From a Distance (33 page)

Tom had walked around to the other side of the Land Rover and opened the passenger’s door. ‘Okay, here we go,’ he cleared his throat ostentatiously. Kit turned to look at him, as a ball of exuberance, ears, legs and a pink tongue hurtled out of the car.

‘It’s a puppy,’ said Tom.

‘So I see,’ said Kit. ‘Whose puppy?’ He groaned. ‘Actually, I think I can guess.’

The wall, part flint, part old red brick and crumbling plaster, was all that remained of the oldest outhouses at Green Farm House. A lawn ran across the former cattle-shed floors, and honeysuckle scrambled up the rough red and grey mottled surface. This small walled garden was sheltered and peaceful, protected by its aspect, and adorned with remnants of its past. A metal cartwheel had been embedded in the earth, and where it had leaned through all weathers, it had sunk into the wall like a fossil. An iron water pump stood at the other end near the house, with a cracked china bowl under the spout for the drips. The roof of the house sloped down to head height, a deep brow over the windows looking on to the garden, and in the wide expanse a few black pan tiles made a random display.

Kit tried to imagine Michael here, up a ladder, making the walls good, pulling down the derelict sheds, stopping the rot, or in the house, at his desk, sorting the farm accounts, preparing for his teaching. He thought of him inside, in the sitting room by the fire, settled in the old blue armchair, the lighthouse cushion supporting his back. Michael had done his best, there was no doubt. It was hard, Kit thought, to live a life where people didn’t get hurt.

Kit dragged a bench alongside the table and pulled the cloth straight. He finished laying the table for Luisa, marvelling as he did at how frequently these days he sat down to eat with more than half a dozen people. This would be the last time. It was his final evening in Norfolk, he would leave tomorrow morning at dawn. He wandered back towards the house. Luisa was on the doorstep, carrying a concoction she’d just got out of the freezer. She looked as though she was about to step out into the garden. Then something fell off her ice-cream creation, and she gave a yelp of frustration, shrugged at him and went back into the house. By the time he entered, the whole family was milling about. Dora had rescued the creation by scooping it into mounds and pouring rivers of liqueur over it. Luisa was in the midst of her family, and she made sure she didn’t catch his eye. He didn’t see why she should forgive him, but he hoped she would one day. Kit poured himself a drink, and went back out to the garden. A life lived without hurting people sounded good on paper, but was it possible?

Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all

And by the same token then, it was better to have been loved and been lost than never to have been loved at all. Kit didn’t want his life to be empty and solitary any more. He wanted to take Norfolk home with him. A shout from the house alerted him, he spun round in time to see the puppy galloping towards him, with a lump of butter not melting in its mouth. In time he would understand how lucky he was that he’d been given the dog, he thought.

Chapter 13

The long grass squelched. The rain had stopped, and all sound seemed to be magnified in the gold fish bowl of the dripping day. A family whizzed past the gate on bicycles, and the piping voices of the children reminded Luisa that she had offered to have Maddie for the night. Was it tonight or tomorrow? She must call Dora. Maddie would love the ice-cream van. They could go and see her friends in it. When it worked.

Luisa heard Tom before she saw him. Metallic hammering, a pause, the soft bark of a saw. In the shed, Tom and the ice-cream van seemed to be glaring at one another in some sort of stand-off. The impression was fair of Tom, he was lost in scowling thought, brandishing a metal pipe and a piece of wood. He’d been frowning ever since Kit left. He said he missed him. Odd to miss someone he’d only just met, but on the other hand, all the years of not knowing he had a brother were wasted in a way, and it made sense to want to catch up.

Luisa had suggested a trip to visit Kit in Cornwall. They could go when Ellie started at university. She was going to Exeter, it would be so easy. Tom was more enthusiastic than she’d expected, and when he suggested staying with Kit, she had to bite her tongue to stop herself reacting. She wanted to shout, ‘Are you mad? There could be nothing more embarrassing than the three of us staying in his house together’ but instead she counted to five and said, ‘Don’t you think it might be a bit much for him to have us staying? There are lovely B&B places around there, why don’t I look for one?’

The van’s frown came from its oddly splayed windscreen wipers and the saturnine appearance of two bright blue cones welded to the roof.

Luisa reached to touch one, enjoying the solid shape, smooth to the touch. ‘We should repaint these a more realistic colour,’ she commented. ‘No ice creams are blue. Apart from that crazy Baked Alaska I made.

Tom grinned. ‘The car sponge? I liked it.’ He ran his hand along the side of the van. ‘There’s a lot to do, but it’s coming together.’ His shirt was covered in oil, his hair had wood shavings in it. He waved the piece of wood towards the back of the van. ‘Finally got the door of that cupboard to stop swinging about. It’s pretty much all set now. I had the engine on charge overnight, so when you’re ready, we can try a virgin run.’

Luisa tried a joke. ‘That sounds all wrong for an ice-cream van.’

His laugh was almost heartfelt. ‘You’re right it does. All right, a test drive. That’s more like it.’ He opened the door and inclined his head towards the passenger’s seat. ‘Coming? Tod?’ He waved her in with a flourish.

Luisa opened her mouth to protest. She had too much to do, she had food to cook, phone calls to make, work to finish, people to chivvy around the place. Ellie was coming home today and she had to prepare. Then she shut her mouth again. If Kit had asked her, she would’ve said yes straight away.

‘Okay.’ She climbed into the cab and shuffled herself on to the passenger seat. The familiar plastic smell, the faint whiff of vanilla, the almost childlike simplicity of the dashboard with its round dial and red needle that never went over 25mph rushed her back to her childhood.

Tom’s head bent to the steering wheel as he listened to the engine turn over. Everything in his movements and gestures, the frown that snapped between his eyes when he concentrated, the shape of his hands and how he laid them on the wheel was familiar, and yet she felt that he’d changed. He’d gone a bit native. He had longer hair than usual, his skin had bronzed through the long summer days and his jaw was dark with stubble. She didn’t recognise the old plaid shirt he was wearing, frayed at the collar and faded pink and pale green, and seeing him dressed in something unfamiliar gave her a sudden sense of how he appeared to others. Strong, magnetic. As if he heard her thoughts he looked up, dropping the frown of concentration and their eyes met. Her heart flipped over, and Luisa felt colour rush to her cheeks.

She put her hand on his arm. ‘Whose is this shirt?’ The fabric was soft, she found the button on the sleeve and ran her fingers over it.

Tom put his hand gently over hers. ‘Dunno. I found it on top of all the paints we brought back from the Lighthouse, someone must’ve left it.’ He moved her hand onto the pocket, which was spattered with white flecks. ‘It’s covered in paint.’

The engine revved then died. Tom squeezed Luisa’s hand and and got out of the van. ‘Hang on, Tod, it won’t take a minute.’

She laughed. ‘It’s been so long already, what’s a minute or two now?’

‘Exactly,’ he agreed, and whistling, opened the bonnet again. A slit of light through the door showing the dripping wet day beyond. Tom leaned over the dusty old van, and Luisa watched him. She didn’t move. This was the man Tom could be in the summer holidays, when he left behind all the school rules and filing and marking, and he could tinker around in the shed and lead an untrammelled life. She envied him suddenly. He could be anyone he wanted to be for the summer, and then the autumn would come, and he would be needed back in school in his suit, with all his wisdom and knowledge at his fingertips, ready to inspire, or at least contain, a new cohort of pupils. Tom knew who he was, and that made him attractive.

A spanner clanged to the ground. ‘Bastard,’ said Tom. ‘It’s not working yet. Sorry.’ He dived under the bonnet again, muttering to himself.

Luisa climbed out, put a hand on his back. ‘I’m going to pick Ellie up now, so I wouldn’t have had time to go anywhere today.’

‘No?’ Tom was preoccupied, his muscles tight beneath her hand as he twisted something in the engine with the spanner.

‘So I’ll make sure everything’s sorted for when she arrives back, and if you could just make sure that Mae lays the table, I’ll—’

Suddenly the ice-cream van gurgled into life.

Tom peered up at her from the mouth of the engine. ‘Ah. I think it’ll work now.’ His teeth flashed from an oil-smeared face. A familiar gust of frustration blew through Luisa. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said, he was all ears for the engine. She opened her mouth to complain, and a whirl and click heralded the opening chime of the ice-cream-van music. Luisa leaned against the door, weak with laughter, Tom shouted something she couldn’t hear over the music, but he looked delighted. He leapt back into the cab and silence fell like a cloak as he switched everything off. ‘Back to the drawing board,’ he said cheerily, ‘but at least we know the sound works.’

Luisa leaned on the door frame. ‘D’you remember when we met?’ You were so sure you wouldn’t ever have anything to do with ice creams or Great Yarmouth or any of that Italian stuff. Now look at you, this van is your baby.’

‘Yep, well, let me finish it, and it can be yours too,’ he was walking away, but he stopped, turned, and came back. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing Ellie too,’ he said, and he brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. ‘See you later. Safe journey.’

The International Arrivals Terminal at the airport ought to look a lot more exciting. Bunting, cheerful music, obviously an ice-cream van. Luisa watched, cocooned in happy anticipation, staring vaguely at the stream of faces passing through. She heard the excitement of reunited couples rushing to collide and kiss, the shriek of an overjoyed child swooped up in the midst of a family, or the hesitant greetings of travel-weary individuals by families or friends or just a taxi driver, both sides uncertain how to respond to this freighted moment. The moment, enormous as it was for some people, was swamped by the airlessness of the grey space. A bunch of flowers, bold pink and orange gerberas nodded next to her, folded in a burly man’s grasp. The polished floor in front of the doors to customs was an empty runway for the next arrivals. Passengers emerged, eyes glazed with tiredness, leaning on heaped trolleys, dragging bulky wheeled cases, staggering with rucksacks. Approaching the welcome committee, they looked blankly for someone familiar, or a sheet of paper bearing their name. Something to connect with. Ellie would appear through those automatic doors in a moment, and when she came through, Luisa would have her family back.

She fished her phone out of her bag. No message. There wouldn’t be any more messages now. Kit had no need to get in touch with her. In a parents’ evening talk on drugs at the school last term, the speaker had explained how quickly a habit can form. Just three days, he said, and then you’re hooked. How long to walk away from it again?

It was four months since she’d taken Ellie to the airport. None of them had any idea Kit existed then. Luisa had no reason to look beyond the walls of Green Farm House except to wish she could follow her daughter to India to protect her. Luisa scrolled to a photo on her phone she’d taken of Ellie the day she left. She was standing on the escalator up to Departures, awkward with her rucksack on her back, but giving her mum the thumbs up and making a funny face. She was like a firework crackling with excitement. She was ready to go. Ellie had jigged on the spot as she was about to go through. Luisa had completely run out of things to say except ‘Don’t go’ and she was managing to keep that one to herself. She settled for clucking, adjusting the yellow nylon money belt Dora had given Ellie, folding straps into keepers, checking the buckles.

‘Don’t get excited and throw this away. I know it’s not cool, but it’s useful,’ she cautioned. ‘Just make sure you keep important things safe. And .
.
. and .
.
.’ A wave of emotion rushed up and she stopped, pressed her fingers into her eyes. She mustn’t cry. She mustn’t.

Ellie swooped on her, rucksack and all.

‘Aw, Mum,’ she smelled of insect repellent. Luisa had sprayed it onto everything the night before. The smell caught in Luisa’s throat and distilled a moment of nostalgia, the citron smell reminding her of summer evenings, all the family together having supper outside with a flare flickering, and the midge-­repelling candles lit.

Ellie had given Luisa a tissue. ‘Here, Mum, have one of these. You gave me so many, all my pockets are stuffed. I’ll be fine you know, and I’ll keep in touch. You’ll have adventures back home too, and you won’t even notice I’m gone soon.’

Well, she’d been right about that, hadn’t she? It struck Luisa that perhaps none of this would have happened if Ellie hadn’t gone away.

An announcement gurgled through the tannoy and an electric trolley beeped past them. Ellie had kept the yellow money belt, and it had become a joke. She sent occasional pictures of herself modelling it, worn with her bikini on a beach, across her body, military style on the banks of the Ganges River. The last that was seen of it was when Ellie posted a photograph of a pair of grinning small boys holding a football, with it spread out on the ground in front of them, ‘Goal post for football.’ It was as crisp and new as the day Dora had given it to her.