In the Summertime (14 page)

Harriet took the napkin away from her face and
glared at the newcomer while at the same time smoothing her hair down and making her mouth go prettily pouty.

‘So, you gonna introduce me then, babes?’ he said, smiling round at everyone.

Miranda looked at Harriet. ‘Do you want him to stay or to go?’

‘Go.’ She turned to Pablo. ‘You’re a lousy bastard. I never want to see you ever again.’

‘You heard her.’ Eliot stood up and approached them. Miranda thought this pretty brave, seeing as Pablo was well over six feet and as fit as only a player in the premier division of any sport can be. Andrew hovered by the table, half out of his seat but looking wary of getting involved. Sensible man, Miranda considered.

‘No way. She doesn’t want me to go really, do you? I’ve missed you, baby,’ he said, moving close to take Harriet in his arms. She resisted for a moment but then settled against his body, just as another camera flash cut through the dusk. She pulled away quickly.

‘What the fuck …? What’s going on, Pablo?’

‘Oh, this is my good friend Duncan. He drove me down here. Say hello, Duncan.’

Duncan’s camera looked a lot more professional. ‘Hope you don’t mind,’ he said to Miranda, ‘just couldn’t resist that lovely reconciliation. Sorry to intrude on your party.’

‘Yeah, but hey, it’s worth it,’ Pablo said. ‘I came all this
way because I needed my little Harrie-babes back and I couldn’t wait.’

Harriet looked at him for a few minutes, then went and stood next to Clare. ‘No. Just for a second you nearly got me there. But I was right first time. You’re up to something and I don’t trust you. Just go away. Please.’

‘So that went well. Not. Talk about clearing the place fast,’ Miranda said in the kitchen as she snapped the half-charred wooden skewers into small pieces to put in the bin. It felt quite therapeutic and once she’d finished them she looked around the heaps of dirty plates and dishes on the worktop, hoping there were a few she’d overlooked. There were. Snap, snap, snap. It was ridiculously satisfying.

‘Come on, Mum, it was ace! You should have seen Lola’s face when Freddie told her which team Pablo played for.
Excellent
.’ Silva had seen Lola grab Bo’s arm and hiss, ‘He’s like,
famous
. Do you
know
him?’ Bo hadn’t exactly replied but had nodded in the vague way boys do, using most of his upper body, more an acknowledgement of the question than a direct answer.

‘Yes, well, I’m glad you think so. Look, you and Bo did a brilliant job bringing everything up from the pool,
so why don’t you leave your gran and me to do the dishes? There might be something good on TV.’

‘What I’d like to know is how did that Pablo know Harriet was here?’ Clare said, when her grandchildren had left the kitchen. She was rinsing debris from plates and lining them up in the dishwasher. ‘Do you think she’s been talking to him or texting all this time? Did she say anything to you?’

‘No. Nothing. She gave me the impression he’d dumped her for someone else and moved that someone else into the flat in less time than it took to change the sheets. Why he’s suddenly changed his mind is anyone’s guess. I hope she doesn’t go running straight back to him. He seems a total sleazeball.’

‘A sleazeball with no manners.’ Clare sniffed. ‘You don’t just barge in to someone’s house like that and take over without so much as a hello. Even his friend with the camera had the wit to apologize for gatecrashing. I don’t think this Pablo even noticed the rest of us. He’s not the sort I want for my daughter.’ She put a heap of cutlery down on the worktop, went to the window and peered down towards the pool. ‘They’re still out there – he doesn’t seem to have got the meaning of the words “go away”. He’s actually in the pool floating about stark naked. Harriet’s lying on a lounger, would you believe, as if she’s perfectly content. The other man’s not there, or at least nowhere I can see him.’

‘We mustn’t watch them,’ Miranda said. ‘You know what Harrie’s like about being watched.’

‘She means the so-called media, not her own family. Suppose he hits her? Or gives her drugs? Isn’t he on suspension for cocaine?’ Clare looked agitated.

‘If he hits her I don’t fancy his chances of ever becoming a father. And Harriet’s drug of choice is champagne, not cocaine. Don’t worry about her, Mum. She’s all grown up.’

Miranda felt exhausted. It had actually been quite a fun evening although she and Jess and Andrew would have felt more relaxed without the overbearing Geraldine. All the same, that larger-than-life presence had given her and Jessica something to giggle about. As Jess left, the two of them promised to wangle some time with Andrew alone, maybe with a picnic on their old beach, to find out how he and Geraldine had ever managed to get together. Freddie seemed quite a delight. Shy and rather serious but friendly. He’d said he’d join Bo and Silva on the beach in the morning for their first surf lesson.

Clare opened the terrace doors. ‘It’s still very warm, isn’t it? I’ll leave these open for a bit, let some fresh air in,’ she said, going back to the sink.

Miranda wasn’t fooled. ‘You won’t hear anything from up here, you know,’ she teased her.

‘I will if there’s any shouting,’ Clare said, giving her a wicked look, and as if on cue there was a crash of
something heavy falling and a noise of breakage.

Miranda and Clare ran outside. Harriet and Pablo – who was out of the pool now and still entirely naked – were standing each side of a large broken pot that had fallen off the wall by the steps. Earth and bright flowers were scattered across the paving. ‘Oh, but come
on
, babes! You know you want to!’

‘Which bit of “no” don’t you get?’ Harriet shrieked. ‘You’re a lying, immature git and you’ve cost me my
job
!’

Pablo picked up a heap of napkins that were still on the table and started ineffectually drying himself with them, rubbing his cock and grinning at Harriet. ‘You’re missing this, aren’t you? Come on, admit it.’

‘Fucksake, Pablo, put it away. It’s my job I miss. They’ve
suspended
me. And it’s your fault.’

‘You don’t need a job, babes, not when you’re with me.’

‘I’m not
with
you. Just … go, will you?’ Then, as he took a step towards her, Harriet added, at top volume, ‘Pablo, just
sod off.
’

‘She’ll break the windows, screaming at him like that,’ Clare said. ‘But good on her.’

‘OK, OK, I get it. You need time to think. I’ll give you the night,’ Pablo said, pulling his jeans back on. ‘Duncan! The car!’ he hollered in a voice that was clearly used to being heard from one goalmouth to another on a breezy pitch. Toby the cat came pelting up the steps, ears back.

‘Go on down to her, Miranda. Make sure she doesn’t chase after him,’ Clare ordered.

‘I don’t think she will,’ Miranda said. ‘Not after that.’ They watched from behind a big hibiscus as Pablo jogged off down the drive and the sound of a sporty car screeching away too fast cut through the silent rural night. Duncan blasted the horn four times as a farewell. Miranda went to the top of the steps, ‘Cup of tea, darling?’

Harriet looked up at her, and Miranda was saddened by the amount of misery in her beautiful little face. ‘No thanks, Manda. A bloody big vodka and tonic is what I need right now.’

‘Shall I make myself scarce?’ Clare muttered to Miranda. ‘So you can talk?’

Miranda, weary to the point of falling asleep as she stood, like a horse, nodded. ‘I’ll finish up indoors. You go up and get some sleep.’

‘Don’t let her change her mind about him, will you?’ Clare whispered as Harriet came up the steps.

‘I won’t. Goodnight, Mum.’

Clare gave Miranda a brief kiss and smiled rather wanly. ‘When do your children stop giving you such worry? Still,’ she squeezed Miranda’s arm, ‘at least I don’t have to worry about you. You’re the balanced one. I know I can rely on you not to go to the wild.’

In the kitchen Miranda sat down on one of the Ghost chairs, feeling horribly forlorn. So was this it? She was
so sensible and reliable that ‘going to the wild’ was never to be an option. The thought thoroughly depressed her. She wasn’t much given to the pursuit of the wild, but she hated to think it was not available, and would not be an option should it turn up and invite her.

Silva hadn’t given much thought to the wetsuit-rental element of the surf lesson. She knew she’d have to wear one, because all surfers did, but it hadn’t crossed her mind that this could be a problem. Jake the instructor was one of the classic streak-blond beach sorts and in charge of the surf shack. ‘Hmm. You’re a tricky size,’ he said to her, looking her up and down and then flicking through the rack of neoprene suits. ‘Most of the girl ones seem to be out apart from the really big ones and you don’t want it all baggy. But hey,’ he said, moving across to the other rack, ‘try this.’ He pulled a suit off its hanger and threw it across to her. ‘It’s a boy’s fit but quite small. You’ll be OK.’

‘Thanks.’ Silva said, looking at the thing and feeling doubtful. She wasn’t sure about this. When she saw the experienced surfers jogging down the beach they looked as if their wetsuits were almost as supple as their skin. This one felt heavy and thick, and when she dropped it on the sand to take her shorts off it looked like a dead, deflated animal hide, a chunk of old elephant. And she was going to put herself into its skin. Who else had been in there before her? Andrew had told them the night
before that the trick was to wee in your wetsuit once you were in the sea, as it kept you a bit warm or something. She’d thought he must be joking but Freddie said not. Surely that wouldn’t work for long? And how hygienic was it to wear something some stranger had peed in? Too yucky. But she wanted to give surfing a go and she’d gone off to sleep the night before picturing herself out there in the sea, floating alongside Jules, who was looking at her as if she was the only girl he’d ever like in his whole life. And even if he just said hello again and smiled a bit, it would be something to tell Willow.

‘And we use these boards for the lessons,’ Jake said, handing what looked like a slender piece of yellow foam to Bo. ‘They’re easy to handle for beginners. We should have you up on the board by the end of the first session. You wouldn’t get that on, say, a Mini Mal.’ He grinned at Bo, clearly expecting him to know what he meant, but Bo was looking past him, waving to someone up the beach. Freddie was ambling down towards them, slow and lanky, already in a wetsuit and carrying a board. Lola was with him, but in jeans. Oh, great, Silva thought, an audience. This was going to be a disaster. Lola would be laughing for days.

‘So Freddie’s a surfer,’ Silva commented to Bo as she grappled with the wetsuit and tried to haul it up her legs while at the same time keeping the embarrassingly scarlet-burned backs of them out of range of Lola’s all-seeing eyes. It wasn’t easy.

‘His dad’s big on windsurfing and sailing. He taught him loads of stuff. Freddie said it was the one thing his mum would let Andrew take him to do without her tagging along,’ Bo told her. He seemed to have got into his wetsuit with no problem and Lola moved close and pulled the zip up at the back for him. Silva turned away – the small gesture looked like too intimate a moment for witnesses. Her
brother
. Eeuww.

‘Hi,’ Freddie said, dropping his board on the sand.

Jake scowled at him. ‘It’s a two-up lesson, man. Can’t take any extras today, sorry.’

Freddie backed away a bit. ‘Just saying hello,’ he told Jake. ‘Maybe I’ll just get in the water.’

‘See you after our lesson, in the café?’ Silva said, not wanting him to feel bad.

‘Yeah, sure. And good luck. Don’t give up!’ Freddie said, picking up his board and sprinting towards the sea.

Lola leaned on the surf shack and had a good look at Silva. ‘Er … is that wetsuit, um, OK, fit-wise?’ She was looking down and Silva followed her gaze towards crotch-level where the neoprene was too loose and felt weird.

‘There were no girl sizes left,’ Jake said, giving Lola a warning look.

‘Ha – I thought there was something missing.’ Lola laughed. ‘You’ve got all that space in there for a massive cock. You want to stuff a couple of socks down.’

Silva felt like crying and turned away to pick up the foam board. How great was this not being. Here she was in a fat, man-shaped wetsuit that was so long she had to roll it up at the ankles and wrists and felt as heavy as a dead cow. And there she’d been last night, thinking Lola was her friend and fantasizing about Jules. He was probably one of the ones out there on the break line right now, him and the rest of them all lined up to laugh at her. She had two choices: either rip off the suit of shame and storm off back to the house or ignore Lola and get on with it. She looked across at Bo, who came over and gave her shoulder a quick shove. That was his version of a big hug and she felt grateful.

‘Are you a surfer?’ Bo asked Lola as he picked up his board and started following Jake to the sea’s edge.

‘No way. I do boats
on
the water but not stuff
in
it,’ she said.

‘Right. Well, we’ll see you later then,’ he said, walking away from her and not looking back.

‘So where did Pablo go? Back up north?’ Miranda asked Harriet as they walked down to the beach café together to get coffee and watch the children’s surf lesson.

‘No. He’s staying at the Pengarret hotel at Tremorwell. Five stars and a spa, he told me, ocean-view suite. He thought that would be enough to get me to go with him. I so don’t get what he’s up to. Last week he didn’t
seem to give a flying one if he never saw me again. Told me to put up or get out.’

‘Did you see it coming? Had you been rowing? I mean, you’ve only been together about six months.’

Should be the honeymoon period still, Miranda thought, if the relationship had any long-term possibilities at all. Clearly it didn’t. Even she and Dan had managed several years and two quick-succession children before the terminal rot started and he took to sneaking out to have sex with the girl from behind the counter at the KFC and coming home smelling of chip fat.

‘He asked me to marry him on our second date,’ Harriet said. ‘It was dead romantic but he was pissed and to be honest so was I. I told him to ask me again in the morning but he didn’t. Nor on any other morning but we were OK, you know? Mostly. Everywhere we went, he got recognized, people coming to talk to him.’