She wrote me the loveliest letters, written from the heart. I love her story – she knew tragedy, but it made her wise, made her kind.’
‘I am sorry for you. I know how fond you all were of her.’ Vicky sighed.
‘We really were. Plus, I might have just told James that I would go back to Bermuda.’
‘For good?’ her friend asked, wide-eyed.
‘I don’t think so. I don’t know!’ She ran her hands through her hair. ‘I feel so confused. I’m scared about going back – worried that I might fall into that dark hole where I couldn’t see a future.’
Vicky stared at her and she knew they both thought about her confession, and the fact that she had jumped into the water with only one aim.
‘But I do want to be there for Cee-Cee’s funeral, and I need to talk to James. He said we need to discuss things and I can’t deny that. He’s right; it will all be much easier face to face. I think he might want to talk about next steps.’
‘Like divorce?’ Vicky asked softly.
‘I guess so. I don’t know. Things are in limbo and that’s hard for us both. I owe him that conversation.’
‘How do you feel about that – the possibility of formally ending things?’
Rachel considered just that and answered, as truthfully as she was able, ‘I feel sick, anxious. He’s my husband and I am his wife and it’s always been him, and the thought of losing him – completely losing him – as well as Oscar feels like more than I can cope with. But how things are right now . . . It’s not fair on him and maybe it’s what we both need to move forward. I don’t know, Vicks. As I say, I’m confused. And having to face my future? I don’t know if I’m ready. Maybe this limbo suits me a bit, stops me having to figure everything out.’
‘Well, I can’t say I won’t miss you, but I think he’s right. There are things that need sorting out. It’s not healthy just to let things drift.’
‘God, Vick, there is so much unhealthy about my life right now, so much that needs addressing.’
‘So take the plunge. Dive in!’
The moment the words left her friend’s mouth, Rachel saw herself leaping from the side of the boat and her face crumpled.
‘Oh God, Rachel! I didn’t think! I am such an idiot!’ Vicky banged the table.
‘It’s not your fault, and I wish . . . I wish that simple words didn’t send me into a spin like they do. It’s exhausting.’
Vicky squeezed her arm.
‘And it has been a really shit day. Just before I heard about Cee-Cee, I trod on my little Tic-Tac box with sand in it, you know the one?’
‘I do,’ Vicky whispered.
‘It went everywhere all over the floor and was mixed up with gunk.’ She sobbed, picturing it again and realising just what she had lost.
‘Oh no! I’m sorry. I know how much you treasured it.’
‘I did, and I feel crap for not taking better care of it,’ she admitted. I can’t take care of anything; I lose everything that is precious to me . . .
Vicky stepped forward and scooped her friend into a close hug. ‘You are right; you are certainly having a bit of a day. I love you, Rach. It’ll all be okay.’
‘I know.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I love you too.’
Rachel washed her face and made her way back to the café. It was just as the lunchtime rush was starting and in truth she was glad of the distraction. She spent the best part of two hours ferrying full plates and then empty plates to and from the kitchen, where Keith laboured over a hot stove and Sandra kept the atmosphere light with her soft voice and unabashed singing. During the early-afternoon lull she caught up with Glen at the bar.
‘I’m sorry about this morning, freaking out like that in front of customers and then running off for an hour.’
‘That’s okay, I shall dock your wages accordingly.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m joking, Rachel. You gotta do what you gotta do; I get that.’ He smiled at her and she got the distinct feeling he referred to more than just her emotional outburst and surprise absence.
She nodded at him. ‘I might need to go to Bermuda.’
‘Oh, okay.’ He placed his hands on his hips. ‘When were you thinking?’
‘Maybe next week.’
‘Oh, gosh, right! Nothing like a bit of notice.’ He sucked air through his teeth.
‘Our friend passed away, and—’
‘No need to explain. As I said, you gotta do what you gotta do.’ He took a breath. ‘Will you be coming back, do you think?’
She noticed the slight nervous warble to his voice. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered truthfully. ‘I need to talk to James and make a plan, but the thought is scary. It feels like moving on, and I have been avoiding that for a while now. I am stuck, Glen, and James is too, and that’s not fair, I know. I wish I could give you a definitive answer, because that would mean decisions have been made, but I can’t.’
Glen looked down at the floor. ‘I will do my best to keep your position open, but if we get busy then . . .’
‘Yes, I expected that.’ She smiled at him briefly. ‘I’m sorry to be so vague, but I’d rather not say one thing and do another; that’s not my style.’
‘And I appreciate that.’ He coughed and walked over to the coffee bar.