He looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. Seven-fifteen and she still hadn’t turned up. He shouldn’t have had a drink at her place and then he wouldn’t have embarrassed himself by asking her out. She obviously didn’t believe he wasn’t married and even if she had accepted his explanation at the time, had probably thought better of it later. He wondered why a single woman like that would even consider going to dinner with a middle-aged stranger, a man she’d bumped into on the beach, never mind inviting him into her home. It was either reckless beyond measure or perhaps just the way she got her kicks, winding them up, reeling them in and then cutting them loose. He drained his Peroni and ordered another, staring at the glass as the bubbles came up for air in the white foam. Yes, that would be it. Another drooling flunkey sent packing with his tail between his legs. He’d met her type before. Bitch!
“Hello! God, I’m sorry I’m late, so I am.” He almost knocked over the glass, sending a splash of lager over the red tablecloth. He clumsily got to his feet as she shrugged off her coat and a waiter carried it away.
“Oh no problem. No problem at all,” was as witty and articulate as he could manage in the heat of the moment and he felt awkward, unsure of what to say next, not least because he’d unfairly maligned her. She stepped towards him and despite her heels, had to tilt her head back to accommodate his six feet. She offered one cheek, then the other, which he dutifully touched with his own and an exotic perfume teased his senses. She looked sophisticated and elegant, wearing a plain green knee-length dress with a round neck and sleeves just off the shoulder, the plain gold necklace he’d seen before matched by gold ear studs. Tresses of red curly hair fell over one shoulder and her makeup was enough to soften but not wholly conceal her freckles. He gestured to the chair opposite.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Glass of dry white wine would be nice.”
He waved at the waiter and ordered a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
“How did Jerry get on?”
“Och, he’s fine with the vet. But I think he guessed I was goin’ out and did a runner just at the last minute. That’s why I was late. Sorry.”
“It’s no problem. I did think I’d been stood up for a minute.”
“Lady’s prerogative, so it is.” She grinned at him then glanced around the restaurant. The waiter brought a bottle and two glasses and Jack drained his Peroni to make space. “No delayed reaction, then? No concussion?”
“Thick skull.” They laughed and chinked glasses. “Thanks for coming. Oh, and by the way this is my treat.”
“No!”
“Yes. Just so we don’t have an unseemly fight over it later, I thought I’d get that out the way.”
“That’s very old fashioned, so it is.”
“My daughter wouldn’t approve. Unless of course it was her I was paying for.”
“You have a daughter? How old?”
“Charlotte, er, Charlie is twenty-four.”
“But you’re not married anymore?”
He lifted his left hand to show a bare finger.
“No, I don’t know why I kept it on. I think I still owed her something.”
“So, you’re divorced?” There it was again. The no nonsense, direct approach. Save all that dancing around a potentially sensitive subject. It gave him a natural opening.
“No. She died.”
“Oh. I’m sorry about that.” She used the right words but her tone was matter of fact, lacking any sympathy. The default response of someone hearing of a personal tragedy generally involved some expression of condolence, a natural urge to assuage the grief of the grieving. But then, she had no way of knowing he was telling the truth. They were still strangers and there was no reason for either of them to trust anything the other said. Trust would be earned, or not, in due course. “When did she die?”
“Four months ago.”
“Is that why you sold the business?”
“No. I was in the middle of it when it happened.”
“Jesus. That must have been tough.”
It wasn’t a subject he’d wanted to broach this soon, fearing it would put a dampener on the evening before it had even got started. She would, understandably, want to know more, if only to give some credence to what this stranger was telling her, and although it wasn’t something he wanted to dwell upon, he would have to elaborate in due course. But for now, he wanted to know about her. The waiter brought them menus and rattled off the daily specials. It gave him a breather.
“I fancy the linguini with mussels, with a salade tricolore to start.”
“Suits me.”
“So, what’s Jerry doing this evening?”
“Curled up on the sofa watching TV.”
“Really?”
“That’s what he normally does except that tonight, he’s on his own.”
“And that’s what you do every night because you never go out.”
“Hardly ever.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her but noticed she kept glancing away, studying the other diners, watching who was coming and going. After a moment, she returned her attention to him and smiled.
“What sort of business were you in?” She’d caught him off guard. He’d been staring at her, intoxicated by her beauty and the wine.
“Aerospace engineering.”
She nodded her head gravely. “Really?” she said without conviction. He laughed and she laughed with him.
“It’s always a great opener. Guaranteed to break the ice at parties. Women tend to look for the nearest exit when I mention it.”
“Tell me.”
“My company made parts for jet engines and aircraft.”
“Now that sounds very technical. How did you get into that?” It was all about him again. He was happy to entertain her, but he’d missed the opportunity to quiz her on her own background, her tastes, her circumstances, her life. He would get his story out of the way as quickly as possible and then maybe she’d feel compelled to reciprocate.
“I was ten when Argentina invaded the Falkland Islands and every day, I was glued to the TV news watching the reports of the fighting, seeing ships burning and aircraft flying on and off carriers. It was horrific and exciting at the same time. I decided then I was going to join the RAF and be a fighter pilot.”
“What? And kill people?” It was no innocent remark. The smile had almost evaporated and implied she felt some distaste at the notion. Even if she’d tried to conceal it, she’d failed. She’d knocked him off balance. She was prickly. But he wasn’t ashamed of his boyhood ambitions.
“I don’t think at the age of ten, I understood anything other than good guys and bad guys and wanting to be a superhero in a flight suit. Top gun.”
“So, did you?”
“Not quite. I did a degree in aerospace engineering at university. That’s where I met Natalie.”
“Your wife?”
He nodded. “After I graduated, I joined the RAF and did pilot training on helicopters and transports, but they decided I wasn’t fighter material and was actually more use to them on the ground in engineering. You know, a jumped-up mechanic.”
“I’m sure it’s more complicated than that.” The waiter brought their starters and he continued while they ate.
“I flew the odd chopper just to keep my hand in, but eventually I got disillusioned wearing a uniform. So, I came home and got a job with Rolls Royce in their engineering division.”
“Rolls Royce cars?”
He laughed. “I wish! No, jet engines.”
“Were you one of those geeky boffins in the white coat with glasses and a clipboard and a pencil behind his ear?”
“How did you know?” They both laughed again.
“And then I bumped into Natalie again and we got married and the year after we had Charlie.”
“So that was you set up then.” Her words had a faint dissonance with their meaning. Perhaps there was envy for something she never had herself or perhaps mild contempt at the conventionality of other people’s lives? Did she mean she’d heard enough and was getting bored with the thread or was she trying to empathise and not succeeding? He didn’t know, but it added to the enigma.
“I suppose.”
“So how did you end up with your own business?”
“Haven’t you heard enough about me?” he said, giving her a get-out and laying the ground for her to respond with her own story.
“I’ve heard enough of the boys and toys thing, but I guess this is where it gets interestin’.” She glanced over his shoulder, narrowing her eyes at something or someone. He found it perturbing.
“Have you seen someone you know?”
“What?”
“You seem to be distracted by our fellow diners.”
“No. Sorry.” She made a poor show of covering it. “It’s nothin’. Go on.” She lifted her glass, sipping nervously, but he was afraid she was losing interest and the last thing he wanted to do was be a bore. He was losing the will but ploughed on regardless.
“Rolls Royce bought in some of their components from third party manufacturers and we had performance issues with one particular part; a hydraulic pump. So, I designed a new one and said we should make it in-house. Did all the drawings and costings and presented it to the board, and they said no.”
“Why?”
“I guess I didn’t make a good enough business case. But I was convinced I was right, and the pump had many other applications, so I resigned and set up my own company to make it.”
“That must have been a bit scary.”
“A major leap of faith. I had to re-mortgage the house, borrow to the hilt and work all hours to get it off the ground while supporting a wife and young child. It was touch and go for two years until finally we perfected the manufacture and landed our first supply contract.” He paused for effect.
“Don’t tell me.”
He nodded. “You got it. Rolls Royce.”
“That must have been the sweetest moment?”
“Yes, it was.” The waiter arrived with two bowls of steaming pasta and mussels. They tucked in, hunched over the bowls, stopping frequently to wipe their mouths with linen napkins.
“So, the business grew?”
“Pretty much. We had our ups and downs like everyone else, but I had a very talented team of designers and engineers and we developed a range of products for the aerospace industry. And twenty years to the day I started, I got an offer to sell the entire operation to our biggest customer.” He let the silence hang for a moment. She looked up at him, mouth full of linguini.
“No way!”
“Yep. Rolls Royce.” She laughed out loud, spitting fragments of food across the table in the process.
“Oh God. I’m sorry.” She dabbed his shirt sleeve with her napkin. “I’m so clumsy, so I am.”
“That’s the second time today you’ve assaulted me,” he said in mock anger and they laughed out loud together.
***
The temperature had dropped sharply and stars were clearly visible as they walked slowly back to the timber-clad house on the cliff. The wind had dropped to a whisper and the sea could be heard rolling gently onto the shore, its silver tipped waves illuminated by the full moon. She’d taken his arm without asking and it felt to him, perfectly natural. Jerry heard them coming along the path and barked nosily from behind the front door until she opened it and greeted him fondly with a coarse rub behind each ear.
“Would you like to come in for a night-cap?”
He’d had plenty of time to anticipate the question so he should have been well prepared but still didn’t trust himself to give her the answer he thought she might want. He didn’t know what he wanted himself, so confused was he by his own feelings; he just knew he wasn’t ready for the night to end and guessed she wouldn’t have asked if she hadn’t meant it.
“As long as I’m not keeping Jerry up.” He knew now why people kept animals, especially dogs. They provided a useful means of communicating indirectly with adults.
They sat at the kitchen breakfast bar where he’d had coffee twelve hours earlier and she brought two crystal glasses of Jameson’s on ice. “Thank you for dinner. It was very nice.” They chinked glasses and took a sip of the fiery amber liquid.
“It was my pleasure and thank you for coming. I’m sorry to have monopolised the conversation. You must have been bored rigid hearing all about me.”
“I did ask you.”
“And I still know nothing about you.”
“Tell me about your wife.” She’d side-stepped his question again, but it was not surprising she’d want to know more. Despite all the talk about his career he’d offered only a one-line answer about Natalie. He hadn’t wanted to elaborate then, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to now, but he could see how it might be of more interest to her than his business life and if their relationship were to develop, she would have to be convinced it was true. She’d know that a lie would catch him out at some point and if he wanted to see her again, he’d need to provide her with more evidence.
He’d never discussed it with anyone before. Whatever friends thought they knew, they kept to themselves, possibly out of politeness and not wishing to intrude but probably because they didn’t know what to say. More likely, they had their own theories, ill-informed judgments about cause and effect they would only articulate in private. Whatever the reason, it was human nature to maintain a discreet distance in case the tragedy was contagious and risked adversely affecting their own cosy lives simply by association. It was and always had been a private matter and he’d pledged to himself to keep it that way. He’d talked a lot about his work, but apart from knowing he was a widower with a daughter, Siobhán had no sense of the personal baggage he carried with him. He had nothing to lose by telling it as honestly as he could and perhaps even something to gain. He took a deep breath.
“Well, as I said, I met Natalie at university. She was doing drama and English literature. Definitely one of the arty types; gregarious, full of vitality, with a permanent, open smile and an infectious enthusiasm for everything. She was the proverbial life and soul of the party and I fell for her instantly. But like many in the arts world, she was a true bohemian, a bit flaky, changed her mind about anything and everything. We broke up when she slept with another student - she had trouble with the concept of commitment - but then she came back to me for a while and again we broke up, because she couldn’t decide who or what she wanted, other than to be an actress on the west end stage. She was obsessed with it.
“You mean focused and dedicated?” It stopped him in his tracks. The line was delivered without any inflection, but it sounded less like a way of showing interest or seeking to clarify his meaning and more like a challenge to his interpretation; as if Natalie needed defending.
“I don’t think Natalie was able to focus on anything, but she was definitely single-minded about that. Until such times as she was single-minded about something else.” It was true. He’d described her as ‘flaky’ and at the time her passionate desire to be an actress might easily have changed overnight into an equally passionate desire to teach or take up dentistry. “I saw her in several student productions, and she was really talented. It was always fascinating to see how easily she could transform into someone else.”
“Isn’t that what actors do?”
“I suppose it is. But then she dumped me again and we went our separate ways, and I didn’t see her for about a year after I graduated when we met at a friend’s dinner party. She was with a weird guy, some hippy dropout with tattoos and a ponytail and a stud through his nose and they drank themselves stupid before starting on the weed. He passed out on the sofa and I took her home because she wasn’t capable of taking herself and, one thing led to another and next thing she’s moved out of his flat and moved into mine.”
“Sounds like you rescued her.” He’d never thought of it like that before. The beautiful Irish woman sitting next to him, sipping whiskey with him and listening to his personal tragedy might have just shone a new light on his past. But he hesitated, feeling the need to analyse her comment, unsure whether he’d misunderstood.
She might have been expressing a view that Natalie had been lucky to see him again, preventing her descent into possible drug addiction and hippy culture, or she might be making some barbed comment about the way he was presenting a side of the story that was favourable to him. Natalie wasn’t here to defend herself, maybe Siobhán would be her self-appointed proxy? She was very difficult to read, and it might just have been the accent, but never quite knowing what she meant was what made her so intriguing. He took another sip of whiskey. It first burned and then soothed his throat, and he felt his body relax and his mind settle into a serene rhythm like the waves on the shore outside. The only light in the room came from under the kitchen cabinets and the glow illuminated one side of her face, enriching the red in her hair, further enhancing her appeal.
“Maybe. I didn’t see it like that. I just loved her. Loved her wackiness, her impatience to do and see everything and live life to the full. I found her intoxicating.”
“You were infatuated.” She sipped her whiskey without taking her eyes off him. Criticism or understanding? Whatever it was, she was right, and he knew she was right because what he’d experienced twenty-five years ago was happening to him all over again. She turned her head to stare across the room into space. “But it all went horribly wrong.” She said it wistfully, as if she were imagining a situation, she could know nothing about, unless of course there were parallels in her own life.
“Yes, but it took many years, and the decline was so slow I didn’t know it was happening. We got married, we had Charlie, I started the business, she worked part-time in an office and went for audition after audition, but never got a part other than in the local am-dram. Then eventually she landed the lead role in a regional tour of ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof’. I thought she was great, but the local paper panned it and her, especially her Southern Belle accent. She couldn’t take the criticism and pulled out and didn’t work again for a couple of years. She started to drink, lost her job and basically lost her way.”
“Did you not see that happenin’?” Interest, concern or accusation?
“Yes, of course. But all I could do was try to encourage her and tell her everything would be alright. Something would turn up. I was up to my eyes in work, up to my neck in debt and I didn’t have the time or energy to be a therapist as well. I was in denial about it all. I thought if I got the business into profit then I could take my foot off the pedal and devote more time to her and Charlie. Most of the time she was fine. Most of the time, she played the dutiful housewife.”
“Bully for her.”
The words stung, and he knew he’d expressed himself badly. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I mean, on the surface she appeared normal…”
“What’s normal?”
He was beginning to feel under pressure, her increasingly adversarial comments fuelled by whiskey. He of all people knew he’d failed Natalie and he knew why, but it was no comfort to believe Siobhán might think the same way even if it was evidently true. Nevertheless, he felt under attack. Stay calm Jack. And slow down on the whiskey. He tried to be careful and remain measured without appearing to excuse or justify his actions.
“I mean, when we were with friends or hosting a dinner party, she was her old self, voluble and enthusiastic and full of optimism. A joy to be around. Everyone loved her. Then, some nights I would come home and find her comatose on the sofa in front of the TV with an empty bottle on the floor and Charlie would be hiding in her room crying, with her headphones on full blast.”
“Other people’s lives,” she said absently.
“I’m not with you.”
“Sometimes we get so bogged down and obsessed with our own problems we can’t imagine others sufferin’ the same way. Those dinner party friends of yours, I bet some of them went home and cried themselves to sleep for some reason or other and you’d know nothin’ about it because, on the surface they appeared normal. This is what happens to people all over. This… is normal.”
“Is it?”
“I’m not sayin’ you and Natalie didn’t have difficulties. Just that they weren’t unique.”
“It’s no help.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
It sounded like a rebuke. For a second, he bristled, and though her expression betrayed no trace of provocation, equally, there was no sense of sympathy. He guessed she was not the sympathetic type and he genuinely didn’t mind. It was refreshing and it fitted with what little he knew of her. He should be angry, but he could do with some honesty for once. She broke the silence for them.
“So, the irony is Natalie was a successful actress after all.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“She used her actin’ skills to conceal the torment she was goin’ through in real life; the torment she’d always gone through. You only ever saw the actress and it took years before the mask eventually slipped. You wouldn’t have noticed, bein’ so busy.” Another jibe or just a statement of fact? Whatever it was, she was right again. She was drawing the truth out of him, the truth and guilt he’d always felt, even before Natalie had died.
“I noticed. I just used my career as an excuse for avoiding a problem I couldn’t deal with.” He’d never said it before and if he’d ever thought it, he’d buried it just as quickly. There would have been no point abandoning the business after all the sacrifices and all the effort it had taken in the vain hope that all Natalie needed was attention. It would have left them all with nothing.
“How did Charlie deal with it?” It was beginning to turn into an interrogation and whatever her intention, it would likely expose another of his failings. Despite that, he had no desire to stop.
“I honestly don’t know how she got through it. We’ve never discussed it. With hindsight, I think she just bottled it up. I was an absentee father most of the time and she and her mother were never that close, but she’s inherited more of her mother’s genes and I can see in her a lot of Natalie’s, er…”
“Flakiness?”
“Characteristics.”
“Just as well you’ve now got time to devote to her wellbein’.”
He looked away, frustrated at having to interpret everything she said, hurt by the thought she was criticising him and fearing he would lash out in retaliation. The words themselves were benign but their meaning, intentionally or otherwise, ambiguous. But she was only echoing his own thoughts. Your priorities were elsewhere when they should have been with your family. You knew that. You just deluded yourself into thinking the business was a solution to the problem, not the cause. If he was looking for sympathy, for someone to offer banal platitudes to assuage his guilt and tell him he was blameless, he wasn’t going to get it here. When he looked at her again, she was staring at him, as if waiting for a response to the accusation, demand, whatever it was. She’d endorsed his own truth and in doing so, made him feel small and unworthy, yet somehow grounded. The guilt burned deep down, and she saw it.
“There was nothin’ you could have done to make Natalie a successful actress. No amount of attention, devotion or self-sacrifice would have done that.” Mercifully, it came across as an assertion rather than a question. “No matter how talented she may have been, it takes huge amounts of luck and even if she’d got lucky and become famous, found what she thought would be the Holy Grail of everlastin’ peace and contentment do you really think that would have been the end of it? That everythin’ would have been alright? She would just have traded one set of problems for another. It sounds to me like Natalie didn’t know what she wanted. She just knew what she didn’t.”
He tried to replay her words in his mind, unnerved that she could be so definitive on so few facts. It was almost as if she had known Natalie or else someone very like her. The silence engulfed them, and she took another sip of whiskey, tilting the glass and examining the last mouthful.
“She killed herself, didn’t she?”
He felt a tingle in his jaw and a sudden urge to swallow. She’d surprised him again. He’d been wondering when and how he’d reveal the fact of Natalie’s suicide and he wasn’t prepared. He nodded slowly, feeling the tightness in his throat and the tears welling up and he fought desperately not to show it while knowing it was futile even to try. She let out a long breath. She had surprised even herself. “Jesus God Almighty.”
Jack Fleming wiped the corner of his eyes with one finger, then fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose in as manly a fashion as possible, then risked a glance up at her. She started at him impassively. Accusation? Contempt? Pity? Whatever. Do your worst. She shook her head.
“She was not so devastated by failure in her chosen career. Not so abandoned and unloved by a husband who seemed more devoted to his work than he was to her. Not ignored and unloved by a child who she probably loved herself but feared would end up the same way. Not eaten away or dragged down by a catalogue of disappointments and failures and obstacles and irritations, the stuff most of us just take in our stride and have a wee moan about and carry on and wait for the next thing to come along and feck us up. She was just one of those poor souls for whom life itself was one big feckin’ problem.”
She slid off her stool and turned away from him, stretching her back and running both hands through her hair. Jerry snuffled and looked up from his basket in anticipation.
“C’mon you. Away outside and have a wee.”
She opened the door and Jerry galloped down the lawn, sniffed around and cocked a leg against the hedge. Jack was waiting behind her in the corridor as the dog came trotting back. He’d spent much of the evening at the restaurant staring at her, unable to tear his eyes away. On and off he’d fantasised about kissing her, undressing her and being naked with her and wondering when and how he would try to persuade her, if indeed she needed persuading. But he was no longer in the mood. It was inappropriate in the circumstances; the moment had passed and all he wanted to do now was to crawl back to his cottage and be alone. She’d shocked him with her forthrightness and stunned him with her perspicacity and still, he had no idea who she was. He was determined to find out.
“Will you have lunch with me tomorrow?”
“I’m busy.” There it was, the dismissal, the end of the matter. No more to be said. He was just an emotional basket case and she wanted nothing more