‘You have a very good eye. The colour is your choice?’ I stroke a peacock blue cushion next to me.
‘Yeah. The brighter the better. Do you approve?’
‘I do. It’s all put together very well.’
‘Did you fit out your brother’s boat?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Bill is very fussy. That’s all his own work. He always likes to have a project on the go.’ I think about inviting Ned over to look at Sunny Days, but stop short. Time alone, I remind myself. ‘I work with him in his company. He’s been good enough to allow me this time away.’
‘So the world of interior design was all a bit much?’
From anyone else it could sound like he was taking the piss, but I feel that Ned is genuine. ‘Our company does a lot of high-pressure projects – hotels, offices, bars, shopping centres. It’s pretty full-on. I just needed some calm in my life.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘I’m not sure how good it’ll be. My brother has appointed me a babysitter while I’m here. She’s possibly the most talkative person on the planet.’
‘Marilyn?’ he says.
I laugh. ‘How did you know?’
‘I saw her going in and out when they were working on the boat. They were the most well-fed builders on the island. She’s the very best in babysitter material. You’re lucky.’
‘She seems like a lovely person. I’m not sure that I can cope with her . . . exuberance . . . right now.’
‘Marilyn’s a great lady,’ he assures me. ‘I’ve known her for years and have nothing but admiration for her. She’s one of life’s optimists and is so kind-hearted. She’ll will do anything for anyone. Ida and I were at art college with one of her boys, Declan. We were best friends at the time.’
‘That sounds like you’re no longer friends with him?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Ned says.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be nosy.’
‘It’s not that. It’s just that she’s had a tough life,’ Ned says.
‘I confess that I don’t know much about Marilyn.’ I don’t like to admit that I’ve been trying to avoid her company. Even the bright colours of her clothes are too much for me to cope with. They make my eyeballs throb. ‘We haven’t had much chance to talk.’ Which is a blatant lie and I now feel guilty that I’ve been trying to avoid her.
‘What she’s been through would have broken most other people – understandably – but she’s still standing, still smiling. I don’t know how she does it.’
I wait for him to tell me more.
‘The McConaugheys are a big, boisterous family – well-known round here. Marilyn’s got six kids and more grandchildren than I can remember. Her daughter runs the local pub on the next beach along.’ He nods in the general direction. ‘It’s a great place to go off season.’
I haven’t been there yet and can’t think why I would do. Even the thought of going out and socialising brings me out in hives.
‘It was years ago now,’ Ned continues. ‘When we were still at college. But she lost Declan. To drugs. Christ, it was terrible. I remember it like it was yesterday. Marilyn tried everything – we all did – but she couldn’t help him to turn it round. None of us could.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
He shrugs. ‘Why would you? He was a great lad. The life and soul of the party. You can tell where he got it from. His mum’s great company. Declan was a really gifted artist too. Had more talent in his little finger than I’ll ever have. He just became too fond of the chemicals.’ Ned sighs sadly. ‘We all dabbled a bit. What student doesn’t? But it got hold of Declan. It went from recreational to addiction too quickly for us to do anything to stop it. The amount of time I spent in Marilyn’s kitchen trying to talk to him.’ He looks across at me and shakes his head. ‘It’s a terrible thing to watch your friend suffer like that. How much worse must it be when it’s one of your kids?’
‘I can’t begin to imagine.’ I can feel the colour draining from my face, my head going light and my throat closing with emotion.
‘It was fifteen years ago,’ Ned carries on, oblivious to the nerve he’s hit. ‘But it leaves a mark on you. When you’d expect her to be crumbling, Marilyn was a rock for us all. I don’t know how she kept going. I think I’d go to pieces.’
I’m about to. I’m frightened that I can’t hold back the tears and I don’t want to cry in front of a stranger. This is why I had to get away from work, for people who knew me. I’d keep breaking down in meetings, in the hairdressers, at the gym. Other people’s pain is a doorway straight into my own. I can’t watch films or even listen to music without welling up. I can’t listen to stories of people losing their children in tragic circumstances.
I put my cup down and it rattles in my saucer. Jumping up, I say crisply, ‘I’d better go. Thank you for the coffee.’
Ned jumps up too, startled by my hasty departure. ‘What?’ he says. ‘You’re leaving? I’ve said something wrong?’
‘No, no. It’s fine. I have things to do.’ We both know that’s a lie.
‘Christ, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone on like that. You’ve come here to get away from your troubles and I’m telling you sad stories.’
‘It’s not that at all. Really, it isn’t.’ I make a bolt for the front of the boat.
‘Jodie,’ Ned shouts after me. ‘I wish you wouldn’t go.’
But I keep on walking.
‘You know where I am,’ he calls after me. ‘I can offer wine as well as coffee.’
‘Thank you,’ I say over my shoulder while still hurrying away. ‘I just need some time by myself.’
I rush down the gangway and back to the safe, sanctuary of Sunny Days. I catch Ned looking after me as I flee, a concerned expression on his face. This is why I don’t talk to people. My heartache is always there, just beneath the surface, and it only takes a tiny scratch to expose it.
Chapter Thirteen
I can’t sleep. When I close my eyes I just relive everything, all over again. My heart is making the same agonising, groaning noises as the boat as it rises and falls. Then I realise that it’s not only my heart and the keening sound is coming out of me. So at first light I get up and sit in the kitchen drinking coffee. I opt for instant even though there’s an enormous coffee machine here too. It looks terrifying and perhaps I should have got some useful tips from Ned as he seemed to be quite a handy barista. Still, he’s now on my growing list of People to Avoid.
Four cups of coffee in and I pluck up the courage to listen to Chris’s stream of messages. He has been leaving them constantly since I left.
‘Jodie. Just call me,’ he pleads. Hearing his voice twists my insides into knots.
‘That’s all I ask. We need to talk.’
But do we need to talk? What is there to say? There are times when talking makes no difference at all. It can’t change anything.