Читать книгу The Cliff House: A beautiful and addictive story of loss and longing - Amanda Jennings, Amanda Jennings - Страница 18

CHAPTER NINE

Edie

July 1986

Edie walked through the double doors that led out to the terrace and pulled her cigarettes from her pocket. She removed one from the box and paused to light it, shielding it from the breeze with a cupped hand.

The lawn was soft underfoot and the flowers flanking it teemed with bees and butterflies which flew busily from one bloom to the next. The wind was too slight to dilute the dry heat. She leant over the railings and the sun beat down on her, reflecting off the surface of the sea so it shone like a polished silver salver. The gulls were so high they were no more than specks on the cloudless sky and their incessant screeching was barely audible. Edie watched the path and chain-smoked until Tamsyn finally appeared round the bend. As soon as she saw her she stubbed her cigarette out on the railing and dropped the end into the spiky thatch of gorse on the other side of the boundary.

Tamsyn hadn’t seen her and Edie noticed she was walking with a strange sense of purpose, like a soldier marching towards the front line. The wind was clearly stronger on the brow of the cliff and buffeted her hair in a glorious knot of red as if the strands were fighting their tethers in an attempt to escape. Edie waited for her to notice her, but she was too intent on striding the path, concentrating as if she were counting her steps.

When Tamsyn pushed open the gate, Edie called down to her.

The girl looked momentarily surprised but then her face cracked a shy smile and she waved, using her whole arm like a flag, a childish gesture which accentuated how immature she appeared in her denim shorts and shirt tied at the waist. The outfit could have been sexy and grown-up but the shorts were too baggy and there was something wrong in the way she’d knotted the shirt. Too innocent. More Jackie mag than Daisy Duke. Edie made a mental note to tell her that if she tied it tighter and higher to reveal more stomach, and undid an extra button to show some cleavage, she’d look a hundred times better.

‘My father hasn’t even lit the barbecue yet so I thought we could listen to some music in my room,’ she said as soon as Tamsyn was near enough.

Before Tamsyn could answer Edie turned to walk inside. She checked over her shoulder and was pleased to see the girl following like an obedient puppy.

‘What music do you like?’ Edie said as they walked up the stairs.

‘Anything.’

Tamsyn didn’t follow Edie into her room, but hovered at the doorway, her fingers twisting around each other, eyes glued to the floor. Her reticence was annoying and Edie wondered if she’d made a mistake and spending time with this girl was going to be more tedious than diverting. Where was the girl who’d broken into the house and stripped off to swim in their pool? That was the girl Edie liked. This timid version didn’t interest her at all. She picked up her Walkman from her bedside table and sat on her bed, crossing her feet at her ankles, deliberately not looking at the girl in the doorway.

‘I like your room,’ Tamsyn said then. ‘Mine’s tiny.’

Edie looked up. ‘Smaller than this?’

Tamsyn nodded. ‘Way smaller. Only room for my bed. I can’t even open the door properly.’

Edie shifted over on the bed. Tamsyn seemed to take the hint and walked over and sat down beside her. Edie pressed play on the Walkman, then pulled each of the foam headphones off in turn. She pressed one against her ear and offered the other to Tamsyn.

‘Do you know The Cure?’

Tamsyn shook her head.

‘You’ll love them. Robert Smith is a total sex god. Sexy in a way that isn’t really sexy but is, if you know what I mean? This track is “Killing an Arab”.’

Tamsyn held the headphone to her ear.

‘What do you think?’ Edie asked, watching her face carefully.

‘I like it,’ Tamsyn replied, sounding as if she was telling the truth. ‘I haven’t heard anything like it before but it’s brilliant.’

Edie rested her head against the back wall, pulled her knees up and draped her arms over them. Tamsyn copied her, adopting exactly the same position, except with her head turned towards Edie. The girl’s eyes were bolted to her. Edie tried to ignore it for a bit, assuming she’d eventually look away, but she didn’t and it became irritating.

Edie pressed the stop button on the Walkman and the music quietened with a loud click.

‘Are you all right?’ She turned to face Tamsyn.

‘Sorry?’ Tamsyn’s lips twitched nervously.

‘You’re staring. It’s unnerving. And a bit weird, if I’m truthful.’

Tamsyn’s face flushed fuchsia, clashing horribly with her hair. Edie was hoping she would laugh and say something cool or even combative, but she didn’t, she just clammed up and mumbled apologetically. Dull. Boring and dull.

Edie knelt up and shuffled to the end of her bed and climbed off. She wrapped the headphone wires around her Walkman then faced Tamsyn with crossed arms. She was going to tell her to leave. This wasn’t fun. This was worse than being alone. She’d tell her the barbecue was off and her plans for the summer had changed and didn’t include her anymore.

But as she opened her mouth, Tamsyn swung her legs off the bed and looked up at her, eyes fixed and unwavering. ‘My dad died.’

Edie raised her eyebrows. A dead father definitely made her interesting again.

‘I think I come over a bit weird because of it.’

Edie didn’t say anything.

‘Sorry. Maybe I should have told you sooner. I—’

‘How old were you?’

‘Ten.’

Edie felt a small twist in her stomach. Ten years old. A little younger than the age she’d been when she first found her mother passed out on the floor, pale and still. For a while she’d been convinced she was dead and it terrified her. She’d sat beside her for ages, holding her hand, stroking her, begging her to wake up. Then her father appeared and sent her out of their bedroom. As she left she heard him muttering crossly, saying ‘at this rate she’d be dead before Christmas.’ Shortly afterwards Edie returned to school and every night she went to bed convinced she’d get a message in the morning that this time her mother hadn’t woken up.

‘What happened to him?’ she asked, sitting down beside Tamsyn on the bed.

‘He drowned.’

Edie rested her hand on Tamsyn’s knee.

‘He was a volunteer with the RNLI.’ She hesitated and glanced at Edie. ‘The lifeboats? He was called out in a storm that had come in too fast. There were a couple of tourists who’d got caught in a dinghy. Idiots. They died too. His body was washed up the next morning a few miles down the coast.’ She paused and blinked slowly, then whispered: ‘Sometimes it hurts so much I can’t breathe. I miss him every day.’

Tamsyn became animated as she talked about her father’s death. Her shyness evaporated. Her raw grief was palpable, but so was the inner strength which Edie had seen a flash of the day before.

‘That’s dreadful. I’m so sorry,’ Edie said. And she meant it. ‘You poor thing.’

Without thinking she put her arm around Tamsyn and for a while they sat like that, peaceful, no sound except the lilt of the breaking waves which rolled in through the slightly open window.