The House Swap(38)

‘Don’t look so worried,’ Francis says. ‘I wasn’t being serious. Well …’ He waves a hand, letting the thought drift off half formed.

‘Yeah,’ I say, nonetheless. We have wandered along the left-hand side of the pier, and I lean on to the railings, looking out at the gently rocking water, curls of foam carved out and smoothed over by the wind, the smell of sea-spray sharp and salty on the air. Seagulls are swooping and crying above our heads, wheeling in wide-winged circles. One settles on the railings inches from me, cocking its head inquisitorially in our direction, black, glassy eyes surveying us beadily. I smile. ‘Sorry,’ I tell it. ‘No food here.’

‘He’s not the only one who wants food,’ Francis says, taking my hand. ‘Let’s walk a bit further and then go back and get some fish and chips. Could eat them on the beach, if you like?’

We waste a few pounds on the arcade games, feeding coppers into the brightly flashing machines with no hope or expectation of return. Francis wins a small stuffed dolphin toy with a lucky throw, knocking over some stacked-up aluminium cans, and presents it to me.

‘There you go,’ he says. ‘Don’t say I never give you anything.’

‘Thanks, but I think Eddie might appreciate it more.’ Looking down at the small purple dolphin, I imagine his hands grasping out eagerly to snatch it, and there’s a pang of sadness. It seems odd that he isn’t here with us, galloping up the promenade, pestering for candyfloss and ice cream.

‘You could give him a call,’ Francis suggests, noticing my silence.

‘Yeah, I think I will.’ As we retrace our steps and wander towards the fish-and-chip place we spied earlier, I dial my mother’s number. There’s a scrambling at the end of the line when it’s picked up, and a muffled, ‘Go on, then,’ in the background, but Eddie doesn’t speak. I listen to the sound of his breathing, heavy and intent down the line, waiting.

‘Hello!’ I sing out. ‘I’m just here at the seaside with Daddy. He’s won you a toy.’

‘A toy?’ His voice comes loud and clear now, piqued with interest. ‘What toy?’

‘A dolphin,’ I say, not sure if he will understand. ‘Like a fish, you know … but bigger. We can give it to you when we get back. Are you having a nice time?’

‘… Yes,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘We went to the playground. I miss you.’

His voice is even and untroubled, but all the same my eyes smart briefly with tears. ‘I miss you, too, sweetheart.’ I want to say more, but Eddie’s breathing is already growing more distant, and I hear the clunk of the phone being laid down. He’s too young to concentrate on the phone for long, and it comes to me now how much of our bond relies on simply being there, in the same place at the same time.

Another scuffle, and my mother comes on the line. ‘Having fun?’ she asks.

‘Yes,’ I say, slowly. ‘But it’s hard. Being away from him, and …’ Something shifts nebulously in the back of my mind, a half-expressed, suppressed thought; the image of you, nearer my child than I am.

‘Come on now,’ my mother says briskly. ‘Eddie’s fine. You’re meant to be relaxing.’ I know she means well, but there’s a brittle edge to her tone that makes me wonder if she’s getting exasperated. It’s as if there’s an unspoken question there: What more do you want? I’m not even sure what the answer is.

As I hesitate, I see Francis coming out of the fish-and-chip shop, holding two bulging paper bags and a bottle of wine, his eyebrows raised inquiringly. ‘I’d better go,’ I say. ‘Just about to have something to eat.’

‘All OK?’ Francis asks, when I have hung up, and I nod.

We pick our way across the pebbles to find a suitable spot to sit, and as we settle down I feel my muscles untensing again, seduced by the sea air. I pop a chip into my mouth, feeling heat and salt spread sharply on my tongue. The pebbles we’re sitting on are faintly glistening, slicked with spray.

‘We could move here,’ I say suddenly.

Sprawled next to me with his face turned upwards to the sun, Francis squints. ‘What? But … We only moved to Leeds about eight months ago. Don’t you like it?’

‘It’s not that.’ Leeds still doesn’t feel like home, but I wouldn’t fully expect it to, not yet. As I struggle to articulate what I mean, I realize that it’s stupid. I want this sense of being outside my own life, all the time. I want a holiday every day of the week. I put aside my crumpled newspaper of fish and chips half eaten, staring out to sea. ‘Forget it,’ I say. ‘Just an idle thought.’

Francis nods in acquiescence, draining the wine from his plastic cup. I glance at the almost empty bottle beside him. ‘Hadn’t you better stop?’ I ask. ‘You’ve got to drive, remember.’

Francis looks across at me, and I have a small, uneasy premonition of what he is about to say. ‘I probably have had a bit too much,’ he says. ‘Couple of glasses. Maybe you should drive back.’

I shake my head. A gust of wind blows across our picnic spot, bristling the hairs on my arms. ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’ve been drinking, too, remember.’

‘You’ve had half a glass,’ he insists, ‘at the most. Come on, Caro. It makes sense.’