One Night on the Island(70)

So, yeah. I know what endings feel like – messy and complicated and terrible. The end of my stay with Cleo wasn’t any of those things. We didn’t hurt each other or break any promises. It just was, until it wasn’t any more, but dammit, I miss her. I miss the simplicity of Otter Lodge, the beauty of Salvation, the pleasure of being with someone who expected nothing from me. Cleo’s company was a spark of pure joy in an otherwise bleak year.

‘Will you come over soon?’ Mom says. ‘I’d love to see you. Or I can come to you, see the boys?’

I’d love her to visit but not here in this condo. She always stayed in the yellow spare room at home, but that hasn’t happened since everything blew up. I hate that her relationship with the kids has had to take a hit because mine has, she shouldn’t have to be collateral damage. Better that I go see her for now. Besides, I think the next few days might be a bumpy ride between me and Susie; better that my mom isn’t in the mix.

‘Let me just get settled down here and I’ll head up. The boys get back from the lake tomorrow, I’ll tell them to FaceTime you and fill you in, okay?’

She pauses and I know she knows I’m not okay. ‘Sure, son,’ she says. ‘I can’t wait to see your photos. Your grandma is excited too.’

‘How’s she doing?’

‘Oh, about the same,’ Mom says, that careful bland tone she always uses about Grandma. It’s tough for my mother watching dementia begin to scramble her mother’s precious memories. It’s not too bad yet a lot of the time, but I know it takes its toll on the both of them. Grandma’s going to love seeing my photographs of the island, they might even spark insights and recollections that will mean so much more to me now I’ve spent time there myself. If you looked at images of Boston eighty years back it would be unrecognizable as the place it is today, but I doubt Salvation has changed very much at all. ‘I’ll come soon,’ I say. ‘I promise.’





Cleo





30 October


Salvation Island


CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL


‘Top of the morning to you, Cleopatra!’

I’ve called my mum for some chicken soup for the soul, but it’s my brother’s jokey tone I hear when the call connects.

‘Hey, Tom,’ I say, smiling into the fierce wind whipping around the top of Wailing Hill. They’d issue a stay-at-home weather warning for this back in London, here it’s just a regular Friday. ‘What’s new with you, big brother?’

‘Ah, same old same old. Work’s shite, Eve wants to divorce me, the kids have destroyed the house and the dog stinks. I’m hiding at Mum’s for an hour of tea and sympathy. I’d much rather hear about your honeymoon. Is it all romantic dinners for one and long walks on the beach?’

I process his complaints, knowing full well he’s disgustingly happy in his domestic chaos. Eve adores him and his house is straight out of Country Interiors.

‘Something like that, yeah.’

‘Hmm, you don’t sound cock-a-hoop,’ he says, suspicious. ‘I could always come over and stay with you for a week, if you like? I seriously doubt anyone would miss me here. They wouldn’t even realize I’d gone until no one put the bins out.’

‘Yeah, because the only thing odder than a honeymoon for one is a honeymoon with your brother,’ I say, laughing at the idea of it. Dolores would rip her sister’s ring right off my finger.

I hear Mum demanding her mobile in the background as Tom makes gagging noises down the line.

‘Cleo darling!’ she says after a moment, amplified because Tom has switched her on to speakerphone. ‘Happy belated birthday!’

‘Mum.’ I close my eyes and pull her comforting face up in my mind.

‘How was it?’

‘Yeah, it was … honestly, it was kind of profound. Thank you for the watch, it was timely.’

We both laugh a little at my rubbish joke.

‘You okay, love? You don’t sound yourself.’

Ah, mums. They just know, don’t they? I scrunch my nose up and burrow deeper inside my hood, so the cold doesn’t freeze the tears on my lashes.

‘I’m all right,’ I say, trying not to sound as if I’m lying.

She pauses for a moment. ‘Why don’t you come up here for a few days when you get back? It’s been too long since I last saw you. I could do coffee cake. Shall I make your bed up?’

I picture my childhood bedroom, pink fairies on the wallpaper and curtains Mum sewed herself. It’s been redecorated since, but I still feel eight years old again whenever I sleep in there.

‘You do make the best coffee cake in the world,’ I say.

‘Yes, then?’

In my head, I curl up in the armchair by Mum’s fire with a huge slice of cake and a cup of tea, Mum in the other chair with the same. Her book is open on her knees and there’s an afternoon game show on in the background, Countdown or something similarly benign. The pull is powerful.

‘Can we say maybe, for now? I’m not sure when I’m heading back yet, and then there’s work and everything.’ I grimace because I know it sounds as if I’m putting her off.

‘Have I got to come over there to fetch you, young lady?’ she says.