One good thing, p.15
One Good Thing, page 15
‘You are. Just by listening.’
‘Well, I’m not sure you should be asking a divorced woman for advice about relationships,’ I shrug, with a smile. ‘Though I have learned you can only be in a relationship with someone who really wants to be in that relationship.’
She’s studying me, her dark eyes serious.
‘And it sounds to me like Danny really wants to be in your relationship.’
Naomi smiles gratefully, then glances around her. ‘So you used to come here with your sister?’
‘Yes, all the time.’ My eyes dart around the familiar surroundings. ‘But it’s the first time I’ve been back since we were kids.’
‘It must bring back some memories.’
I nod, casting my mind back. ‘We used to play hide-and-seek here. We’d catch the bus and sneak in. Josie always used to win. She’d go down the stairs that were roped off and hide in the dungeon. I could never find her, because I’d be too scared to look there. I remember once walking around crying, thinking I’d lost her forever—’ I break off, feeling a lump in my throat.
Naomi brushes my arm. ‘You OK?’
‘Yeah.’ I force a smile. ‘Big sisters, huh?’
‘I wouldn’t know – I’m an only child. Which is why I worry sometimes about Ellie having just me.’
Her face turns serious and we both glance over to where Ellie’s still huddled with a group of children.
‘Though perhaps I should worry more about the fact that she’s utterly transfixed by those knights in shining armour,’ she adds with a rueful smile.
‘Don’t burst her bubble yet,’ I say and we both start laughing. Because sometimes, when you can’t solve things, that’s all you can do.
Courage
From a distance they look such a part of the countryside setting, it’s like gazing upon a Constable painting. The old man with his flat cap, sitting outside the village pub with his pint, while next to him his old dog lies on the cobbles, basking in the late-afternoon sunshine. Heading up the high street, on my way to collect Harry from Valentine’s, I look at the pair silhouetted against the golden backdrop of the Dales. It’s only as I draw closer that I realize this picture of contentment is Valentine and Harry.
I feel a beat of surprise. Since moving here, this is the first time I’ve seen Valentine out in the village. When he isn’t visiting Gisele, he seems to confine himself to his house.
‘Fancy seeing you here!’
Valentine looks up when he sees me, as if caught doing something he shouldn’t, while Harry lifts his head and gives a few lazy thumps of his tail.
‘It was too nice a day to stop in. I thought I’d take Harry out for a breath of fresh air while you were at the castle.’ He looks over my shoulder. ‘Where are your friends?’
‘They’ve gone back to the house so Ellie can have a nap. She’s only seven – she gets tired.’ I sit down across from Harry on the wooden bench.
‘Don’t we all. I thought I’d sit here and rest my legs for a bit.’
‘I didn’t know you liked a pint.’ I smile and gesture to his half-empty glass. ‘I thought tea was more your thing.’
‘First one I’ve had in years.’ Wrapping his fingers around it, he takes a swig. ‘No fun drinking on your own. But it’s different with Harry.’
He smiles then, and we both look at Harry dozing next to us. I feel pleased that Valentine found the courage to get out of the house and come to the pub.
‘How do, Valentine.’
We both look up to see a broad-shouldered man with an impressive handlebar moustache. I recognize him as the pub landlord, from my disastrous date with Ajay.
‘Nice day for it.’ He begins cleaning up glasses around us. The good weather has brought a rush of day-trippers and the village has been busy. ‘Not seen you for a long time.’
I feel Valentine stiffen, and he nods and mumbles something.
‘We’ve missed you at quiz night.’
‘You have a quiz?’ My ears prick up. If it’s one thing I love, it’s a pub quiz. Some of the teachers at the comprehensive formed a team and we used to take part in a weekly quiz at the local pub near the school. We had so much fun. Though once I made the mistake of taking David along and he was so competitive that he demanded a recount when an opposing team won. ‘When is it?’
The landlord points to the poster on the door.
‘Every Sunday. Seven thirty sharp,’ he says in his deep baritone voice. ‘Valentine and Gisele used to be a winning team.’
I glance sideways at Valentine, worried that might have upset him, but he nods proudly. ‘We were that.’
The landlord pauses by our table, his hands full of glasses. ‘We’re all sorry to hear she’s not been so well.’ His voice is gruff, but matter-of-fact, and I’m reminded of my grandparents and how they used to show their concern without making a fuss, in the way Yorkshire folk do. ‘Make sure to send her our love, won’t you?’
‘Aye, I will.’ Valentine gives a brief dip of his head, but I can tell he’s touched.
Satisfied, the landlord nods to himself.
And how in a world that is constantly talking, tweeting, liking and posting, such a brief exchange between these two men conveys so much.
‘Think on – about that quiz.’ He pauses in the doorway of the pub. ‘It would be good to have you back.’
As he disappears inside, I look across at Valentine.
‘We should get a team together.’ As I suggest it, I’m fully expecting to have to persuade him. So I’m surprised when he drains the rest of his pint and sets the glass back on the table.
‘Aye, you’re right, lass. Who do you know that’s good at sport?’
Easter weekend is spent hanging out with Naomi and Ellie: exploring the village, playing board games, watching films and making numerous trips to the tiny hole-in-the-wall fish-and-chip shop next to the pub.
‘I’m so sorry about not having a kitchen,’ I apologize for the umpteenth time, as we unwrap the vinegary newspaper and sit in a patch of dappled sunlight in the garden to eat from our knees.
‘Stop saying “Sorry”. Ellie’s in heaven, aren’t you, Ellie?’ admonishes Naomi, to which Ellie, covered in ketchup, nods happily and declares that chips are her favourite food.
We talk about anything and everything, as old friends do, picking up and putting down threads of conversation as if we’re browsing through racks of clothes in a shop. We unfold topics like sweaters, trying some on and turning this way and that in the mirror – my need for a haircut, that new show on Netflix, random school gossip, the state of the world, the state of our necks – while discarding others, like my ex David, who was quickly picked up and put down, a sweater that definitely doesn’t suit me.
At some point one evening, after several glasses of wine, Naomi gets all determined to find me a new man and suggests doing some ‘Boyfriend shopping’, and so I play along and we scroll through various dating apps, ‘just to see’. After all, I met David online. Only it all looks a bit different now that I’m older, and so do the men. But then so do I, even with Naomi’s magic phone filter. Which is depressing and funny all at the same time, as things always are, when accompanied by a bottle of something dry and white and your oldest friend.
My garden also gets a makeover. Naomi is as good as her word and attacks the brambles with gusto, while, under her watchful eye, I make a start on the weeding, and together we fill endless wheelbarrows until our backs beg us to stop. She also bravely helps me clear out the shed, which turns out not only to contain so many spiders that I nearly die of arachnophobia, but to be a treasure trove from the past.
We unearth several dusty boxes of original Victorian glazed tiles; rolls of hand-painted wallpaper, carefully stored in a trunk and in perfect condition; half a dozen lovely old paintings; antique mirrors with their original mercury glass; and a couple of Art Deco lamps with kaleidoscope-glass shades wrapped in hessian. It’s a miracle they’re not chipped.
‘All they need is rewiring and bulbs,’ Naomi says, giving them a wipe-down, ‘and they’ll be as good as new.’
Excitement flickers. I haven’t been able to see beyond all the building work, but now I glimpse the light at the end of the tunnel – no pun intended – and the fun part of decorating the rooms with lamps and rugs, hanging pictures and choosing paint colours.
‘Damn! This one has a crack.’ I point to the hairline fracture in the tip of one of the shades.
‘That’s where the light gets in,’ Naomi grins. ‘It’s the imperfections that give something its character.’
And I smile too, because I know she’s not just talking about the lamps.
With the rise in temperatures, spring seems to appear overnight in an explosion of colour. Roadsides and river banks are transformed by golden daffodils, woods are filled with a magical carpet of bluebells, and the village is awoken like Sleeping Beauty rousing from her slumbers, after winter had cast its spell.
Meanwhile I’m now woken by the dawn chorus and find myself rising early. When I lived in London I noticed the change in seasons by the clothes in the high-street windows, but here I feel like part of nature itself. Despite sleeping less, I feel more energized than I have done in months, as if it’s not merely the countryside that’s bursting into life.
Harry can feel it too. On our walks he has an extra spring in his step and seems to be able to walk that little bit further, his nose tipped towards the unmistakable smell of wild garlic, and his ears cocked for the distinctive whistling sound of the swooping curlews that the Brontës used to write about.
On Monday, Naomi and Ellie accompany me and Harry on a walk down to the river. They’re due to catch the train back to London later that afternoon and Naomi is keen for ‘a last blast of nature’.
‘So do you miss it? London, I mean?’ she’s asking now, as we walk along the footpath so Ellie can see the sheep and cows grazing in the neighbouring fields.
‘I miss the green curry with tofu from our local Thai restaurant,’ I confess. ‘And my favourite bookshop in Marylebone – I used to drop by for five minutes when I was in town and end up losing all track of time . . .’ My mind scrolls back. ‘And I loved cycling through the parks.’
‘You could cycle here.’
‘True,’ I nod, ‘but have you seen the hills? I’d need thighs of steel.’
She laughs.
‘You know I used to take London for granted – all the restaurants and bars and cafes and shops; getting last-minute tickets for the theatre or a concert; grabbing a pint of milk at nine o’clock on a Sunday evening; jumping in a cab; sushi by Deliveroo.’ I smile as I reel off the longlist. ‘There’s always something open. Something happening. When I came here it seemed so quiet and sleepy, it was a shock. Plus it didn’t help that it was the middle of winter. It was like everyone was hibernating.’
‘That’s what we used to do when I was growing up in Scotland,’ Naomi nods. ‘It was so cold and dark in winter . . .’ She gives a little shiver, remembering. ‘Beautiful, though.’
‘Well, that’s the thing.’ I nod. ‘It’s forced me to slow down, to stop rushing about, to look and listen. To really notice things. And I’ve realized that actually the countryside is far more alive and invigorating than any city. I mean, just look at that landscape.’ I gesture across the sweeping valley. ‘It’s much grander than any of London’s skyline.’
We both pause for a few moments to stare at it, before climbing over the stile and descending the grassy bank to where the river deepens and widens, forming a small pebbly beach. Immediately Ellie runs onto it gleefully, followed with a little agility by Harry.
‘What a gorgeous spot.’
‘Josie and I used to swim here in the summer. Well, Josie did. I used to paddle,’ I add as an afterthought.
‘You were ahead of the times – wild swimming’s all the rage now.’
‘Wild swimming, what’s that?’
‘Don’t you look at Instagram?’ she laughs, and I frown.
‘I deleted all my apps, remember? So I wasn’t tempted to look at photos of David’s new girlfriend.’ Squatting down, I pick up a pebble, rubbing my thumb along its smooth edges. ‘She’s a yoga teacher. Can you imagine? It would be like self-harming.’
‘They call that a social-media detox.’
‘I call it a means of a survival.’
‘Self-care,’ she corrects firmly. ‘You’re practising self-care.’
‘Self-care,’ I repeat, skimming the pebble into the river. It makes a splash as it hits the surface – once, twice – then disappears.
‘Anyway, it basically means swimming outdoors in natural places – you know, like rivers, lakes, the sea . . . I’ve been a few times with Danny; it’s supposed to be a really good way to de-stress, and great for the metabolism—’ She breaks off and her face lights up. ‘We should go wild swimming here.’
‘Here? But it’s still only April – the water will be freezing.’
‘That’s why it’s so invigorating.’
‘And we don’t have any swimming costumes.’
‘That’s another reason why it’s wild.’ Naomi flashes her wide, white smile.
‘What? You mean . . . naked?’
‘Well, you can keep your underwear on, if you’re prudish.’
‘I’m not prudish,’ I rebuke, while at the same time feeling less than enthusiastic about getting my naked body out into the open. ‘But what if someone sees us?’
‘You said it yourself: this is a little hidden spot, and no one ever comes down here.’ Putting down her backpack, she sits on the grass and starts pulling off her trainers and socks. ‘Come on.’
‘What? Now?’ I look around, somewhat alarmed.
‘Why not? No time like the present.’ She looks across at Ellie, who’s playing with Harry on the small stretch of pebble beach alongside the banks of the river. ‘What do you say, Ellie?’
Without further ado, Naomi strips off and jumps in, accompanied by Ellie, who is as daring as her mother. Barking gleefully at this sudden exciting turn of events, Harry needs no persuasion and follows them.
‘It’s not bad, once you get in – it’s really refreshing,’ Naomi calls out, to the sound of shrieks of laughter and splashing.
I take off my clothes but keep on my underwear, then hesitate on the river bank. Memories of being a child, and of Josie jumping straight in the deep bit while I would remain paddling sensibly in the rockpools, flood back. I remember saying I was fine, I didn’t want to swim; but now, looking back, I wonder if I mixed up being sensible with being scared.
I strip off naked and jump in.
My breath feels like it’s being sucked out of my body. It is freezing.
‘Yay, you’re in!’ grins Naomi, as I swim, splashing and gasping, towards her. ‘Isn’t it fab?’
I can’t answer, as my voice seems to have disappeared along with my breath, but as I start to splash around I feel the strangest of sensations. My body begins to rapidly acclimatize, the shock quickly disappears and I’m suddenly filled with exhilaration at how amazing it feels to be swimming around in nature, surrounded by nothing but blue skies and green fields. And it strikes me that while I might have moved physically, it’s as if I’ve still been stuck in my emotions, unable to move forward properly.
‘Woo-hoo.’ Splashing around with Naomi and Ellie and Harry, I whoop and laugh. Because now I suddenly feel free.
After about fifteen minutes Naomi reluctantly reminds us of the train they have to catch back to London and swims to the river bank with Ellie, to dry off and get dressed. Further upstream, I take a few more minutes and am just about to start clambering out across the slippery rocks when a figure suddenly happens upon us.
‘I thought I heard a commotion.’
He’s immediately recognizable in his flannel shirt and jeans. Ben. What’s he doing here? I plunge back into the water.
‘Oh, hi.’ I try to wave casually, only I probably look like I’m drowning, as he hurries off the footpath and down to the bank.
‘Livvie! You all right?’
‘Yes, fine,’ I bluster, trying to remain fully submerged while willing him to stay back. ‘I’m wild swimming.’
‘I can see that,’ he says, and his face splits into a wide grin.
Despite the freezing-cold waters, I feel my cheeks flame. Until now I didn’t realize boobs floated. It must be the natural buoyancy. ‘These are my friends.’ Trying to strap my boobs down, by folding my arms while frantically doing doggy-paddle, is not an easy manoeuvre. I motion towards Naomi and Ellie, who are along the bank and now fully dressed. They both smile and say their hellos.
‘Ben’s my builder. He put up your tent.’ I continue with the introductions as if I’m at a cocktail party in Mayfair, not naked in a freezing-cold river in the Yorkshire Dales.
There follows a flurry of thank-yous and a discussion of bell-tents versus yurts, which I’m sure is all very interesting, but I’ve been in the river so long I can no longer feel my legs.
‘Well, I’d best be off. Just heading up to see the farmer about a quote for converting a barn.’
‘Super!’
My teeth are beginning to chatter and I’m physically numb from the neck down. I say physically, because emotionally I am completely and utterly mortified.
‘Bye then, see you tomorrow.’ He waves. ‘And safe travels,’ he adds to Naomi and Ellie, before giving Harry a rub around his ears and heading off up the fields.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Naomi turns to me, goggle-eyed.
‘You never told me about Bob the Builder!’ she hisses.
‘It’s Ben,’ I correct, relieved to be able to finally get out of the river. My legs are dead weights, and Naomi has to give me a hand as I stumble onto the pebbly beach.
‘Now I know why you don’t miss London. And to think I fell for all that stuff about dramatic landscapes,’ she snorts, as I dive onto my clothes.
‘He’s married,’ I cry, fumbling at my underwear with numb fingers, ‘and even if he wasn’t, I would not be interested, trust me.’
She makes a little noise in her throat and nods her head in that infuriating way Naomi has of pretending to agree, when really she doesn’t. Quickly pulling on the rest of my clothes, I put Harry on the lead and we start to walk back to the house. For a few minutes nobody says anything, and I relish the feeling of the warmth returning to my limbs. Naomi walks beside me as Ellie runs ahead. I can feel Naomi looking at me but steadfastly ignore her, until finally she can’t bear it any longer and elbows me in the ribs.
