The Wave Page 7

  She talks about the death of her parents in a car crash. It is not surprising, given what she’s said earlier, but for some reason, I’ve got the impression she’s not telling the truth. That she’s come up with a stock answer because the real one is worse. Though I can’t imagine what would be worse then losing your parents at such a young age. I must try and ask her later, hopefully, we’re building enough trust between us that she’d be willing to share. James and Nikki both tell similar stories; they smile and he touches her. Jammy bastard. Noticing it, Poppy raises her eyes at me and I raise mine back. That’s hopeful, isn’t it? If she’s willing to share a silent commentary with me, maybe she’ll be willing to give me a chance. Maybe I’ll strike lucky, too. But before I can follow up, Margaret says she needs to get the tents. Stupidly, in my attempt to impress Poppy, I said I’d help earlier. So I have no option but to follow her to her car.

  ‘How far is it?’ I say as I clamber into the passenger seat.

  ‘Three miles. Shouldn’t take long at this time of night, with the roads this empty.’ I gaze out of the window. The last vestiges of light are being squeezed from the horizon behind, but above the high green hedges, all is blackness. Normally, I like driving at night-time, finding something soothing about moving through the darkness, the road ahead illuminated by the headlights, the occasional flash of another car. But not tonight. Tonight, the hedges press in menacingly, the lack of traffic increases the sense of isolation, the feeling that danger is close and I cannot prevent it.

  ‘Here we are,’ she says as we turn into a narrow lane. ‘That’s my house on the right, but first do you mind if we call in on my friend Minnie first, see if she’s OK?’

  ‘Of course.’ We continue up the lane till we reach a privet hedge and row of poplar trees, behind which there is a small cottage. The lights are off, but we can hear music.

  ‘She must have fallen asleep with the CD player on,’ says Margaret as she picks up the key from under the mat and opens the door ‘Min?’ There is no answer, but a cat meowing. She switches on the hall light. I follow her through to the sitting room at the back of the house. The old woman is sitting in an upright chair, looking out towards the sea. The moon has risen, catching the light of the setting sun from the other side of the world; it hangs like a golden globe above the ocean, it’s beams picking out the grooves on her face, and … something is wrong. The cat is pawing at her feet and yet she is making no response. The angle of her body is odd. Her limbs aren’t relaxed, as they would be if she was sleeping, they are stiff, awkward. Her eyes are open. Margaret turns on the light, and now I can see the woman’s skin is leached of any colour, smooth and waxy, like a mannequin.

  ‘Oh!’ Margaret’s cry is as piteous as the cat’s.

  ‘Is she …?’ She nods as she sits down, looking at her friend.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Would you mind …?’ Margaret tries to gather herself together. ‘Only I think the cat might need feeding. The food’s in the kitchen – on the right.’

  I have never seen a dead body before. The undertaker suggested it with Karo but I couldn’t bear to. The sight of the old woman gives me the creeps. I am only too happy to be given a practical task to take me away from the room, the corpse, the pale skin, the blank eyes. I find the cat food in a cupboard, open the tin and bang it. The cat comes running and is soon munching on the chunks of meat. I open another one and leave it in a bowl besides the first. I have no idea how much food a cat might eat in eight hours, but it seems cruel for the animal to be hungry. I fill up the water bowl to the brim and reluctantly return to the room. Margaret has placed a blanket over her friend, closed her eyes and is now sitting beside her, holding her hand. She is praying.

  ‘The Lord grant you a quiet night and a perfect end,’ she concludes, before leaning over and kissing the old woman’s head. ‘Come on,’ she says.

  We return to the car in silence and drive back to Margaret’s house. It is only when we enter that she says, ‘Before we do anything, do you mind if we have a drink? There’s a bottle of white wine left in the fridge.’ I nod, and follow her from the kitchen to the patio in the back garden overlooking the sea. We sit gazing over the view that was Minnie’s last, drinking the wine.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I say. ‘That must have been quite a shock.’

  ‘Yes … no … I’m not sure.’ Margaret twists her glass, her voice shakes. ‘The thing is, when I saw her earlier, she said she’d like to go like that, fall asleep looking at the sea. But I thought she meant she’d just not get up tomorrow. I didn’t realize she’d take pills. I should have stayed with her.’

  ‘Perhaps she wanted to be alone’

  ‘I wish I’d been there to hold her hand.’

  ‘You came back.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was that prayer you were saying? It sounded vaguely familiar.’

  ‘Compline. Night prayer. Prayers the monks say. It’s a good one for the end of the day, the end of a life. A reflection on events, a hope for a better time to come.’

  ‘Not much hope in our situation.’

  ‘True. Though that doesn’t make prayer useless.’

  ‘Doesn’t make it useful!’

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion.’

  ‘I gave up on it all a long time ago. My mum’s Catholic but … let’s say she didn’t give God a good image.’

  Margaret’s phone bleeps ‘Do you mind? That’s my daughter. We agreed to Skype.’

  ‘Why don’t you show me the loft and I can be getting the tents while you do?’

  She points me in the right direction and disappears to the sitting room where I can hear the murmur of voices. I pull down the loft ladder, clamber up, turn the light on, and search for the tents. They are buried in the corner behind a couple of dusty suitcases and camping equipment. I gather them up and throw them down the hatch and climb down after them. Margaret is still talking when I put the ladder away and so I load them in the car and sit in the front seat, waiting for her.

  She arrives shortly after. Despite the upset of the evening, and the probably difficult Skype call with her daughter, she doesn’t appear to be as flustered as she was when they first met. In fact, she doesn’t seem to be worried at all. How can she be so composed?

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ I say as she drives down the lane. ‘Are you scared?’

  ‘Petrified.’

  ‘You don’t look it.’

  ‘Looks can deceive. I’m terrified.’ She turns the wheel as we approach a bend. ‘I’m angry, too. I have no right to be, I know. I’m older than all of you. I’ve had a good life, a happy one, mainly. I’ve loved and been loved, I’ve had a child a grandchild, and another on the way. I’ve achieved most of my ambitions. But I’m not ready to go yet. Not like this, so quickly. My last years in the civil service – they were tough. I spent years delivering cuts I didn’t believe in, and I vowed that when I retired, I’d make up for it. I’ve hardly had time to get started. I’ve not had time to say goodbye to the people I love and I’ve got unfinished business with some. All I’ve got is tonight and that’s it. It’s cruel.’

  ‘Yes—’

  ‘But you know what? As my mother would have said, “There’s no use crying over spilt milk.” None at all.’ She switches on her CD player – monks singing the words she just prayed with Minnie, ‘The Lord grant us a quiet night and a perfect end.’

  The music is soothing, the sentiment well-intentioned, but as we drive back through the darkness, I feel anything but comforted.

  Margaret

  It takes me less than half an hour on the beach to decide that I am going to stay. It is not just that the company is congenial – Poppy and Yan could not have been more welcoming. But it is clear, when Nikki and James turn up, that the traffic situation isn’t improving, which is confirmed when I check the BBC. There are mass evacuations from every affected coastline in the world, but everyone agrees, the road jams are worst in Cornwall. By six o’clock all the report
s are saying no one south of St Austell can be sure of reaching the safety zone, confirming once and for all that we never stood a chance. Poppy and Yan had the right idea from the beginning. So now I have made my decision, I feel more peaceful. It is far better to spend my time here enjoying the scenery, eating, drinking and being merry. If this is my last day on earth, and it looks like it will be, it is better to be in company, than cursing, alone, in my car.

  It is only Hellie that is bothering me. Of course, I’m scared but I can see a benefit in going like this. At least I will be spared the gradual encroachment of old age, the deterioration of mind and body, the indignity of needing help with bodily functions. At least I won’t be a burden to my daughter in an age of dwindling public resources. It’s not the same for Hellie. She still needs me. For advice with the new baby, help with Toby, just for my presence in the world. Richard’s dead. My brother Andrew is dead. Hellie has no other family but me. Well, no family she’s in touch with. It would be different if Kath and I were still speaking – at least she’d have a kind of substitute – but I can’t imagine Kath being too receptive to that idea if I try to contact her now.

  I have all this in mind when I call Hellie to let her know my decision. Though I intend to be rational, so as not to upset her, that quickly proves impossible. I can tell when she answers the phone that she is anxious and things don’t get much better from there.

  ‘Where are you?’ she says. ‘Are you making progress?’

  ‘Have you seen the news, love? The traffic is going nowhere.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m sorry …’

  ‘No, Mum … no!’ her voice is almost a whisper. ‘You must be able to get out. Just keep moving and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’m afraid I won’t.’ She is silent, and then I can hear that she is crying. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, as if that can help matters.

  ‘Where are you, then?’ Hellie tries and fails to keep the wobble out of her voice.

  ‘Dowetha Cove. I’ve met some people. They’re nice. I’m going to camp with them tonight.’

  ‘You? Camping? I thought you hated it.’

  ‘Only when it’s raining.’

  ‘It was always raining.’ This is better, keeping it light.

  ‘Anglesey, when we thought the wind would blow us away.’

  ‘Dartmoor, when the car got stuck in the mud.’

  ‘Oh gosh, yes.’ I giggle, remembering how I revved and revved only to sink deeper and deeper, till a neighbouring camper rescued us with a tow rope. ‘Don’t forget Wye Valley when we flooded.’

  ‘I thought we were going to drown.’ The laughter leaves her voice. ‘Oh, Mum …’

  ‘Is Ed home?’ I try to revert to motherly briskness.

  ‘He’s just walked in.’

  ‘Good. You’d better tell him what’s happening. I’ve promised I’ll go and get some tents, so I’ll Skype later. Say around eight thirty?’

  She agrees and I hang up.

  I wish I had a sister, or Hellie did. I wish she had someone other than Ed to turn to. It’s not that he isn’t lovely and kind; I just think she is going to need more help than that. If only Kath and I hadn’t argued. If only we hadn’t been so stubborn. If only we’d proved better grown-ups than our fathers. But we weren’t. Our row in 2010 was as stupid as theirs in 1959 and 1985 and just as irrevocable. Both of us too proud to be the one to admit we were in the wrong, to make the first move to put it right. Oh Kath! After all these years, I miss you still. I wish we were still friends. It would make all of this a little bit easier.

  Still. There’s no point worrying about what you can’t have, as my mother used to say. A mantra I repeated to Hellie time and time again after Richard died, when money was tight and I couldn’t afford a treat. Enjoy what you have, I’d always add, it’s more than most. I should really live by my own words, shouldn’t I? I stand for a moment, staring out over the beach. It is a spectacular evening. The air is still warm and the red sun is hanging above the horizon, its reflection distorted by the ripples of the sea. I watch the flurry of activity beneath me, as the campfire is being set up and Yan is sorting out the barbecue. Despite the fear I feel, the sight fills me with joy. I stride back to the camp, offer to help with the cooking. Yan is happy doing it on his own, so I enjoy teasing him from the sidelines about his inability to cut an avocado properly and the fact that he burns one lot of burgers to a crisp. He seems to appreciate it and teases me back with affection.

  The feeling of warmth and laughter stays throughout dinner, till Yan shatters it. Damn. I’ve begun to feel a connection with these people, particularly with him. Why does he have to be the one to break the news about the volcano project? I can see in his eyes how much the news devastates him. Everybody is immediately quiet with the shock of it. I am, too. I had no idea this would get out. There is an empty space into which I could speak. Should speak. Explain my part in it. It’s not exactly my fault, but … I open my mouth; nothing comes, and then Poppy distracts us with a question and the moment is gone. The conversation lasts long enough for everyone to forget, I hope for good, and long enough for me to remember I promised to get tents.

  I’m glad Yan comes with me. It is getting dark now and I hate driving in the dark. Particularly now the anxieties are crowding back in. It is good to have company. It is steadying. Though I haven’t had a drink, the stress of the day has made me a little lightheaded. Having Yan besides helps me concentrate. I like this thoughtful young man who is doing his best to take care of me. ‘This must be what it is like to have a son,’ I say out loud.

  ‘How come you didn’t?’ he asks as we drive through the darkening lanes.

  ‘We wanted one. We would have. But … Richard, my husband, died in a train accident.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He is very kind. It crosses my mind that perhaps now is a good chance, to tell him about my job. How I came to be part of the team that cancelled that damned unit. He’d probably understand. Probably. But then I think of his face when he saw the news and his comments about funding cuts and I don’t know where to start. Instead, I tell him about Richard,

  ‘It was a long time ago … Poor Hellie. She was four at the time. Too young to really make sense of it. Because it was such a major news story, she’s grown up with her father’s death being very public. And here I am doing this to her again. On a bigger scale.’

  ‘Hardly your fault.’

  ‘True … Yet this is what she has to face.’

  We reach my lane. Yan is amenable to visiting Minnie first, so I drive straight to her house which is in darkness, a CD is playing at the highest volume. Minnie is very deaf these days. It’s just as well she has no neighbours or she’d be for ever getting complaints.

  It is only when I enter the living room that I realize something is wrong. I’ve seen enough dead bodies to understand why Minnie is so stiff. ‘Min!’ I cry and then see the empty bottle of pills on the table. Suddenly all my calm feelings evaporate. I shouldn’t have left her. When she said she wanted to sleep, I thought she meant she would have an early night. I didn’t think she was going to do this. I shouldn’t have left her. I didn’t get away, anyway, and if I’d been with her, I could have stopped her. We could have comforted each other till the end. Yan hovers at the edge of the room. Seeing how nervous he is, I send him to the kitchen to feed the cat. I am glad of the chance to be alone with Minnie. I close the eyes that are staring out to sea, find a blanket to cover her up and take her hand. She shouldn’t have been alone. I shouldn’t have left her alone. I am crying as I recite the ‘Our Father’, followed by a ‘Glory Be’ but by the time I conclude with the last words of Compline, I am almost in control. ‘The Lord grant you a quiet night and a perfect end.’ At least Minnie’s end has been peaceful, on her own terms, and I don’t have to worry about her any more.

  After I’ve kissed her goodbye, I take Yan to my house where a shared glass of wine helps restore my equilibrium. He’s sensitive enough to offer to go in the l
oft, allowing me time to call Hellie. She appears on my monitor, her face red and blotchy. She has clearly been crying but now we are able to talk, she is making a huge effort. She tells me the latest news about Toby, who is sleeping, and Ed, who pops back in to say hello. How much time do we have? As long as we want. Ed will wait, Yan will wait. It’s not as if we have to rush back to the beach. Yet we are both conscious as never before, that no matter how long the call is, it won’t be long enough. There is so much we could say, yet none of it seems important or worthwhile. In the end, we resort to discussing recent books. Hellie has just finished Swimming Lessons by Claire Fuller; she thinks I’d like it. I’ve been relatively unadventurous and completed Pride and Prejudice for the tenth time. The conversation turns to our favourite topic – how women are treated by society and how much has changed since Austen’s time. It almost normal till the end, and neither of us can quite say goodbye without our voices breaking. We agree to call again in the morning and then it is time to leave.

  Yan is waiting in the car. I feel a rush of warmth towards him. I can open up to him, in a way I couldn’t to Hellie. Perhaps because we are in it together I can confess my terror, and anger about our impossible situation, even if I don’t admit the irony of my possible contribution. The journey helps me regain control, to realize that, tonight, these new friendships are all that life has to offer me now. It is time to return to the others. My place, from now on, is at the beach.