Perfect Daughter (18 page)

It was only a glance, one tiny sighting in the crowd of a shape so familiar that even the glimpse was enough to leave her winded. She had pictured him every day for so many years, held his face and every detail of him in her mind, so much so that after all this time, all it took was a brief sighting of the back of his head, his hand raised, a slight nod, and she knew it was him. She felt quite lightheaded until she remembered to breathe.

It didn’t matter that it had been nearly two decades since the breath had last caught in her throat like this and her heart had danced such a crazy rhythm; it was as if that time had been erased. Things she had quite forgotten were suddenly crystal clear again. She was once again engulfed in the scent of the cheap white musk perfume that they’d both loved. She was lost in a world of mix tapes and innocence, of school uniforms and rushing home for tea, of hurried, desperate kissing wherever and whenever possible, of lying on a pale-blue daybed with the sun streaming through the vast kitchen window, and of restless nights, beset by whirring thoughts, her mind occupied by the promise of a glittering future, on a ranch in Montana, where the fireflies danced… That future had shone like an orb, always slightly out of reach – to her at least. But from what she saw in front of her now – the glamour, the undeniable smell of money – it seemed that Sven had grabbed it and run with it, just like he’d said he would.

Jacks stood still, like prey unsure whether it had been spotted, hoping that if she stayed like that long enough, no one would notice her. Him included. She didn’t dare move as she studied the crowd, trying to spot him again.

‘Hello.’ She looked down towards the man that stood only five feet from her. She hadn’t seen him leave the deck, but there he was, in front of her, just as she had imagined him on so many nights. His voice had changed. It was deeper and a Californian drawl now muted his Swedish accent.

Jacks raised her hand; her tongue remained stuck to the roof of her mouth, making speech impossible. She couldn’t speak, let alone kick ass. Definitely more Jacqueline from Weston than Angelina bloody Jolie.

He smiled his easy smile and his eyes crinkled. His clothes looked expensive and he wore them with casual elegance; his shirt buttons were undone at the top and his hands were now pushed into his jeans pockets. His shoulders were raised, his arms straight, emphasising his broad shoulders and slender form. He wore suede Gucci loafers that were old but well looked after, and no socks. Not a hand-knitted jumper in sight. Deeply tanned, he looked like someone who had just come back from a foreign holiday. The scent of good living wafted off him.

Jacks was suddenly aware of her crow’s feet, her home-dyed highlights and the cheap wedding ring that felt very heavy on her finger and appeared to pulse with a life of its own. She instinctively covered it with her other hand.

She ran through lines in her head. What should she say? What had she practised?
‘It’s been a long time…
I found you…!
Here we are then…’
Jacks drew breath to speak when his voice sliced through the air.

‘Welcome to our home for the next few days!’ He raised his hands and with his arms outstretched indicated the yacht behind him. ‘I’m Sven Lundgren, CEO of Somniorum Yachts. Do you have an appointment?’ he asked casually, his eyes wide, his smile warm.

‘An… an appointment?’ she repeated, staring at him. ‘No. No I don’t. I didn’t know I’d need one.’ She shook her head, her eyes on the floor.

He looked back at the boat. ‘Well, I think you’re in luck. We can squeeze you in. Come with me,’ he ordered.

Jacks had forgotten that about him, the way he could speak with such authority that others did his bidding. It made her feel a little weak and she liked it.

‘Have you come far?’ he asked casually over his shoulder, waving to people as he navigated the crowd.

Yes… I’ve travelled for years – nineteen years of my life – to be here today…
‘Not really. From the West Country. We came on the train, just for the day.’

She felt her cheeks blush. Exchanging small talk as if he was a stranger was excruciating. Jacks wasn’t sure what was going on. Was he waiting to greet her somewhere more private? Then something inside her snapped. He wasn’t taking her somewhere for a private reunion – he didn’t recognise her! Her mouth was dry and the blood seemed to drain from her head, sending an icy cold quiver right through her. She wanted to disappear. Her mind raced as she tried to think of something to say that would break the awkward silence.

‘I thought I recognised the accent,’ he said. ‘I lived there once myself, a long time ago.’

‘I doubt it’s changed much.’ Jacks tried to keep the warble from her voice.
For God’s sake, shut up, Jacks, you sound pathetic. Of course it hasn’t changed. Nothing ever happens there and nothing ever happens to you
.

‘Are you buying today?’ He turned to her, bright voiced and wide eyed.

She twisted her wedding ring with the back of her thumb.
Buying! Me, who trawls the supermarket for bargains and adds up everything in my head before it so much as touches the basket on Mum’s lap?
‘No. Just… just looking.’

‘That’s the fun part, yes!’ He nodded his head and tapped his chin with his manicured finger. ‘Making the decision, thinking about the detail? It’s like accessories shopping and I think women enjoy that bit the most, am I right?’ He grinned.

Jacks stared at him. She was not enjoying anything, and was unsure if she ever would again. She was broken, distraught, embarrassed beyond belief and wishing that she’d never come. ‘Yes.’

‘So you live in the West Country?’ he asked, sounding more polite than interested.

‘Yes.’
Only a few streets from where I grew up, from where we went to school, from where you held me and made me feel alive and told me I would go on a great journey.
She concentrated on making one foot follow the other, following him up a narrow, shiny gangplank when all she really wanted to do was run in the opposite direction.

‘Let me show you around.’ There was a flash of coolness in his manner.

Jacks followed him down to a kitchen that was decked out with every conceivable mod con. ‘It’s a big kitchen for a boat,’ she noted, awkwardly, hardly able to think of what to say.
But
not as big as the one where we lay together and you made me love you.

‘Yes, it’s the biggest galley on any private yacht on the commercial market. But you need something this size when you’re entertaining large numbers and the boat sleeps sixteen guests, plus staff.’

‘Sixteen? Gosh.’ She thought of her little house in Sunnyside Road that had trouble accommodating five. ‘How much would a boat like this cost?’ She tried to sound interested, wanting to get the exchange over as quickly as possible so she could leave.

Sven shrugged his shoulders. ‘Upwards of forty million. Depends on the technology package – you can double that at the top end.’

Jacks shook her head. So much money and yet the words tripped off his tongue with ease. They were from different worlds and always had been. She considered their own nest egg, which had diminished a little because of Christmas, down now to seven thousand pounds. She doubted that would be enough for even one of his fancy chrome portholes. ‘I don’t get technology. Any technology. It mystifies me.’

He reached for a glossy brochure, flipping it open to show her a diagram. Standing close to him was like torture. She felt her stomach flip.

‘We design our systems so they are very intuitive. The panels in each zone are the same, so you only have to learn it once. You can control every element of the boat from the central hub in the main salon, all from the comfort of your armchair. For example, you can alter the deck lighting to suit your mood – there’s a rainbow of colours; you can switch on the hot tub, get it warmed up; and you can even programme the sound system in the bathrooms. All with one touch of a button.’

‘Don’t think I could manage it, no matter how easy you’ve made it.’ She studied his temples where his hair had thinned and noted the weathering of his skin, the result of a life in the sunshine, no doubt.

‘I’m sure you could.’ He smiled, politely.

Jacks shook her head. ‘Don’t think so. It took me ages to figure out how to release the arm on my mixer and that’s just one button. If there’s a power cut, I can’t use the cooker as I don’t know how to reset the clock and it won’t switch on without that. I can’t answer the kids’ phones, and I don’t understand why we have two remote controls for the telly. Sometimes I fancy a bit of
Flog It!
while I’m ironing, but after five minutes of pressing different buttons trying to figure out how to switch it on, I give up and put the radio on.’ She was aware she was babbling but couldn’t seem to stop, nervous of what might happen if she did.

‘You have children?’ He blinked quickly, this clearly the single fact he had taken from her rambling.

‘Yep, two. Martha’s about to go off to university, she’s going to be a lawyer, and my son is only eight. He’s hilarious.’ She smiled and blushed, ridiculously embarrassed at having to confess she had sex with someone else. Utterly ridiculous. What did it matter? She was a thirty-six-year-old married woman, of course she’d had sex with someone else and what was it to him anyway, some bloody yachting millionaire who didn’t even remember her.

‘What about you? Any kids?’ she asked, cursing the misplaced flash of envy she felt towards the woman who might have borne him a child.

‘No!’ he said sharply, with something akin to relief. ‘I didn’t seem to find the time.’ He laughed, awkwardly. ‘If you get my meaning. I don’t mean the actual becoming a dad – that can take seconds, I am reliably informed!’

Twelve minutes, that was all. Twelve minutes that changed a girl’s life.

‘It never appealed, really. Too much to do, too many places to see and I don’t like to be anchored, unless it’s with our own patented anchor that comes as standard on this model.’ He laughed again.

‘Well, yes, they certainly do anchor you. It’s a full-time job looking after them, and now I have my mum too… I never really have time to do my own thing.’ Without warning, tears started to prick behind her eyes. ‘I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time,’ she blustered. ‘The kitchen is…’ She ran her eyes over the sleek lines, white leather upholstery and integrated appliances. ‘It’s lovely.’

They made their way out on to the deck. ‘Take care, Sven.’

‘Yes, you too.’ He raised his hand. His sign-off was impersonal. He turned away immediately and she watched as his shoulders relaxed. Only then did she allow her tears to fall.

She thought of all the times he had spoken her name, all those dark nights, tenderly sounding out the syllables while they held hands under the stars. She wanted to disappear. Better still, she wanted to rewind time and never set foot on his bloody boat. She looked up and he was gone. Swallowed by the crowd of glamorous yachters who vied for his attention.

She jogged along the gangplank, ignoring the stares of the pretty girls with their wine and brochures, unaware that they were wondering why their CEO had taken this particular woman below decks and what had made her cry. She made her way to the middle of the hall, where Gina sat at the bar with a glass of wine.

Gina looked up into the blotchy, make-up-smeared face of her friend. ‘What happened? Are you okay?’

‘Let’s go home, G,’ Jacks managed.

‘Do you want a drink?’

‘No!’ she answered, a little more sharply than she’d intended. ‘I just want to go home.’

‘Has he upset you?’ Gina asked protectively.

‘Upset me?’ She sniffed. ‘No. He didn’t even remember me!’ She made her way towards the nearest exit.

Gina swigged the last of her wine, hurriedly placed the glass on the counter, picked up her bag and followed her mate through the crowds.

They climbed into Gina’s Corsa in the car park at Weston-super-Mare train station. The moment they had clicked their seatbelts, Jacks started to cry. Having sat in silence for the entire train journey, it was a relief to finally give vent in the privacy of the little car.

‘It’s okay.’ Gina rubbed her friend’s back as she leant with her head on the glove box.

‘No. It’s not okay. I feel like such an idiot!’

‘Well, don’t. It’s his loss. He’s not worth bothering about. Today was only meant to be a bit of fun. I just wanted to get you out of the house. So what if he didn’t remember you? I bet you walk past loads of people every day around town who think, “Ooh that’s that Jackie Morgan who lied about her friend snogging Richard Frost,” and you will have no idea who they are!’

‘This was different.’ Jacks sat up straight and tried to contain herself.

‘No it wasn’t!’

‘Yes it was, G. You don’t understand!’ Jacks raised her voice in frustration.

‘Tell me then.’

Where to begin?
‘It’ll sound ridiculous when I say it out loud.’

‘That doesn’t usually stop you.’ Gina smiled.

Jacks drew breath and sniffed. ‘I know we were only very young and it was only one summer, really, but it meant a lot to me.’

She paused.
How much to tell?

‘I told you that I think about him a lot, and I do. A lot. Some days I feel so old because I haven’t achieved anything and I know exactly where I’m going, I know exactly what my life will be like until I die. I’ll never get to live in one of the houses on the front, I’ll never see the world and I’ll never get my sodding conservatory!’

‘So you’re upset because you’ll never have a conservatory?’ Gina tried to understand.

‘No!’ Jacks shook her head. ‘I’m upset because for me Sven has always represented perfection. He’s not washing-up or cluttered hallways or uncarpeted stairs or struggling to look after my mum; he is pure, of another time when I was truly happy, with no responsibilities, and I thought…’
What did I think?
‘I thought that it must have been the same for him. I felt strongly connected to him. And that connection has kept me sane. And today I found out that there is no connection. I’m just some silly cow who has had her head full of crap for all these years. I’m embarrassed and I’m sad, because it’s gone now, that little tunnel of hope I used to climb up when things got bad. It’s disappeared and I’m truly, truly stuck and I feel lonely.’