Chapter Twenty-Four
Miranda
It’s going well, this strange little pairing on their strange little road trip, Miranda thinks as she noses the car into a village called Assos. It’s Evelyn’s next request stop in her quest to find Rose’s Kefalonian resting place, but the journey there has not been a sombre one– quite the opposite. In fact, she had forgotten, until now, how enjoyable it is simply to talk without any kind of agenda, without feeling as if you might be walking into a trap. Even though she now despises Bonnie with all her heart, she has been aware of the friendship void inside her since their bust-up. She’s missed their silly chats and messages, the companionship.
Assos is picturesque, an Instagrammer’s dream with its rows of charming painted cottages, pink, blue and orange, with shuttered windows, and bright flowers growing up their frontage. There’s a small pebbly beach with calm, shallow waters; a few boats bobbing in the harbour. They wander along the harbour wall, looking out to sea and stepping over the multitude of snoozing cats sprawled out here and there in the sun. ‘Well, this is lovely,’ Miranda comments as, having decided to lunch at a beachside taverna, they find seats under one of its big umbrellas. ‘Beautiful and tranquil– and hopefully a place with no wet lettuce associations. Good call, Evelyn.’
Evelyn smiles, but it’s not one of her full-beam smiles. Is that a regretful look in her eyes? ‘It is beautiful,’ she agrees after a moment, gazing out to sea. ‘And you’re right: Idon’t have any bad memories about this spot.’
Oh dear. There’s a ‘but’ coming, Miranda can practically smell it. ‘But. . . ?’ she prompts.
‘Well. . .’ Evelyn stares down at the table. ‘The thing is, I’m afraid Idon’t have any memories about this place. Imean– I’m sure we had a lovely time. But Ican’t remember being here at all, which makes me think this probably isn’t the spot for Rose either.’ Her shoulders sink in a small sigh. ‘Because it should be meaningful, don’t you agree? All of the other places I’ve left her, I’ve felt very close to her there. But here. . . Iwas hoping a memory would flash back into my head, but I’m drawing a complete blank. Nothing.’
‘No flashing,’ Miranda says, raising a suggestive eyebrow, and Evelyn shakes her head.
‘Not the tiniest flash,’ she confirms ruefully.
‘That’s a shame,’ says Miranda, ‘but Iagree it’s got to be meaningful. Don’t worry, we’ll find the right place.’
Evelyn bites her lip, not looking convinced. ‘Sorry,’ she frets. ‘You must be finding this pretty tedious, all my shilly-shallying. Ijust. . .’
‘You just want it to be right. Iget it, Evelyn, that’s fine,’ Miranda says, leaning down to scratch a circlet of mosquito bites on her ankle. The pesky little so-and-so must have got her last night when she was sitting out on her balcony. ‘And even if this isn’t where you want to leave Rose, it’s still a good spot for us to visit and have lunch, isn’t it? Ithink it’s absolutely gorgeous here. If Iwas still posting on Instagram I’d be taking photos left, right and centre. Five stars, would recommend.’
Evelyn smiles. ‘Ithink you’re five-stars-would-recommend,’ she says suddenly. ‘Ido, Miranda, don’t argue,’ she pre-empts when Miranda opens her mouth, surprised and touched. ‘You’re a very nice person, and I’m exceedingly grateful that you’re bothering with me and my whims today.’
It’s silly, but for a few seconds Miranda can’t actually find any words. Her instinct is to joke the moment away, say something glib, but she forces herself to sit and absorb the compliment instead, and it warms her right through. ‘That is possibly the nicest thing anyone has said to me for days. Apart from my grandad’s uplifting text messages, anyway. Thank you. Ithink you’re pretty bloody marvellous yourself. And I’m honoured to be your chauffeur.’ Okay, so ‘honoured’ is over-egging the pudding, she acknowledges, but all the same she’s glad for the company. What would she be doing now, if Evelyn hadn’t gate-crashed her day? Driving around crossly, probably, feeling angry with everyone and sorry for herself. Hanging out with Evelyn is turning out to be far more entertaining.
The waiter appears at their table just then. ‘Ladies,’ he says with a little bow. He is grey-haired and portly, with a bristly-looking beard, a grubby apron tied round his sizeable middle. ‘Can Iget you something to drink? Something to eat?’
Evelyn asks for a glass of Robola and another five minutes for them to think about food. Miranda orders another double espresso, wishing that she didn’t have to drive back along the hair-raising cliff roads so that she too could have a cold glass of wine. Later, she promises herself.
‘Actually,’ Evelyn goes on, as they pick up their laminated menus, ‘on the way over here, Idid have another idea for where to leave Rose: Argostoli, the capital of the island. Iremember us seeing masses of sea turtles by the harbour there, hanging around for the scraps that the fishermen were throwing overboard from their boats. It was wonderful to watch them, so majestic and graceful in the water. Also, Rose and Ionce had a conversation about reincarnation, and she said she quite fancied being reincarnated as a sea turtle. She thought that their crinkly little eyes always make them look as if they’re smiling. Beautiful creatures.’
‘Do you believe in that?’ Miranda asks with interest, putting her menu down. ‘Reincarnation?’
Evelyn wrinkles her nose. ‘Not really,’ she admits. ‘Nor did Rose with any proper conviction, Idon’t think. It was one of the awful bedside conversations we had towards the end, when Iwas trying to make sure Iknew exactly what she wanted, when it came to. . . well, the actual end itself. If there was anyone she still wanted to say goodbye to who hadn’t already visited, if she wanted us to resuscitate her if her body went into arrest, that sort of thing.’
‘Gosh,’ says Miranda, feeling a bit blindsided by these blunt practicalities. ‘There’s a lot to consider. A bit like a birth plan, Isuppose, only. . .’ Her face becomes hot and she leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid. Idiot, she thinks.
‘Only a death plan,’ Evelyn finishes for her. ‘Yes. And because of that, Iwas trying to cheer her up, by talking about afterlife options. Whether she was going to haunt me, what she fancied coming back as if she was reborn, that sort of thing. Which, admittedly, we both knew was not very likely, but it was easier to face, the thought of her still being around somewhere, rather than being blotted out for ever.’ She puts her menu down too, food forgotten. ‘Iwas actually quite disappointed when she didn’t haunt me, to be honest. Ithink Iwould have liked having her naughty ghostly presence around the place.’
‘Ican imagine,’ Miranda says, thinking back to when her nan had died and her gramps went on speaking to her for weeks and months afterwards, stubbornly refusing to accept that she was no longer there. Then her attention is caught by a crowd of people suddenly swelling into the harbourside– a coach-load of day-trippers, she guesses, newly disgorged into the sunshine– with a familiar figure dawdling along at the back. ‘Oh, look,’ she says, interest piqued. ‘Ithink that’s Frank Neale’s wife over there. Sans Frank.’
Evelyn immediately swings round to stare, and Miranda can’t help but cringe at how obvious she is (‘Cringe-atron two thousand,’ she hears Imogen say in her head, another of their teenage catchphrases). ‘You’re right,’ Evelyn replies. ‘Poor woman. Some holiday she’s having. At least she’s ditched the sex pest for the day, by the looks of things.’
‘She’ll have drowned him in their whirlpool bath if she’s got any sense,’ Miranda says.
Evelyn shakes her head, turning back. ‘You do feel for the family and loved ones in these circumstances, don’t you? The ones who never wanted the limelight, getting dragged into it like collateral damage.’ She hesitates. ‘Do you think we should ask her if she wants to join us?’
Miranda feels hot all over at Evelyn’s words about family and loved ones, given what’s happened with Imogen. A recent headline flashes into her head– Exclusive: Miranda Vallance– Seduced by My Sister’s Husband– and she has to swallow back a sudden rush of bile as she imagines people discussing Imogen the way she and Evelyn have just discussed Frank Neale’s wife. ‘Um. . .’ she says, Evelyn’s final question only belatedly registering. ‘No. Let’s leave her be.’
The waiter returns with their drinks just then, and they pick up their menus hurriedly. ‘Sorry, could we have another five minutes, please?’ Evelyn asks as he sets them down.
‘No problem, no problem,’ he tells them, stepping away.
Miranda sips her espresso, appreciating the jolt of caffeine. ‘What were we talking about anyway?’ she asks, keen to steer away from the subject of famous people’s transgressions.
‘Sea turtles,’ Evelyn says. ‘And death plans. I’ve written up one for myself, by the way, if you were wondering. I’m hoping I’ll just slip away peacefully in my sleep, obviously, but if not. . .’ She spreads her palms and smiles. ‘No harm in putting a few requests down in writing, I’d say.’
‘Gosh,’ says Miranda, ‘Isuppose not. Is it like one of those riders you get from megastars at Glastonbury, asking for a bucket of M loud, trashy and life-shattering.
Spotted at the Clinic– Did Miranda Vallance Have A Secret Abortion?
Miranda Vallance: I’m A Slut and Proud.
Will there ever come a day when she doesn’t think about those damning words? She gets her vape out of her bag and puffs on it to buy herself a few moments. ‘If you must know, Iconfided in her,’ she says eventually. ‘Ispoke to her about. . . some stuff that had been on my mind.’ She grimaces, picturing the two of them sitting there in Miranda’s dressing room sharing a bottle of wine. How Miranda had eventually divulged what had happened with Felix; how impossible she’d found it to think about anything else. Imean, Iknow I’m a slut– yeah, and proud of it too, she’d said, trying to lighten the mood, but Jesus, I’m not a monster. What should Ido?
This was the problem with so-called friends and making yourself vulnerable. This was why she would never get into such a situation again, ever. That ‘I’m a Slut and Proud’ headline had been totally, wilfully, taken out of context– she’d said it offhand as a joke, trying to deflect from her conflicted feelings, rather than making an actual statement. What sort of bitch betrayed another woman by twisting everything so grotesquely, knowing the damage it would cause?
‘I’m guessing she didn’t keep your confidences to herself?’ Evelyn prompts after a moment.
Miranda shakes her head. ‘At the time, we were both caught up in this big PR thing that was being pumped out from the show into the media,’ she says. ‘Both getting a lot of press attention, in terms of me versus her. Two different levels of it, in fact: our characters on the ward, always clashing and trying to outdo each other, and our own selves, in real life, because we were both up for the same award. Ican only assume that she must have decided to give herself the edge by making me public enemy number one. A quick phone call to the nearest gossip columnist, job done. Probably earned herself a tidy sum in the process too.’
‘How despicable,’ Evelyn says, frowning. ‘On top of everything else you were going through as well. That must have been the last thing you needed.’
No doubt her words are kindly meant, but Miranda’s skin prickles all the same. ‘When you say, “on top of everything else. . .”,’ she replies coldly. ‘What do you mean?’
Evelyn looks taken aback, probably by the sudden iciness in Miranda’s voice. ‘Well. . . Iassumed. . . Imean, the papers said you had gone to have a termination, but. . .’
Miranda feels winded, as if she’s been punched. Not you as well, Evelyn, she thinks, dismayed. ‘Yes, they did say that, didn’t they?’ she replies through gritted teeth. ‘But guess what? It was a complete lie. Yes, Iwas at a sexual health clinic, but that rubbish about me having a secret abortion was exactly that: pure rubbish. I’ve never been pregnant in my life . Iwas there for a prescription of the pill– Ihave horrifically heavy periods, so— oh Jesus, why am Ieven bothering? What business is it of anybody else’s? You probably don’t believe me anyway. Nobody believes me. Not even my own sister.’ She winces as she thinks of Imogen’s white face, the hatred blazing from her eyes, and swallows hard. Oh, Imogen. How will she ever make this right with her?
‘I’m s—’ Evelyn says, looking stricken, but Miranda is already speaking over her.
‘Let’s talk about something else,’ she says. ‘Or even better, let’s just stop talking altogether for a bit. Icame on holiday hoping to get away from all of this shit, okay? Idon’t need to be reminded of it by you!’
‘Iam so s—’ Evelyn starts again, but then the sodding waiter arrives.
‘You are ready to order some food now?’ he asks.
‘Could we have another five minutes, please?’ Evelyn says weakly. ‘Thank you.’ Off he waddles, and then it’s the two of them again, with a horrible, charged atmosphere like a miasma between them. Miranda stares down at the menu. Meatballs , kleftiko , moussaka , she reads once more, but the words skip about before her eyes and she can’t concentrate. She’s back there on the morning that the stories about her first blasted into the headlines, with her phone going berserk. She’d had the most debilitating panic attack of her life, feeling unsure whether she was going to vomit with sheer shock or simply stop breathing altogether. Her heart had pounded so fast it felt as if her body was vibrating. She simply could not believe what she was seeing in print.
WHAT THE HELL??? she had messaged Bonnie. HOW COULD YOU???
Bonnie’s response was immediate, as if she’d anticipated Miranda’s hurt. No doubt she’d been looking forward to it all morning, with a great big smirk on her face. Ipromise it wasn’t me, came her bleated reply. Iswear, Miranda! I’m as shocked as you are!
Yeah, right. Save it for when you reach the gates of hell. Ipromise it wasn’t me, indeed; like it could have been anyone else, when Bonnie had been the only person she’d told. The single person she’d trusted enough to unburden herself to.
Evelyn breaks the silence. ‘Ithink I’m going to have a Greek salad,’ she says. ‘How about you?’
Miranda still hasn’t been able to read the menu properly. ‘Um. . . maybe the stuffed vegetables,’ she says, forcing herself to look at the food listed. ‘Sorry Ihad a go at you,’ she mumbles a moment later. She’ll probably have lost her five-star rating for this mythical karma report now, but never mind.
‘It’s fine. Consider it forgotten,’ Evelyn says. ‘Just going to the loo,’ she adds, heaving herself up from the chair with what looks like a gigantic effort. ‘Would you mind ordering for me if our waiter comes back while I’m gone?’
She’s so spirited that Miranda keeps forgetting she’s an old lady, not well, every bit as wobbly on her feet as her beloved gramps. Shame sinks through her for having been so curt with her just now. ‘Of course,’ she replies, remembering her agent’s words about anger management and vowing to do something about it as soon as she gets home. She’s a mess, isn’t she? She can pretend all she wants, but she’s a churned-up, hot-tempered mess, and she’s still getting everything wrong.
Her eye is drawn to a couple of tiny girls squealing as they gleefully race in and out of the water down below. The smallest one stumbles and suddenly bumps down onto her bottom in the sea, then wails in shock as a wave crashes into her little face. The older girl rushes over immediately and hauls her up again before the mother can get there, then they wade back to shore together, holding hands.
There’s a pain in Miranda’s heart, a tightness in her throat. Oh, you two , she thinks. Keep holding hands for ever. Keep helping one another up. Don’t make the same mistakes Idid, whatever you do.