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‘An island this size, that must be a record,’ says Sue.
‘Well, well, spill the beans, girl,’ says Monica.
I bite my lip, trying to think what to say.
‘Well, one is perfect for me; we’ve got everything in common, and he seems to like me too—’
‘And the other?’ asks Monica.
I pause for a moment before answering.
‘The other one is more complicated, less suitable, and I don’t know if he likes me or not.’
‘But?’
‘But I can’t stop thinking about him.’
The truth of these words startles me, as I admit to myself how much I am thinking of Ted.
‘Well, there’s your answer,’ says Sue, tapping her forehead. ‘Men are like woodworm; once they’ve wheedled their way in, they’re almost impossible to get rid of. Even when you’ve had the wood treated, the holes are there to stay.’
I’m not sure this is the most romantic analogy I’ve ever heard.
‘Ah, it’s been a while since I’ve had any woodwormy wood,’ says Monica wistfully, causing me to splutter on my damson gin.
Declining another round of drinks, I say regretfully that I must go. I need to retrieve my computer, track down my phone and finalise the photo shoot tomorrow.
‘How long are you here for? You will stay in touch, won’t you?’ says my grandmother. ‘You should meet Graham’s children, your cousins once removed. You’re a Jersey girl at heart, Laura Le Quesne,’ and she pronounces it Ques-ne with a wink.
‘I’m not flying back until Wednesday now,’ I say, squeezing her hand, ‘and I would love to stay in touch.’
‘We could talk to Graham about having a meal with his brood, before you go,’ Sue turns her head towards Monica, who says, ‘We’ll do some plotting and let you know what we can organise.’
The idea alone plants a glow inside me. I always longed for more family, to be part of one of those scenes in Christmas movies when the extended family gets together – everyone brings a different dish and people tease each other, the way Jasper and his sisters do.
‘And you will take your father’s box?’ Sue asks.
I feel like saying I don’t want it, that I don’t want anything that belonged to my dad now, real or imagined.
‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t have room to take it on the plane. Plus, I came here on a bike.’
But Monica has already picked up the box from the floor and is walking towards the front door with it.
‘I’ll nip you back in the car, we’ll sling your bike in the boot. You’ll have a proper look through, see what you want to keep and throw the rest away. It will all just get put on the pyre when we pop our clogs otherwise. Sue, come on, polish off that piece of cake, and I’ll drop you back to yours en route.’
My heart sinks at the responsibility of throwing away the last vestiges of a man’s life. But then I look up at Sue and Monica, feel the warmth these women have shown me, and think of the family I am yet to meet. Something Ted said comes back to me – about love being a chain letter through the generations. Perhaps Dad and the coin caused a link to break, but now I am here, I can pick up the pieces of the chain once more.
