Twenty-One
Claire is sitting outside at one of the wooden picnic tables that line the veranda. Her legs straddle the bench so she faces the sea.
‘Mind if I join you?’ I ask hesitantly, half expecting Claire to tell me to leave her alone.
Claire shrugs. ‘Free country.’
I sit down opposite her.
‘How are you?’ I ask when she doesn’t speak.
Claire turns slowly towards me. ‘How do you think I am after last night?’
‘I’m sorry, Claire. Perhaps I haven’t dealt with this in the best way. But when I found out . . . no, suspected
that something might be wrong, I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. You’re my friend. I want to help you.’ Claire doesn’t speak so I continue. ‘Look, if I’m completely wrong about Jonathan then tell me and I’ll back off. But if I’m right . . . ’
‘You’re right,’ Claire says in such a low voice I can barely hear her over the sound of the waves rolling in. It’s high tide so the sea isn’t any more than twenty metres away from us right now.
She glances at me, a look of total humiliation on her face.
‘Oh, Claire.’ I take hold of her hand across the table. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘It feels like it is. He makes me feel like it is.’
‘That’s what they do, men like this. They twist everything so it seems like it’s all you, but it’s not you, it’s them. It’s Jonathan who’s at fault here. Does he . . . ’ I hesitate again. I can hardly bear to think it, let alone say it out loud. ‘Is he physical with you?’ I force myself to voice it.
‘Do you mean, does he hit me? No, he doesn’t. It’s all up here.’ She taps the side of her forehead. ‘He gets inside my head. He twists everything and confuses me until I think it’s me that’s doing everything wrong.’ She pauses for a moment as if she’s trying to justify something to herself. ‘I guess I should be grateful, really, that he doesn’t hit me, so it’s not real abuse.’
‘Whoa!’ I say. ‘Stop right there. Just because it’s not physical, it doesn’t make it any less wrong.’
‘Yes, but maybe he’s just looking out for me, you know? He only wants what’s best for me and the children. Maybe this is his way of showing that he loves us, that he cares. He just goes about it in a slightly different way than someone else might.’
‘By trying to control you?’ I ask aghast, but knowing I have to tread carefully or else I’ll put Claire’s back up again. ‘I’m sure that Jonathan does love you and the children. But he doesn’t have the right to control you, to stop you living your life. Why would someone who loves you want to stop you from seeing your friends? Or stop you from going to a funeral, for goodness’ sake? Jonathan is a bully, Claire, and you need to get yourself far away from him as soon as you possibly can.’
Claire looks at me in astonishment. ‘I can’t do that,’ she says. ‘What about the children? What about our house? It’s their home. I can’t just uproot them from everything they know.’
‘Claire, you have to, for your own sake.’
‘I have to put the children first.’
‘No, you have to put you first. You have to think about your safety and
the children’s. What if he does become physical with you, or with Alice, George or Freddie?’
‘He wouldn’t.’ Claire shakes her head.
‘He tried to with me last night.’
‘No, that was just an accident. He didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘Claire! Listen to yourself. Stop making excuses for his behaviour. Wake up to what’s going on here!’
‘I am awake!’ Claire says angrily. ‘I wish I bloody wasn’t. I wish this was all just a bad dream that I could wake up from. But it’s not, is it? This is my life. My
life, Frankie, not yours. You don’t have a husband or children, so how could you possibly know what I’m going through? You live this wonderful, young, free and single life up in Scotland. You don’t have any cares, nothing to worry about. You don’t understand and you never will.’
I stare at Claire, and then very slowly I begin to nod.
‘No, you’re right. I don’t have a husband and I don’t have any children – not yet anyway.’ I put my hand on my stomach in the same way Claire did back in 1994, when we were sitting outside a café, but in the sunshine this time. ‘My life is certainly not carefree though. In fact, I’ve got many worries right now that are bothering me greatly.’ And I begin to gently stroke my belly.
Now it’s Claire’s turn to stare at me.
‘Frankie?’ she asks quietly. ‘Are you pregnant?’
I nod.
‘Oh my, that’s wonderful,’ she says, happily this time. ‘Why didn’t you say before?’
‘It’s not been the right time. Also, it’s early days. I haven’t known myself all that long. I haven’t told anyone else yet.’
‘Not even your parents?’
I shake my head. ‘Nope.’
‘I’m the first?’ Claire looks quite emotional.
‘Yes.’
She gets up from her bench and comes around to my side of the table. Then, without speaking, she simply gives me a huge hug.
‘I’m so sorry for what I said just now,’ she says when she’s let go of me. She sits back down again, this time on my side of the bench. ‘It was rude and uncalled for.’
‘Forget about it,’ I tell her. ‘You’ve got a lot going on.’
‘Not as much as you,’ she says, looking down at my stomach, as though at any moment it might suddenly start growing a baby bump. ‘You are keeping this baby, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’m keeping it.’
‘And what about the father?’
‘Nah, I don’t need him.’
‘But you will tell him?’
‘At some point, I suppose.’
‘You’re going to bring the baby up on your own?’ Claire looks quite shocked by the thought.
‘It has been done before, you know.’
‘Of course, but it’s harder than you think. I know, I’ve had three of my own, and although he’s a shit,’ Claire grimaces at her use of a swear word, ‘Jonathan did help me a lot with the children when they were tiny.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You could move back in with your parents?’
‘I don’t think so! And, anyway, they’re selling up soon and moving on – probably to a little retirement bungalow if they get their way. The last thing they’ll want is a new baby taking up all their space.’
‘But still . . . ’ Claire begins.
‘Claire, I’ll be fine. I have my job. I’ve just been promoted, haven’t I? I won’t be short of money.’
‘But who will look after the baby when you’re at work?’
‘There’s such a thing called day care.’
Claire looks shocked.
‘You’re so old-fashioned, Claire.’ I smile at her. ‘It’s the modern way.’
‘I know, but you might feel differently when the baby is born. You might be surprised at how you feel about leaving it with strangers.’
‘Then I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Now, this is still a secret,’ I tell her seriously. ‘I don’t want the others knowing just yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because everyone will try to offer advice, and I especially don’t want Rob to know.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because . . . he might look down on me from his Hollywood perch.’ I hurriedly say the first thing that comes to mind.
‘Rob wouldn’t do that.’
‘Maybe not, but this is my baby, and I’ll tell everyone when the time is right for me, OK?’
Claire nods. ‘I’ll keep quiet.’ She pretends to zip her mouth shut. ‘Oh, Frankie,’ she suddenly bursts out. ‘This is so exciting
. You
, my best friend, having a baby.’ She clutches her hands together. ‘I’m so happy for you.’
‘Congratulations!’ An unfamiliar voice calls from down below us, and a willowy figure wearing a long black dress begins to climb the steps from the beach at the side of the veranda. ‘I’m sorry,’ the woman says as she comes level with us and walks towards our table. ‘I was sitting down on the beach before you arrived, just taking in some sea air. It’s been a hell of a day with the funeral and everything,’ she explains, tossing back her long, curly grey hair over her shoulder. ‘And I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation as I sat there on the rocks.’
Claire and I both stare at the woman, both of us wondering just how much she heard. She’s tall and thin, and the plain black dress she’s wearing is more than appropriate for a funeral, but on her feet she wears black flip-flops encrusted with crystals, and around her neck a necklace made up of more crystals interspersed with small seashells.
‘Don’t worry,’ she says, looking at both of us in turn. ‘I’ll keep your secrets.’ She puts her fingers to her lips. ‘But can I just offer you both a tiny bit of advice?’
I half nod, more out of surprise than encouragement. If we thought someone was listening in on our conversation, I’m sure we wouldn’t have been quite so honest about everything.
‘Get help,’ she says. ‘Both of you. Get as much help as you can with your baby,’ she says to me. ‘You really will need it. And you, my darling,’ she says to Claire. ‘You must seek help with your problems too. Here,’ she opens up a small clutch bag and tries to pass Claire a business card. ‘This is a support group that meets every Monday night in Penzance. I know you won’t want to go, but you must. They really will be able to help you. They helped me no end when I had my own relationship problems.’
Claire doesn’t take the card, so the woman lays it down on the table in front of her and very oddly places a small shell on top of the card.
‘Think about it,’ she says, tapping the card. ‘I only want to help you. Now.’ She looks back through the café window. ‘Have either of you seen Eddie?’
‘Er, no . . . ’ I say, still in a state of shock from this odd, very one-sided conversation we seem to be having with this stranger. ‘He’s here somewhere, though.’
‘Then I’ll simply have to go and look for him,’ she says, smiling serenely. ‘I have some news . . . ’
Claire and I sit open-mouthed as we watch the woman sashay away across the wooden boards of the veranda back into the café.
‘Did that actually just happen?’ I ask Claire, turning back towards her. ‘Who was she? Was she even at the funeral earlier?’
‘I vaguely remember seeing someone who looked a bit like her.’ Claire looks puzzled. ‘I think she was on the opposite side of the church to us. But she was wearing her hair pinned up then, and a little pillbox hat with a veil – a little over the top, I thought at the time.’ She looks down at the card but doesn’t pick it up.
‘What does it say?’ I lift it from the table myself. ‘ “Shell Seekers. A Penzance Support Group for Women,” ’ I read. ‘And there’s a telephone number. It also says all calls are treated with the strictest confidence and there’s no pressure within the group to share anything. They welcome observers who just want to sit, listen and take comfort from others who might be in the same situation. It might be worth you investigating it?’ I say hopefully, holding out the card to Claire.
Claire stares hard at the card for a moment, and then to my surprise she takes it from me.
‘I’ll think about it.’ She tosses it into her bag. ‘That’s all I’m saying. In fact,’ she says, smiling as a thought occurs to her. ‘I promise to think about all my problems, as long as you think about all yours. Namely how you’re going to cope with a baby all on your own.’ And in the same way as I passed her the card, she hands me the shell the woman left behind.
I take the shell and hold out my hand. ‘Deal,’ I say, and we shake hands, just before we pull each other inwards for a very welcome hug.