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‘She bought it in a charity shop.’
A hand goes to my mouth, but a sob escapes.
‘Oh, Laurie, I shouldn’t be telling you any of this over the phone. If I’d known you were going there, to rake all this up—’ Her voice sounds desperate now, ‘– the coin, you still have the coin, that was certainly real.’
‘The coin doesn’t mean anything if they didn’t stay together. Look, Gran, I have to go. I appreciate you telling me all this,’ I say, tears rolling down my cheeks now. I try to hide the cracks in my voice, I don’t want her to worry. ‘I’m fine, honestly, I – I just need time to get my head around it.’
When I’ve said goodbye, I cover my face with my hot palms. Then, looking around the cabin, I realise I don’t want to be here now. My mind jumps to last night, sitting on the floor with Ted, sorting through memories. Of all the places I could be, something inside me yearns to be there, in that cocoon. In that room, with Ted, I didn’t feel I had to hide any cracks, perhaps because he was so open with me, sharing the fractures of his own life. I wonder if he is there now, still going through it all without me.
Walking down onto the beach, I wave to Jasper. He swims in to shore, walking carefully up the pebbles with bare feet. His smile fades when he sees my face, streaked with tears.
‘What’s wrong? What happened?’ he asks. ‘Is your gran OK?’
‘Yes, she’s fine, just— Can we go back? Do you mind?’
Suddenly, I can’t be on a date, can’t handle trying to be fun and flirty and interesting. I can’t filter how I’m feeling and yet I don’t feel ready to share any of this with Jasper.
‘Of course. We’ll go back right away.’
Jasper doesn’t ask any more questions until we’re packed up and back on the boat, steering a course for Jersey.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asks, once we’re out on the open water.
There’s something comforting in the sound of the engine and the undulating motion of the boat churning across the sea’s swell. I muster a smile.
‘My gran just told me something about my family, it’s thrown me, I’m so sorry.’
Jasper’s face is full of concern. He must sense I don’t want to elaborate, because he simply puts a hand on my shoulder and says, ‘Don’t be sorry, I understand.’
On the journey home, Jasper tries to cheer me up by singing sea shanties – he’s an excellent singer and commits wholeheartedly to the delivery, so it does, briefly, distract me. When we reach the still water of St Catherine’s, he turns off the engine. It’s so peaceful without the sound of the motor, and my hair whips around my face, buffeted by the wind.
‘You know what always cheers my sisters up when they’ve had upsetting news?’ Jasper says, tilting his head to a sympathetic angle and giving me that irresistible dimpled grin. ‘Shopping. Do you want me to take you to St Helier – we could engage in some retail therapy?’ My face must register disapproval, because his tone shifts, losing confidence, ‘I know that’s— Sorry, that might be a stupid suggestion.’
I set my teeth into a smile; none of this is Jasper’s fault.
‘No, it wasn’t at all, but I think I just want to go back to L’Étacq, if that’s OK? I just need a little time on my own to think, maybe a lie-down, I didn’t sleep well. I’m sorry to ruin today,’ I say, feeling genuinely bad about all the effort he has gone to.
‘Laura, you couldn’t ruin anything if you tried.’
Wiping my nose on a sleeve, I look up at him gratefully.
‘Well, that’s definitely not true, but thank you. I really did enjoy today.’
Jasper shifts on the seat. ‘And listen, we’re doing a tea for my mother’s birthday this afternoon. If you’re feeling up to it later, I could come and get you – whatever the question, I usually find cake and champagne is a pretty good answer.’
I squeeze his hand; a maybe. I can’t fault Jasper; this was a wonderful date. But I want to be fun, carefree, happy Laura around him, not let him see the morose misery guts lurking beneath the surface. I have to force myself to stop dwelling on the conversation with Gran, just to keep myself from crumbling in front of him. Our histories, the stories we’ve been told, feel like static snow globes – we know the patterns of settled snow made by the past. A revelation like this may not seem earth-shattering to anyone else, but for me, it’s like someone shaking the globe, burying me in a snowstorm. And I know, when everything settles, nothing will look the same as it did before, and I will never be able to get back the familiar patterns in the snow.
