Chapter 14
Ward’s BMW rolled up outside the house five minutes after Polly’s car had left. Chris opened the door, calling ahead, convinced
that Polly would be in there.
Camay, Ward, Will, and Shauna followed behind.
“Dad, sit down, you’ll give yourself a heart attack,” said Shauna. She couldn’t wait to give Polly a piece of her mind. She’d
never liked her, though she felt secure enough in her father’s affections not to feel jealous of her for any rivalry reason.
In a row once, Will had said to her that Polly was a much nicer person than she could ever be, and intrinsically Shauna knew
that. So it made her feel better to malign Polly at every available opportunity, none more fitting than now.
“Yes, sit down, Christopher,” agreed Camay. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
“I think something stiffer might be in order. For shock,” said Ward, spying the malt whisky on the work surface.
Shauna went upstairs, hoping to find Polly in tears perched on the bed, a sitting duck for a gobful of righteous vitriol,
but no such luck. She checked the bathroom and the other bedrooms, then called down.
“Dad, you’d better get up here.”
Chris headed upstairs to where his daughter was standing outside Polly’s room, the one with the table she’d put in there so
she could do jigsaws. Camay followed, anxious to see what her niece had discovered.
Chris walked in to see all the boxes and cases piled up there. “Her wardrobes and drawers have been cleared,” said Shauna, trying not to let the smile leak too much out of her lips. “I think we know now why she didn’t want to marry you, Dad.”
Camay’s hand flew up to her mouth.
“Oh my God, she was leaving you, Christopher.”
Chris didn’t say anything for a few moments. His head was like a shaken snow globe. “Now, why do people usually leave their
partners?” said Shauna, being deliberately puckish.
She didn’t say the words for someone else , but Chris heard them all the same.
Polly pulled up in a quiet country lane and changed into a pair of jeans, a top, and trainers. There was a large bin nearby,
for dog poo presumably. She stuffed the dress and the feathery headgear into a carrier bag and left it at the side, hoping
someone would be curious enough to check its contents and discover a designer frock that would fetch a pretty penny on eBay.
It would be a shame if it didn’t happen, but she couldn’t have that outfit in the car with her.
She caught sight of her still heavily made-up eyes in the rearview mirror and saw the tiredness in them. There was no shine
there at all, just two circles of dull brown. What a bloody mess. Just... why? Surely tomorrow wouldn’t have come as that
much of a shock to Chris when she said they were over?
Maybe it would, though, because he didn’t see things from her side, only his own.
He didn’t know her at all; he hadn’t even really tried to get to know her either.
A relationship should be about two people creating a life together, not one deciding for them both and expecting the other to be compliant—this wedding epitomized everything.
She’d fit in with his plans all along and maybe, in doing so, she’d reaped what she sowed.
Maybe in trying to be easy to live with, she’d made a rod for her own back.
Then again, maybe if she’d been with someone who was considerate, who saw her as a person and not an extension of himself, he’d have taken the time to find out what her needs were too.
What were they all saying about her at the house? she wondered. How many pieces had she been ripped into? She pulled her thoughts
away from second-guessing what was happening behind her back and screwed her concentration to the road.
After two solid hours of driving, she saw the first signs to Slattercove and Shoresend, so her destination was in sight. Then
she spotted a brown local sign to “Shore Heights, beauty spot,” and she felt a ghost of warm feelings brush past her nerve
endings. She’d been there with her aunt and uncle all those years ago. On a whim, she turned a last-second right up the steep
hill that rose and bent, eventually plateauing way above sea level. She came to a stop in the place that had been just bumpy
grass back then with a wooden fence to stop people from blowing over the edge. That day the sun had made the waves shine as
if they were painted with glitter, and the sky was a wash of bright summer blue with the odd white fluff. Now the sea reflected
only dark gray clouds bloated with rain. There were no holidaymakers on the beach below, nor up here, for that matter. No
one was utilizing the benches fixed to tables for a picnic, and she saw the fence had been replaced with a more secure one
made of iron. It was up here that her uncle Ed had picked her up and wheeled her above his head as she pretended to be one
of the seagulls circling around them looking for tourist food.
A burger van was parked nearby with “Benny’s Burgers” written on the side. She went over to it, hoping to buy a well-needed
coffee, but as her run of luck dictated, there was a notice in the window saying “Back in half an hour,” and as there was
no way of knowing when that half hour started, she thought she might as well hang on for a while.
She sat on one of the benches, lifted her face to the sky, and let the sea breeze investigate her as a curiosity: Who is this stranger in our midst?
Does she look vaguely familiar to you? She breathed it in and felt it cool in her lungs and salty at the back of her throat and heard the seagulls squawk and caw and wished she could peel the years back and be here again as a child with those two beloved people.
As she closed her eyes, she felt the desire to pray, and her lips moved over words she hadn’t planned but which came out nonetheless.
“Dear God, help me because I am lost and I don’t know where I belong. Just please guide my first foot on a path, that’s all;
point me in the right direction and I’ll figure out the rest. I know you’re busy, but if you could just manage that, I’d be
really grateful. Thank you. Amen.”
She opened up her eyes and saw a man in the distance looking as if he were on course for the van. Mr. Benny’s Burgers, she
presumed. Great. She’d done the right thing waiting for him.