Summer Secrets (26 page)

What a gift we will be giving these girls, I think; the gift of sisterhood. Remembering how much I longed for it at Annie’s age makes me want to weep.

Trudy wants to know when we can all meet, how soon, and might there be any chance that we could all meet up today?

She is working at Julia’s store. Could I bring Annie? Could Trudy meet us properly? And maybe Julia could get someone else in to help for the afternoon so the two girls could go off and get to know each other.

Annie, when I tell her, is just as excited. She’s going to have a cousin! Who knew?! What should she wear? How should she act? Should her hair be up or down? She looks like me? How do you know, Mum? You
met
her! This is so weird! Tell me
everything
!

*   *   *

“Oh my God!” yells Trudy, standing up and running over as soon as we walk in, wrapping Annie in a giant bear hug. “We look like sisters!” She turns to me. “I thought it was strange when you walked in yesterday, that you looked so much like Aunt Julia, but I never would have believed you were my aunt! I never would have believed I have this whole other family I never knew anything about!” She flings her arms around me as I laugh—her joy is infectious. “This is, like, the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me! Can I take Annie to the Juice Bar and get ice cream? They all know me in there, so we don’t have to wait in line.”

I look at Annie, check her expression to make sure she is willing. Boy, is she willing. I can see she has an instant girl crush on Trudy. Frankly, who can blame her? Trudy is so warm, so open, not to mention gorgeous. Piles of dark curls falling well past her shoulder, highlights of gold. Annie’s hair is curly, but she hates it, spends hours trying to blow-dry it straight, or scrapes it back in a clip, as she has done today. But where Annie still has puppy fat, rounded thighs, a peachlike bottom, Trudy has legs that are long and coltish in her denim cutoffs. Both of them have the same olive skin, and as they walk off together, their heads close, Trudy chatting away, I have a pang of regret that this didn’t happen years ago, that I have somehow robbed Annie of something incredibly special by not getting in touch earlier. Not for me, but for her.

“Well,” says Julia, turning to me after the girls disappear into the crowds of people who have recently got off the Hy-Line. “That went well.”

“It couldn’t have gone better.”

“It’s weird, you can tell they’re family,” Julia says. “You can see they feel it.”

I nod, because I know what she’s talking about. It’s exactly how I felt when I met Julia all those years ago. “I’m going to meet my friend Sam and take him on a tour of the island,” I say. “Would you be interested in joining us?”

Julia’s face falls. “I would have loved that. I couldn’t find anyone to help today, so I’m stuck in the store all afternoon. But I’d love to get together properly. Can we maybe do dinner?”

“I would love that,” I say, and we spontaneously move toward each other and hug, and I am so enormously grateful for this newfound relationship that when we pull away, my eyes are filled with tears.

*   *   *

“So,” says Sam, waiting at the end of the wharf, examining me carefully as I walk up to him. “Who would have thunk it? She didn’t spit in your eye and cast a spell on you.”

“Quite the opposite. The one thing I never expected was the warmth, Sam. She’s as warm and lovely as she used to be.”

“Even though you shagged her boyfriend?”

I groan and cover my eyes in shame. “Can you not? I’d really much rather forget about that. Anyway, there’s still the sister to contend with. Apparently she has allowed the girls to meet, although no mention of wanting to see me.”

“You never liked the sister though, right?”

“She never gave me a chance. But no, she’s not the kind of woman I generally warm to. At least she wasn’t, all those years ago. She’s cold, and imperious. She always made me feel less than.”

We cross the cobbled street behind two women in very high wedge sandals. “God!” I whisper to Sam, grateful for my flip-flops. “What are they thinking, wearing heels in Nantucket, for God’s sake?”

“They’re thinking a twisted ankle would be an excellent souvenir from their trip.” He rolls his eyes, and I laugh. “I’m starving, Cat. Can we go somewhere and grab lunch?”

I whisk him off to Sconset, which he completely falls in love with—the gorgeous little village with its pretty store and restaurant, the tiny cottages covered in climbing roses.

We go to the Summer House, which he instantly pronounces his favorite place on the island thus far, partly, I am sure, because everyone here seems to be clad in designer labels equal to his own.

“Now it feels like a holiday,” he says, as we find a table next to the pool and watch all the glamorous people having lunch around us. “This is definitely my kind of place. Isn’t that John Kerry over there?”

I turn to look, just as my phone buzzes with a text from Annie.

Mum, can I go to Brant Point with Trudy? She’s meeting a crowd of friends. Please!

I pass the phone over to Sam, let him read the text. “What do you think? Okay?”

He frowns at me. “Why would you say no?”

“Trudy’s sixteen. She’s quite a bit older than Annie. I suppose I’m just worried about Annie getting up to … stuff.”

“Like you used to do?” He laughs.

“I suppose so. Even though Annie doesn’t seem nearly old enough. I just worry that she might be led astray.”

“Stop worrying so much. Let her go. This is what you wanted, that she would bond with her cousin and have an amazing vacation with kids her own age. This is going to be much more fun for her than hanging out with us, however much she loves us.”

I sigh. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” I reach out for the phone, tap away on the screen.

Are you having a good time?

OMG! The BEST! She’s AMAZING!

Do you have enough money?

Yes. Love you xxxx

Love you more. XX

“And there she goes, out into the big wide world,” says Sam when I show him the text. “Boys, booze, drugs. It’s all out there waiting for her.”

“Oh, fuck off,” I say. “Thanks for playing into all of my fears.” I take a deep breath. “This is Annie we’re talking about. She’s not about to launch herself into a life of debauchery. Anyway, Trudy seems lovely. I’m glad she’s having a nice time. Why don’t you finish the burger and we’ll go to the beach?”

*   *   *

I pick Annie up from the beach at Brant Point at six. She has already texted, over and over, begging to stay later, but I tell her we have two weeks for her to see her new friends, and she can always go back later. I have made a reservation at the Galley tonight, and it’s special, and expensive, and a treat for all of us. I want Annie with us.

“So?” Sam asks when Annie climbs into the car. “I see there were quite a crowd of kids with you. Nice kids?”

Annie is beaming, in a way I’m not quite sure I’ve ever seen her beam before. This is my quiet, unassuming, bookworm of a child. She’s never been interested in socializing, or partying, or hanging out with groups of kids.

“They were amazing! They were all so friendly, and cool. I had an awesome afternoon.”

Sam grins. “Awesome! You sound like an American!”

“Well, duh! I’ve been hanging out with them all day.”

“So how is Trudy?”

Annie is so excited, she sits forward in the car, her arms resting on our seats. “Mom, she is just the
best
. And we have so much in common. Oh my God, it’s like, I don’t know, it’s like suddenly finding a sister.”

And I know—I remember—exactly what she means.

*   *   *

I dress up for tonight. Most of my suitcase was stuffed with casual clothes, shorts and T-shirts, but I packed a couple of silk beaded tunics, gauzy trousers, and large gold hoops, just in case.

I don’t bother blowing my hair straight—in this humidity it is likely to stay straight for about twenty minutes, if I’m lucky. I gather it back in a loose ponytail at the nape of my neck, letting a few tendrils fall on either side of my face. Already my skin is bronze—thank you, Brooks, for the olive skin—and I glide a large brush with luminescent bronzer over my cheeks.

Beaded flat sandals on my feet, I look at myself appraisingly. I look good. I look like I belong.

Sam gives me a wolf whistle when he sees me. “Extremely gorgeous,” he says admiringly. Even Annie comes out to give me her approval. She is in a long skirt but tucks shorts into my bag. “I might see Trudy later, and I don’t want to be in a skirt,” she explains.

*   *   *

We walk through the restaurant and onto the beach. Our table is on the sand, lanterns casting an apricot glow on crisp white tablecloths as the horizon starts to turn pink, ready for a spectacular sunset, I think.

All around us are the beautiful people. The kinds of beautiful people that intimidate the hell out of me at home. But not here. I’m a stranger here, and I have no desire to fit in. In fact, these last few months I can honestly say for the first time in my life I am learning to be comfortable in my own skin.

“It’s like the Chiltern Firehouse, on sand,” whispers Sam approvingly. I turn to look at him and actually start to laugh at the dreamy look on his face, for pretend as he might that he is happy in a T-shirt and shorts, happy to grab half a sandwich at Something Natural and eat it on an old picnic table, bleached white from the sun, this is his natural habitat. This is where he belongs.

Two women are at the table next to us, with their daughters, all five of them almost ridiculously beautiful, in that way only very wealthy Americans can be, the daughters long haired and long limbed. I look at one of the mothers. She is probably my age, her skin dark, her hair long and tousled, beachy. She wears a gauzy white top, grey flowing pants, a large gold cuff around her wrist, no other jewelry. A part of me thinks how much I would love to look like her, to wear exactly what she’s wearing, to have her style. A part of me remembers all the years I would go shopping, trying to turn myself into someone else, convinced that if I had those pants, that top, that cuff, I would be that person, have that life.

I pick up my glass of seltzer and look at Sam and Annie. “Cheers,” I say. “Here’s to being comfortable in your own skin.”

“Cheers,” sighs Sam. “God, I love it here. Look at that table of perfect boho-chic women. Can we please eat here every night?”

“Only if you’re willing to expense it.” I laugh, and he grimaces, as the waiter shows up and hands us menus.

*   *   *

We have finished our meal, Annie spending the last ten minutes texting furiously, arranging to meet Trudy and her friends. I try to reprimand her, no texting at the table being our rule, but Sam stops me. “We’re on holiday,” he says. “Besides, she’s making plans.”

I turn to watch a crowd of people weave their way through the tables to their own, a little way off from ours. They seem to know everyone there, a halo of energy surrounding them.

Tall, handsome men. They look like bankers. They all have that golden glow of success, of wealth. The women may be carrying small clutches made out of bamboo and straw, but you know that confidence only comes from having the sort of money that means you never have to worry about anything in your life.

I look more closely at the woman with hair in a sleek chignon. The sort of chignon I dream of having, except my own personal frizz factor would never allow it. She looks like Audrey Hepburn, and my heart skips a beat. She looks like Ellie. I can’t tear my eyes away.

They keep moving, out of sight, and it takes me a while to center myself, to bring myself back to the present, to the people I love, the here and now. It probably wasn’t her, I tell myself; I was probably mistaken. It has, after all, been years.

As we leave, I stop in the bathroom, and as I am washing my hands, admiring my suntan in the mirror, the bathroom door opens and in walks the woman with the chignon.

She smiles at me, vaguely, then stops in her tracks, a look of growing horror in her eyes.

I was right.

It is Ellie.

And I freeze.

I have no idea what to say.

Twenty-eight

The color drains from her face, and she falters, before turning and leaving the bathroom, and I find myself going after her, walking quickly, catching up with her, placing a hand on her arm, which she shakes off, turning to glare at me.

“Ellie. Please. Can we talk?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hisses, keeping her voice low, as I wonder what she means: it’s not like Julia hadn’t told her, it’s not like she didn’t know about Annie. I am aware people have already started turning to see what is going on.

“Can we go somewhere quiet and talk?”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she says, disdain dripping from every word, unable to look at me.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to do this, not here, not in public, and not really at all, but I have heard enough times that you don’t get to move on, to fully recover, until you do the steps, and I know making the amends is the most important one. This isn’t about getting Ellie’s forgiveness; it’s about doing everything I can to keep myself on the wagon, to keep myself sane.

“Ellie, I owe you an apology.”

She puts a hand up. “Don’t. Just don’t. I have nothing to say to you, and there’s nothing you could say that I would want to listen to.”

“Ellie, please. I need to make amends—”

“I don’t care,” she almost spits. “How dare you! How dare you come back to Nantucket as if you didn’t commit the most egregious of crimes.” Her voice is rising in anger, and the conversation in the room falls away, everyone straining and craning to hear. “How dare you even talk about … what did you call it?
Amends?
” She snorts in derision. “Who do you think you are? You were the cause of my sister’s broken heart, you ruined her whole life, and you think you can come and make some sort of an apology, make amends, for that? I don’t think so. You have some nerve, coming back here. I don’t know what the hell you think you’re playing at, but you are not welcome here, do you understand? You are not welcome on this island and you are not welcome in my family. Never again. I don’t ever want to lay eyes on you ever again.” She is now shouting, and the restaurant is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and this is it. The worst kind of shame and mortification imaginable. It is everything I had ever feared, and so very much worse.