Twenty-Nine
I stare at Rob.
‘What?’ he asks. ‘I mean it, you know. I’m not joking.’
‘No, I know you’re not. But I simply can’t accept.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because I want to be – no, I need
to be – independent, that’s why. I’ve brought my daughter up myself for nearly ten years now. I can’t say I haven’t struggled at times, but I’ve done it alone and I’m proud of that.’
‘What about Rosie’s father? Isn’t he involved?’
‘Yes, he contributes what he can.’
‘And your parents, haven’t they helped you out at all?’
‘Of course they have. But they’re getting older now, and they’ve retired to Norfolk. I’m sure even you remember it’s a long way from Glasgow to Norfolk.’
‘Yes . . . but what I mean is you’ve allowed them to help you; why not me?’
‘Because it’s different.’
‘Why is it? We all care about you and Rosie. You know it wasn’t all that long ago I wondered if she might be mine . . . ’
I stare at Rob. Just him saying he still cared is enough to make my stupid stomach jump. And now, as I always knew he would, he’s talking about Rosie.
I’m also very aware that people are likely still watching us – correction – watching Rob.
‘Not here, all right?’ I say, glancing casually around. I see a lot of heads immediately turn the other way.
Rob notices too. ‘Outside, then?’
I nod.
I check where Rosie is, and I see she’s now playing with some of the other children sliding across the dance floor.
Suzy passes by on her way back from the ladies.
‘Suz, can you just watch Rosie for me?’ I ask.
‘Sure,’ she says, looking across at Rob. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Just outside for a bit.’
Suzy raises her eyebrows.
‘No, it’s not like that,’ I insist.
‘Darling, it’s always like that when it comes to you and Rob. Sure, I’ll keep an eye on Rosie. You do what you have to.’
Rob and I hurry outside together before someone decides to brave asking Rob for a selfie or an autograph.
The night air has cooled significantly since I was last out here, so I pull Claire’s pashmina a little tighter around my shoulders while we walk down onto the beach together.
‘I’m going to be honest with you, Rob,’ I tell him, not wasting any time. ‘I wondered for a while if Rosie might be yours too.’
Rob looks hopeful for a moment.
‘But she’s not,’ I say firmly.
‘How do you know? The dates match. You can’t have forgotten Edinburgh.’
‘Of course, I haven’t forgotten. And to be honest, when she was born, I still wasn’t one hundred per cent sure. But the dates matched just that little bit better with Dougie – that’s my ex – rather than you. It wasn’t until we both had to have some blood tests when they thought Rosie might have a genetic disease that I knew for sure he was her father.’
‘Rosie’s all right, though?’ Rob asks, looking worried.
‘Yes, she’s absolutely fine now. We were lucky she didn’t have anything wrong in the end.’
‘Good.’ Rob glances back up at the café. ‘I wish she had been mine.’
‘Do you?’
He nods. ‘Yeah, maybe then I’d have done something right in my life.’
The wind whips in off the sea and I shiver.
‘Are you cold – do you want my jacket?’ Rob asks, making me smile.
‘Do you remember the last time you asked me that when we were looking out over this beach?’
‘Of course I do. I’ve told you before I’ve never forgotten anything to do with you, Frankie,’ he says as he places his jacket over my shoulders. ‘I really would like to help you and Rosie, even if she isn’t my child.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re my friend. My oldest friend.’
‘If you really are my friend then you should understand why I can’t let you do this. Who offers to buy someone else a house, for goodness’ sake? You really must have more money than sense.’ I smile at him, trying to make light of this. I don’t want to fall out with Rob. Not tonight.
‘You’re not far wrong there,’ Rob says, kicking a pebble across the sand.
‘What do you mean?’
Rob shrugs. ‘Look at me, Frankie. I’m an ageing actor who made it big by playing a superhero. But superheroes don’t really age, do they? And I am right now – badly.’
‘You look OK to me.’
‘I look OK because I’ve had work done,’ Rob says, pulling at his face. ‘A necessary evil, I’m afraid, to keep getting the lead roles.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘No, I don’t have to. But people remember me like I looked in my early movies. Young, handsome, chiselled, even. Most of them, apart from my most ardent fans, aren’t keen on seeing me the way I really am now. I’m tired, Frankie. I just don’t have energy like I used to, the energy to get into the sort of shape big movie roles require, and to be honest I’m also tired of the sort of life I live in Hollywood.’
I’ve never seen Rob like this before – weary of life. He’s always had so much get up and go.
‘Don’t go for the big roles then. Try something different instead. You just told me you have plenty of money, so you don’t necessarily need big-budget movies. You could try something like TV . . . or theatre, perhaps?’
Rob smiles at me. ‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘It is. Everything is easier when you’ve got options. It’s when you haven’t, the decisions are that much harder.’
‘Then let me help you,’ Rob says again, but this time he turns to me and takes my hand in his. ‘I want to do something good with my money.’
‘I’m sorry, Rob. But I can’t.’ I gently extract my hands from his. ‘Why don’t you give some to a charity if you want to do something good with it?’
‘I already do that.’
‘Then start your own charity. I’m sure your PA up there will be more than expert at helping you do that.’
Rob grimaces. ‘Nixie is expert in many things. But I feel setting up a charity might be a little out of her remit.’
I smile.
‘Are you happy?’ I suddenly ask.
‘With Nixie?’
I shake my head. ‘No, with life. Your
life?’
Rob shrugs. ‘I guess. I mean, I can’t complain, can I?’
‘No, you shouldn’t complain – not about how famous you are, or how much you get paid to pretend to be someone else. I mean, are you happy outside of that? When you go back to whatever fancy penthouse you’re living in this week and close the door. Are you happy then?’
Rob doesn’t even hesitate. ‘No, not when I’m on my own I’m not.’
‘Then do something about it. Life is too short not to be happy. Especially if you’re lucky enough to have the option to make changes.’
Rob gazes at me, and then to my horror suddenly leans in towards me.
‘What are you doing?’ I say, pushing him away.
Rob shakes his head. ‘Sorry,’ he says, looking confused. ‘I don’t know what came over me. Looking at you then felt like looking at you twenty-five years ago. I just wanted to kiss you like I did back then and hold you in my arms.’
I stare at Rob, my stomach suddenly remarkably calm as the penny finally drops.
‘Rob, I love you,’ I tell him earnestly. ‘You know I do. But I realise now, for the first time, that I love you like all my other mermaids – as a friend. Our time was long ago.’
Rob nods sadly. ‘You’re right. But I’ll always feel like there’s still that tiny spark between us . . . do you feel it too, or is it just my imagination?’
‘I feel it,’ I reply honestly. ‘Sometimes I’m annoyed I feel it, but, yes, it’s still there.’
‘There’s something about your first love that never truly fades away. And that’s what you were, Frankie, my first and only
true love.’
As I’m about to try to voice something equally as heartfelt, Rob sways a bit in front of me.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask.
‘Yeah,’ Rob says, blinking hard but still swaying. ‘I think so.’
‘Do you want to sit down?’ I look around and spy a cluster of rocks, the same ones we often used to sit on when we came down here as teenagers.
I guide Rob over to the rocks and we perch on one of the smooth edges.
‘Have you had a lot to drink?’ I ask, realising that might explain his slightly odd behaviour.
Rob shakes his head. ‘No, I’m completely sober. I don’t drink any more. Gave it up a few months ago. I was getting too many headaches with the booze.’
‘Right . . . Have you felt like this before, then?’
Rob shrugs. ‘Occasionally. I just assumed I was doing a bit too much. Burning the candle at both ends, you know?’
‘Yeah, I know the feeling. I didn’t sleep that well either when I was in the worst of my depression. Lack of sleep can mess with your mind.’
‘Are you all right now? I mean, I know depression doesn’t ever truly go away, but you’re on top of it at the moment?’
‘Yes, I’m in a good place right now. My painting helps me a lot. It’s like my therapy.’
‘You’re really good. You should do more of it.’
‘I probably would if I had the chance.’
‘Move here and become a painter,’ Rob says. ‘That would answer all your problems in one go.’
‘Ha ha, yes. I’m sure I could make enough money to live on doing that!’
‘You never know?’
‘Sadly, I can’t take that chance. I have a daughter to support, I need steady and regular income. I’ll figure it out,’ I add, before Rob starts suggesting he support me or something equally as mad. ‘If you
figure out what you want to do next with your career. Something that doesn’t involve filling your face with Botox!’
‘Deal.’ Rob holds out his hand.
‘Deal,’ I reply, shaking it. ‘Now, we’d better be getting back to the party, or people will wonder where we are.’
‘Anyone in particular?’ Robs asks, looking back at the café.
‘No?’ I’m a little puzzled by his question. ‘I just meant Claire and the other mermaids. It’s really good to see everyone again, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ Rob turns back to me. ‘The best.’
The rest of the party is a lot of fun.
We all dance, drink and enjoy the huge buffet of food that Eddie and Dexter have laid on for their guests.
‘I think I’m going to head back to Claire’s soon,’ I say, leaning across towards Mack, who has spent a lot of the evening sitting close to Rosie and me.
The more people drank tonight, the more the dance floor filled, and the more people that danced, the louder the music got, until you couldn’t really hear anyone else other than the person sitting close to you. So I almost have to shout into Mack’s ear to get him to hear me.
‘Rosie is getting tired,’ I say, looking down at Rosie who is snuggled next to me leaning against my side. About twenty minutes ago she was dancing to a medley of One Direction songs with Eddie and Mandy.
‘Would you like me to walk you back?’ Mack asks. ‘I could do with the fresh air to be honest.’
‘Sure, if you don’t mind. That would be great. Thanks.’
Before we go, I excuse myself to visit the ladies. Carefully, I lean Rosie against Mack, so she’s propped up by him instead of me. ‘Back in a minute,’ I tell Mack, looking at Rosie snuggling into Mack’s side as if she’s done it many times before.
As I’m washing my hands in one of the sinks in the ladies’ toilet, one of the cubicles opens behind me and another woman comes up to the sink next to me. ‘Hi,’ she says, smiling at me as she turns on the tap and runs her hands under the water.
‘Hi.’ I turn off the tap at my sink and head across to dry my hands.
‘Are you Frankie?’ she says over the noise of the electric hand-dryer.
‘Yes, I am,’ I reply, wondering why she’s asking.
‘The painting you did for Eddie is amazing.’
‘Thank you.’ The dryer has stopped, so I return to the mirror to tidy up my hair and redo my lipstick.
‘I mean it,’ the woman continues. ‘You have a very distinct, and I’d go so far as to say unusual, style.’
‘Thank you,’ I say again, feeling embarrassed by her praise. ‘It’s kind of you to say.’
‘Do you paint a lot?’
‘When I can. I’ve been doing it on and off since I was a teenager.’
‘Do you know much about art in general?’ she asks suddenly.
‘A bit,’ I reply, a little thrown by her question. ‘I used to work in a large art gallery in Glasgow, as a curator.’
‘Nice.’ The woman looks impressed, and I notice for the first time her attire. She’s wearing a floaty dress in many shades of turquoise, green and blue. She wears several long, beaded necklaces in matching colours to her dress, including one with seashells interspersed with the beads, and in her long red hair she wears a comb with a small starfish attached, pulling her hair up on one side. ‘Are you looking for a job by any chance?’
‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘A job? I should introduce myself. My name is Cordelia Delmare and I’m the manager of the Lyle art gallery here in St Felix. And I think you might be just what I’m looking for. An artist such as yourself can only be an asset to a gallery such as ours.’
I stare in the mirror at Cordelia, completely confused. The Lyle Gallery is huge, by far the biggest gallery in St Felix. What would they want with me?
‘Are you offering to display some of my work?’
Cordelia smiles. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I should have been clearer. Your work, although amazing, isn’t quite right for our gallery. We specialise in more . . . avant garde works of art – modern art, some would call it, although some of our work does come from as early as the 1950s. We have a lot of Ben Nicholson’s work and some Barbara Hepworth sculptures too.’
I nod. I’ve heard of these artists, of course. Even if some of their work is a little too modernist for me.
‘So, sadly, I’m not offering to display your work, Frankie. But I do have a vacancy at the gallery I’m desperately trying to fill with the right person. And I think that person might be you.’