Twenty-Three
July 2014
My journey down to Cornwall today has been relatively easy and without incident.
We took the early morning train from Glasgow Central, changed once before we got to London, and then again a little while ago in Penzance, and now we are on the last – and by far the prettiest – part of the journey as we travel towards St Felix. We could have got a slightly more direct train, but it was a lot more expensive, so we took the cheaper, if a lot longer route.
But Rosie, as she always does, has taken it all in her stride and is now, as she’s been for much of the journey, nose-deep in her latest paperback novel. I smile lovingly at my daughter; she always looks so utterly engrossed in her books and I often have to call her name several times before she hears me when she’s reading at home in her bedroom.
Rosie has only visited St Felix twice before in her young life. Once when she was a baby, and I took her down to visit my parents before they moved to Norfolk. They moved almost eight years ago, are now happily retired and living in a little bungalow by the sea. And the second time, when she was five, and we went to stay with Claire and her children for a short holiday.
Rosie is now nine years old, and my whole life.
When I first had her, like Claire correctly predicted, I did need help, and a lot of it. I read so many baby books that I thought I had everything covered. But reading about having a baby is one thing – actually looking after one yourself is a completely different ball game. So when I first came out of hospital, my parents travelled up from Cornwall and stayed with us for a while to help out. Dad returned home for work after a few days, and Mum stayed for several weeks.
When it was time for her to go, part of me was pleased it was just going to be me and Rosie at last, but another part was petrified about looking after her on my own.
Mum offered us the opportunity to go and stay with them down in St Felix, but I declined. I had to get used to looking after Rosie on my own at some point, and I still had nearly five months of maternity leave left from the gallery. I figured that was going to be plenty of time to get all my ducks in a row before I went back to work.
But ducks have a funny way of not sitting all that neatly when you ask them to, and even if they do decide to rest for a while, there’s often a lot of flapping of wings and quacking before they calm down, let alone getting them into anything like a straight row.
So, although I thought I had everything as together as it was going to get before I went back to work, I found out the hard way that the reality of looking after a young child and working full time is way more difficult, challenging and downright exhausting than anyone realises. Especially if you’re doing it on your own.
‘Nearly there,’ I say to Rosie now. ‘I’m sure you won’t remember when we came here last time, but on this final part of the journey you get a really lovely view of St Felix.’
Rosie looks up from her book. ‘Actually I do remember. You go around a bend and then suddenly you see the sea, the beach and a harbour.’
‘Wow, I’m surprised you remember that – you were only five when we came last time. Do you remember anything else from that trip?’
Rosie shrugs. ‘Not a lot. Playing with some other kids on the beach, I think?’
‘Claire’s children. They’re not really kids any more though.’ I try to remember their ages. ‘Alice is eighteen now, I think. George must be sixteen, and that makes little Freddie . . . wow, fourteen. I can hardly believe it.’
Rosie watches me in the way she often does, like she’s trying to work me out.
‘You’re really excited about this trip, aren’t you, Mum?’
‘Yes and no,’ I tell her honestly. I’m always honest with Rosie, even if it’s to my detriment sometimes.
‘Why yes and no?’
‘Yes, I’m looking forward to seeing St Felix again and some of my friends. Most of them I haven’t seen for ten years.’
My mind wanders to the other mermaids.
‘And no?’ Rosie prompts me.
‘No . . . Now that’s a little trickier to explain.’
The truth is I’m really looking forward to seeing the others again. It’s been so long since we all last caught up properly. Other than Claire and Eddie briefly, I haven’t really seen any of the others since before Rosie was born, and even though I follow what they are all up to these days via social media, mostly Facebook and more recently Instagram, knowing it, and actually seeing them again to talk about it, is a completely different thing.
Everyone is doing so well with their lives right now, and the truth is I feel left behind.
‘It’s been so long I wonder if we’ll all have things to talk about.’ I try to explain as truthfully as I can. ‘We all lead such different lives now.’
‘But you’ll always be the mermaids,’ Rosie says. ‘Mum, I don’t think I ever see you smile as much as when you tell me stories about what you got up to with your friends when you lived in St Felix. I’m sure you’ll be fine once you’re all together again.’
‘Who made you so wise?’ I ask, grinning at her. ‘Not me, I’m sure of it!’
‘Certainly wasn’t Dad!’ Rosie smiles now too. ‘I love my dad, but he’s not what I’d call wise.’
‘No, he certainly isn’t. But he’s a good man and he does love you.’
I took Claire’s advice and told Rosie’s father that I was pregnant, but that I didn’t want anything from him.
But to my surprise, after the initial shock, he stepped up immediately and made arrangements to pay me maintenance after Rosie was born. He was also very keen to be a part of her life, which, after a little reluctance on my part I agreed to, and I’m pleased I did. Because now at least Rosie has a father figure in her life, even if it’s only occasionally.
As the train pulls into the station, I feel a strange mix of excitement and anxiety.
Excitement at being back here again, still one of my favourite places in the world, and anxiety at what’s to come over the next few days.
We’re here this time to celebrate Eddie’s fortieth birthday. He’s decided to have a big party in the café and restaurant in St Felix he now runs with his partner, Dexter.
Even though we have all turned forty this year, or are going to, Eddie is the only one of us who’s having a party to celebrate. I assume he’s the only one, I certainly haven’t been invited to any other events. And to be honest I’m quite relieved – this trip has been costly enough and I don’t think I could have managed visits to London to see Mandy and Suzy, and I definitely can’t fly to Los Angeles should Rob decide he’s having a birthday bash. Not that he’d probably invite me anyway – I’m sure he has lots of celebrity friends he’ll be partying with come the end of August when his birthday falls.
And Mack, of course, being a year older than the rest of us celebrated his fortieth last year. Much to my surprise, Mack kept in touch when he returned to the US with Rob, not just with the group as a whole, but sometimes one-to-one with me, too.
When I finally announced to everyone that I was pregnant, he’d often send an email to check how I was getting on and then when Rosie arrived, he sent us a very cute pink fluffy rabbit perfect for a newborn, and also a basket full of lovely things for me. Something to pamper yourself with
, was written on the notecard, which I couldn’t help but notice had a Monet print on the front, and I wondered to myself if he remembered our conversation.
Our emails to each other became less as I coped with the day-to-day trials of being a single mother, and Mack, I assumed, was getting on with his own life. They continued on and off until a couple of years ago. I heard via Claire, who still kept in touch with Rob, that Mack had moved away from LA and bought his own bar in New York. Although I longed to hear from him again, I knew he must be really busy getting the bar off the ground, and I hoped it was going well for him.
‘Have you got everything? I ask Rosie as we gather our luggage. ‘You’ve picked everything up?’
‘Yep.’ Rosie puts her Harry Potter rucksack over her small shoulders. ‘Do you want me to pull one of the suitcases?’
‘No, I can manage them. Could you carry Eddie’s gift, though?’
‘Sure I can.’
‘Be careful with it.’
‘Yes, Mum.’ Rosie sighs. ‘I’m always careful with your paintings.’
I look anxiously at the painting wrapped in bubble wrap and brown paper.
‘He’s going to love it, Mum. Stopping looking so worried.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘Of course he will!’ Rosie says with the easy confidence of a nine-year-old. ‘Now, have you got everything?’ she asks, mimicking me.
I grin at her. ‘Yes, now let’s go!’
I’m pleased it’s a dry sunny afternoon as we drag our bags and cases along the streets of St Felix towards Claire’s house.
Claire moved out of the house she shared with Jonathan about a year after Hetty’s funeral. They tried counselling, which I think from what Claire told me at the time actually only served to make Claire more aware of Jonathan’s failings, and rather than make her want to keep trying, it simply gave her the strength to leave her marriage and take her children with her.
Claire moved in with her parents to begin with as a temporary measure, but when her father died suddenly, she stayed to both look after and keep her mother company.
Recently, her mother became so ill with dementia that Claire was forced to find a nursing home for her, and her mother now resides in Camberley House in Bude, a specialist nursing home.
Claire’s parents were older than mine but I was so grateful after hearing about Claire’s experiences that my parents were still in fairly good health.
So Claire now lives in her old house, but with her own family. When we stayed with her before, her mother was still around, but this time it would just be us, Claire and her children.
‘You’re here!’ Claire looks delighted to see us as we stand on her doorstep with all our luggage. ‘It’s so good to see you again, Frankie.’ She gives me a hug, then turns her attention to Rosie. ‘Oh my goodness, how big are you now? You’ll be taller than me soon. Come in, come in. Let me help you with your things.’
Claire shows us to our room. Inside there’s a double bed and by its side a small blow-up camp bed for Rosie with a My Little Pony duvet that I assume must have belonged to Alice at one point.
‘We haven’t put anyone out, have we?’ I ask, looking around the room, which seems to be devoid of any personal possessions and looks very much like a guest room now. When we stayed last time, we had slept in the boys’ room, while they slept in with Alice on camp beds.
‘No, not at all. This used to be Mum’s room,’ Claire says, looking around wistfully. ‘We took all her things with her to Camberley, so she’d feel more at home there.’
‘How’s she getting on?’ I ask, while Rosie sits on the edge of the bed, bouncing up and down a little.
‘Oh, all right – you know?’ Claire sighs a little. ‘She’s much better there, but I do miss her being here with us.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘But at least I have you both for a few days. It will be nice to have some female company again. Alice is at uni most of the time now, and the boys are always out with their friends and girlfriend.’ She grimaces.
‘Which one has a girlfriend?’ I ask. George and Freddie were just little boys the last time I saw them; I can’t imagine them having girlfriends now.
‘George. Her name is Lucy and, according to George, they just “hang out together”. Claire does the air quotes with her fingers.
I smile. ‘George is actually a year older than I was when I,’ I do the air quotes now, ‘ “dated” Rob.’
‘Gosh, yes, so he is. I hadn’t thought about that. Goodness, where have those years gone?’
I shake my head. ‘Beats me.’
‘But it’s lovely we’re all still friends,’ Claire says. ‘Not many people can say they’re still friends with the same people they were twenty-five years ago at school.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Right, I’ll leave you to unpack and get settled in. Dinner will be ready in about half an hour if that’s OK?’
‘That’s lovely, Claire. Thank you for letting us stay with you.’
‘The pleasure is all mine. Ooh, it really is so good to see you again, Frankie.’ She gives me another hug. ‘It’s been too long. We have so much to catch up on.’