Shadows Over Paradise (2 page)

“We should have brought some ham,” he hears her say. “Crabs like ham. We’ll bring some tomorrow, okay?”

Ted nods happily.

On the beach, the man flying the kite is reeling it in. The mother of the girls in the pink swimsuits is calling them out of the sea. They run toward her, teeth chattering, and she wraps a towel around each one while the encroaching waves lick at their footprints. The family that was playing French cricket is packing up; the father hurls the ball and the dog tears after it.

People are folding their chairs, or packing up baskets and bags as the sea advances, then retreats, then pushes forward again.

“Five more minutes, Clive,” Barbara says.

He winds a lock of her hair around his finger. “So what’s happening tonight?”

“Well, I thought we’d walk to Trennick and get some fish and chips; we could buy a nice bottle of wine, and
then …
 I’ll get the kids into bed early.”

“You do that,” Clive whispers. He kisses her. “You do that, Babs.” Barbara smiles to think that she’s only known Clive for eight weeks. She remembers the rush of desire when she saw him—the first time she’d felt anything for a man in years. She thinks of how she’d loathed the job—sitting at her desk all day with nothing to see through the window but lorries and trucks with
JJ HAULAGE
on them, the only thing on her wall a road map of the United Kingdom. Just as she was wondering how much more of it she could stand, Clive had walked in. Tall and dark, with the shoulders of an ox, he’d reminded Barbara of a drawing of the Minotaur in one of Evie’s books. He’d come about his pay slip—five overnights to Harwich that were missing. Flustered, Barbara had promised to correct it; then he’d suggested, cheekily, that she could “make it up to him.” She’d laughed and said maybe she would …

She’d told him that she had two kids—though no ex, God rest Finn’s soul; but Clive said that she could have had ten kids in tow and it wouldn’t have mattered. The fact that—at thirty-eight—he’s ten years older than she is makes Barbara feel lightheaded.

The tricky thing had been introducing him to Evie and Ted. Ted took little notice of him, turning back to his Legos, but Evie was hostile, and when Barbara told them that Clive would be coming on the holiday, she’d run to her room, slamming the door. But, as Barbara had said to her, Evie had friends—why shouldn’t Mummy have a friend? Why shouldn’t Mummy have a bit of happiness? Didn’t Mummy deserve it after all she’d been through? But Evie had simply stared at her, as though trying to drill a hole in her soul.
Well, she’ll just have to get used to him
, Barbara decides as Clive kisses her fingertips.

Suddenly Barbara realizes that the bell has stopped ringing. She sits up.

On the rocks, Ted is getting tired. But now Evie has found another pool, a few feet from the water’s edge.

“There’ll be crabs in here,” she says authoritatively. “Okay, Ted, you hold the bucket. Be careful,” she warns as she passes it to him. She takes the net. “What’s the matter?”

“I want to hold the net.”

“You’re too young.” Confident that this has settled the matter, she returns her gaze to the pool.

Ted thumps the bucket down on a ledge. “I’m five!”

“Well, I’m nine, so it’s better if I do it. It’s not easy catching crabs.”

“It’s my turn. You caught the fish
—and
the shrimp. So it’s my turn with the net now, and—”

“Shhhh!” Evie is holding up her left hand, her eyes fixed on the water. “I saw one,” she hisses. “A big one.”

“Let me get it.”

Evie leans forward, very slowly, then jabs the net at a clump of weed. As she lifts it out, a khaki-colored crab, the size of her hand, is dangling from the mesh with one claw.

Ted lunges for the net. To his amazement he manages to wrest it from her; as he does so, the crab falls back into the water then scuttles under a rock.

Evie’s mouth chasms with outrage. “You idiot!”

Ted’s chin dimples. “I’m not.”

“You
are
.” She glares at him. “You’re an idiot—and a baby—a stupid little
baby
! No wonder Mum calls you Teddy Bear.”

His face crumples. “Sorry, Evie.” He offers her the net. “Catch it again. Please.”

Evie’s tempted, but then she notices how close the waves are now. “No. We’ve got to get back.” She tips the bucket into the pool, and the fish and shrimp dart away. Then she sets off for the beach, which looks improbably distant, as if viewed through the wrong end of a telescope. She can just see Tom and his sister, flinging sand out of that hole as though their lives depended on it. She turns back to Ted. He’s still standing by the pool, his bangs blown by the breeze. “What are you doing?”

“I want to get the crab!” Ted’s eyes glisten with tears. “I want to show it to Mum.”

“You can’t.”

“I
can
!” A sob convulses his thin rib cage. “I can get it, Evie!” He squats down and thrusts the net into the pool frantically.

“It’s too late! You ruined it—now come on!” Ted doesn’t move. “I’m wait-ing.” Her hands drop to her hips. “Right! Ten, nine, eight …”

Ted glances at her.

“Seven, six, five …”

He looks longingly at the pool. “But—”

“Three, two … 
one
! I’m going!”

Still sobbing, Ted starts to descend, but Evie is already springing across the rocks, the soles of her shoes slapping the stone. “This way,” she calls as she moves higher up, toward the cliff. “Put your hand on that rock there.” She points to it, then leaps across a gully. She jumps onto the next rock, then the next, stepping from boulder to boulder until, at last, she’s yards from the beach. Evie jumps onto the sand, surprised at how relieved she feels. There’s the girl with the
J
T-shirt, sitting by the trench, observing Tom with a blend of curiosity and admiration. Evie stands beside her as he wriggles into the tunnel, then
she walks on, looking for shells. She stops to pick up a piece of sea glass but decides that it’s too new-looking to keep. As she straightens up she can hear gulls crying, and the barking of a dog. Then she sees her mother coming toward her, in her dress now, scanning the rocks, one hand to her eyes, lips pursed. Evie lifts her left arm and waves. Her mother waves back, smiling with relief. Then her expression changes to one of consternation, then alarm. She starts running toward Evie.

Evie turns and looks behind her. Her heart stops.

I knew that Nina’s wedding was going to change things between Rick and me, though I could never have guessed by how much. Up until then, it had all been so easy—he and I had fitted into each other’s lives as though we’d always known one another. And now we were going to a wedding—our first one together—and suddenly being with Rick was hard.

“They’ve got great weather for it,” he remarked as I locked the door of our small North London flat. The early haze had given way to a pristine blue sky.

“A good omen,” I said as we walked to the car.

Rick beeped open his old Golf. “I didn’t know you were superstitious, Jenni. But then I don’t know everything about you.” There was a slight edge to his voice.

“Well, I
am
superstitious.” I put our gift, in its silvery bag, on the backseat. “But then I was born on Friday the thirteenth.”

Rick smiled. “That should make you immune.”

We drove west, talking pleasantly but with an unfamiliar reserve, born of the anguished conversations that we’d been having over the past two or three days.

We sped down the A40 and were soon driving along rural roads past fields still stubbled and pale from the harvest. It was very warm for mid-October, and clear—an Indian summer’s day, piercingly beautiful with its golden light and long shadows.

Nina’s parents lived at the southern end of the Cotswolds. Over the years I’d visited the house for weekends or the occasional party—Nina’s twenty-first, and her thirtieth, which was already five years ago, I reflected soberly. For fifteen years, she and Honor had been my closest friends. And today it was Nina’s wedding, and before long, no doubt, there’d be a christening.

Rick glanced at me. “You okay, Jen?”

“Yes. Why?”

He downshifted a gear. “You sighed.”

“Oh … no reason. I’m just a bit tired.” A bad sleeper at the best of times, I’d lain awake most of the night. As I’d stared into the darkness, I’d longed for Rick to hold me and whisper that everything would be all right, but he’d turned away.

“So where do we go from here?” For a moment I thought that Rick was talking about us. “Which way?”

I spotted the sign for Bisley. “Go right.”

Minutes later we turned on to Nailsford Lane, where a clutch of white balloons bobbed from a farm gate.

“Looks like we’re the first,” Rick remarked as we drove into the parking field, which was empty except for an abandoned
tractor. He parked in the shade of a huge copper beech; as he opened his door, I could hear its leaves rustle and rattle. “Is it going to be a big do?”

“Pretty big—about eighty, Nina told me.”

“So, who will I know, apart from her and Jon?”

I pulled down the visor and checked my reflection in the mirror.

“I’m not sure—she’s invited quite a few of the people we knew at Bristol; not that I’ve stayed in touch with that many …” I winced at my red-veined eyes and pale cheeks. “I’ve only really kept up with Nina and Honor.” I wound my long, dark hair into a bun, then pinned onto that the pale-pink silk flower that matched my dress.

Rick pulled a blue tie out of his jacket pocket. “So I guess Honor will be here?”

“Of course.” Rick grimaced; I glanced at him. “Don’t be like that, Rick—Honor’s lovely.”

“She’s exhausting.”

“Exuberant,” I countered, wishing that my boyfriend was a bit keener on my best friend.

He groaned. “She never stops talking. So she’s in the right job, not that I listen.”

“You should—her show’s the best thing on Radio Five.” As Rick looped and twisted the blue silk, I suppressed a dark smile. He’s tying the knot, I thought.

Reaching into the back for the gift, I saw more cars arriving, bumping slowly over the field. We made our way across the grass, which was studded with dandelion heads, their downy seeds drifting like plankton. We strolled up Church Walk, then
pushed on the lych-gate, which was garlanded with moon daisies, and went up the graveled path.

Jon was waiting anxiously by the porch with his brothers, all three men in morning dress with yellow silk waistcoats. They greeted us warmly and we chatted for a minute or two; then the photographer, who had been sorting out his camera on top of a tomb, offered to take a picture of Rick and me.

“Let’s have a smile,” he said as he clicked away. “A bit more—it’s a wedding, not a funeral,” he added genially. “
That’s
better.” There was another volley of clicks, then he squinted at the screen. “Lovely.”

Tim handed Rick and me our Order of Service sheets, and we walked into the cool of the church.

I’d been to Saint Jude’s before but had forgotten how small it was, and how simple the interior, with its plain walls, wooden roof, and box pews. There was the smell of beeswax and dust and age, mingled with the scent of the oriental lilies that festooned the columns and pulpit. It was also very light, with clear glass, except for the east window, which depicted Christ blessing the children. The sun streamed through its colored panes, scattering jeweled beams across the whitewashed walls.

“Lovely church,” Rick murmured as we sat down.

“It is,” I agreed, though today its beauty was a shard in my heart. Rick and I glanced through our service sheets as the church filled up, heels tapping over the flagstones, wood creaking as people sat down, then chatted quietly or just listened to the Bach partita the organist was playing.

Jon’s parents went to their seats. Behind them I recognized a colleague of Nina’s, and now here was Honor, in a green bombshell dress that hugged her curves and complemented her
creamy skin and blond hair. She blew me and Rick an extravagant kiss, then sat near the front.

Now Jon and his older brother, James, took their places together, while their younger brother, Tim, ushered in a few latecomers. Nina’s mother, in a turquoise opera coat and matching hat, smiled benignly as she made her way to her pew.

I turned and caught a glimpse of Nina. She stood on the porch, in the white silk dupion sheath that Honor and I had helped her choose, her veil drifting behind her.

As the Bach drew to an end, the vicar stepped in front of the altar and welcomed everyone. Then there was a burst of Handel, and we all stood as Nina walked down the aisle on her father’s arm.

After the opening prayers we sang “Morning Has Broken,” then Honor stepped up to the lectern to read the sonnet that Nina had chosen.

“My true love hath my heart, and I have his,”
she began, her dulcet voice echoing slightly.
“By just exchange one for the other given. I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss. There never was a better bargain driven …”

As Honor read, I felt a sting of envy. The lovers understood each other so well. I’d thought I had that with Rick …

“My true love hath my heart—and I have his,”
Honor concluded.

The vicar raised his hands. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony …” I looked at Nina and Jon, side by side in a pool of light, and wondered whether these words would ever be said for Rick and me. “Nor taken in hand wantonly,” the vicar was
saying, “but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, and soberly, and in the fear of God, duly considering the causes for which Matrimony was ordained.” At that I felt Rick shift slightly. “First, it was ordained for the procreation of children …” I stole a glance at him, but his face gave nothing away. “Therefore, if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else, hereafter, forever hold his peace.”

I tried to follow the service but found it suddenly impossible to focus on the music, or the sermon, or on the beauty and solemnity of the vows. As Nina and Jon committed themselves to each other with unfaltering voices, I felt another stab of pain. The register was signed, the last hymn sung, and the blessing given; then, as Widor’s Toccata mingled with the pealing bells, we followed Nina and Jon outside.