Chapter 39
The shop is quiet on this damp and grey-skied Wednesday afternoon. As Celia straightens hangers on the rails she tells herself how delicious it will feel to plunge into clear, cool water.
She likes the sound of the yellow iris Enzo described, growing wild on the remote beach, and sheep pottering down to where the pasture meets the shore.
Yet still, she can hardly believe she’s agreed to this.
A camping trip. Enzo has assured her that wild camping is allowed at the beach.
That he and Mathilde do it every summer and between his tent and the campervan, everything’ll be fine.
But will it really? The only time she’s ever slept in a tent was with Amanda in her garden as kids – but that’s not the point.
She and Amanda and Enzo and Mathilde, plus Enzo’s sister, whom she hasn’t even met…
How will they all get along? The yes game has a lot to answer for, she decides.
Now the shop door opens and Celia recognises the stylish woman with the silvery bob who’d been in a few weeks before. ‘Hi,’ she says brightly, noticing that she is clutching one of the shop’s rope-handled paper carriers. ‘Did you have a nice time in the Highlands?’
‘You remembered! Yes, I did, thank you. It was perfect.’
‘And did you wear the dress? The oyster brocade, wasn’t it?’
The woman smiles a little bashfully. ‘I didn’t, actually. It, um…’ Now Celia remembers that she’d planned to slim into it. Never a wise move, in her experience. ‘It was a bit on the tight side,’ she admits. ‘Would I be able to exchange it? I’m sorry, it was a while ago now but I haven’t worn it?—’
‘Oh, that’s absolutely fine.’ Celia smiles reassuringly, taking the bag from her and lifting out the dress. At this point she should offer a credit note but she doesn’t have the heart. Occasionally she oversteps the rules. ‘Would you prefer a refund?’ she asks.
‘No, I think I’ll exchange it for something that actually fits me.’ The woman seems to relax now. Her grey eyes meet Celia’s as she laughs. ‘Why do we do this? Why do we kid ourselves?’
‘It’s what we want to believe.’ Celia smiles. ‘Like the shoes will stretch?—’
‘And they never do, do they?’ The woman shakes her head at the madness of it, and starts to flick through the rails, stopping at a simple knee-length navy dress. ‘Now this is elegant.’
‘I do love that,’ Celia says truthfully, and the woman goes to try it on.
While she’s behind the curtain Celia quickly runs a feather duster over the shelves, and when the door dings again she spins around, expecting to see another potential customer.
‘Hi, Mum. Is it all right to come in?’
‘Logan,’ she exclaims, beaming at him. ‘Of course it’s all right.’ Then the woman emerges wearing the chic navy dress, and Celia wants her to have it so much that she would almost buy it for her herself.
‘That really was made for you,’ she says.
The woman chuckles. ‘I feel terribly grown-up in it.’ Celia catches Logan looking confused for a moment because the customer must be around his grandma’s age.
‘You can definitely carry it off,’ Celia says.
Now the woman glances at Logan who’s perched on the chaise longue. ‘Is this your son?’
‘He is, yes.’
‘What a handsome boy!’ Logan laughs awkwardly and blushes, and she looks at him fondly before turning to Celia. ‘I’ll take the dress,’ she says.
When she leaves, Celia is relieved to be able to give Logan her full attention.
‘So, how are things at Gran’s?’ she asks.
Rather than visiting while he’s been staying there, she has kept in touch by text instead.
It’s not that she hasn’t wanted to see him.
More that she’s been wary of upsetting the balance of their living together – their delicate eco-system – by showing up.
They are sitting side by side on the chaise longue now, and Celia is willing no more customers to come in. ‘It’s been all right,’ Logan says. ‘I actually wanted to come back sooner, Mum. But I know Gran likes me being there.’
‘I’m sure she does.’ Celia’s heart seems to twist.
‘It’s been kind of difficult getting away,’ he adds. ‘She always wants me to watch the soaps?—’
‘What a treat.’ Celia smiles.
He chuckles but his eyes look tired, she thinks. ‘I worry about her, Mum.’
She reaches for his hand and squeezes it. ‘I know, love. I do too.’
Logan inhales, and then adds, ‘But I can’t be there any longer. I’m coming home, Mum?—’
‘Oh, honey, are you?’ She turns and hugs him. ‘I’m so glad. And I’m sorry about things being so weird and awful…’
He tries for a smile. ‘I overreacted over the biscuit.’
‘The wafer,’ she says.
‘ Wafergate .’ He laughs and then she looks at him, overcome with happiness that he’s here with her today.
‘Was it Amanda, love?’ she asks. ‘I know she’s quite… dominant. A big presence around the flat. Was it too much?’
Logan shrugs. ‘Actually… not really.’
She studies his face, searching his expression for clues. ‘What was it then? What made you stay away?’
He looks down at his feet. ‘I s’pose it was… well, y’know. Dad not being there.’
‘Oh, was it?’ Something sinks inside her.
‘Yeah.’ Logan nods. ‘I know he was always a bit…’ The pause says it all. A bit miserly. Hardly emitting joy.
‘He was, yes,’ she says softly. ‘But he was – and is – still Dad.’
Logan looks away now and the air seems to shimmer between them.
Of course he’s not your real dad and you know that.
I’ve never lied. And now the dust has settled, she reflects that, having been thrown headlong into parenthood – much as she was – Geoff did his best. In his own way, he was always there for them: attending parents’ evenings, sitting on a damp beach towel on that Cornish beach while Logan built a castle with an extensive network of moats.
‘Logan?’ She touches his arm. ‘You know, if there’s anything you ever want to ask, about your?—’
‘Oh God, Mum. No.’ He shakes his head decisively. ‘It was just a thing, wasn’t it?’
Celia nods.
‘I’ve figured that you haven’t told me any more because there’s nothing else to tell.’ She presses a hand to her cheek, afraid that if she does say anything, she’ll lose it. ‘Mum, it’s all right,’ Logan adds, concern filling his blue eyes now. ‘We’re all right, you and me.’
‘You think so?’ She smiles.
He nods and delves into his jeans pocket, extracting a piece of paper. She can see that it was torn into pieces, and that those pieces have been sellotaped together, and that something is handwritten on it.
He hands it to her and her gaze falls upon it. ‘This is… Dad’s writing, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ he murmurs.
‘It’s… Dad’s poem?’
‘That’s right. Sure you want to read it?’
She nods, allowing her focus to settle on the tidy forward slope of his script, and she reads:
Your breasts are breathless.
Your luscious curves
Set me wild with desire,
Your lips, your tits,
Your vulva of fire?—
And there it stops. Perhaps that was the end of the poem – or he ran out of steam at that point.
Celia re-reads it, aware of a bubble of mirth deep inside of her, rising up.
She clears her throat, and as she catches Logan’s eye she sees his mouth quivering.
Now she starts laughing and he is laughing too.
And she can’t stop herself. ‘Oh God, darling,’ she manages finally. ‘Not very good, is it?’
Logan shakes his head, seemingly unable to speak for a moment. It occurs to Celia that she can’t remember the last time she’s seen him laugh like this. ‘You know, love,’ she says eventually, ‘whenever I feel like I’ve been a colossal idiot, then I’ll read this and feel a whole lot better.’
‘You’re not an idiot,’ he says firmly. ‘That’s the last thing you are, okay?’ He pauses. ‘But there’s something else.’
Now her heart seems to clang. ‘What?’ she asks.
He shifts awkwardly on the chaise longue. ‘You know my biological dad’s name?’
She nods. Of course she does – and Logan does too because she told him the first time he asked. Although she’s never been temped to do it herself, she’s pretty certain that he’ll have tried googling him. ‘Didn’t you realise?’ he says with a frown.
‘Realise what?’ she asks.
‘Scott Chegg.’ Logan’s mouth compresses into a line and his gaze seems to bore into hers.
‘What about him, love? What d’you mean?’
A mouth corner twitches. ‘Scott Chegg. Scotch Egg , Mum! Didn’t you ever say it out loud?’
She blinks at him and blows out air as the information settles. Scotch Egg. All these years and she’d never got it. ‘Oh, Logan. No, I never realised…’ A joke name. How gullible she’d been.
‘So my biological dad also has a sausage meat connection,’ Logan adds gently. ‘There’s a theme there.’
Celia shakes her head, relieved that no more customers have come in. ‘I can’t believe I fell for that. I mean, I thought it was just a name ?—’
‘Mum, it’s okay!’ Logan grins and winds an arm around her shoulders.
She looks at him, surrounded by occasion wear and fancy hats. ‘I’m the biggest idiot,’ she adds.
‘No, you’re not.’
‘What am I then?’ she blurts out.
‘You’re just you , Mum.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Just… I dunno!’ He laughs. ‘Just my mum. And I love you!’
‘I love you too.’ She rubs at her face, overcome by emotion. How lucky she is to have Logan in her life. ‘You don’t think I’m mad, do you?’ she asks.
‘Oh, I totally do.’ He gets up from the chaise longue as the door opens and a rather tentative-looking woman comes in.
‘Hi, can I help you?’ Celia jumps up too.
‘Just having a look,’ the woman says pleasantly as Logan makes for the door.
‘See you at home, Mum,’ he says. ‘But I won’t be back for long, okay? Just a few days…’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘That volunteer programme. At the mycology centre?’
‘So you’re going to do it?’ she asks.
He shrugs, a gesture that they’ve laughed about because it’s been his default since he was about fourteen years old.
There’s even an emoji for it: the shruggie.
‘’Course I am,’ he says. ‘I’m not giving up an opportunity like that.
Terri would never forgive me.’ He laughs, and then he’s gone, and the woman plucks a dress from the rail: an explosion of orange and pink, like a beautiful flower.
‘That’s lovely,’ Celia says.
‘It really is, isn’t it?’ The woman studies it at arm’s length. ‘But I have no idea where I’d wear it…’
Celia smiles, having switched fully into shop-lady mode now. How easily it comes when she needs it. She pictures this woman wearing the dress, as she always does when a customer picks out the perfect thing.
‘I always think, if you love something enough, then the occasion will present itself,’ she says.