The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(74)

At that thought he stopped dead in the street. He wished with all his heart that she was going to be okay. How could he cope if he lost someone else who was dear to him? He realized that Bernadette had been more than a helping hand to him in his time of need. She was a friend. She was a dear friend.

Terry was leaving his house. “It’s nasty, isn’t it, Arthur? Do you want a lift?” he shouted out, pulling up the hood of his anorak.

“No, thank you.”

“Where are you going so early in the morning?”

“Out for the day.”

“To Lucy’s?”

He didn’t want to make conversation so he pretended not to hear Terry’s question and plowed on. He walked and stopped at the third bus stop he came to and waited for a bus to York center. Then he took the train to Scarborough. For the fifty-minute journey he stared out of the window. Clouds were thick inky blankets and the sky was a fluorescent white.

When he got off the train, rain dripped off the trees. But he didn’t stop. He strode through the streets toward the college. He arrived dripping wet and handed the envelope to the silver-haired receptionist.

“Look at the state of you,” she said, recognizing him. “Don’t you have an umbrella?”

He didn’t reply. “I want you to give this to Ms. Sonny Yardley as soon as she arrives for work. It is most important.” He turned and walked back to the glass entrance doors, not hearing as she shouted after him, offering him her jacket.

He walked past the students smoking, chatting, browsing on their phones and making their way to begin college for the day. He didn’t notice the amusement arcades where families sheltered from the rain under striped canopies, or hear the electronic jingles and rattle of pennies from the arcades just opening up for the day. When he reached the beach, he was alone. No one else was stupid enough to come out in this weather, especially down to the sea.

It stretched out before him like a gray carpet, moving, rippling. He stood at the edge and watched, letting the shush of the waves hypnotize him. Water soaked through the toes of his shoes. The wind nipped his thighs. His ankles grew red and sore as he stood.

In the space of a few weeks he had gone from being a grieving widower, pining for his lost wife, to his mind becoming a mass of suspicion.

They had known each other so well. That’s what he had loved about their marriage. They were soul mates who were in tune with each other’s thoughts and emotions and likes. Except they hadn’t known each other’s stories. Why had he never asked his wife about her life before him? Because he hadn’t expected her to have one, that’s why.

Without her, he had—what? He had Lucy. He had Bernadette. He had his son on the other side of the world. But there was a hole inside him that ached, that would never be filled again. It ached for the woman he loved, the woman he didn’t know. His house wasn’t a home without her. It was just walls and carpet and a silly old man rattling around inside.

How could he live without again feeling her cheek pressed against his shoulder? Without the sound of her singing as they made breakfast together. Things could never be as they were when they were a family unit. The thought pulled him down like quicksand.

It began to rain more now. A spatter at first, flecking his eyelids. And then it began to fall heavily so it looked as if drinking straws were firing down from the sky. The water hit his face, rolled down his cheeks. His trousers were sodden, stuck to his legs. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Miriam!” His voice was captured and taken by the wind and blown elsewhere. “Miriam!” He shouted her name over and over knowing that she couldn’t hear him, that his words were futile. “Miriam!”

When those words were gone he felt empty, as if they were the only things holding him together. The sea rolled over his feet and filled his shoes. He stumbled backward over a rock and he hit the wet sand with a thud. His knees crunched and his hands and backside slapped against the sand. A wave crashed over his legs, soaking him again and surrounding him with a halo of white foam. “Miriam,” he said again weakly, digging his fingers into the sand. He felt it suck and slide away from him. He wished he had left her alone, perfect in his memory, instead of prying and pursuing her. He had opened doors that he wished had remained locked. How he wished he hadn’t sunk his hand into the boot. Someone buying them from a charity shop would have had a nice surprise in finding the charm bracelet. It might have brought them good luck.

He took it from his pocket. He hated it now, detested what it had done to his memories. The gray stretch of sea beckoned. He raised his hand to shoulder height, feeling the weight of it in his palm. He imagined it spinning through the air and then plopping down into the water. It would sink and drift down and then lie on the seabed for centuries, waiting to be discovered, when someone might find it and wonder at the origins of the charms. Except to that person the bracelet would be anonymous. It’s only significance would be its curiosity value or worth in gold.

Arthur wondered if it would make him feel better to be rid of it, but there was still the one charm he knew nothing about—the heart. The heart-shaped box, the heart-shaped lock and the heart-shaped charm. Perhaps it could tell him that his wife did really love him, that their time together hadn’t been a compromise for her. It might hold the answers.

It had to.

But it was so tempting to walk into the sea with the bracelet. The waves lulled him into their midst. If he carried it in he could be sure it was gone. His feet were wet, and his ankles, so why not his groin, his waist, his chest, his shoulders? Why shouldn’t the sea cover his mouth, his nose, his eyes, until all that was left was a tuft of white hair, which the sea could sweep over and claim.