15
All the next day, Polly was on tenterhooks waiting for Spike to ring or at the very least turn up at her shop. She kept herself as busy as she could, tidying up the stock and making alterations to a mother-of-the-bride’s jacket, which had been bought off eBay and was too large. Each and every time the door pinged open, she more than half expected Spike to be standing there – dark and scowling – as he’d been last night. She couldn’t tell if she was excited or scared about seeing him again – all she knew was that there was a growing knot in her stomach, making her too jittery to concentrate on much else.
Around lunchtime the phone rang, making her jump. It was Mel. ‘Christ Almighty,’ she said, after asking Polly if Spike had phoned yet. ‘I nearly had a heart attack when he turned up last night.’
‘You and me both. It’s not every day your ex arrives from foreign lands only to be told by your best friend that he has a child. A child he didn’t know about.’
Polly had two customers in the shop; a couple of women browsing the toddler section, doing so very slowly.
‘Yeah, well,’ Mel was saying, ‘I’m sorry I dropped you in it. Totally unintentional, babes. It just kind of slipped out.’
‘You and your big mouth. So go on then, what did he say after I left?’
‘I won’t lie, Poll. He was pretty cross about your taking Rowan to a bar…’
She could scarcely believe her ears. ‘But it was you who insisted I take her to a bar – if you remember. In any case, it’s not a bar, it’s a café…’
‘Luckily I explained how you were forced to bring her along,’ said Mel.
‘And did you also tell him that it was your idea?’
‘Was it? Never mind about all that. He had loads of questions, but I said he should wait until he’s had the chance to talk to you… And you know what? I’ve been thinking about it, and it’s probably good that he’s come back.’
Polly made a spluttering sound.
‘Don’t you see? This will give you a golden opportunity to lay his ghost to rest once and for all. And then you can move on, perhaps even stop being scared of commitment – even have a proper go at a relationship with Max.’
‘Oh, I don’t—’
‘Why not? He’s here, he’s available, and even I wouldn’t kick him out of bed. And he has a big dick!’ She roared with laughter down the phone. ‘Not that I’m interested in that sort of thing anymore.’
Polly turned her back on the two ladies, who were doing a rubbish job of pretending not to listen. ‘I can’t really talk now,’ she half whispered down the phone, then turned to her customers to say, ‘Are you both all right there? Only I won’t be much longer… Buyer…’ she said, making a face and indicating to the phone.
The women shook their heads. ‘We’re fine, dear. Take all the time you need.’
‘Anyway,’ Mel was saying, as Polly returned to her call, ‘you haven’t said if anything actually happened – you know – with you and Max.’
‘No, I didn’t have sex with Max last night, if that’s what you’re asking,’ she hissed down the phone. ‘And I am not scared of commitment. Look, I’ll speak to you later when I don’t have customers!’ She gave the women a feeble smile and was saved by the Ding! of the shop doorbell announcing the return of Donna from lunch.
‘You ’eard from lover boy, then?’ she said, and Polly genuinely wasn’t sure which one she meant – Max or…
‘Spike. Duh,’ said Donna, smiling at the two ladies. ‘He called or anyfin’? No? Why don’t you shoot off home, then? It’s quiet and if ’ee phones here I’ll let ’im know where you are. Yeah? Go on. You know it makes sense.’ Tutting and shaking her head, she shooed Polly out of the shop.
*
Polly and Rowan were making the most of the warm afternoon in their backyard. She’d left the back door open so she could hear her landline ring, and her mobile – which she kept on checking – was nestled in her pocket. But there was still no word from Spike. As Rowan happily pushed her dolly in a Tonka toy truck, Polly half-heartedly snipped at a rambling rose scrambling up her back wall. Stopping to lean on the top, she gazed out over the water below. She loved her view, perched above the harbourside, where ferry boats chugged their zig-zag routes up and down the river as waterfowl pootled about, and where on high days and holidays tall-masted sailing ships might join the replica of John Cabot’s Matthew , to stately sail under the span of Clifton’s suspension bridge. You could never get bored, she thought, there’s never a dull moment.
When she got the chance – which, let’s face it, wasn’t often these days, what with a child plus work – she liked to sit on her verandah and watch the changes in the river, reflecting the weather. Some days it was brown, some almost green, while other times it was grey, or shiny pewter if the sun bounced off it at a certain angle.
She could never imagine living inland; she would have to be near the sea. There was something about living on the edge of land which held the tension and promise of that possibility of launching oneself off to new adventures, or new worlds to be explored. Polly squinted at the sun, which now hung low in the sky, lifting her arm to shield her eyes.
D’you know what? It’s nice enough for an ice lolly, that’s what it is.
Ducking underneath her wooden verandah to get to the freezer kept in her basement, she lifted its lid to pull out two Fab ice lollies. Rowan – with the unerring instinct of a dog sensing food – had followed her in.
‘Mmm. Lolly.’
‘Here you are then, trouble. Just be careful you don’t drop it.’
Gripping it tightly, Rowan dashed back outside to retrieve her dolly from the truck she’d crashed into their cherry tree.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, acting as if she were a paramedic from Ice Lolly Land, she shoved the Fab into her doll’s face ‘Here y’are,’ she said. ‘Soon hab you bettah.’
Polly, returning to the leaning of forearms on her back wall, mused again on her view. Glorious. It was that kind of late spring afternoon when a warm day cooled with a chill served to remind you that it could, if it so chose to, still throw up a frost. But today, no – it was glorious. Hmm.
Feeling inspired, she rooted inside her bag for her notebook and pen then returned to observing the water, taking note of how the afternoon sun, as it peeped in and out of cloud, refracted and reflected its light on and off the water’s surface. She jotted down her thoughts and ideas for poems: about the colours, about the cycles of the earth and the seas, about the strong pull of the tides. This year’s spring tides were exceptionally high. Polly knew they heralded the arrival of elvers migrating upstream. Elvers wriggling like sperm , she wrote. A riverman had told her once how an elver fisherman had gone missing – feared murdered – somewhere along the River Peret. ‘Them worth a fortune, them elvers, mind. Places like Japan,’ he said. ‘Dirty deeds afoot, I reckons.’ She jotted more notes about the story, then paused, looking to the sky as if for inspiration when an overhead gull plopped bird poo, narrowly missing her. Charming.
Thoughts of Spike snuck in. Once, any thoughts of him had caused pain and she’d worked hard to shut them out; then he’d become a shadowy figure in the background, occasionally glimpsed in a memory here, a snatch of a song there, or in the features and facial expressions of her child, and now – well, now he’d become real again. Threatening to upset the safe world she’d constructed around herself and her child. If only Mel was still staying with her then they could have sat down over a cup of tea (or a bottle of wine, more like) and talked through the whole Spike-turning-up thing; formulate a plan as to what she should do next.
She couldn’t imagine how she’d have coped with a small baby on her own – without Mel. In many ways, her friend had become more like a father to Rowan… She gave a half-smile at this – thinking how she must remember to tell Mel, when they next spoke. She’d think that funny. Or would she? Things had changed since Mel had become part of a couple with Fen, setting up home together. She could feel more of a sea change coming now that the two of them were planning their own child. Yes, she could definitely smell change in the air, she thought, lifting her face into the wind.
Turning away and leaning with her back to the wall, she thought of how she’d best get used to the fact that she’d lost her best friend. No more cosy evenings in together, no more someone to cook meals with, someone to chat to about their respective days; having a laugh; the whole having someone as backup. She glanced over to where Rowan was busy telling her dolly and a purple dinosaur that they must play nicely.
Never mind single parent, it should be double parent , she thought, and not for the first time – because when you’re single, it’s double the work, isn’t it?
She returned her notebook to her bag then set about brushing dead leaves off the garden chair; it was more knackered than weathered, due to her forgetting to bring it indoors. Lowering herself gingerly onto its seat, she absent-mindedly watched her child potter about the garden. I dunno , she thought. Maybe Mel is right, and I am scared of commitment. Maybe I did choose to fall in love with Spike precisely because he was due to emigrate. Maybe Mel’s right and I ought to give a grown-up relationship a go. With someone who’s actually going to stick around. Like Max. Because on paper Max seems a good bet, doesn’t he? Good-looking, great company, single dad… gold-star kisser … Right , she thought, I’ll show Mel she’s not the only one who can do a “proper relationship”. And that I am well and truly over Spike. Because why put myself through all that turmoil again? Still , she thought, softening and glancing at her daughter, what can I do? I can’t deny Rowan access to her father… Okay. But this time my feelings are not going to ambush me. This time I’ll be ready.
‘You daydreamin’ there, Polly?’
You know what it’s like when time slows down and two lovers move together for a clinch in glorious technicolour slow motion? Well, it wasn’t like that. More like a Monty-Python-slap-around-the-face-with-a-wet-fish moment, as she part leapt, part struggled to get out of her chair, nearly falling over in the process. ‘You frightened the life out of me!’
‘So how are ya, Polly?’ Spike asked, standing there looking fit, amused and teasing.
She stared. How was she? For a nanosecond it felt like an existential question, and her mind boggled. Snapping out of it, she moved to greet him. A kiss? Or shake hands. She went for a handshake and he gave her his quizzical look. Oh bugger, he’s more handsome in the daylight than he was in the dark of last night . Her heart bounded about like a Labrador puppy as she experienced a sudden longing to rest her head on his chest.
‘Will ya close yer mouth and stop yer gawping, Polly. I thought you wouldn’t mind as your back gate was on the latch.’ He gave her that steady and unsettling stare of his. ‘Some things never change, I see.’
‘I think you’ll find,’ she said, finally pulling her wits together and brushing imaginary dust from her skirt, ‘that things do and have changed.’ She stood her ground, even though she wanted to step right into his arms. Which was ridiculous. I’ll bet it’s some sort of muscle memory response. That, combined with being caught off guard.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Bit of a shocker last night.’ Then without waiting for her to respond, he added, ‘Are you not going to introduce me to your lovely daughter here?’ He broke into a broad smile, nodding over to where Rowan was stopped – toy spade in hand – as if someone had pressed her Pause button, mid-burying her dolly in a hole she’d been digging in the flower border.
And so began a surreal, annoying and heartstring-tugging hour or so.