Someone to Watch Over Me (35 page)

When she had woken in the hospital without him the grief had felt as sharp as it had done when he had first gone. To have seen him so close, to have felt his breath on her and his arms around her and then to have lost him again felt too painful to bear. For the first couple of days, she had done nothing but weep great scalding, bitter tears that seemed to have no end to them. There was nothing else to her but this terrible feeling of loss and abandonment. She knew that he had gone finally and forever. When she stopped crying for long enough, people ventured into the room and filled in the parts she had missed. Pam stayed with her night and day, holding her bandaged hands and giving the passing doctors the glad eye.

One afternoon Carrie woke up to find Oliver sitting in the chair by her bed looking at her. She told him to go away and he did, but he kept coming back. He brought ridiculously large bunches of flowers and extravagant chocolates and talked to her about a bird with a broken wing he had found just outside the hide and about how Mrs Evans had an alarm fitted to her house which went off when anyone approached her front door. A policeman, who had been first on the scene at the pumping station, described the miracle that had saved her.

‘It was as if something had extinguished the fire around you. It was still burning elsewhere, but just where you were lying it had gone out completely,' he said. ‘It was just the strangest thing.'

Rupert had died in the station due to the combination of the effects of the fire and the severity of his wounds. Molly and Max had survived, although both of them had been in hospital for some time. About three weeks after Carrie was discharged Molly and Max came to visit her. Both of them were still bruised and fragile and moved with the characteristic tentativeness of people who have been recently hurt. Molly wept and held Carrie's sore hands and told her that she couldn't find the words as no one can when they feel something with all their heart. It was easier for Max. Unlike most adults, he had not yet unlearned the power of speaking what he meant. He came and sat very near to her and put his hand on her knee.

‘Thank you for Mum and my lives,' he said. ‘I can't be your boy like Charlie was, but I would like to be your friend if you want me to be.'

He also told her in a whisper, as if it was a secret for them to share, that Charlie had stayed with him all the way through, talking to him, telling him to hang on, singing him songs to comfort him.

Carrie shivered slightly. The air was turning cool. She looked up to see Oliver walking towards her, and just behind him, doing that infuriatingly gleeful dance, was Jen grinning widely and pointing in a childish way at Oliver's back. He sat down beside her on the blanket.

‘Hello Carrie,' he said, looking at her face, which was held resolutely away from him.

‘I didn't know you were invited,' said Carrie.

‘Jen rang me up a couple of days ago. I think I was a last-minute addition,' said Oliver. They sat in silence for a moment.

‘Would you like to go for a punt?' asked Oliver.

‘Not really,' said Carrie shortly, thinking, despite herself, how good he looked in his dark suit and white shirt. ‘You don't really look dressed for the job.'

‘I was thinking that you might do the punting,' he replied. ‘Come on, Carrie. You might even enjoy it.' She reluctantly got to her feet and waited while he brought the boat alongside and lit the lantern.

‘All aboard,' he said, holding the chain tight so that the boat rested against the edge of the bank. Carrie took off the gold vintage heels she was wearing and threw them onto the floor of the punt and then stepped on, feeling the boat rock to one side and then right itself as she sat on the cushioned seat. Oliver took off his jacket, stowed it under the front of the boat and took hold of the pole. Just as they were pushing away from the bank, Jen came running up with a bottle of wine, two glasses and Carrie's pink cashmere wrap that she had left in the marquee.

‘Thought you might need these,' she said, giving Carrie a conspiratorial look and earning a scowl in return. ‘Bon Voyage!' shouted Jen, oblivious to Carrie's furious stare and in any case, too drunk on happiness and wine to care.

They pulled away and started up the river. Most of the others had called it a day, so they had the quiet water to themselves. Oliver punted with concentration, the water dripping down his arm in silver drops as he placed the pole and then pulled it out with each push forward.

‘Shall we try?' asked Oliver, stopping for a moment to look at Carrie in her red dress, the light from the lantern on her face.

‘Try what?' said Carrie.

‘Try to love each other,' he replied.

She knew there was a chance she could love him. Maybe she already did. It wasn't loving him that was the problem; it was the thought of exposing her bruised and battered heart to further damage. It was risking more loss and more pain. The odds were not good but they were, after all, the only odds on offer. He laid the pole down and moved from the deck of the punt towards her. She felt the sway of the river beneath them as he kissed her.

Carrie arrived at the beach half an hour before the others. The car park was almost empty, but the kiosk had opened for business. The buckets were swinging from the awning, the fishing nets and sea shoes were laid out for sale and the smell of hot fat already hung in the air. People on their way to the beach would hope that equipping themselves with the requisite seaside paraphernalia would mean that they were making the most of the day, despite the weather, despite the lack of crabs to fish for. Families came to the sea drawn by a fantasy too entrenched to change, and which bore little resemblance to the reality.

Today they had been lucky. The sun was warm and the air had a kind milkiness. Carrie thought that the beach looked exactly as it had on that day, the same colours, the same smells, the same geography, and yet, of course, it was quite different. New sand had covered the old, each grain as distinct and different from the other as snowflakes were. Patterns had blown away and reformed and would continue to endlessly shape and reshape themselves. She stood looking out at the sea and the horizon. It was there, on that steadfast line, always visible yet always out of reach, that she fixed her thoughts of Charlie. She knew that she would always look for him there, at the point where the earth met the sky. It didn't need to be this beach. He was anywhere where edges blurred, where mystery and beauty caught you up.

The rest of them came in twos and Carrie was reminded of the ark that Max had given her when he had come to visit after she had come out of the hospital. He had lined the animals up in pairs on her mantelpiece and set the little wooden Noah up on the gangplank. First to arrive was Damian, who had brought a grey-eyed woman called Sarah with him. Sarah held Damian's arm and smiled carefully at Carrie. Next was Pam in unsuitable shoes and Simon, with whom she had cadged a lift. Carrie saw with a sigh that her mother took every opportunity to clutch on to his arm and laugh in a girlish fashion. Then Kate and Dave Jefferies, with their two girls already dressed in matching pink swimsuits. Paul came with Enif who immediately escaped from his velvet lead and led his owner a merry dance across the dunes. Molly, with Max running ahead, arrived just before Tom and Jen and a small bump under the worst smock dress Carrie had ever seen. Last of all was Oliver, who had brought the food and a seaside bucket full of flowers.

It was a simple ceremony. They set up in a sheltered part of the dunes and established their territory as is the form and the instinct, with blankets and bags and umbrellas and then went to the sea, the children running shouting across the sand, unable to simply walk in this space that was made for moving fast in. There was no body to bury, no ashes to scatter. The only marker was love. Damian read a poem and Max sang ‘Cheek to Cheek' in a clear, sweet voice, and everyone cried. Carrie watched Sarah wipe Damian's face tenderly with a tissue and was reassured. Afterwards they walked back together to eat sandwiches and crisps and to toast Charlie's memory from plastic picnic cups.

After the food had been allowed to digest, the children, accompanied by Carrie, went to splash in the sea. They made a sandcastle for Charlie decorated with mussel shells and surrounded by a maze of tunnels and when they had finished Max inserted a damp, gritty hand into Carrie's and stood beside her in the shallows.

‘Max,' said Carrie, looking down at him. ‘Have you had a nice day?'

‘Yes,' said Max, scooping his feet through the wet sand at the edge of the water. She noticed that he no longer had the fleshy marks on his ankles that she associated with small children. He had grown even in the short time she had known him, and before too long would inhabit that awkward, bony stage when boys and their bodies were at war. Just now he had an easy stillness that was unusual for a child of his age.

‘The sea took him, didn't it, Carrie?' asked Max.

‘Yes. It did,' said Carrie. ‘It took him while we weren't watching.'

‘I think it wanted him for its own,' said Max.

‘Maybe,' said Carrie, feeling the tears start.

‘He's alright, Carrie,' said Max.

‘Do you still see him or does he talk to you any more?' Carrie couldn't help asking. She needed to know if she would hear from him again.

Max looked up at her with his beautiful, serious eyes.

‘He's gone now. I don't see him any more and he doesn't speak to me. But he's inside me,' said Max, bending to scoop up a shell with one hooked, pruned finger.

They all stayed on the beach until the air turned chilly and then wrapped wet swimsuits in wet towels, gathered up the sandy remnants of the picnic and made for home. Carrie and Oliver stayed on for a while after the others had driven off. They sat with a blanket over their knees and watched the tide slip further out.

‘Do you think it's time to go?' asked Oliver after a while, putting his arm around her, knowing she would find it hard to let this day end.

‘Yes,' said Carrie. ‘It's been as good as I hoped it would be. Better.'

Just as they were reaching the car park, Carrie turned back one last time. It was a hard habit to break, having this feeling that she was leaving Charlie behind. But then she rubbed her forehead with a sandy hand, wrapped her arms around herself and walked on, taking him with her.

I would like to thank my agent Luigi Bonomi for his sound advice and support. Kate Bradley at HarperCollins for her enthusiasm and the clever way she remembers all the things I forget. Most of all I would like to thank my mother Valerie Unsworth who is full of dreams and who always thought I had it in me.

Q
What inspired you to write
Someone to Watch Over Me
?

A
It was that moment of terror that I think any parent can understand when they look around them and realise that they can't see their child anymore. I just had this image in my head of a woman standing on a beach, knowing that the thing she fears the most has happened.

Q
Carrie's experience is intensely painful. How difficult was it for you to write about what happened?

A
I did get quite emotional at times because although what happens to Carrie has not happened to me, I think the losses I have experienced in my life informed what I wrote. I found that writing about grief made me re-live my own. People say that writing can be therapeutic, but I am not sure I want to sit weeping at my desk. I think I'll write something just a little jollier next time around. Although it will probably still be sad – I think I am drawn to sad things.

Q
Landscape is an important part of the novel. What is it that you love about the area?

A
I am obsessed with the sea. Whenever I am even the slightest bit low, I make for a beach, sit for a while and it restores me. I particularly love the Norfolk coast because of the bleached-out quality of the light. I am also very fond of the Fens, which feature in the book. Although people sometimes find them flat and dull, I think the big sky and the black earth create a very dramatic landscape. I like places where you have to work a bit to find the beauty.

Q
There is a strong supernatural element to the story. Is this something you have encountered yourself?

A
I have never seen a ghost and would probably be terrified if I did. I do believe that spirits linger and that they can be very real influences on our lives if we allow ourselves to listen to them.

Q
Rupert is a monstrous presence in the novel. Which literary baddies have inspired you?

A
Baddies are so much more interesting than goodies. Snow White's stepmother was an early source of terror. I couldn't even
look
at the cover of my book of fairy tales I was so scared of her. After that it was the terrible tapping of Long John Silver's wooden leg in
Treasure Island
that chilled me. Then Mrs Danvers creeping around in
Rebecca
, Bill Sikes's remorseless thuggery in
Oliver Twist
, Tom Ripley's madness in Patricia Highsmith's
The Talented Mr Ripley
, the manipulations of Alec d'Urbeville in
Tess of the d'Urbervilles
and Pinkie Brown's violence in
Brighton Rock
. I could go on …

Q
Describe your typical writing day.

A
I know that if I am not at my desk by nine, I am doomed. Any later and I feel the day is slipping away from me and that feeling distracts me from focusing properly. The plan is to write until I am hungry and have lunch watching Bargain Hunt and then write some more until 3.30ish when I am supposed to go to the gym. However, I mostly skip the gym and eat biscuits instead.