When I’ve said good-bye, I cover my face with my hot palms. Then, looking around the cabin, I realize I don’t want to be here now. My mind jumps to last night, sitting on the floor with Ted, sorting through memories. Of all the places I could be, something inside me yearns to be there, in that cocoon. In that room, with Ted, I didn’t feel I had to hide any cracks, perhaps because he was so open with me, sharing the fractures of his own life. I wonder if he is there now, still going through it all without me.
Walking down to the beach, I wave to Jasper. He swims to shore, walking carefully up the pebbles with bare feet. His smile fades when he sees my face, streaked with tears.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asks. “Is your gran OK?”
“Yes, she’s fine, just— Can we go back? Do you mind?”
Suddenly, I can’t be on a date, can’t handle trying to be fun and flirty and interesting. I can’t filter how I’m feeling, and yet I don’t feel ready to share any of this with Jasper.
“Of course. We’ll go back right away.”
Jasper doesn’t ask any more questions until we’re packed up and back on the boat, steering a course for Jersey.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, once we’re out on the open water.
There’s something comforting in the sound of the engine and the undulating motion of the boat churning across the sea’s swell. I muster a smile.
“My gran just told me something about my family, it’s thrown me, I’m so sorry.”
Jasper’s face is full of concern. He must sense I don’t want to elaborate, because he simply puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “Don’t be sorry, I understand.”
On the journey home, Jasper tries to cheer me up by singing sea shanties—he’s an excellent singer and commits wholeheartedly to the delivery, so it does, briefly, distract me. When we reach the still water of St. Catherine’s, he turns off the engine. It’s so peaceful without the sound of the motor, and my hair whips around my face, buffeted by the wind.
“You know what always cheers my sisters up when they’ve had upsetting news?” Jasper says, tilting his head to a sympathetic angle and giving me that irresistible dimpled grin. “Shopping. Do you want me to take you to St. Helier—we could engage in some retail therapy?” My face must register disapproval, because his tone shifts, losing confidence. “I know that’s— Sorry, that might be a stupid suggestion.”
I set my teeth into a smile; none of this is Jasper’s fault.
“No, it wasn’t at all, but I think I just want to go back to L’Étacq, if that’s OK? I just need a little time on my own to think, maybe a lie-down, I didn’t sleep well. I’m sorry to ruin today,” I say, feeling genuinely bad about all the effort he has gone to.
“Laura, you couldn’t ruin anything if you tried.”
Wiping my nose on a sleeve, I look up at him gratefully.
“Well, that’s definitely not true, but thank you. I really did enjoy today.”
Jasper shifts on the seat. “And listen, we’re doing a tea for my mother’s birthday this afternoon. If you’re feeling up to it later, I could come and get you. Whatever the question, I usually find cake and champagne is a pretty good answer.”
I squeeze his hand; a maybe. I can’t fault Jasper; this was a wonderful date. But I want to be fun, carefree, happy Laura around him, not let him see the morose misery guts lurking beneath the surface. I have to force myself to stop dwelling on the conversation with Gran just to keep myself from crumbling in front of him. Our histories, the stories we’ve been told, are like static snow globes—we know the patterns of settled snow made by the past. A revelation like this may not seem earth-shattering to anyone else, but for me, it’s like someone shaking the globe, burying me in a snowstorm. And I know, when everything settles, nothing will look the same as it did before, and I will never be able to get back the familiar patterns in the snow.
RETURNED TO SENDER
12 November 1991
Annie,
Send me the whole coin, or so help me I will come over there and prize it out of your hands. You are angry with me, fine—don’t try to use this as currency. You can’t give the coin back to my grandmother and then take it away again. She is distraught, Annie. She is an eighty-year-old woman. Don’t be cruel.
Al
PS If you keep hanging up my calls, I won’t call again. If you send this letter back like the others, I won’t write anymore. That will be it, Annie, you’ll be on your own with this baby. I mean it.
Chapter 22
Back at L’Étacq, once I’ve waved Jasper off, I walk straight down the hill, past the fisherman’s cottage, toward the sea. The September sun is warm, the clouds are high in the sky, and there is no wind on this side of the island. I just need to sit with my toes in the sand and let my thoughts settle. It’s as though someone has stomped through a pond and dredged up all the mud at the bottom, turning the water dark and cloudy.
On my phone, there’s a text from Dee asking if I want to talk and three from Suki with various work-related questions. Vanya has also messaged asking, Have you found him yet? Was the universe right? I turn off my phone. As I walk toward the shore, I see the unmistakable outline of Ted, standing at the water’s edge. My heartbeat quickens along with my step, as I realize I’d been hoping to see him. The letter; that’s why I’ve been thinking about him—guilt. Before I get to the bottom of the footpath, before he notices me coming, I see Ted draw back his hand and fling something into the sea.
Coming up to stand beside him, I say, “Hey.”
He turns to see me, and his eyes shift, as though I’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t.
“What did you throw in the sea?” I ask. Ted rubs one palm with the other, and I know then what it is. “Your ring.”
He sits on the sand, and I drop down next to him.
“Is that not a bit drastic?” I ask softly. His eyes stay firmly on the water. “You could have sold it—it’s a waste to throw it in the sea.”
He shakes his head. This feels like a symbolic moment for him, some kind of closure, definitely not the time to be presenting him with Belinda’s number.
“I wouldn’t want anyone else wearing it.”
“Did you drop off Gerry at the new place?”
“Yes. He kept making jokes”—Ted drops his head, a smile at the corner of his lips—“about how I was dropping him off at boarding school, and he was entitled to a tuck box.” I reach across and squeeze his arm. Ted sighs. “I just don’t know what he’s going to do there all day. He likes a cold house, and the heating there is full on all year round. The staff are kind, but some residents there are so much worse than him. I’m not sure he’ll like being reminded where he’s headed.”