Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
Welsh born portraitist based in France and much overlooked during her lifetime. Activity: painting portraits. What do we want to convey?
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
‘Is that the last of it?’ Frida asked as Callie squeezed a carrier bag of shoes into the last remaining corner of the boot.
‘It is. This car is rammed. I’ve even had to shove stuff into the footwell of the front seat.’ Callie blew out a breath and lifted her hair from the back of her neck. ‘Phew. I’m hot.’
‘Sorry you had to do all the carting stuff down to the car.’
‘Couldn’t be helped. You couldn’t do it, not with your leg.’
Frida grinned. ‘Not with my leg! You make me sound about forty!’
Callie put her hands on her hips and stared her daughter down. ‘Oh, and that’s old, is it?’
‘Geriatric.’
‘Well, get in the car then and your geriatric mother will haul her ancient and groaning body back up the track and lock up. It’s the only thing I’m not going to miss about this place, this steep hill. At least at home we’re on the flat.’
‘Yeah, and usually two streets away cos we can’t find a parking space.’
Callie groaned. ‘Don’t remind me. And I’m not looking forward to the M5 on a Friday in August either.’
‘Mum?’ Frida hadn’t moved; she was still sitting on the ledge of the tailgate, her injured leg stretched out.
Callie gave the shoe bag another shove so there was a remote chance the boot would close.
Glancing at her watch, she reined in her impatience; the sooner they hit the M5 the better.
The traffic would only get worse. As if to taunt her, the scent of the white roses around the front door of the cottage drifted down, reminding her of the day she’d arrived at Sea Haven House.
She’d had to battle the traffic that day too.
It seemed in another lifetime, so much had happened.
Looking up the track at the white gate and the pretty front garden she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave but Frida seemed keen to get back. ‘Yes, Fri.’
‘Have you seen Johnny since the accident?’
‘I popped into his ward after we’d cleared A&E to check he was okay. He said they’d kept him in for obs and I managed to escape before his mad family came to collect him. Said he was being kidnapped and taken to the family house in Exeter.’
‘Did you thank him?’ Frida examined her nails intently, her voice casual but Callie wasn’t deceived.
‘Yes, course I did.’
‘He was pretty awesome.’
Callie nodded. The relief when Johnny had been blown into the beach hut and had taken control had been amazing. Not a very feminist or independent-thinking notion but true. ‘It must have been hard for him.’
Frida looked up. ‘What do you mean?’ She lurched to her feet and tried slamming the boot shut. It closed on the third attempt. ‘You mean the rain?’ She pulled a face. ‘It was a pretty major storm.’
‘It was more than that. He’s got some trauma from his days as a correspondent. He’s spent his working life reporting from wars and earthquakes. It’s left its mark.’
‘Wow. That’s awful. He was dead brave then. I mean, he knew the wall was in danger of coming down and he still came looking for you.’
‘Us. He came looking for us.’
‘No, Mum. He came to rescue you. He battled his mental health and came for you. Are you sure you thanked him? Seems to me it’s a lot to be thankful for.’
‘You can thank me now, if you like.’
Callie wheeled round. ‘Johnny!’ He was standing on God Almighty Hill’s pavement with Verity, the vicar.
He walked slowly up to stand in the parking space. ‘Hi, Callie.’ He nodded to Frida. ‘Hello, Frida. Hope you’re okay?’
Frida gestured to the bandage revealed by her denim cut-offs. ‘Yeah, I’m good. How are you though?’
Johnny rubbed a self-conscious hand over his head. ‘Absolutely fine. No ill effects. Not from the bang on the head that is.’ He grinned. ‘Can’t say the same about being looked after by my mother and her sisters. I rang Verity and she rescued me.’
‘I bet they loved having you at home,’ Callie put in.
‘Possibly a bit too much. They send their love.’ He gazed penetratingly at her. An awkward silence dropped.
Verity puffed up the track to join them.
She looked from Johnny to Callie and back again.
‘Tell you what, Frida, I really fancy an ice cream.’ She nodded to the girl’s leg.
‘I have it on very good authority that it has miraculous healing properties. Especially when you have two scoops, a flake and sprinkles. Do you think you can make it down the hill?’
Frida also flicked a glance to her mother, to Johnny and then back again. ‘Great idea,’ she said, far too enthusiastically. ‘One more ice cream from The Ice Cream Dream Kiosk before we go.’
Johnny looked stricken. ‘You’re leaving?’
Callie nodded. ‘Frida wants to get home.’
‘Actually, Mum, I thought it was you busting a gut to get back. I’m not that bothered. Would rather chill here in Lullbury Bay than in Worcester. At least here I can sit on the beach.’
Callie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh. So you don’t want to go home, then?’
‘Nah.’ Frida shrugged. ‘Not really. I only agreed as it seemed you wanted to. And now,’ Frida said meaningfully, ‘I’m going to take myself out of this little scene of unresolved sexual tension and go get one of the kiosk’s magical portions of chocolatey yumminess.
Sort yourself out, kiddos, and I’ll be back later. ’ She turned to go.
‘Frida,’ Callie protested. ‘Be careful.’
‘Mum, I’m twenty-three not twelve. I’m all grown up. The doc said it’s okay to do some gentle exercise.’ Relenting, she twisted back to her mother. ‘It’s time to stop worrying.’
‘I’ll always worry.’
‘I know. That’s why I love you.’ She gave Callie a brief, hard hug.
‘Don’t worry, Callie, I’ll look after her,’ Verity said, holding out an arm to Frida. ‘We can always use my car if it proves too much.’ Frida took Verity’s outstretched arm and began making her way tentatively down the track.
‘Be careful walking down the hill,’ Callie repeated.
‘Don’t hurt your leg!’ The only reply she received was an airy wave.
A lump formed in her throat. It felt as if she was saying goodbye to her little girl forever.
And maybe she was. The events of the last few days had changed them both.
It was time to ease into a new relationship with her, less mother and daughter, more friends. She’d still worry though.
‘She’ll be fine, Callie,’ Johnny said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘She’s taking it slow and not limping.’
‘She’s supposed to be resting.’ Callie peered after Frida and Verity, checking their progress.
‘With the size of the kiosk’s ice creams, she’ll have to sit down for at least thirty minutes to eat one.’ Turning her to him, he took her hands. ‘Callie, now we have this opportunity, can we talk?’
Callie ripped her focus away from her daughter and stared up at him.
He looked pale and drawn. Skin was stretched thinly over his cheekbones, making his nose seem more prominent, the black eyes developing dramatically either side of the Steri-Strips.
Either he’d been economical with the truth about his injury or staying at his parents really had been stressful.
She panicked. What good would talking to him do? She was as much at risk of falling under his spell as before. More so. And she couldn’t see how they could have any kind of a future. Even so, she owed him big time, as her daughter would put it.
‘Frida’s right. I didn’t thank you properly.
You risked your life getting us out of that hut and only minutes before the wall came down.
’ Shuddering slightly, she added, ‘I dread to think what would have happened had you not found us. I didn’t know about the wall.
I thought staying put, with Frida bleeding so much, was the right thing to do.
I was waiting for the ambulance. And, it must have been awful for you.
It must have brought so much trauma back–’
He put a finger on her lips. ‘I had no choice. I had to come for you.’ He caressed her cheek softly.
‘For both of us.’
He nodded. ‘For both of you, of course and I’m delighted Frida isn’t too badly hurt. But I came for you. I had to come for you. I had no choice. I love you, Calliope.’ He kissed her gently.
Callie wasn’t proud of her reaction. For weeks afterwards she deliberated over why she did what she did.
Maybe it was the stress of the last few days, the realisation that Frida was growing up and away from her, the relief that Johnny was standing, unhurt, in front of her and looking gorgeous in a bright blue shirt, and linen shorts.
Maybe even the knowledge that, actually, Frida wasn’t all that desperate to go home. Mainly, she concluded, it was the fact that, whatever happened, she loved the man kissing her. She loved him body and soul.
‘And I love you, Johnny Starling. I love you so much.’ And, with that declaration, she burst into a fine display of ugly, noisy, very wet sobs.