The Endless Beach Read online

  “I’S WANTS SEAGULL CARRY ME!” shouted Agot, holding up her arms, whereupon Ash did so too, the fries fell to the ground and there was quite the kerfuffle getting everything sorted out again and drying tears and replacing the fries. But it was, Saif realized, a normal sort of fuss—the kind of thing that would happen to any family, any parent, out with children—and he was deeply and profoundly grateful.

  “We’re having a barbecue on Sunday,” said Innes casually. “To celebrate my brother getting engaged. Bring them if you like.”

  Something struck him.

  “Oh, but also he’s getting engaged to a big hairy American bloke so I don’t know if . . .”

  Saif smiled tightly. He knew people meant well, but he didn’t like the implication that because he wasn’t from there he was automatically a bigot. Innes registered this immediately.

  “Sorry, I mean, some of the old buggers around here have been very weird about it.”

  Saif nodded. “How is your father?”

  “Oddly cheerful,” said Innes, eating a fry. “I think he just wants us to get out of the sodding house.”

  “YOU COME MY HOUSE?” said Agot to Ash. Ash nodded.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Did you understand that?” said Saif in Arabic, crouching down. “Did you?”

  “He’s not stupid,” said Ibrahim.

  “Did you?” said Saif.

  “YES!” shouted Ash in English.

  Saif blinked in amazement. This was . . . this was amazing.

  “Well, uh, well, I’ll be off,” said Innes.

  “Oh, yes, sorry,” said Saif, immediately reverting to English. “Thank you.”

  And he meant it more than he could convey.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Annie’s Café by the Sea was quiet, the girls gone, everything cleaned and polished and put back, ready for another day tomorrow. Flora was sitting alone at a rickety table in the corner of the room with a calculator and a mounting sense of panic. She put down her tea and glanced up as there was a knock on the door. Sometimes a hopeful wet tourist would swing past after closing time, and sometimes, if she was in a better mood than this, she’d whip them up a quick coffee and piece of flan and send them on their way happy.

  But not tonight. She shook her head, then the visitor knocked again. It wasn’t until she looked up that she realized it was Joel.

  “Hey,” she said, swallowing hard as she turned the old Yale key. Her heart was beating. Was he here to declare himself? To tell her how much he missed her, how he just wanted to devote himself to her, how he’d made a mistake?

  He was looking better, she realized, with something of a pang. There was some color back in his cheeks. Fresh air was obviously doing him good. She wanted more than anything to run her fingers through his curly hair. He leaned in to kiss her and she did too, but they both aimed badly, and he ended up half on her cheek and half in her ear and she went bright red immediately and jumped back.

  “Uh, hi,” he said.

  Flora stood aside to let him come in.

  “What are you up to?”

  Flora shrugged. “Just looking at . . . accounts and things.”

  She wished she had some makeup on. She hadn’t had a second all day, that was the problem. She never stopped.

  Joel looked at the dusting of flour she had across her forehead and wanted more than anything to gently wipe it off, take her head in his hands . . . but no. As Mark said, he had to get himself well.

  “How . . . how are the accounts?”

  Flora suddenly wanted to burst into tears. She was so tired getting everything ready for Sunday, and the one person she wanted was standing in front of her like an accountant giving her an audit.

  “Awful, if you must know.”

  Joel blinked. “But you’re always so busy!”

  “You can talk . . . Sorry,” Flora added quickly.

  “It’s okay . . .” He glanced at the computer. “Can I take a look?”

  Flora’s eyes widened. He’d never shown much interest in the business before. “Um, sure,” she said.

  “How old is this laptop? Do I have to wind it up at the back?”

  “Joel . . .”

  “It’s heavier than you.”

  “Glad something is.”

  Joel smiled, and it shot through Flora like a dart. Then he wiped his glasses on a clean white napkin, and bent his head.

  Flora went through the back to the kitchen, finishing the last of the day’s chores and the first of the new day’s prep. She made them a coffee, not because she wanted one but because she couldn’t think of anything else to do. Then she went back into the main room. It was gently lit. The evening was light but gray, and the round old-fashioned lampposts on the harbor were glowing softly from beyond the window panes. She briefly leaned her head against the window frame and looked at him. He was as engrossed as ever—as far away, she thought, as ever.

  “Here.”

  Joel looked up and smiled. “Thank you. But I’m off coffee.”

  “Oh. Really?”

  “Coffee, wine, processed food . . . Basically Mark’s got me eating grass and animal fats and that’s about it.”

  “Okay . . .”

  She fetched him a glass of water, just as he took his glasses off and sighed.

  “Flora . . .”

  Her heart leaped. “What?”

  “Flora . . . this can’t go on. It isn’t . . . It can’t work.”

  Flora steadied herself against the counter. Everything was coming tumbling down. Everything was over. Just as she had known it would, just as she’d suspected all along.

  “Look,” he was saying. “Look at your inventory. Look at your stock control. You can’t . . . I mean your portion control is a disaster. Look at this.”

  He beckoned her over, but she couldn’t trust her limbs to move. “I thought you were a lawyer,” she said.

  “Yeah, good luck to corporate lawyers who can’t read a profit and loss account,” said Joel. He looked up at her. “I mean, you could get cash in, but it would be like putting water in a leaky bucket.”

  Flora nodded, biting her lip.

  “I mean, you make far more pastries than you sell every week. Why aren’t you just making fewer?”

  Flora stared hard at the ground. She didn’t want to tell him: because she needed something to give Teàrlach’s boys.

  “And why are you even paying near market value for produce from your family farm?”

  “Because your bloody boss hasn’t opened the hotel yet, which would allow us all to make a living,” said Flora, her face hot. Joel blinked but didn’t comment.

  “I mean, you’re just charging far, far too little. For everything. Do you really need three different types of sausages?”

  Well, she did, Flora thought crossly, because not everyone on Mure ate pork anymore, and he should know that.

  “But . . . but people are spending their pensions in here,” she said. “There are young mums . . . and you know what farming is going through.”

  “Yes, but you’re packed with rich tourists. Presumably they could spend a bit more.”

  “We can’t do that,” said Flora. “We can’t have one price for local people and one for tourists.”

  Joel arched an eyebrow. “I don’t see why not.”

  “Because it’s illegal, Mr. Lawyer-person.”

  “Well, there are ways around that . . .”

  “I just want to run a good business!”

  “I want you to do that too, Flora. I just . . . You know I want good things for you.”

  And? thought Flora desperately. And? And what else?

  “Listen, I’ll . . . Can I send you an e-mail with some thoughts?”

  “I don’t need rescuing.”

  He stopped short at that, and half smiled. “I can’t even rescue myself,” he said. “But there are things you could do. Lots. Positive things. Think about it. Please?”

  Flora nodded mutely as he stood up to go.

>   “Oh,” she said at the door, yearning to take his hand and bury her head in his chest, even though Mark had made it delicately clear that they both needed space. “Why . . . why did you come by?”

  Joel put his coat back on. “I . . . I can’t come to the party on Sunday,” he said. “Sorry.”

  Her face fell. She had hoped . . . just a little . . . that he would turn up, see how brilliantly everything was going and what a happy time everybody was having and he’d want to join in and . . . Joel joining in. That was a stupid thought, for starters.

  “Okay,” she said. “Thanks for the tips.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, and ducked out into the pale gray foggy evening, and she lost sight of him before his footsteps faded from earshot.

  Chapter Fifty

  Saif was still anxious, but not quite as terrified as he had been, when Neda showed up later that week.

  His optimism, as they went down to the harbor to collect Neda from the ferry, faded fast. She emerged, tall and glamorous looking, by the quayside next to the bearded walkers and excited Americans clutching their fanny packs. She stood and looked around.

  It was a glorious morning, cold and breathtakingly fresh, like a glass of iced water. The chilly waves danced in the light. She blinked, pulled on a large pair of sunglasses, and walked up the jetty toward them, her heels clacking loudly on the cobblestones.

  Instantly Ash was trembling in Saif’s arms, and Ibrahim turned away, back to his iPad.

  “It’s Neda!” said Saif encouragingly. “She’s nice!”

  Ash was still shaking.

  “What is it?”

  The little boy muttered something that Saif strained to hear, even as Neda leaned over. She shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “Listen to me, Ash. I’m not here to take you back.”

  Saif gasped that he would think that. Ash was still flinching, and the tears were running down his face as Neda straightened up again.

  “I’m just visiting! I have presents for you!”

  But Saif couldn’t hear her. He had turned his face away. It felt ridiculous now he was even thinking about it, but nonetheless it was true. There was a tiny part of him that had also worried that maybe they would want to go back. That anywhere would be preferable to living with him. He suddenly felt overwhelmed and grabbed Ash close. Neda glanced at him shrewdly, then smiled.

  “Look at this amazing place!” she said. “Now, is there anywhere you can get a cup of coffee? We need to sit down to unwrap presents!”

  Ibrahim lagged behind as Saif showed her up the harbor walkway toward Annie’s Café by the Sea, where many of the grateful disembarkees—the ones who were home and the ones who’d been warned of poor food on their journey—simply couldn’t believe their luck. She turned to Saif and smiled broadly and spoke in English.

  “Did you seriously think they’d rather come back with me?”

  Saif blinked twice. “Only for a second.”

  She shook her head. “Honestly. Did you really think they’d be here for five minutes and everything would be rainbows and fairy tales?”

  Saif’s shoulders sagged. “But it’s so, so hard.”

  “Welcome to parenting,” said Neda.

  Saif smiled weakly. “But I can’t put Ash down, or get Ibrahim off his iPad.”

  Indeed, the boy was walking, staring at the screen, oblivious to everything around him.

  “What do you mean, you can’t?”

  Saif looked at her.

  “Just put Ash down.” They had crossed the quiet road and were walking up the pavement toward the Café by the Sea, in its little pink building. Neda looked at him. “Do it!”

  “Um, I don’t think he wants to go down.”

  “He doesn’t want to eat his vegetables either, am I right?”

  Saif winced. “One thing at a time.”

  Neda shook her head. “Doesn’t work that way I’m afraid, my friend. You can’t fight every battle. Just fight one.”

  “Which one?”

  “The ‘do as I say’ one.”

  Saif laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  They headed up the road, Saif aware everyone was looking at them.

  “Well, you’re a doctor. What would you recommend?”

  “I would recommend people do not come and visit me for child-rearing advice.”

  Neda tutted. “Come on. What would you say?” Saif shrugged. Neda lowered her voice. “What would Amena say?”

  It was a low blow, and Saif winced a little. “There is no news?” he said quickly.

  Neda shook her head. “I’m sorry, Saif. But if she were here . . .”

  “She would say, “Ash, you are a big boy, you have to walk.’”

  “Mm . . .” said Neda.

  They took another couple of steps. Then Saif whispered in Ash’s ear. “Darling. I’m going to put you down, so you can walk and make your leg all nice and strong.”

  Ash’s little jaw jutted out and he immediately got a steely look in his eye. “No, Abba.”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Neda. “We’re going to the coffee shop to get treats and presents. Want to come?”

  She indicated to Saif, who put Ash on the ground. Ash immediately started to scramble back up his trouser leg. For an underfed six-year-old with a damaged foot, he was surprisingly strong. Neda watched Saif to see what he would do, and Saif found himself red and conscious that this was a test—not for Ash, but for him.

  Saif uncurled the little fingers, even though it felt unbearably cruel. Ash screamed all the louder. This was great, thought Saif, growing red, Ash having the mother of all crazed screaming tantrums in the middle of the main street, on the thronged harbor, on an early Friday morning. The number of people on the island who wouldn’t have heard about the doctor’s deranged child by lunchtime was practically negligible.

  “Right, let’s go,” said Neda. She smiled cheerily at Ash. “We’ll see you in there. I hope they have buns. I love buns, don’t you?”

  Ash continued howling, his face bright red, his good leg hitting the pavement. Neda kept smiling.

  “Am I just supposed to walk away? When he’s upset?”

  Neda shrugged. “It’s up to you, Saif.” She lowered her voice. “It might make things trickier, you know, in the long run, if you can’t treat him like a normal kid.”

  “He isn’t a normal kid.”

  But Neda was already marching on. Saif felt torn, looking at the little boy having a tantrum on the pavement and the tall, confident woman striding ahead of him.

  Saif took a pace toward Neda. There was a pause and suddenly, just for a moment, the screaming let up, as Ash glanced up to take in the new situation. Then he resumed, louder. Saif looked pained.

  Neda pushed open the door of Annie’s Café by the Sea, which dinged loudly.

  “MMM,” said Neda loudly in English. “LOOK AT ALL THESE CAKES.”

  This time, the pause in the screeching was much longer. Ibrahim blindly followed Neda. Saif allowed himself another step.

  “What kind of muffin are you going to have, Ibrahim?”

  Well, this was too much for any six-year-old to bear. The idea of Ibrahim being allowed to choose a big cake all to himself while he was left out on the pavement was an injustice too far. Ash picked himself up and ran, tearfully, to the door.

  Flora was regarding them with a slightly puzzled expression on her face, particularly as Neda was holding the door and blocking the way out for three backpackers and their gigantic backpacks, which were now getting in the way of Mrs. Blair’s new shampoo and set that she’d come down to show off, so that was pleasing absolutely nobody.

  Then Flora looked through the window and saw the boys—she’d seen them in passing of course, but hadn’t met them officially. She broke into a grin and beckoned them in. And even with Joel’s dire warnings echoing in her ears, she couldn’t help but bring out a couple of lollipops she had secreted away.

  “Welcome,” she said. “Welcome, all of you.”


  ***

  Ash’s sobs had slowed to the occasional whimper by the time they were all sitting down, and Mrs. Blair’s shampoo and set had been patted back into position, but, to Saif’s astonishment, Neda didn’t let up at all.

  “I know how you feel,” she said, as Isla brought over two flat whites. “Wow,” she added. “Thanks!”

  Flora was always faintly insulted by the patronizing way people reacted to the fact that she sold good coffee—she resented the assumption that everyone who lived on the islands was some kind of hunkering rube who thought instant was a treat.

  Neda continued, “And I don’t want to lecture, but for the moment, at least, you have to be mother and father to those boys.”

  “You mean tell them off.”

  Neda shrugged. “Again, it’s up to you.”

  “You say ‘it’s up to you’ when you mean ‘do as I say,’” said Saif, smiling.

  “Do I?” said Neda, biting into an iced finger. “Oh my goodness, this is terrific.” She turned to Ibrahim, who was slouching in his seat and, as usual, staring at the iPad in front of him, then looked back at Saif.

  Saif sighed and leaned over. “Ibrahim. I need to take your iPad.”

  Ibrahim went wide-eyed. “You can’t,” he said. “It’s mine.”

  “While we’re in the café.”

  “Until she goes?”

  “She is Neda, please.”

  “Until Neda goes?”

  “Just give it to me now.”

  Everyone sat looking tense at the table, except for Ash, who had a bun in one hand and the lollipop in the other and had quite forgotten his bad mood.

  “What lovely boys you are,” said Neda cheerfully. “Now, are you going to show me your school?”

  Flora smiled as she watched the boys leave. Saif made them turn and lisp awkward thank-yous to her. Ibrahim was his double, she saw. He had the exact same furrowed brow and grave expression on his face. Ash was a beautiful child, with long eyelashes. But both the boys were too thin. She would fix that, she vowed. A few more cheese scones. Ugh, no, she had to make the scones smaller . . . Oh, why was it so hard?

  * * *

  Ash managed to make it halfway up the hill before collapsing in dramatic fashion and declaring himself utterly exhausted. Neda asked him to say it in English, which to Saif’s amazement he absolutely could. She laughed at his face and said, not to worry, she knew plenty of full-time fathers who also found this kind of thing incredibly tricky, which made Saif relax a little and find his own smile at Ash’s dramatic overacting, which is why the first time Lorna saw them approaching from the staff-room window, the two boys walking, Ibrahim without his iPad, and the beautiful, tall woman walking next to Saif, her heart dropped right into her boots.