Recipes for Melissa Page 11

  She pulled a face, twisting her mouth and turned the phone to show Sam.

  ‘Sexist? Your father? What’s all that about?’

  ‘God knows. I hope he’s not in some kind of trouble at work,’ Melissa sighed. ‘Shit. He’s done that so I’ll ring him to find out what’s going on. But I can’t talk to him on the phone at the moment. I just can’t.’

  ‘OK. So what do you want to do then, Melissa? Today – I mean. Swim? Read. Lunch? Walk?’

  ‘Do you mind, awfully, if I take the journal to the beach cafe? Read on a bit by myself for a while. I’ll text my dad, calm him down and get my head together.’

  ‘If that’s what you want?’

  ‘And then join me there for lunch? Say 12.30? How’s that sound?’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  She picked up her bag, put the journal in the side pocket and then gathered her sunglasses and straw hat, him all the while watching and pretending this was not awkward, glancing instead to watch the families down by the pool through the open sliding doors to the balcony.

  ‘I get nervous too, Sam.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘About what’s going to happen. To us. And in the journal. Every new bit I read, I get really nervous. About what it’s going to say next.’

  He limped across the room to kiss her on the forehead and she held onto his arm. ‘I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you before.’

  ‘It’s OK. I do understand, Melissa. So long as you ring me if you need me? And you try not to shut me out so much?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And what about your dad, then?’

  ‘Oh I’ll text him something bland. Talk to him properly when we get home. Face to face, I mean.’

  He hugged her tightly then and watched from the balcony as she emerged from the stairwell below and walked past the pool, waving as she turned onto the track which led to the beach.

  Melissa was surprised that she felt so much better that he now knew. Lighter. And unexpectedly calmer. That slightly detached sense of recovery after being shaken.

  The route to the beach meandered through a small, wooded area within which locals and tourists on a budget were camping. It was a relaxed, rather hippy scene with laundry hanging on lines between trees and a range of mostly small tents with tables and chairs set up randomly in the open spaces. Melissa felt a smile on her face, wishing she was the kind of person who could cope with sleeping in a tent in that heat.

  The beach cafe, being midweek, had plenty of free tables under shade, with reggae playing quietly from the bar area. Bob Marley mostly. She ordered a Coke, which they didn’t have – happily settling for Pepsi instead. Melissa had always wondered at people who saw the difference.

  There were several sets of young Cypriot friends playing cards at different tables – impossibly beautiful girls with perfect figures in tiny bikinis. Bronzed men. All having a wonderful time.

  Melissa envied their relaxed smiles. The noise and the laughter. She imagined them having hot and very sweaty sex in their tiny tents between the trees and felt herself blushing as the waiter interrupted this thought – appearing suddenly with her drink.

  She and Sam had made love precisely once on this holiday. Then she had a tummy bug. The accident. The journal…

  Melissa checked reception on her phone. She watched the ocean in the distance. She watched small children covered in filthy, wet sand playing football on a stretch of beach to her right. She found her mind wandering to that moment when she was first handed her mother’s book. The stretch of mahogany and the padded envelope. The stress of standing in front of the airline woman with the bloody case on the scales; to the accident. The scream of the bike. Sam’s face in the car during the fight on the way back from Paphos.

  Why could her life not be more carefree, like these people around her? Why did holidays so rarely turn out to be the relaxing break we imagined when we booked? Why could it not just be the scent of the sea? The scent of sex?

  She blushed again.

  Her mother’s journal was in her bag. Waiting. It was such a relief that she no longer had to hide it. And yet she remained – yes; nervous about reading on.

  Melissa took out the book and put it on the table. She stared at it for a while.

  Her mother had met Sam just a couple of times when they were kids. She liked him.

  Seems like a very nice boy, that Sam.

  She stroked the cover. Wondered what her mother would think and say now about the terrible mess she seemed to be making of everything. Telling Sam she wasn’t sure about marriage, not even understanding why.

  Melissa decided that today she would just read back over the bits of the book now familiar. Yes. The cupcakes. The skittles. It took her a moment to find the right sections but the recipe headings were useful. Like chapters. She read through the pages slowly, soaking up the handwriting. The black ink. Imagining her mother at her desk, head forward and concentrating. And now Melissa could feel first a frown and then a smile breaking through. Goodness. She really did remember more of this. The skittles. Both hands up in the air when she managed a strike. Yes. That very particular sound of the wooden ball hitting the wooden skittles. And next she was conjuring a new picture. Her father coming home once – through the front door as they were playing in the hall still and her mother saying – sorry. Haven’t even thought about supper yet.

  And the cricket on the beach? Melissa put her hand up to her mouth, eyes staring. They used to visit this really wonderful beach in Cornwall. What was it called? She seemed to remember her father saying that it was where Daphne du Maurier learned to swim or something. The point being that it never seemed to be too busy, even in the early summer, so that they could claim a patch for cricket. And now Melissa was surprised to find herself really beaming as the memory grew and took clearer shape. The wind in their hair – her mother’s long like her own back then. You have your mother’s hair, Melissa. Both of them tying it up into ponytails. She and her mother co-conspirators. Pulling faces and winking behind Max’s back. Never very keen at all over the whole cricket scenario but not wanting to disappoint him.

  If you could just concentrate, girls.

  Laughing together as her father set the whole thing up ever so seriously – pacing out the distance between the stump and the bowling position. Scrawling lines in the sand.

  Melissa looked back across at the boys playing football and was still smiling. And then her phone vibrated. A text from Sam to check she was OK.

  Melissa replied that she was fine and would see him at 12.30 p.m., careful to add several kisses. She remembered then to send a short text to her father. Having fun. Talk when home. x

  There was an hour until Sam joined her. She adjusted the umbrella at the table to provide more shade then sat with her hand just resting on the book, for her cold drink and then a coffee and then a second, watching the children playing and the ocean in the distance and the patch of vegetation just behind the bar where lizards darted to and fro, creating little clouds of dust as they made their own escape from the heat.

  19

  MAX – 2011

  Max was now torn. He rationalised that a public place at the university was safest for this next meeting with Anna while paradoxically some element of privacy would also be necessary.

  He had rather hoped that Melissa would call him after the text. That he could quietly sound her out. Melissa, with her columnist hat on, was pretty good with this legal stuff. Employment law. Blah blah. She was forever championing the underdog, hence people were always threatening to sue her. But – no. She did not ring and he had promised himself that he would not ring her. So he was on his own with this mess.

  Finally, after much pacing, he plumped for the Litebite Bistro which was heaving at the beginning of term with freshers as their loans came in but even after a few short weeks was deserted – the same students now wandering around with Pot Noodles, presumably earmarking dwindling cash for alcohol.

  Sure enough the Litebite w
as pretty much empty – only two other members of staff in one corner. Max claimed a second table at the other end of the cafe and checked his phone. No cancellation text from Anna. Good.

  In the end she was just five minutes late wearing a long charcoal mac and an expression which was difficult to read. He placed a menu down in front of her as she struggled out of the coat, Max way too self-conscious to offer help.

  ‘Thank you for meeting me again, Anna. I felt something to eat – well; that it would be a little more,’ he was going to say relaxing but was suddenly worrying about every word he chose. ‘Look. You know what, Anna – I’m going to put my cards right on the table here,’ Shit. He really had no idea of best strategy.

  ‘I was quite shaken up when you mentioned going to HR. I mean. I’ve never had any kind of trouble in that department. Not ever. And it’s thrown me. Made me feel that we should talk some more. Clear the air properly?’

  She employed the trick of silence.

  ‘Look. I like your ideas, Anna. I genuinely think they have wings and I’d like to see them taken forward but I really don’t have the time with all the departmental changes going on just now. Also. Honestly? The last time I got heavily involved championing a new course which required a lot of extra one-on-ones with a female colleague – well. You’ve probably heard the talk.’

  ‘Deborah Hawkins?’

  ‘The grapevine.’

  ‘Always the grapevine.’

  ‘So best you hear the truth from me. There was nothing improper. No cronyism. No taking advantage, I promise you of that. We were both single. And we started dating long after we started working on the project together. But honestly? I found it tricky balancing the professional and personal side of our relationship because I started worrying that people might accuse me of favouritism – even where there was none. Anyway. When the relationship didn’t work out, there were a whole new set of questions and difficulties regarding that joint project. I tried my damnedest to ensure fair treatment for Deborah. But – well. I promised myself that I would tread very carefully in future when championing—’

  ‘But we’re not dating.’

  ‘No, of course not. I didn’t meant to imply a parallel. Rather that I’m a bit—’

  ‘Paranoid?’

  ‘I would prefer cautious.’

  ‘Are you saying you can’t work with women?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’ God, he wished that Melissa had rung. She would have warned what not to say. Christ. Maybe she would have advised against a meeting one-on-one. That this was a very, very bad idea.

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I’m just saying that when it comes to the sodding grapevine, I wouldn’t want that history – me and Deborah, I mean – to in any way overshadow or compromise your very good ideas.’

  ‘Did Deborah’s project not get approved?’

  ‘No, it didn’t. Which was scandalous,’ he sounded angry. ‘It got my vote and I canvassed others entirely transparently but it was vetoed. All politics and number-crunching these days as you will know.’

  ‘And you worried that Deborah might have thought—’

  He shrugged.

  And now she was smiling.

  ‘Oh my God, Max. A professor with scruples?’

  He wasn’t sure if she was teasing but next she was looking down at the menu. ‘I’m thinking – Panini? What about you?’

  Only now did the echo confirm that she was calling him Max again.

  ‘I hate paninis. Always burn my tongue. All that melted cheese,’ he pulled the face of a cross child which made her laugh out loud. ‘I always have the same thing. Baked spud with coronary.’

  She raised a single eyebrow.

  ‘Crispy bacon plus cheese. And how do you do that? The eyebrow thing. I’ve always wanted to be able to do that.

  She shrugged and did it with the other eyebrow.

  ‘Now I hate you. Very jealous.’

  ‘I’ll go for roasted veg panini and skinny cappuccino,’ she was passing him back the menu.

  ‘I kid myself that I will run the bacon off later.’

  ‘So you run too, Max?’

  ‘I do,’ he had stood up. ‘Though don’t even think about trying to rope me in to your charity marathon. I don’t do marathons any more.’

  ‘Pity. It’s a good cause.’

  ‘Isn’t it always?’

  By the time he was back at the table with drinks and a number for their food order, she was examining him intently.

  ‘Look – Max. I really am sorry about blowing up the other morning. And I’m grateful for you explaining. It’s just I’m deadly serious about these new ideas. And I really do need someone to champion them.’

  ‘I know. And you’re right. On reflection Frederick Montague was a knee-jerk panic. Probably not the best fit. How about I revisit that and see if I can line someone else up who has the time and the right profile just now. Someone flavour of the month. How does that sound?’

  ‘That sounds much better. Thank you.’

  They talked then about the running – Max interested in her training routine and sharing tips from his own experience. It had been a long time since he had taken on a marathon himself – he’d done one a couple years back, he explained, initially enjoying the timetable of the training. Something to push himself for. But in the end found he preferred to run solo, against his own stopwatch.

  ‘I was going to pull out,’ she leaned back in her chair as their food arrived. ‘When my son did, I mean. But then I thought – hell. I may as well see it through now.’

  ‘So – is there no persuading him to change his mind? Your son?’

  She twisted her mouth to one side, ‘Look, Max. My bloody waterworks the other day. Thank you for not mentioning it. I was a bit worried that was why you suggested lunch. That this was going to be some pastoral thing. A gentle verbal warning.’

  Max could feel himself colouring.

  ‘I promise you it won’t happen again. God I can’t believe that I actually did that. Cried,’ she had her head in her hands.

  Max could still feel the heat to his own cheeks, slurping water too quickly to counter this. ‘Sorry,’ coughing into his napkin – worried for a moment that it was going to escalate into a full-blown choke.

  They both waited. He put up his hand to signal that he was recovering. She should go on.

  ‘It’s just we’re having a few problems getting along. My son and I. Classic teenage stuff.’

  ‘Got that T-shirt,’ his voice was too high. Borderline choke. Humiliating.

  ‘Sure you’re OK?’

  ‘Yes fine. Thank you.’

  ‘So you have a teenager?’

  ‘Yes. Well much older now. A daughter – Melissa. Very settled now. She’s 25. I can promise you it all comes good.’

  ‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ she was beginning tentatively to bite into the edge of the panini, wincing and reaching for her own water.

  ‘See. They always bloody burn. Paninis,’ Max sprinkled more bacon over his potato and smiled.

  Anna waved her hand in front of her open mouth, before gulping more water. ‘I think I just underestimated things.’

  ‘With the marathon?’

  ‘No – the divorce. The impact on Freddie.’

  Max shifted in his seat. He’d asked for this additional meeting to better clear the air between them. Calm things down. He hadn’t expected this.

  ‘Sorry. I’m embarrassing you? Oversharing. A bad habit. It’s just I feel I should repay the trust. Explain myself properly. How I was, I mean, the other day.’

  ‘It’s fine, Anna. I don’t want you to feel awkward.’ Max really had no idea what was the right or wrong thing to say here.

  ‘The divorce. My husband and I went for the two-year separation. I thought it would give Freddie time to adjust and that it would get easier for him. Turns out I was wrong.’

  And now Max tried very hard not to let what was happening inside his body show on the outside. But he was looki
ng at her ring finger again.

  ‘I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Making you uncomfortable, Max? Talking like this. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘No. it’s not all right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have threatened you with HR. That was over the top.’

  Such a relief. To be Max again.

  ‘I misjudged you and that wasn’t fair of me.’

  She sipped more water.

  ‘So. Anyway. I had this naive notion that a fresh start and new place would be good for both me and Freddie so I got this post and I got him into the grammar for his A levels. He seemed OK about the whole idea. Until last week.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And then he decided that living here suddenly “sucks”. That his new school “sucks”. That doing the fundraising marathon “sucks”. That living with his mother “sucks”. And that he’d rather spend all his holidays living with his dad who is currently teaching English as a foreign language in Germany.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘I’m hoping it will all pass. A phase. He’s right in the middle of A levels, for God’s sake. But it’s slightly taken the wind out of my sails.’

  ‘And you like it here?’

  ‘Love it. We’ve got a small place near the river. Honestly my idea of bliss. Water nearby. There are great walks – and great places for training. House is smaller than we’re used to but I’d hoped Freddie would be a bit more forgiving.’

  ‘Teenagers major in the zone of self, I’m afraid. They’re all the same. Give him time. It’ll pass.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘So – are you close to your daughter? Melissa did you say?’

  ‘Yes. I like to think so. She’s working as a journalist now. Consumer affairs. Syndicates a column for a bunch of regional papers. Quite feisty stuff. Payday loan rip-offs. Pensioner cons – that sort of stuff. I’m very proud of her. In fact she’s just been offered a short contract with one of the nationals.’

  ‘Goodness. That’s a coup so early on.’

  ‘Yes. All very promising…’