Who I Am Page 3

  But after last night, my resolve has sunk to a different level.

  Eventually, Carol follows my gaze, ‘Flying a French Jack, so yep, probably off to somewhere exotic away from daily routines. Saint Tropez? Cannes? Nice maybe? Anywhere really, let’s face it.’ She nudges me across the table, ‘Perhaps we should flag them down, offer our hands as crew. Can you imagine? God, perfect bliss wouldn’t it be?’

  My head tightens, that feeling again, something gripping my temples, squeezing. Could I run again? Start over? No, I’ve family now. Trapped. ‘Of course, they could just be moving on to Brixham,’ I say, throwing water over the fire, ‘nowhere exotic at all.’ Though escaping to the south of France sounds completely perfect. Before I came back to Cornwall it was always my intention to travel, see the world. But the chance was literally washed away, life had other ideas. Now look at me. Kyle was the reason I stayed in Cornwall. Having children was imperative for Kyle, I’d never wish to be without them but I was always frightened by the thought, what if I can’t love them? What if? What if something stands in the way of me creating that maternal bond? As it turns out, I was right to be concerned, I did struggle. And now, what if they knew the truth about their mother?

  ‘You okay?’ Carol taps my hand.

  ‘Me?’ Who else would she be asking? I don’t wait for Carol to answer my stupid question, I’m looking somewhat haggard this morning, and she’s noticed. Did I even brush my hair? ‘I’m fine, a little tired,’ I smile, ‘didn’t sleep at all last night.’ Damn mobile, Kyle’s right, I shouldn’t leave it on at night. But then I was already awake, thinking, worrying over the usual stuff that initiates the brain’s alarm in the midst of the night. But, if it had been switched off – I wouldn’t have seen the alert at a time when my mind is at its most irrational.

  ‘What’s up? Why didn’t you sleep?’ Carol asks.

  I shake my head. ‘Nothing. Other than the usual daily niggles.’ I don’t miss the oh yes, tell me more, face. I wish she’d stick to her own problems. ‘You know, the usual, children’s schooling. Work deadlines. Nothing new.’ I’m lying but should I confide? No, definitely not. ‘The muggy warm nights, they don’t help.’

  ‘Sure?’

  I nod. ‘Really. All’s good.’ Carol’s doubting expression irritates me, she can be one of those impassive people, communicating so much via facial expressions and glib comments. I’m not divulging anything, anyway, where would I ever begin? It was sweltering hot last night, slowly smothering me further. I tossed and turned, memories of old spilling into my dreams. Then I made the disastrous mistake of stretching for my mobile to check the time, 03:04 it told me. Foolishly, I decided to investigate the reasoning behind the white indicator, flash, flashing into the night. It was then I noticed the little white bird sitting in a circle, pecking at my mind. I tapped on it, seconds later I’m bouncing the mobile off the floor before diving under the protection of silky sheets, listening to my heart hammering against the fabric. Thoughts, images and more thoughts fighting for pole position, behind tightly shut eyes.

  Could it really be? How? Not quite trusting groggy eyes. I needed to take another look. I reached back for the mobile, elongating my arms, trying not to leave the safety of the bed. In my hand, it flashed once more then shut down entirely, the battery fizzled out. On precarious legs, I clambered from the bed for my laptop. Silence all around, except for the throbbing in my chest. A high pitched screech outside the window, a fox or something? Back in bed, I booted up the laptop and there it was in its full glory. In that moment, everything froze, my breathing, my heart rate, the rabid animal outside, everything apart from the sharp buzzing in my ears, my eyes hypnotised by the overly bright screen. Was this some kind of sick joke? How could it be? Why? I lay in disbelief for the remainder of the night. Eyes and mind wide open.

  ‘You know, I wasn’t going to say anything but, you haven’t seemed yourself for a while now,’ Carol says.

  How is it even possible to receive a tweet from her? For one thing, I backtrack through time, it’s been at least seventeen years. I haven’t really muttered her actuality since, though she’s rummaged through my mind more times than I care to consider. I’ve missed her terribly, a constant dull ache.

  ‘Hello? Andi? Earth to Andi?’

  ‘Sorry, Carol, I’ll have to go, terrible migraine coming on.’

  ‘What’s going on with you, Andi?’

  Pushing back my chair, I lean into kiss her on her cheek. ‘I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Shall I come with you? You’re positively green,’ she calls after me.

  ‘I’m fine, just need a lie down. Speak later.’

  It has to be one of two things, either someone has an extremely perverse sense of humour or it’s simply some kind of unfortunate coincidence. But even so, it’s now re-opened a door to the past I slammed shut, for good reason.

  4

  I am who I am.

  I’ve always hated it when people are too weak, too pathetic to be who they are. Accept me as I am, warts and all, that’s me.

  People who can be friends with you when it suits, then – bang, you’re gone, when it doesn’t. How does that work? Here one day, gone the next. Sharing secrets one minute, complete strangers the next. Why people are always on the look out to be someone they’re not is beyond me. Why bother? Never contented with their lot in life – some, never sodding happy, are they? Deceitful, social climbing parasites, that’s what they are. You either like me for who I am or you don’t. I couldn’t care less either way. Could I?

  What is it they say? Better to be hated for who you are, than loved for who you’re not. Yes, that’s it. This is me. Love me or hate me, I don’t really care. Do I?

  Or is it more – I am who I’ve needed to be?

  5

  Edinburgh 1999

  Andi

  Glancing up from the noisy babble of our table, I see her gliding across the floor, a rabbit caught in headlamps, observing the surroundings with a look of utter wonder. Perhaps this isn’t her usual setting; I stand, waving to catch her attention. But why is she alone? This isn’t the kind of place you come, alone. Such an unbelievable coincidence to see her here, we only met for the first time yesterday, purely by chance, her caught up in a personal dilemma. I felt so sorry for her, all in a flap, she was unnecessarily apologetic about the whole affair. Something almost fragile and vulnerable about her. Pulling heavy baggage behind each unsure step, not dissimilar to how she appears now.

  She hasn’t noticed me in the crowd, so I stand, stretching myself as tall as I can, beside the table. It’s so rowdy in here and with the dimmed lighting, although she’s looking directly at me, she still hasn’t seen me. At the very least, I’d like to ask her how she’s managing with her horrible predicament. Even if she only sits with us while she waits for whoever it is she’s arranged to meet. Finally, she sees me, her face lights up smiling, a definite cautiousness behind those eyes though. I step forward to greet her as she makes her way through the bar clingers, looking stunning. As I lean in to kiss her cheek, I’m submerged in a warm aroma of winterberries and florals but she discreetly braces herself, maybe she has strong personal boundaries. Subtly pulling back, she folds her arms across her stomach, gently, I tap them. ‘Oh my God, amazing, such a small world, fancy seeing you again so soon.’

  Hesitant nude lips smile back, ‘I know,’ she says, ‘couldn’t believe it either when I saw you waving from over here. What a surprise,’ her eyes flit from me to my friends, chatting at the table, to the floor, then back to me.

  Taking her hand, I guide her closer to the table. ‘Sorry, let me introduce you. This is – Jo and Clara, Anna, Meg, Sally and Tam,’ I point to my friends individually. ‘Girls, this is Camilla.’ Lots of hi’s and smiley faces fly across the table. ‘Can you join us,’ I ask her, ‘or have you plans, meeting someone?’

  Camilla regards the worn tan leather watch on her slender wrist. ‘Well, I thought I was… meeting someone, but she should have been here by now
.’ A slight frown flashes across her perfectly shaped eyebrows, ‘unless I’ve the wrong night,’ she shrugs. She leans closer into me, away from table earshot, ‘what with everything going on, my head isn’t in the best place at the moment, so it wouldn’t surprise me if I’ve got it all wrong.’ She shrugs. ‘No worries, I’ll leave, I really don’t want to intrude on your night. It’s my own silly fault. No big deal.’

  I shake my head, smiling, wandering over to a nearby table to steal a lone chair, she steps back as I slide it in next to where I was sitting. ‘Don’t be silly, you’re very welcome to join us, isn’t she, girls,’ they all nod, Clara less enthusiastically but that’s Clara, always wary of change, and especially people, adds. ‘Have you tried calling your friend? Just in case she’s actually here somewhere, it’s so manic, you could easily miss each other.’

  Camilla nods. ‘Hmm, switches straight to voicemail. It’s not like her to be late, it’s usually me who’s late everywhere.’

  I lower myself on to the gold dust chair before attempts are made to reclaim it, gesturing for Camilla to join us. ‘Come on, join us, you’re far too dressed up to leave now. We’re off for Tapas later too.’ I pull myself up wondering if I’m being insensitive, finances are clearly a real struggle for her at the moment, ‘but don’t feel obliged if you’ve eaten already. Or, you’re really welcome to share mine, I always order too much anyhow. Eyes being far too big for my tummy.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she says, ‘I must admit, I’d feel a wee bit miserable leaving so soon. Especially with…’ she slides herself between Clara and me, ‘well, you’ve saved my face, again. It’s becoming a bit of a habit.’

  A few casual hours pass by, chatting whilst making our way through the cocktail list, deciding to worry about the outlay tomorrow, sober. It’s Christmas, I’ll be leaving soon for the holidays. Then, as is the norm, we’ll all disperse across the country, me wandering the furthest away, to our holiday home in Fowey, Cornwall. We always assemble there for Christmas, Mummy, Daddy and my older brother, Leo. He’s married now, this last summer he tied the nuptial knot in a gargantuan marquee on our back lawn rolling down towards the estuary. A beautiful day, music, courtesy of a harmonious steel band, complimented by a Caribbean themed barbecue throughout daylight. Then, in the evening, more food, a pop up cocktail bar with Tom Cruise effect servers and shakers and a DJ mixing orchestral tones with dance and modern classics.

  No less than two hundred guests united for the celebrations. I was chief bridesmaid clad in taupe silk, finding it all a little overbearing, so lavish and completely gratuitous. In a way I now understand as being stifling. All the extra wrappings and trimmings that come with heaps of expectations, and obligatory smothering traditions. Suffocating me, even embarrassing me at times. Edinburgh has been a breath of fresh air. Leo has flown the nest with his wife to live in Miami, leaving me to take the brunt of it all. He was headhunted for his financial expertise and now leads a head office for a giant media organisation. We frequently email each other, him practically begging me to visit. So many opportunities out here, squirt, he tells me, you’d love the life over here, he urges. But Miami? Seriously? No, I don’t think so. I’ve my own dreams, more about spontaneity and liberal living.

  I glance at Camilla, who’s relaxing into her new environment now, delicately supping at cocktails, intermittently apologising profusely for not being able to pay for them. I’m pretty sure she must have noticed Clara eyeballing her, talking over her, contradicting her. As if she wasn’t already feeling bad enough for not having her plastic cards with her. I told her we’ve all done it. She looked horrified when Clara returned to the table with the cocktail menu. My heart sank with her.

  ‘So, where are we? What’s next on the list?’ Clara shoved the menu over to Camilla and me, Camilla’s eyes darted over the list, the double figure prices, reaching for her delicate clutch bag.

  ‘That’s such a pretty bag,’ I’d cooed.

  ‘Hmm,’ she frowned, ‘except. Oh never mind, you know what, I reckon I’ll stick to water. But you all carry on, please.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I insisted, we’d been so tactless, the cocktails started from ten pounds each, hardly student territory. ‘I’m quite happy to share a bottle of wine with you instead, a house bottle of wine, nothing fancy.’

  She tucked dark hair behind her ears. ‘No, the thing is, I’m such an idiot,’ she bit her bottom lip, ‘I’ve left my cards and cash behind, haven’t I. Thought I was meeting my friend,’ she shook her head, ‘well, it’s irrelevant now, but we take turns each time we meet, to pay, tonight was supposed to be her treat.’

  I clasped her hand. ‘Sure, no problem, in that case, tonight is my treat.’

  ‘No, really I couldn’t,’ she attempted, the beginnings of a blush appearing.

  ‘Yes, you could, it’s Christmas and I’d really like you to stay on. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.’

  A worried expression shot across her face. ‘Oh? What leaving Uni? For good?’

  I laughed, feeling flattered, she appeared genuinely upset. ‘No, course not. For Christmas I mean. I’ve the rest of next year to get through yet. How about you, what year are you in, you didn’t say?’

  ‘Yeah, the same. Well it should be anyway, but the way things are looking, what with the accommodation,’ she shrugged, ‘I might not be graduating at all.’

  I curled my arm around her and squeezed. ‘Try not to worry. Thing’s always turn up, there’s always something to be worked out.’ It felt like a silly thing to say. Why do we say these things? ‘Come on choose your cocktail. I’m buying, I insist.’ It’s funny, I hardly know Camilla, but sitting here I feel a real affinity to her, there’s a sadness behind her eyes, something unsaid, but also there’s – life and excitement.

  My head spins, my legs have other ideas, when I stand to make my way to the ladies, stumbling back, I collapse on to Camilla’s lap. ‘Woah, sorry,’ I giggle, ‘these cocktails are potent.’ With Camilla’s help I lever myself back up, the room wobbling around me, ‘I’d better come with you,’ she laughs.

  Clara gathers herself to stand, ‘I’ll go, I’m used to her atrocious drink tolerance,’ she practically spits at Camilla.

  ‘It’s fine, Clara, stay put, I’m hardly blotto, just stood up too quickly.’ I tell her, as soon as the words leave my mouth, I realise I’ve offended her in some way. Camilla smiles at her warmly, then arm in arm we make our way across the room. Pushing our way through the heavy bathroom door into a woman, giggling at her affronted face as we pushed past her in the doorway.

  ‘It’s Christmas. Tis the season to be merry.’ Camilla calls after her. Her tongue finally loosening as she relaxes. Practically falling through the second door into the spacious bathroom, gilt mirrors and floral displays in abundance, a strong whiff of pot pourri. ‘Wow,’ I hear through the cubicle door, ‘these loos are better than anything I’ve ever lived in.’ I can’t help but laugh out loud. ‘Think I could stay here next year? D’you think they’d notice if I moved my stuff in?’ When I exit the cubicle, she’s padding around in wonderment before turning her attention to the complimentary toiletries. ‘Look at this stuff. It’s really expensive, wish I’d brought a bigger handbag now.’

  I giggle at her expression through the elaborate gold-leaf mirror as I wash my hands. ‘You’re hilarious Camilla, you’ve not been here before tonight then?’

  She bolts herself upright. ‘Of course I have, only pulling your leg.’ She throws her hands up. ‘I’m not kidding you, am I?’ She nods. ‘This is the first time, and it’s completely amazing. But, I’ll definitely be coming back, that’s for sure. As often as I can.’

  She reminds me of an awestruck child, so refreshing and charming, makes me feel as though I’m missing out on something special, too much in my life taken for granted. ‘Are you serious then?’ I ask, reaching for the folded cotton hand towels. Camilla spins on her heals, all eyelashes. ‘About not having anywhere to stay next year, I mean. Surely, you won’t really need
to defer, will you?’

  Twinkling dark eyes cloud, ‘deadly,’ she says. ‘I can’t pull the funds together, so I can’t see that I’ll have a choice. I’m trying not to think about it but it’s a strong possibility.’

  ‘So what about your student loan?’

  She regards the vanity size moisturiser in her hand, ‘ah well, that’s another story. Probably not for tonight, I don’t want to burden you with my crap, I mean bad stuff, it’s not fair.’

  ‘No, go on, please. I’d like to understand.’

  ‘Nothing to it really. I’ve used up all my allowance, so, can’t afford to support myself. Simple as that.’ She sighs heavily, shoulders noticeably slumping. ‘I’m all, as they say – spent up. Skint.’

  ‘How come? Sorry, do you mind me asking? You don’t have to tell me, if you think I’m being nosey.’

  ‘It’s fine, feels like I’ve known you for ages anyway,’ I smile at her, I totally understand what she means, it does. ‘Thing is, I had to pay for my dad, he’s sick, really sick, in a home he is.’

  As she hangs her head, I could kick myself for making her feel so dejected on a night like this, I brush her hand, ‘I’m sorry, Cam, I’d no idea things are so bad, I shouldn’t have pushed you, feel awful now.’

  ‘It’s fine really. It’s his own fault really, Dad, I mean. Korsakoff’s syndrome they call it?’ Her voice rises as if she’s uncertain. ‘Dementia to me. That’s how I get my head round it.’

  ‘Korsakoff’s? Isn’t it associated with too much alcohol?’ God, I wish I hadn’t guzzled all those cocktails, in particular that I hadn’t practically forced them on Camilla too.