A Grand Old Time Page 17
Brendan blamed himself, and he felt the blame crash down on him like a tall pile of toppling books. One after the other, he saw each reason why it was all his fault. He did not communicate well. He could not make a decision. He’d become critical, negative, inattentive. His mother had never liked Maura; she’d never thought her an equal partner for her golden boy, and Brendan worried that he had been influenced, made arrogant by his mother’s doting fondness. He had become detached, selfish, and he was entirely to blame.
He turned over in the bed and became aware of the emptiness of his arms. He picked up the pillow on Maura’s side, folded it, hugged it close. He put his lips against the cotton of the pillow case, breathed in the scent of her musky perfume and wondered how it would sound if he murmured her name, practised how it would feel to kiss her lips, a long lingering kiss. Brendan realised that he missed those days when everything was easy between him and his wife. The days they dreamed of the same things, hoped for the same future. It could have been so different. Conversation, laughter, love, children. He frowned and put a hand to his face. His cheek was damp.
He rolled over again and stared into the darkness. What would happen when he went back to Dublin? Would they still have a marriage? How could they repair the tattered shreds of what was once whole, warm and good? Brendan thought about his mother. She wasn’t far away. He could ring her, tell her where he was, ask her to help him. His brow creased. She was an old lady now. He was nearly forty himself and wasn’t he man enough to sort out his own marriage, to find his own mother and to take her home? He scratched his head. He wasn’t even sure now that his own mother would be pleased to see him. He wondered again what he was doing in France, intruding on her holiday, and he suddenly had no idea what he should do next. He felt alone, precariously dangling from a rope and he could not see what was above him or below. He squeezed his eyes closed and fell into erratic sleep.
Breakfast the next day was at eight thirty and Maura was humming a cheerful little tune. She was wearing jogging pants and one of Brendan’s T-shirts and pink trainers and was obviously hungry. Her crimson nails snatched at the fibrous softness of a baguette and Brendan thought of a dinosaur eating its prey as she ripped the bread apart and the jam stuck to her lips. He sipped coffee and looked worriedly out of the window. She continued to hum happily to herself, dabbed her mouth and then remarked about the weather.
Brendan noticed the flirtatious way she looked at him and away again, the smile which kept playing around her lips until she hid it coyly with the back of her hand. He felt nervous and refilled his cup. He was determined to try harder today, to give her attention. Perhaps things had started well.
‘What time are we leaving?’ Maura gave him her widest smile.
‘After breakfast. We can be on our way and in Foix for a late lunch and find the Irish bar. There can’t be too many of them over here.’ Brendan was pleased with his last remark and hoped she’d find him witty. He smiled, sure she’d like his plan: lunch together, quality time.
He stood up, but she did not move. Maura was looking at her nails, which she held curled inwards like a cat’s claw. She made a low noise in her throat and raised a provocative eyebrow in his direction.
He felt his pulse thump. ‘What’s the matter, Maura?’
‘Ah, I just thought we could …’ She made a movement with her head, as if she could cajole him from a distance. He frowned. ‘We could actually go to Foix tomorrow instead of today, couldn’t we?’
‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Well, I have booked us a secret surprise.’ She sat back in her seat and licked crumbs from her lips.
Brendan blinked, feeling suddenly that his plan was veering off course. ‘What sort of surprise?’
‘Well, I don’t want to spoil it—’
‘What sort of surprise, Maura?’
‘Right, OK, an hour or so away from here is a big lake in a town called Soustons. Well, it’s a town but it has lots of facilities. And a beach. I have booked us something special – a surprise, for us to do together.’
Brendan did not move. He eyed her suspiciously. ‘What are we doing on this lake?’
‘Ah, I have booked us some … activities, to share.’ She stroked his hand and Brendan’s shoulders lifted towards his ears. He saw the jogging pants and the T-shirt and at once he understood.
‘I booked it last night after you had gone to bed. It’s all arranged. It’ll be fun.’ Maura clasped her fingers and leaned forward, her eyes bright with hope.
Brendan pressed his lips together. Maura was still smiling. He shrugged. He’d give it his best shot. ‘Well, we’d better get ready then. Mammy will wait until tomorrow, I’m sure. I’ll ring her tonight and tell her we’re coming, will I?’
She scraped back her chair and threw her arms around him. ‘Come on then, Brendan. Oh, I am so looking forward to this!’
He followed her, leaving his breakfast untouched, pushing his hands deep in his pockets. He wondered what to do to make the day as successful as the ascent of Great Gable on their holiday years ago. He was at the bottom of a climb, looking up, and he felt his legs grow weak.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Her smile was wide, a slice of melon. She gaped at the view in Soustons, the thickly wooded shoreline down to the lake, mottled green with water lilies. The smooth surface was flecked with gliding swans, ripples behind them as they slipped through the water. There was a pier made of planks of wood and, to one side, little cabins. Further to the right there were blue and white catamarans, bending and weaving along the lake. Soustons was an ideal place for water sports. Maura clapped her hands together and Brendan thought about the different activities he could try. They drove on to the beach where their bodyboarding instructor had arranged to meet them. Maura carried the holdall, still with its label attached, containing their new sports clothes.
At the accueil, the reception area which looked more like a hut, they were met by Mathieu. He wore shorts, a bright T-shirt and orange-framed sunglasses, which lodged on top of his dark curls. He asked them if they spoke French and Brendan explained that he did, so Mathieu told them he would explain everything in English as the instructions were quite complex. Maura had booked two activities: in the early afternoon they would try bodyboarding and afterwards they would go for a bike ride. Mathieu would be their instructor for the bodyboarding and he suggested that they change into the wet suits, and he would meet them down by the water.
Maura’s smile diminished when she emerged in the wet suit. She moved awkwardly, her body shrugging from side to side on flat feet. She was like a seal, slick and shiny and out of place on land. Brendan had surfed before and he was ready for the lesson. Mathieu would start them both off, and then he would concentrate on helping Maura, the beginner, who smiled and covered her embarrassment by batting mascara-laden lashes at him. The instructor was strongly muscled; he spoke excellent English and Maura giggled and patted his arm. Brendan wondered if he would be able to go off on his own for a few minutes, once Mathieu was satisfied with his competence. He bit his lip. His own voice echoed in his ears. It had been his suggestion to share an activity together, and he ought to stay with her. The instructor gave them a board each, which Maura held out straight in front of her like a tray, and they walked in a line towards the area designated for the activity, Maura at the back, fumbling with her board and trotting and running a bit to keep up.
Mathieu gave them the initial coaching, Maura smiling, then laughing when she slithered off the surface and rolled in the water, her face wet and reddening. Brendan mounted his board; he found it easy and was splashing in the water, watching her.
She looked over at him. ‘I’m not sure I’m getting the hang of this. You go off, Brendan. Enjoy yourself. It’ll take me a while to get going.’
‘Are you sure?’ He smiled at her, hopefully.
‘I’m a novice. I’ll be all right here with Mathieu. You’re much more experienced. Go on with you. I want you to enjoy today.’
He plunged once more into the rising surf, balancing his board and crashing into the wave, letting it push and support him before he leaned forward and dived down into the water. The swell lifted him and he waited for the next roll, thrilling in the idea that it might be stronger than him; it might throw him up, hurl him down, hold him beneath. Brendan could not remember the last time he had diced so closely with chance, when life was so unpredictable, so excitingly dangerous. He was like a sea creature himself, a velvet dolphin, free and at play in the sea. The water rose and hurled him upwards again and his heart knocked in his chest as he hugged the board and kicked himself forward. The surf was violent and strong, spraying him, and he cried out as he felt the electric pulsing of his skin. The water on his face revived him; he blinked his eyes and looked back towards the shoreline.
Maura was still there, the wet suit bobbing black in the water, splashing for a moment, and then she disappeared. Her head came up again, her arms waving in the air and threshing hard against the water. He turned to head back as the surf swelled behind him once more. He swam to the shore, his legs strong and his heart pounding, a smile stuck on his face. Maura was spitting and coughing. Mathieu held up her board and she turned to Brendan.
He had seen pictures of the seventies rock singer Alice Cooper, with black make-up streaked down his face. Alice Cooper sang ‘School’s Out’ and the teachers had always played the song at the end of each term in the staff room, singing the lyrics loudly and drinking wine. Maura presented a similar picture to the rock star, wiggly lines of vertical mascara, an insistent symmetry painted from each eye to the corners of her mouth. She saw him staring at her and she was suddenly anxious. Quickly, she dipped her cupped hands in the water twice, three times, splashing her face clean. He put his hand out and wiped a smudge of damp mascara from her cheek. She looked up at him, her face gleaming. A feeling surged through him, not unlike tenderness.
She presented her best smile. ‘So, have you had a good time, Brendan?’
‘Yes, I’ve really enjoyed myself, thanks.’ He thought for a minute. ‘Did you like the bodyboarding?’
She shrugged, her grin wide. ‘I’m not much use at these things though. And the wet suit doesn’t really do me any favours.’
He nodded. ‘Wet suits don’t really flatter people’s bodies.’ He saw her expression change; she was hurt and he immediately regretted the remark. His cheeks burned. His comment was obtuse, crass, and he wondered why he always said the wrong thing to her. She was sweet in her wet suit, smiling and cheerful in the water, and he wanted to say something flattering, something which would make everything all right.
He tried again. ‘Can I help you get the hang of it on the board? I mean, I’ve had a lovely time out there. What if we did a little bodyboarding together? I’m sure I could help you get quite good at it.’
She shook her head. ‘I fancy a break, a coffee, maybe a sandwich. I’ve booked the cycling for later. We’ll do that after lunch?’
Brendan turned to Mathieu and thanked him for instructing his wife. He held out his hand and took Maura’s and they walked out of the water together. Brendan thought of James Bond and Ursula Andress in her white bikini in Dr No. Maura gazed up at him and smiled back.
‘This was a great idea, Maura. I’m so glad you decided to organise it. Thank you.’ He bent down and kissed her cheek, which was cold and wet. ‘Let’s get lunch, will we? I need a shower. I’m starving.’
They sat inside a café and ate ham sandwiches, shared a plate of chips and drank coffee. Brendan persuaded Maura that they’d enjoy a doughnut, that it might be good energy food before the cycling, and he bought one for each of them, with jam and cream. She chattered happily, licking sugar from her fingers, and told him that she’d booked a hotel for the evening and they could have a special dinner together. She was fresh and scrubbed clean, her skin flushed from the shower. Her hair was damp and he noticed the little dimples in her cheeks. Brendan took her hand and thought about holding it to his lips. He sat back in his seat, confident in the new Lycra cycle shorts and a bright racing top they’d bought on the way. Maura looked bright and cheerful in a sports shirt and jogging bottoms, and she was clearly excited.
‘Well, Brendan, I said you’d never get me on a bike but, I have to say, I’m really looking forward to this part of the day.’ He smiled and told himself that things were changing for the better. The shared activities would bring them together. This was a fresh start.
They turned up to collect their bicycles; the accueil was a simple reception area, a large shed full of bicycles, surrounded by woodland. Brendan gave his name and the instructor nodded and wheeled out a shiny red tandem. Brendan stared at it; he had imagined himself cycling alone, Maura behind him on her own machine. Their instructor, Louis, explained that the ride should take two hours and they should stick to the designated routes on the signposts. He gave them crash hats to wear. Maura suggested that Brendan take the front of the tandem and she would help at the back. Brendan climbed on and she struggled across the frame, quivering, lifting her leg and nervously putting it down again, until they were in position.
Brendan leaned over his shoulder. ‘Just time it with me, Maura. I’ll set us off. That is the difficult part.’
The launch was not easy. Maura wailed and wobbled nervously then screamed with excitement, putting her feet down and asking if they could start again. They began, rolled forward, tottered and stopped, Maura laughing and Brendan concentrating hard, a frown on his face. On the sixth attempt, they were off, making precarious pressure on the pedals with Brendan pushing the machine forward and Maura teetering nervously in the saddle behind.
The route took them on a path around the woods. Maura was pedalling furiously, keeping in time with Brendan. He spoke to her over his shoulder, checking she felt secure. She was behind him, balancing awkwardly, as he urged the bike forward, his voice encouraging. He turned them towards an incline and raised himself out of the saddle. Moments later there was a lurch behind him as Maura did the same and, together, their breaths synchronised, they pushed harder on the pedals, propelling the tandem forward. He felt her head rest against his back for a moment, then she wrapped an arm around his waist and held on tightly for a moment before gripping both handlebars again.
The woods smelled of sharp fresh pine and the sun streaked through the gaps in the leaves, creating an enchanted forest of light and dark then light again as the tandem snaked along the paths. Maura was developing confidence behind him, saying little. She was out of breath, occasionally asking if they could stop for a rest soon. Brendan grunted, and heaved the bike around corners, pounding down the pedals and leaning over the handlebars to gain good momentum, deciding that the faster they went the less work Maura would have to do. She stopped pedalling for a moment; there was a groan and she started again, slowly at first, then with more effort.
‘You’re doing well, Maura.’ He heard a moan and she stopped pedalling, and then he felt her kick again.
He decided she needed a break so they turned off the path and stopped beneath a huge tree with drooping leaves and thick gnarled bark. He remembered carving their initials in such a tree, not long after they’d met. MF & BG. Maura Flanagan and Brendan Gallagher. H
e stood astride the bike, lifted a leg and stood on solid ground, holding the tandem upright.
Maura put both feet on the floor, straddling the bike. ‘How do I get off?’
Brendan held the tandem still with one hand and took her arm in the other. He eased her forwards and she stood awkwardly, rubbing her bottom. ‘I’ll be stiff in the morning. The saddle’s really uncomfortable.’
He laid the bike down and offered her his hand, palm outstretched. ‘But are you enjoying it?’
‘Oh, I’m loving it, spending time with you. It’s like a proper holiday.’ Her eyes shone.
They sat beneath a tree, Maura bending precariously and easing herself to a comfortable position. Brendan stretched out his legs. They were hairy and pale beneath the shorts. He took her hand. ‘I’m so glad you organised this. It’s been really good fun.’
She snuggled close to him and put her head on his shoulder. ‘Brendan, I’m not very good at the sports. I mean, I was hopeless at school. I was always the one last to be picked in the teams. I wish I was better.’
He wrapped an arm round her. ‘We’re together and enjoying ourselves. That’s the main thing. Sharing something we can both do. Everyone can ride a bike and the open air is so nice.’
She breathed out, chewing her lip. ‘That’s what has been wrong with us, hasn’t it? We need to share things more.’
He nodded. ‘Maybe we can start again. I can share what you want to do and you can do the same for me. It’ll all be fine.’
She was thoughtful. ‘If … I mean, if we’d had a family, Brendan—’ He lifted a finger and thought about placing it on her lips. Her eyes filled. ‘If we’d had babbies, well, we’d have naturally shared all this, wouldn’t we?’