Chapter Forty-Two
Miranda To: Bonnie Mobile From: Miranda’s Phone Hope you are okay. Todd told me the news about Emma-Lou today, and Iam still in shock, but more than that, Iam SO sorry for ever doubting you. I’m even more sorry for attacking you like that. Iwas totally out of order and I’m utterly ashamed of myself. You might not ever be able to forgive me but Ihope you will accept my sincere apology. Miranda x
Following Todd’s bombshell the day before, it had taken Miranda ages to find the words to write to Bonnie that night. Countless times she ended up groaning and deleting a half-written message or throwing the phone down in despair. She’d wondered about biting the bullet and just ringing her, but changed her mind each time, terrified of having to leave a grovelling voicemail and it coming out wrong. Even when she eventually pressed Send on her text, she still didn’t know if it would reach its destination. Chances were, Bonnie had blocked her number weeks ago. Still, even if that was the case, it wouldn’t stop her, she vowed. Now that she knows the truth, she urgently wants to make amends.
She has also tried, once again, to put things right with her sister, writing her a long, honest email, from the heart. You are the last person Iwanted to be hurt in this whole mess, she wrote. You deserve none of this. But please believe me, Inever once encouraged Felix’s behaviour or responded to it. Iwould never, never do that to you. Iwas talking to a friend about it in confidence because Ididn’t know how to deal with the situation, and, unknown to me, my dressing room was bugged, and the conversation ended up being twisted and leaked to the press. The reason Ilost the plot was because Iwas so devastated to think that a friend could have gone behind my back like that and, worse, caused this rift between us . Iknow you might not believe me– you might not even have read this far– but Iswear to you this is the truth. Ilove you and just want to be your sister again. M x
Having taken a screenshot of Todd’s Instagram post, she attached it to the email and sent it on, her heart in her mouth. Back when they were teenagers, she and Imogen would often try to send each other telepathic thoughts, repeating words over and over in their heads in the hope of trying to transmit them silently to one another. She finds herself doing the same thing now, years on. Please read this , she mentally begs her sister at intervals. Please please believe me.
As yet, though, she’s had no response from either Imogen or Bonnie. Big fat zero. Even Gramps has gone quiet on her. You can go mad waiting around on your own for news, though– every actor in the business knows that to be a fact. Which is why she’s ended up here today at stunning, unspoilt Kaminia Bay, having impulsively booked herself a paddleboarding lesson, if only to escape her own head for a few hours.
As far as impulse decisions go, coming to this beach, with its soft yellow sand and clear azure sea, is looking like a pretty good one, she decides as she locks the car and heads down to find her class. She’s given the wigs a miss today– hopefully everyone will be too busy falling off their paddleboards to think about trying to take photos of her– and the sea breeze ruffles her hair as she steps onto the sand.
There’s about twelve of them booked in for the lesson, a jolly group of young German women she recognises from the hotel (who seem completely uninterested in her, thankfully) as well as a friendly Danish couple and a Norwegian family with teenage sons. The surf instructor, Yiannis, issues them all with buoyancy vests, and shows them how to fasten a board leash to their ankles. Then, laying his own board down on the sand, he demonstrates how they are to find their balance on the water, first kneeling, then rising to a standing position.
‘Okay? Give it a try!’ he cries, leaping off again, and Miranda blinks somewhat uncertainly. Is that it? But everyone else is gamely picking up their boards and heading towards the sea, so she follows them. Here goes nothing, she tells herself, wading in, the board floating beside her.
There are quite a lot of ungainly attempts to scramble onto their boards, the group of women in particular screaming and giggling as they struggle initially even to kneel on the surface without overbalancing. Miranda isn’t a natural athlete herself and it takes her a little while to get the hang of it, but the first time she manages to get up on her feet, swaying momentarily, before standing firm and then tentatively beginning to paddle, she hears herself giving a genuine, heartfelt whoop from the sheer gratification of achievement.
‘ Ja! Suksess! ’ cries the Norwegian woman, who has also just risen to her feet nearby.
‘Go us!’ calls Miranda to her, and they beam at each other. Then, mutually carried away with their own glory, they try to paddle closer, both with a hand outstretched in an attempt to high-five, only for their boards to collide with a thunk , which sends them tumbling back into the water. Up they pop again, laughing breathlessly at their own ineptitude.
‘No more high-fives, Ithink,’ the Norwegian woman gurgles, bright-eyed.
‘Far too dangerous,’ Miranda agrees with a grin, grabbing her board and propping her elbows on it. And then Yiannis the instructor comes skimming towards them, saying, ‘Ladies, are we alive? This is not a swimming lesson, okay? We are trying to stay out of the water, today!’
‘We’re alive,’ the Norwegian woman assures him, winking at Miranda, before they both do their best to clamber back onto their boards, neither of them with a scrap of grace. Miranda gets the worst wedgie of her life hauling herself onto hers with all the elegance of a beached whale, while the Norwegian woman’s bikini bottoms go the other way entirely when she manages to catch the top of them on the lower rim of her board. The inadvertent baring of her bottom makes her shriek and plunge back into the water, while her teenage boys look as if they urgently want to drown themselves from sheer embarrassment.
Miranda and the Norwegian woman– Camilla– end up laughing so hard, it’s impossible to attempt standing up again for a few minutes. Miranda actually finds herself clutching her stomach because it’s aching from so much laughter. ‘Poor Yiannis,’ Camilla wheezes. ‘He swam away very quickly, did you see? Ithink Ifrightened him.’
‘Are you kidding? Ithink you made his day,’ Miranda tells her. ‘I’m not sure your boys were so happy though.’
‘Ijust heard them calling the Norwegian Adoption Agency,’ the woman replies, which cracks them both up again. ‘Please help me. Ineed a different mother immediately!’
Eventually, everyone in the group masters the art of paddleboarding and there are no longer so many dramatic plunges. As her confidence grows, Miranda paddles herself out across the bay, feeling a thrill to be standing proudly on her board, surrounded by the glittering blue water. The sun is warm against her body, her core muscles feel as if they’re getting a good workout, and the burst of laughter she shared with Camilla has left her with a lingering sense of joy. Gazing back at the crescent of sand, she feels herself filling up with stillness, as if a pure, shining serenity is being poured straight into her. Everything back home– work, family, unanswered messages– seems far away, irrelevant. Iam happy, she thinks to herself in surprise. Iam so happy!
Something Evelyn said to her on that wine-fuelled evening comes back to her. ‘Being alive is all about recognising those perfect moments when they come along,’ she had opined, glass in hand. ‘Those snapshots of pure contentment, whether you’re with other people or quite alone. That’s why we bother, don’t you think?’
Yes, she agrees now, cruising across the blue. Absolutely yes. And she’s recognising this perfect moment right here, right now, taking a mental snapshot so that she can keep it with her. It’s funny, because she’s been trying for weeks to enjoy life as a single person, after her disastrous dating record, but it’s only today that she feels that she might just have cracked it. As if she’s enough of a person to make herself happy, rather than looking for happiness from another. ‘Maybe try to find someone who has at least one good personality trait going for them, instead of making decisions purely on their hotness?’ Bonnie had once suggested, back when they were still friends. She’d been joking, admittedly, but all the same, with hindsight, Miranda can see now that her priorities– a six-pack or a sexy arse, rather than brain cells– have not exactly been on point.
‘Personality and hotness, that’s the dream, isn’t it?’ Evelyn had said, when Miranda raised this. This was towards the end of the evening, when they were both pretty drunk and it no longer seemed weird to be discussing her love life with an octogenarian. ‘But don’t forget what Isaid about my Godsend— Imean, my godson. He’s a catch, Miranda, I’m telling you!’
Miranda had laughed, even though from what Evelyn had told her about the godson– Oliver, he’s called– he sounds a massive nerd, and not her type at all. ‘I’m sure he’s wonderful,’ she’d said diplomatically. ‘What a shame I’ve retired from dating for the foreseeable future.’
‘Well, I’ll send him your way just as soon as you’re ready, then,’ Evelyn said, undeterred. ‘Because we’re friends now, aren’t we? We’re going to see each other again when we’re back in London, Ihope? I’ll get front row tickets when you land the starring role in some marvellous new play in the West End, and we can catch up in your dressing room afterwards, with me telling you how wonderful you were.’
Miranda had felt absurdly cheered by this image. ‘Oh, Iwould love that,’ she’d said. ‘And maybe you could educate me about classical music. We could go to a concert at the Barbican or something together, you can show off about how brilliant you were in your heyday.’
‘It’s a date,’ Evelyn had said, clinking her glass against Miranda’s, although of course that’s never going to happen now.
Perfect moments– just like glorious evenings– must come to an end, sadly. All too soon, the lesson is up, and Miranda and the rest of the group reluctantly paddle back to shore. Nobody gets to exist in a permanent state of tranquillity, she reminds herself with a small sigh; presumably even Buddhist monks have to deal with life’s small annoyances such as sand in one’s crevices, bad traffic and mosquito bites. All the same, as she says goodbye to the Norwegian family and heads back to her car, she feels certain that she’s going to remember the elation of being out there on the water, suspended in the scene, for a long time.
She’s a few miles from the hotel when she hears her phone ringing from the glovebox, where she stashed it earlier. It might be a spam call or something dull like her accountant’s office with a query, she reasons. But a sixth sense suddenly tells her to pull over and check, just in case. Having parked in a layby, she fumbles to retrieve her phone, almost dropping it when she sees Imogen’s name on the screen. Her paddleboarding chill vanishes instantly. Oh my God, she thinks, her finger skidding in her haste to answer, her heart banging in her chest.
‘Hello?’ she says.