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34
Claude
Claude bent down, ignoring the twinge in his lower back, and put his arms around Buster.
‘You daft dog, going swimming without me there to look after you,’ he said, pushing his face into the animal’s soft fur.
When he raised his head, his cheeks were wet with tears that he brushed away impatiently. ‘Look at me. You’ve turned me into a snivelling wreck. What would people think?’
The knock on the door was so quiet, he almost missed it, but Buster’s ears pricked up and he abandoned the leftovers of his steak, which Claude had bought for him as a welcome home treat, and bounded into the hall.
Claude sighed. He’d had a steady stream of people to his door all morning, asking after Buster and checking out on the quiet that his owner was OK. It was kind of them but, for a quiet, private man like Claude, it had still felt like an intrusion.
For a moment, he considered pretending he was out but Buster spoiled that by beginning to bark.
‘Shush, boy!’ Claude pulled him away from the door and took a deep breath. One more visitor and then he’d pull the curtains, get Buster settled in the tiny courtyard out back and pretend he’d moved to Scotland.
‘Yes?’ he said, somewhat impatiently, pulling open the door. His expression froze when he saw Lettie standing on his doorstep. ‘Lettie!’ He grabbed her hand and pumped it up and down. ‘How are you? I called at Florence’s this morning to ask if you were fully recovered and she said you were, but very little else. She seemed troubled so I was worried about you. Come in.’
He stepped back but Lettie stayed on the doorstep, biting her lip.
‘You are all right, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I’m fine today. I just…’ Without another word she stepped to the side, almost into the tangle of old fishing nets propped against the side wall of his tiny front garden. Past her, Claude could see someone standing on the quayside. A short woman with white hair, dressed in cream and pink. He squinted, wishing he’d put his glasses on because her features were fuzzy. For one ridiculous moment, he wondered if she was the ghost of Lettie’s great-aunt Iris, come to tell him that his time was up.
But when the woman took a few steps forward, her features came more into focus. She had an oval face, pale skin and eyes the colour of cornflowers at Cora Head. Breath caught in Claude’s throat as she took another few steps towards him. It couldn’t be.
They stood, four feet and forty years apart, as tourists walked by licking ice creams and gulls screeched overhead at the boats coming into harbour.
At last she spoke, her voice familiar though more tremulous than he remembered.
‘Well, Claude. Here we are again.’
He couldn’t speak and Lettie moved to his side and put her hand on his arm. Usually, he shrugged off any physical contact. What was the point in reminding himself of something he’d so rarely had? But he let her hand rest there, warming his skin.
‘Shall we go inside?’ asked Lettie gently.
Claude nodded and stood back to let the women into his home. As Esther brushed past him, he closed his eyes and the years fell away. He was thirty-five years old again. An introspective and sometimes lonely man who had finally let his guard down and allowed a woman into his heart. He was standing in this very doorway, waiting for the woman he loved. Waiting, always waiting, until he realised that she would never come again.
‘Claude, please come and sit down,’ said Lettie, taking his arm again and leading him into his sitting room. ‘I should have told you we were coming. It’s all too much of a shock.’
‘No, no. It’s fine,’ said Claude, finding his voice at last. He sat in the dining chair with the window behind him and Esther perched on the edge of the sofa. Buster pushed his nose against Esther’s hand and she patted him on the head.
‘How are you, Claude, after all these years?’ she asked, her eyes fixed on his face.
How could he answer such a question? So much life had happened, good and bad, since they were last together. Claude shrugged. ‘Older, but much the same, as you can see.’ He looked around the room, with its ramshackle furniture. This place was frozen in time, as was he. ‘How are you?’ he managed, noticing Lettie slipping out of the room and into his kitchen.
‘Older too.’ Esther smiled. ‘A lot older and, I hope, a little wiser.’ She continued to pat Buster, who sat at her feet. ‘It’s good to see you, Claude. Why did you ask Lettie to find me?’
I wanted to make sure that ‘we’ really did exist and our relationship wasn’t a fantasy conjured up by my lonely mind.
Claude forced himself to smile. ‘I think about you sometimes and wanted to see if life had treated you well.’
‘That was kind of you.’ Esther hesitated. ‘I wasn’t sure about coming. I wasn’t sure what it would achieve, but I wanted to see you. I also owe you an apology and I thought it best to make that in person.’
‘You don’t owe me anything, Esther.’
‘But I do.’ When the woman he’d once loved sat forward, her face was bathed in sunlight and he could see every line, every wrinkle. She was even more beautiful now that time had etched a multitude of joys and sorrows onto her skin. ‘I sent you a note to say goodbye, Claude. That was cowardly of me. You at least deserved to hear my goodbye face to face, with a proper explanation.’
