CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘If you’re thinking my mother is a very unsubtle, in fact shameless, matchmaker,’ Robert commented as he drove himself and Cristy out of Monksilver, heading for the coast, ‘then I can only apologize if she embarrassed you as much as she did me.’
Cristy had to laugh. ‘To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I’d read it correctly. I mean, aren’t you married?’
‘I am, but that never stops her. She keeps hoping I’ll meet someone here, in England, preferably Somerset, get myself a divorce and move back to be closer to her.’
Blinking in surprise, Cristy said, ‘I hardly know what to say to that. A mother wanting her son to divorce.’
He laughed. ‘Obviously, she knows it isn’t going to happen. It’s just a little fantasy she has and would probably have let go of a long time ago if she felt warmer towards my wife.’
‘Ah, so they don’t get on?’
‘Let’s just say that being on opposite sides of the world works for them both.’
As he slowed to turn onto the A39 Cristy checked an incoming text and choked back a laugh when she saw Connor’s message, Will I ever see you again?
Deciding that no answer would suffice, she quickly pulled up her emails, found nothing urgent, and returned to the conversation. ‘So how come you’re in England now?’ she asked. ‘Is this a regular visit to your mother – don’t tell me you flew over just to be here for the interview.’
He laughed. ‘I arrived in the UK about a month ago, always with the intention of visiting Mum , of course, but I’m also researching a paper on emergency cardiothoracic surgery.
Currently, I’m working with colleagues at the Bristol Heart Institute, so I wasn’t far away when she rang to tell me you’d been in touch. ’
Cristy nodded thoughtfully as she took this in. ‘So we’re very lucky to have you. Although, of course, we could have probably got you on Zoom if you were elsewhere in the world.’
‘Probably, but where would be the fun in that?’
Finding herself OK with the flirtation – safe given he was married – she said, randomly, ‘Have you ever been to Dunster Castle?’
Glancing up to where it was nestled amongst the trees on the hillside, he said, ‘Many times. I used to take my children when they were younger and we were over visiting. They loved it here, I guess because it’s so different to where they lived, and happily, they always adored spending time with their grandma. Still do.’
‘I can understand why. So how many children do you have?’
‘Three. Two girls and a boy, all very grown up now. The eldest is going to be thirty this year, and is actually working at the Bristol Children’s Hospital.
Like her mother, she’s a paediatrician, and like her father, she fell in love while on a gap year so she’s ended up living on the other side of the world.
Her being here played a big part in my decision to approach colleagues at the brI. ’
‘So are you staying with her?’
‘God no, I don’t think either of us could stand that. I’ve based myself in a small flat in Clifton for a couple of months; she and her husband have a house in Westbury Park, so we’re close, but not in each other’s space.’
‘Does she have children?’
‘Not yet, so the joyful experience of becoming a grandfather still awaits.’
Cristy smiled, while realizing soberly that she too was old enough to be a grandparent, although in her case it would surely be another ten years or more before it happened. ‘And your other two children?’ she asked.
‘My son is twenty-seven and living in Sydney where he’s doing amazing things in advertising, or so he tells me. And the youngest, she’s twenty-four, the darling of everyone’s hearts including a whole slew of inappropriate boyfriends. Career-wise, she’s still considering her options.’
Laughing, Cristy said, ‘I have a sixteen-year-old son who sounds just like her. His name is Aiden, he fancies himself as a free spirit one day, a mentor the next, a great sportsman, a talent-spotter, astronaut, world peace advocate … My boy’s ambitions know no limits, and would you believe he seems to sail through his exams as if he’s worked himself to a standstill all year when he hasn’t. ’
‘I’m liking the sound of him,’ Robert responded warmly. ‘And your daughter? Hayley, is it?’
Cristy turned to him curiously. ‘So you really did look me up before coming,’ she said, not sure how happy she was to know he’d gone into so much depth.
Although, she had to admit, it was pretty difficult to miss the shitshow of her personal life, thanks to Matthew and his affair turning her into a byword for rejected middle-aged mothers to be more pitied than respected.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘I’m sure you understand that your children weren’t the objects of my search, they just came up. I hope you’re not offended.’
Realizing she was being too defensive she relaxed and shook her head.
‘No, not at all. My ex-husband’s story is not how any of us hoped to achieve fame, but here we are.
It’s one of the first things anyone learns about me if they’re looking me up.
Not that I’m a journalist, or a podcaster, or even a woman with feelings.
Just that I’m the wife Matthew Jennings walked out on to be with an actress barely older than his daughter. ’
‘It must have been a difficult time.’
‘It certainly wasn’t the best, but if you knew what was happening now you’d probably … Actually, you’d probably laugh it’s so ludicrous, or you’d tell me I was making it up.’
‘I’m a good listener,’ he said dryly when she didn’t continue. ‘And I always love a human-interest story with elements of the bizarre.’
Deciding they were getting too far from the point of why they were heading into Minehead, she said, ‘Maybe another time. For now, if you don’t mind, I need us to focus on Janina and Lukas, the Winters sisters and maybe even Butlin’s.’
‘Of course, and I’m sorry if I seemed glib just then, or to be getting into things that are none of my business.’
‘It’s fine, honestly,’ she said, and it was, because, why shouldn’t it be?
Eventually they turned into the tree-lined stretch of Minehead’s main street, full of cafés and bars, niche boutiques and colourful beach shops. Many were closed for the winter, although the blazing sunshine today made it look, if not feel, more like mid-summer than mid-winter.
On reaching the seafront Robert took a left into the harbour and just after the Old Ship Aground he pulled into a small car park.
As he went to pay at a machine, Cristy organized her recording equipment ready for the great outdoors.
It wasn’t cumbersome, or difficult, it was simply so bitterly cold – close to freezing – that she had to try to find a way to operate it while wearing hat, scarf and thermal gloves.
Still, at least there was no wind and thanks to the glorious sunshine it felt a complete joy to be here.
‘I was thinking,’ she said from inside her woollen muffler as they headed off to join the start of the South West Coast Path, ‘that maybe you could do the intro to this piece.’
‘Me?’ he cried in astonishment. ‘What does it involve?’
‘You simply have to tell us who you are, why we’re here and describe the surroundings.’
‘Oh, is that all? Nothing major then?’
‘Give it a go,’ she encouraged. ‘I have a feeling you’ll be a natural.’
His eyes narrowed suspiciously as she handed him a mic.
‘You’ll need to clip it to your collar,’ she told him, ‘so no scarf, I’m afraid. Do you think you can bear the cold on your face for a while?’
‘Ah, so that’s why you’ve given me the job, so you don’t have to get your face out of that thing. Well, lucky for you I’m feeling chivalrous.’
After a few sound tests to make sure his voice was coming through loud and clear, she gave him the cue to begin.
ROBERT: ‘My name is Robert Brinkley, I’m the son of Gita Brinkley who was housekeeper to the Winters sisters for a short spell back in the year 2000. I’m about to start walking the first mile or so of the South West Coast Path to where the sisters were staying when Sadie first joined them.’
He glanced at Cristy for approval, and receiving it, pressed on.
ROBERT: ‘It’s a truly spectacular January day with more sunshine flooding down on us than we get in the middle of an Aussie summer, although sadly none of the warmth.
In fact, it’s literally zero degrees, but the way the light is sparkling across the iron grey waves of the estuary and throwing itself onto the wooded hills ahead of us makes them more inviting than chocolate. ’
Cristy snorted a laugh.
‘It was the first thing that came into my head,’ he protested. ‘What do you think it should be?’
She thought, gave a few suggestions which managed to be even worse than chocolate, and in the end they were laughing so much she had to cut the recording.
‘I think you should do it,’ he told her. ‘I’m just making an idiot of myself.’
‘No, no, you started off so well. Let’s just lose the analogy and say something like “The way the light is throwing itself onto the wooded hills ahead of us makes it no wonder the region has inspired so many poets.”’
‘Now, why didn’t I think of that?’ Then, ‘Who are the poets?’
Though certain she was being teased, she said, ‘Coleridge, Wordsworth, Robert Southey …’
‘Didn’t Southey write Goldilocks and the Three Bears?’
She grinned. ‘He also wrote some stunning descriptions of the walk between Dunster and Minehead.’
‘Great. Do you know any of them?’
Having to confess that she didn’t, at least not by heart, she offered to google them, but he was already quoting from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.
‘“At length did cross an Albatross, Through the fog it came, As if it had been a Christian soul …’”
‘Brilliant,’ Cristy exclaimed. ‘It has absolutely nothing to do with why we’re here, or what we’re doing, but it’s definitely Coleridge. So now, perhaps we should skip naming or quoting and just keep it general about inspiring poets.’
‘Got it. Are you going to interview me after I’ve finished waxing lyrical?’
‘Of course. It’s the main reason we’re here.’