As Good As It Gets? (42 page)

‘Wish we could see his face,’ Ollie chortles, ‘when he finds it.’ He rips off the blank side of the map from our Northumberland campsite and writes: FOR WILL BRISTOW.

‘I’ll take it,’ I say.

‘Can I have a cake from the café in the village?’ Ollie asks. ‘I’m still hungry.’

‘You’re a pig, Ollie,’ Rosie retorts. ‘How can anyone eat so much?’ I leave them bickering – albeit fairly good-naturedly – as I head back to the village with our eccentric parcel tucked under my arm, and its label in my jeans pocket.

There’s no one around the B&B as I place it on the doorstep. I stride away, trying to affect a casual air, as if I am merely exploring the village. The café is much busier now, milling with robust outdoorsy types with rucksacks and enormous walking boots. I go in and wait in a queue at the counter. Then, as I glance around, someone catches my eye, who isn’t quite so outdoorsy. At least, unlike the serious walkers, he doesn’t look as if he eats lumps of granite for lunch.

It’s Will, sitting at a small table across from an extremely attractive young woman. She has one of those fresh, almost luminous faces which simply doesn’t need make-up, and her long auburn hair is secured in a neat plait which snakes down her back. She is breathtakingly lovely, and it’s definitely a
real
woman this time – not a blow-up doll. She and Will are so wrapped up in chatting over their coffee that they don’t notice me asking for a slice of chocolate cake. I pay quickly, dropping my change, which clatters onto the counter. I gather it up, stuff it into my pocket and zoom for the door with my head down, almost dropping my paper bag of cake as I hurtle outside.

So he’s made a new friend. Maybe it is ‘only coffee’. Or perhaps he’s shown her his shaggy inkcap too. It hasn’t taken long, I decide bleakly as I stride back to the campsite, for Will to make himself thoroughly at home.

Chapter Forty-Two

To stop myself from obsessing about Will and the auburn beauty, I suggest a dip in the sea. While Ollie is keen, Rosie reckons it’ll be freezing and is appalled that I brought her swimsuit without telling her. ‘I’m capable of doing my own packing, Mum,’ she grumbles, before sloping off to get changed in the shower block.

She’s right; the sea is shockingly cold. We scream as the waves crash over us, but soon it’s wonderfully exhilarating, swimming in the clear, cool water with the bright sun above. The kids don’t even seem too appalled by the sight of me in my swimsuit. I don’t think I have ever felt so alive. Or freezing, actually, when we finally emerge from the sea; we are shivering so much, the only thing for it is to light a fire, which thrills Ollie. Thank God one of my children still delights in making things burn.

Having dried off and dressed, we meander along the beach, with the big bag of sausages, rolls and ketchup we bought at the local sells-anything shop. While Ollie excels at finding driftwood, it’s Rosie who manages to get the blaze going: ‘We learnt this in Scouts,’ she announces as we all huddle around it.

It’s Rosie, too, who spots him, making his way down to what is now ‘our’ cove. ‘Look,’ she yells, squinting into the distance, ‘it’s Dad!’

I swing round to see Will sauntering towards us, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he breaks into a smile.

‘We’ve missed you, Dad,’ Ollie says, running towards him.

Will hugs him tightly. ‘I’ve missed you too. And you, Rosie. I had no idea you were planning to come—’ He breaks off and wraps his arm around the two of them, then turns to me.

‘Hi,’ he says, kissing my cheek. ‘This is quite a surprise …’

‘A good one, I hope,’ I say feebly as smoke gusts in my face.

‘Um … yes, of course it is.’

‘Did you find your present?’ Ollie wants to know.

Will pulls a confused face. ‘Er … yeah. I was a bit taken aback, to be honest …’

‘It was Mum’s idea,’ Ollie fibs, laughing. ‘She made us do it.’

‘Sure I did,’ I say, sensing my cheeks glowing, not from the heat of the fire – which is dying down quickly – but because I feel so …
ridiculous.

‘How about you two get some more driftwood?’ Will suggests, for which I am grateful. They hurry away obediently. He has always had that knack with the kids: to get them beavering away, involved in a project.

‘It’s like those field trips you used to take them on,’ I remark, watching them scouring the upper reaches of the cove.

Will nods. ‘That’s what I was thinking.’

I look at him, hardly daring to ask. ‘So … I assume they’ve offered you the job?’

Will nods. ‘Yep, they have. They did straight away, actually.’

Then why the heck didn’t you let me know?
‘I’m really pleased for you,’ I say briskly. ‘I just thought, you know, it’d be nice for the kids to have a break, with us not going away this summer. So we decided to come up and see you. I hope that’s okay, and that we’re not getting in the way—’

‘Of course you’re not,’ he cuts in. ‘It’s just … I don’t really know what to make of things, Charlotte.’

I run my hands through the tiny, ground-up shells. ‘What things?’

Will sighs loudly. ‘Those trousers. The way you packaged them up and left them on the doorstep like that, with the note on, held down by a stone. That’s fucking
weird
behaviour.’

‘It was Ollie’s idea actually,’ I say quickly. ‘Honestly, he just thought it’d be funny—’

‘It’s pretty bizarre,’ Will says tersely. ‘I mean, I’d worked out this plan, and I thought you and me …’ He tails off. ‘Then I opened the package.’

I stare at him, uncomprehending.

‘… I mean,’ he goes on, ‘I thought we could figure this out, but now you’ve made your point …’ He frowns. ‘I know you don’t like those trousers but you didn’t have to take the kitchen scissors to them—’

‘I didn’t!’ I protest.

‘Hacking out the crotch,’ he exclaims, picking up a stone and tossing it across the beach. ‘It’s a pretty violent gesture. In fact it’s kind of bunny-boiling behaviour. It wouldn’t take a psychologist to figure out what you were trying to say …’

I look at him, aghast. He thinks I’m a crotch-hacker? ‘Will,’ I start, ‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Obviously, you did, and I get the message, okay?’

‘Could you listen to me?’ I snap. ‘I
didn’t
cut up your trousers. What kind of person d’you think I am?’

He shakes his head sadly. ‘I’m getting the message that—’

‘There’s no
message
, because I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me, all right? Guinness did it. That’s where he’d been hiding – behind that pile of clothes you’d put out ready for charity. He’d gnawed away at the leather. We thought it was funny. I actually thought you might too.’
Sorry,
I fume silently,
for a moment there I must’ve confused the old Will, who possessed a fine sense of humour, with the one who is sitting all stony-faced at my side. The one who has cosy coffees with other women …

Will is looking at me curiously, as if I might be making this up. ‘Guinness,’ he says slowly, ‘ate my trousers?’

I nod glumly. ‘Well, he just had a bit of a nibble really. You know how he likes to gnaw at things. I doubt if he actually ingested it.’ Now he’ll start on about how I should have kept our rabbit secure because, after all, I am in charge of pooping matters and pretty much everything else concerning our pet.

‘For fuck’s sake.’ He says this so quietly, I’m not sure if I heard him correctly.

‘If you’re upset,’ I mutter, ‘they can probably be mended. We could find another pair in a charity shop and cut out a piece and—’ I break off, realising that Will is staring at me, and that his mouth is starting to quiver, as if he’s having to summon every ounce of willpower not to laugh.

‘You think that’d be a good look, do you? To have a big patch sewn on, where the crotch was?’

I clear my throat. ‘Well, if it was done very neatly …’

Will splutters. ‘Maybe the patch could be a different colour, like yellow or pink. You know – to add interest, as they say in fashion circles …’

‘Maybe,’ I say.

He starts to laugh. ‘I don’t
want
to mend them, Charlotte. Christ, d’you think I was planning to wear those things again?’

‘Well, you wore them to Zach’s gig—’

‘Yeah.’ He pushes back his dark hair. ‘What the hell was I thinking?’

I shrug. ‘You actually looked pretty, er … I mean, you
can
carry them off, sort of, in certain types of situation—’

‘They were bloody ridiculous,’ he retorts. ‘You know why I dug them out? After meeting Tommy and his mates … I mean, I
like
them, they’re a laugh, but—’

‘What does this have to do with Tommy?’

‘You know. The tight jeans, the band T-shirts and studded belts …’

‘You were trying to fit in with them?’ I ask incredulously.

Will smiles. ‘Not exactly. I mean, as an older man—’

‘You’re talking as if you’re about seventy,’ I chuckle.

He shrugs. ‘Yeah. Well, that’s what I was thinking – that maybe I’d got a bit staid. You know, a bit dad-jeans, sad old fucker kind of thing. Then I found those trousers and I thought – hang on, if they still fit …’

‘Which they did,’ I remark with a smile.

Will laughs self-consciously. ‘I think I just had a moment of madness actually. Rosie did say I know sod all about fashion.’

‘It’s all very confusing,’ I murmur. ‘The age thing, I mean. God knows how we’re supposed to be. Like our car, remember? The first one we chose together?’

‘God, yeah …’ He looks dreamy for a moment.

‘The vintage Saab, burnt orange with the leather seats …’

‘And we decided to swap it for something more grown-up and family-friendly,’ he adds.

‘And ugly, frankly,’ I say with a hollow laugh. ‘It was
the sensible thing to do, but wasn’t it sad when that nice couple in the fifties outfits came round and drove away in it?’

Will pokes a smooth, weathered stick into the sand. ‘Kind of.’

‘Didn’t you feel like they were driving off with your youth?’

‘Not really,’ he says, ‘because being with you, and our family, was more important than any car.’

A lump forms in my throat. I watch the kids, chatting away at the water’s edge. It’s lovely to see. But being here still feels like the end of something.

‘But what about the job?’ I prompt Will. ‘You said you’ve accepted it?’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘I thought you would,’ I say, keeping my voice steady. ‘But I have to tell you, this has been so hurtful, Will. All this silence, not knowing what was going on … why didn’t you call?’

He pauses before answering. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry. It’s just … I did need some space, not from you, or at least not
just
from you – I mean, from everything. From life back at home …’

‘Why?’

We sit in silence for what feels like a very long time. ‘You’ve said things haven’t been right with us, and it’s true – they haven’t. I just needed to figure out why it’s been like this, and what was actually going on.’ I picture myself kissing Fraser in that bland, beige living room. My stomach twists with shame. ‘… At least I thought I did,’ Will continues. ‘But as the days went on, all I could think about really was …’ He turns to look at me. ‘
You.
I missed you. I missed the kids too, obviously – but it was you I kept thinking about, especially at night.’ He laughs softly. ‘It is beautiful up here. But I’ve been bloody lonely.’

I want to reach out and touch him, but can still sense an invisible barrier between us, which would give me an arm-jolting shock if I tried to pass my hand through it. ‘What about the job, though?’ I ask. ‘I mean, a directorship,’ I add, trying to sound pleased. ‘That’s fantastic, Will.’

Will nods. So, despite professing to miss me madly, he still doesn’t want me. He hasn’t wanted me for months, and I will never again be a sexual being. I’m a withering, middle-aged woman with my ancient coil lying there like a shipwreck, covered in barnacles and the occasional shoal of small, bottom-feeding fish drifting through.

‘I do want it,’ he adds, taking my hand now, ‘but I can’t be away from you.’

I look at him. How handsome he looks, rather more windblown than his usual London self. It suits him. He looks at home here amongst the wild coastline and rapidly changing skies.

‘What d’you mean?’ I ask. ‘I mean, how could that possibly work, when the charity’s up here?’

‘I am going to join them,’ he replies, ‘but I’m going to be based in London. I’ll have to come up one week a month …’

‘You mean,’ I say incredulously, ‘you’ll work from home the rest of the time?’

‘A bit, but you know – I’ve been at home a lot these past few months …’ He smiles awkwardly.

‘It hasn’t been easy,’ I suggest.

‘Not really. Well, maybe I could have handled it better. I know I’ve been bloody hard to live with.’

I bite my lip, not knowing what to say. ‘Anyway,’ he adds, ‘they’re expanding into Devon, Cornwall and the Norfolk coast, so there’d be a lot of travel. I was hoping you could come on some of the trips – the kids too, while they still want to be with us …’ He pauses.

I pick up a stick and poke at the remains of our fire. ‘Will,’ I start, ‘I saw you having coffee with someone today. In that café in the village. The one all the walkers go to—’

‘Well, it is the only one,’ he says. ‘That was Joanna, from the charity. We were discussing the final details, before I headed back down south …’

On a Saturday, though? They were talking shop on a
Saturday
?

‘They’re a dedicated lot,’ he adds, as if reading my thoughts. ‘It’s not exactly nine-to-five.’

‘No, of course not.’

His face softens as he squeezes my hand.

‘We did go for lunch a couple of days ago,’ he adds, as every cell in my body seems to shrivel, just as Delph said it would – although I bet even she didn’t imagine it’d happen so suddenly. ‘To talk about work,’ he adds firmly. ‘Honestly, that’s all it was …’

‘She’s very beautiful,’ I remark, feeling ridiculous.

‘Is she?’ He feigns amazement.

I laugh. ‘Oh, come on, Will …’

‘Seriously,’ he says, ‘there’s been a lot to talk about, with me being mainly based down south.’ The rush of the sea fills my ears.