Finding Alison Page 10

  * * *

  Having separated the bouquet, Kathleen set the sunflowers on the kitchen window and carried the vase of lilies to the hall table, where their scent would greet her every time she walked in the front door. She could never decide which were her favourite: the sunflowers with their burst of colour, their promise of hope, or the pure white lilies her mother had always adored. She had to hand it to Rob for remembering that she had settled on both.

  She crossed back into the sitting room, smiling in spite of herself as she remembered the florist’s early morning delivery of the bulky, awkward bouquet and the silly ‘I’m Sorry’ card with the big sad face on it that would melt the devil himself. Big child! She’d had to work for a minute to recover her anger after she’d read it.

  Rob could never be serious for more than five minutes. It was what most niggled her and what she most loved about him all at the same time. That slight gap between his two front teeth, the way his eyes danced with a mixture of mirth and mischief. Rob could turn any situation into a pantomime – no wonder Jamie adored him. She bent and straightened the magazines on the coffee table. She really hadn’t realised how much she had come to depend on him, on his wit, his charm, his presence. It was as if he had stolen into her while she wasn’t looking and that part of her he had occupied creaked now in the cold wind of his absence.

  Only yesterday she’d had to check herself again at work. She had always vowed that if she ever found herself being impatient or short with the patients, or giving them less than the hundred per cent care and kindness they deserved, she would quit her job at Sea View and let someone more suitable take her place. These last weeks she had found it a real struggle, putting on a smile and a heartiness that was a million miles away from how she was feeling. She had swapped shifts today to give herself a break, some time on her own just to be able to breathe, feel, recharge.

  She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Another two hours before Jamie was due back from his friend’s. Was this what life was going to be like from now on? Jamie, growing up, busy with his own stuff and her sitting at home, waiting. Much as it pained her to admit it, Rob had been right. She did need to cut those apron strings, stand back a little and give Jamie room to grow. And meantime she would do what exactly? Today was the one day she had to herself this week and she was having difficulty filling it. She grabbed a cushion from the sofa, patted and plumped its feathers, then threw it back down on the couch. What was she doing? She had cleaned and straightened the whole downstairs already this morning. She hated feeling like this, wallowing.

  She’d call on Alison. The one sure cure for self-pity was to get out and visit someone who had a genuine problem. She grabbed her keys from the kitchen table, the sunflowers smiling at her from the window.

  Her heart dropped. Just remember, a tiny voice whispered, he was the one who walked out. He was, Kathleen answered, and he won’t get a chance to do it again. Tilting her chin she shook out her keys, slung her bag over her shoulder and pulled the door behind her.

  * * *

  The dogs danced back as the first heavy drops bled from the sky. ‘Come on, old man,’ Alison teased, standing up from the rock, ‘we don’t want you getting arthritis.’ William rose, flexed the fingers of his right hand, silently cursing their prickling numbness, a side effect of the stronger medication. He’d had no choice in the end but to go with it, aware that the consequences would be a lot worse if he didn’t. The rain fell heavier now. He pulled a cap from his pocket, placed it on his head as he walked on to join her. She turned around to wait for him. The rain had darkened and tamed the curls framing her face. There’s a beautiful life and energy clamped behind that sadness, he thought, her soft smile whispering a forgotten girlish joy.

  Alison watched him walk towards her. She hardly knew him but she liked him, trusted him for some reason. She sensed some kind of a strange understanding between them, something that loosened the lid on the darkness she carried.

  Most of the journey back to Carniskey was passed in silence. Both were lost in their own thoughts, each appreciating the other’s quiet reflection. The rain fell hard and Alison concentrated on the road through the fogged-up windows.

  ‘Tired?’ she asked as they neared the village.

  ‘Hey, don’t write me off just yet,’ William laughed. ‘Fifty-four’s not quite slippers and pension book. Fancy a pint to round off the day?’

  ‘I’ll pass this time, thanks. I have a job to finish for Eugene and I promised Hannah I’d phone this evening, see she’s behaving herself.’

  ‘Eugene, your boss?’

  ‘Eugene Dalton, he’s the editor of the local paper. I do a women’s column every week.’

  ‘Ah! So you are a writer.’

  ‘Not in the sense I’d like to be. I hate it – a women’s column, of all things! No, in my heart and my dreams I’m a poet.’ Alison smiled. ‘And a best-selling novelist,’ she added with a laugh.

  ‘So, what’s stopping you?’ William was excited at the hint of passion behind her cynical laugh.

  ‘It won’t put bread on the table,’ she sighed, ‘or keep Hannah in pocket money. No, dreams are a luxury I just can’t afford.’

  ‘But everyone’s got to have one. They’re the threads that keep us connected to the magic beyond this world.’

  ‘What’s yours, then?’

  ‘At the moment? A pint. I’ll hop out here, grab one before I head back up.’

  Alison pulled in at the entrance to the strand, opposite the pub. The sea, high and dark, crashed to the shore, littering the beach with froth. ‘It’s like a massive pint of the black stuff – my dream is out!’ William laughed, pushing the door open against the wind. ‘Thanks, I really enjoyed the trip.’

  ‘Thanks for the company.’ Alison returned a relaxed smile. ‘Mind yourself.’

  ‘See you soon.’ And he was gone, the wind wrestling with his unbuttoned coat.

  Alison drove in nearer the beach. The sea rushed in, in a galloping frenzy, urged on by a strong wind from the horizon. Each wave stood higher than the one before, crashing headlong in their race to the shore. There was an anger in it and in the sickly brown froth that shrouded the sand. Alison had never before seen such a wide and continuous line of froth; it must have been two metres wide and stretched almost half the length of the bay. It pulsated under the fingers of the wind, like something living, warning, threatening. She shivered. The sea was angry with her. She had refused its call last night. At the last second William had urged her back. And she had gone with him today, away into the mountains, ignoring its call, its rising temper. She stepped from the jeep and its salty perfume rushed at her nose. The wind almost lifted her, the cold spray stinging her cheek with an angry slap. She hopped back into the jeep and banged the door on its temper. As she backed up to leave, it hurled its filthy froth at the windscreen.

  * * *

  Warmed by a hot shower, Alison slipped into a soft cotton shirt and pants, towelled her damp hair and clipped it up. Microwave dinner before her, she sat at the computer and worked straight through on Eugene’s article. She worked with an energy she had almost forgotten and by eight thirty the article was complete. A great sense of satisfaction lifted her. Maybe later, after her call to Hannah, she’d set some time aside for a little private writing. She had more or less quit since those last rejections, but she really missed it. She lit the fire in the sitting room and drew the curtains, locking out the wind and the rain. Back in the kitchen she flicked on the kettle and then, changing her mind, took a bottle of red wine from the press. She would treat herself to a glass – a reward for a good evening’s work. Maybe she should visit the mountain more often! She moved to the window and flicked on the lighthouse. There was company in its warm glow. She found herself wondering if William could see it from his camper and immediately snapped him from her mind. Passing the computer, she twiddled the mouse, her face breaking into a huge smile. An email from Hannah!

  Hi Mum, just to let you know I’m okay. Gr
andad’s party was a bit of a bore but he liked the clock you sent him. I started my job at the gallery and people keep asking me things I know nothing about but Claire says just to keep on smiling and that I’ll get to know it all in no time. How are Tilly and Tim? Give them a kiss for me. And Nan. I won’t be able to talk to you tonight ’cos Claire’s taking me to the London Eye and then for something to eat, she says it’s best not to do it the other way round. Talk soon, H x

  Alison re-read the email, twice. Although her face was fixed in a smile, she couldn’t ignore the slight sting and the sense of something shrinking in her chest. Claire. So it was just ‘Claire’ now, was it, no ‘Aunt’? She sat back in her chair. For God’s sake, why was she being so petty, so childish? Hannah was busy, she was happy – isn’t that what she wanted? Wasn’t that the whole point of sending her over there? And so what if they didn’t get to talk tonight, there was always tomorrow. She leaned her head back on the chair, loneliness settling around her like a cloak.

  * * *

  William shaded in the damp curls and then, cursing under his breath, threw down his pencil, opened and closed his fist, hard, shook his hand out from the wrist. He studied the smile and the eyes on the page, anxious to have captured that faint promise of light behind them. He grabbed the pill bottle from the shelf behind, shook three painkillers out into his hand. He popped them in his mouth, took some water and flicked his head back to swallow. Moving cautiously, he lay down on the narrow bed and closed his eyes, listened to the rain and the wind knocking outside. Helene’s face floated up from the darkness.

  * * *

  Stirred by the birdsong and the sun squinting through the bedroom drapes, Alison stretched, turned on her side and tugged a pillow down under her chin. Monday morning. She thought of all the people leaving their beds, swallowing a quick breakfast and racing to another week at the office, the shop, wherever. That would be her soon if she didn’t start earning some real money. With the pressure of Eugene’s job off her already, maybe this week she could try a new story, maybe fiddle around with some of the old ones, make them more sellable.

  The London Eye, followed by a meal. How could she compete with that? How would Hannah settle back into just getting by after three months of Claire’s extravagance? Maybe it had been a mistake, sending her. Maybe a taste of what life could be like would drive an even bigger wedge between them, make Hannah more restless. She pushed the pillow away and rose from the bed. The next ten weeks, she reminded herself, pulling back the curtains and flooding the room with light, were a chance she had been given to sort herself out, make life better for the two of them. She would use every minute.

  The sea had worked out its temper from the previous day. The sky, too, had spent its grey and the sun peacocked in its unsmudged blue. Alison unfolded her canvas chair at the foot of the cliff. The dogs, delighted with their early call, shot off up the grassy slope. Lighting a cigarette, she flicked through the thick brown folder of handwritten pages and, choosing a story, read through the opening lines:

  Are you out there in the darkness? I thought it was your step I heard below the window. In bustling, living daylight you are not in evidence, but when the night enshrouds your home in still, black velvet, you step from the shadows to taste again the life you once savoured . . .

  Having swam and raced and investigated every dune and crop, the dogs lay sleeping at her bare feet, so exhausted by their efforts that they didn’t even raise their heads when William walked over to join her. ‘You’re an early bird,’ he called, resting his back against the cliff.

  ‘It’d be a sin to miss this.’ Alison looked up at him, her hand shading her eyes. ‘What a change from yesterday.’

  ‘Doing your article?’ He tipped his head towards the writing pad on her knee.

  ‘No, actually. I got it finished last night – a first for me. It’s usually a last-minute panic.’

  ‘So, this is the dream stuff then?’ He looked down at the neat handwritten page.

  ‘An attempt at a poem.’ She covered the page with her hand.

  ‘May I?’ he ventured, eyebrows raised.

  ‘No, it’s stupid. It’s only . . . ’

  ‘Don’t dismiss it.’ William cut her off. ‘Let it speak for itself.’ He held out his hand.

  Alison hesitated, half of her embarrassed, the other half straining to know his opinion. She thrust the pad towards him. ‘I’m going to test the water.’ She sprung from the seat, hurried to the water’s edge. William sat into the canvas chair, eyes fixed on the page.

  The Fisherman.

  Her hand was light and curved, the words hurrying across the page at a slant.

  A man of the sea

  You became it

  Summers, I remember

  When you lapped and teased

  the slipway of a sheltered strand

  And stirred by your stillness

  I stripped and dived

  Into your glistening depths

  October, and changes

  Huddled down into a winter coat

  I watched you from the cliff top

  as waves of torment spewed

  your frothy fury round my head

  I sometimes crouched to become

  the rock that broke your anger

  But never dared to delve

  Into your squally depths

  Your tide gone out

  I lie on the strand

  Coarsely crafted

  By your touch.

  William’s eyes rose from the page and settled on Alison. Head bent, she threaded the shallow water, hands thrust into the pockets of her rolled-up jeans. His arms strained to reach her. To touch that wounded place in her, brush away the pain that bowed her head. She strolled back up the sand towards him, sat cross-legged at his feet.

  ‘Well?’ She nodded her head shyly towards the page.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ he answered. ‘Thank you for sharing it with me.’

  She still couldn’t figure out why she had shown it to him. She’d never shared her poems with anyone before, not even Kathleen. They made her feel foolish, weak and vulnerable – especially the stuff about Sean. She drew a piece of stick through the sand. ‘Did you ever lose someone you loved?’ She spoke without raising her head.

  ‘Yeah, but that was a long time ago.’ He looked down at her, her eyes stealing a look into his.

  ‘Sean’s gone over three years now.’ She sighed as she stood. ‘But I’d lost him long before that.’ She brushed the sand from her feet, slipped on her shoes. ‘I’m heading for town – did you want anything?’

  William closed the pad and handed it to her. She was so terrified of opening up, had this knack of physically removing herself every time she teetered at the edge of her pain.

  ‘Or if you’d like to come along . . . ’ It was out before she’d thought about it.

  ‘Why not?’ William needed no persuasion. The more time they spent together, doing ordinary things, the more she would open herself to him, he hoped.

  ‘I won’t be going for about an hour – will I collect you at the van?’

  ‘No, no, I’ll walk down. Meet you outside Phil’s?’ He folded the canvas chair and tucked it under his arm. They walked slowly back towards the slipway.

  ‘Oh no,’ Alison whispered through her teeth. May, togged head to toe in black designer Lycra, was power-walking the sand. Her eyes were trained on William and Alison. ‘Lovely morning, May.’ Alison forced a smile.

  ‘Exquisite!’ She nodded towards William, her small eyes squinting. ‘Morning.’

  ‘And a very good morning to you, May.’ His voice was deep and confident, his grin full width.

  ‘You’re a bad one,’ Alison laughed, as they reached the jeep. ‘Still, that’ll keep her off someone else’s back for the morning. See you in an hour.’

  She was still smiling as she rolled out onto the main road, but as she reached home the doubts began to surface. What had possessed her, asking him to join her like that? She really didn’t kn
ow the first thing about him. He could be anyone – and he could completely get the wrong idea. She pulled up outside the front door. Was it that she was just missing Hannah? Reacting to the isolation, to the exclusion she had felt when she’d read the email last night? Oh, quit analyzing, she told herself, hopping down onto the gravel. It was just a bit of company, for heaven’s sake, a trip into town. It was what people did. Normal people. Where was the harm?

  Seven

  Alison pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a pale green T-shirt. People always told her green was her colour – brought out her eyes or some such nonsense, she scoffed, pushing her toes into her ancient flip-flops. In the bathroom she scrubbed and moisturised her face, smiled when she caught herself humming as she fixed her hair into a loose loop at the base of her neck. She hesitated a moment before spraying a tiny burst of perfume on her neck and wrists – no harm in taking a little pride in yourself, she instructed silently, pushing William’s approving gaze out of her mind. Eugene’s article tucked into her leather bag, she smiled into the hall mirror before hurrying out the door.

  ‘I’ll park down by the quay, that’s fairly central to everything.’ And it’s got the cheapest hourly rate, Alison added silently. ‘Anywhere in particular you want to go?’

  ‘I’d love a prowl around in the Book Centre,’ William answered over his shoulder, keeping an eye out for a vacant space.

  ‘Coffee?’ Alison suggested as they entered the bookshop.

  ‘Yes, thanks. Black, no sugar. I’ll be with you in a tick.’ William moved to the ‘Health and Psychology’ section, while Alison chose a table in the small coffee bar, sunken a few steps below the shelved areas. She placed their order and took out Eugene’s article to give it a quick, final scan.

  ‘This is for you.’ Sitting down opposite, William pushed a slim Gary Larson volume across the table towards her.

  ‘How did you know I liked him?’ The surprised smile lit and lifted her whole face, just as William had always supposed it might.