The Good, the Bad and the Dumped Page 8

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Well, what do you want me to say? Yes, you ruined my whole life? We went out, it was nice, we wanted different things, we broke up. Not exactly an uncommon story, is it?’

  ‘No,’ said Posy.

  ‘Plus, you wouldn’t have liked it.’

  ‘Aha! You have thought about me.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t erase your name from my memory, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘What would it have been like for me here?’ she asked, softly.

  ‘Uhm, well, you wouldn’t have liked it,’ he repeated.

  ‘You don’t know that,’ said Posy, stung. ‘I might have learnt to like it. Maybe I’m more adaptable than you think.’

  ‘Well, it’s dark for four months a year,’ he said. ‘Then in the summer it’s light all the time and you can’t sleep and you think you’re going slightly crazy.’

  ‘That sounds like fun and a novelty,’ said Posy stubbornly.

  ‘The locals suspect you if you haven’t lived here for forty-nine generations and have red hair.’

  ‘Suspect you of what? Stealing all the trees?’

  ‘That’s a good question. I’m still not sure.’

  ‘Well, that’s the same anywhere.’

  Chris turned round suddenly.

  ‘Posy? If you don’t want my spunk, then why are you here? Are you trying to stick your lifestyle in my face? Is it some kind of competition and you’re meant to have won or something? ’

  ‘No!’ said Posy, truly taken aback. ‘No. I’m sorry. I just wanted to see . . . Well. Matt’s asked me to marry him.’

  ‘Who’s Matt?’

  ‘He’s this bloke . . . well, he’s my boyfriend, I suppose.’

  ‘You don’t sound too sure.’

  ‘No, no, I am. I mean, well, I’m not sure if I should be saying fiancé.’

  ‘And he’s asked you to marry him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you said yes.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘He’s your fiancé.’

  ‘Thanks, Doctor Literal.’

  ‘So why aren’t you sure?’

  Posy sighed. ‘Because I just think sometimes . . . I followed the flow. I followed you at university then, well, just the crowd down to London and now I have a job and I’m just kind of with Matt and he’s kind of great and everything but I just want to be sure. I want to be sure that the life I’m choosing is the life I would like. So I wanted to see—’

  ‘What the alternative might have been?’

  ‘Does that sound daft?’

  Chris shrugged. ‘No. You look daft. But it doesn’t sound daft.’

  Posy glanced at her ruined shoes. ‘So. What is it like?’

  ‘My life? Don’t be stupid, Posy, I’m a bloke. I never think about it.’

  ‘Ha ha ha.’

  The sound of their voices against the cold air, no other sound but the sluicing of the waves on the rocky shore, made Posy want to whisper.

  ‘Well. There’s not a lot of women up here,’ he began.

  ‘So you just had to settle—’

  ‘Hey!’

  Posy hung her head. ‘Sorry. That was rude.’

  ‘Yeah, and then some. She’s just jealous, OK?’

  Posy rolled her eyes. ‘Of an engaged woman. And there must be ten thousand other farmers for her to choose from.’

  Chris sniffed.

  ‘Are you guys . . . are you going to get engaged?’

  Chris shrugged. ‘Neh, I don’t think she’s fussed.’

  ‘Chris! She’s treating me like a piece of dung discarded from the dung of a dung beetle! She. Is. Fussed.’

  Chris squinted. ‘Really? You think?’

  Posy rolled her eyes again. They were halfway up the beach, and she could feel the chill seeping in to her toes. ‘Duh! If she didn’t care she wouldn’t have done that evil eye thing with her fingers when I got up to clean the glass.’

  ‘You saw that, huh?’

  ‘Yes, I did. If you’ve found your life here, maybe it’s time to do the decent thing.’

  ‘Because getting engaged has obviously made you so settled and content.’

  Posy quickly changed the subject. ‘So. You’ll show me a bit of Shetland life?’

  ‘I certainly will,’ said Chris. Then all of a sudden, he grabbed her round the waist. ‘It’s good to see you, Posy.’

  Posy cuddled him back. It would have felt weird not to. ‘It’s good to see you, too, Chris.’

  All of a sudden, she felt his mouth descending on hers.

  ‘Chris! What the hell are you doing?’

  Chris jumped back like he’d been stung. ‘What?!’

  ‘Don’t kiss me! Your girlfriend is in there. With a harpoon! Probably. And I’m engaged. Did I imagine the conversation we just had?’

  ‘Well, what am I supposed to think when you come all this way out of the blue and start talking about emotions and things?’

  ‘You’re supposed to think: here’s a human being with their own thoughts and desires exploring their own destiny.’

  ‘And it’s not like we’ve never done it before.’

  ‘You don’t . . .’ Posy was spluttering by now. ‘Just because you sleep with someone doesn’t give you a free pass for the rest of your lives.’

  Chris pouted, completely unembarrassed. ‘I don’t see why not. Once you’ve done it a few times, you should be able to come back whenever you feel like it, I reckon.’

  ‘Is Elspeth keeping you on a short leash or what?’ asked Posy, walking smartly in what she thought was the direction of the boat.

  ‘It upturns the chemical toilet. Plus she keeps talking about babies.’ He hurried to catch up with her.

  ‘Where would you keep a baby?’

  ‘I know. Swinging in a hammock from the roof probably. She’s being very unreasonable.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Posy. ‘Anyway, leave me alone.’

  ‘I feel sorry for this Matt,’ grumbled Chris.

  ‘What, for the fact that I don’t cop off with old boyfriends? I’m sure he’ll get over that.’

  Chris looked at her. ‘Well, you really have changed, you know?’

  Posy glanced at him. He hadn’t. Not at all, in ten years.

  ‘How did you ever even figure out how to get on to Facebook?’ she said. ‘You’re totally stuck in the dark ages.’ She gestured at the pitch black horizon. ‘Literally!’

  ‘I know,’ said Chris. ‘I won’t be doing it again.’

  ‘Good,’ said Posy. ‘Let’s go back. Now, if I dared to link arms with you to avoid twisting both my ankles, will you promise not to pounce on me?’

  ‘I still think that’s a totally bourgeois and stupid rule about not being able to go back. What, you’re going to be a reformed virgin on your wedding day?’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘OK,’ sighed Chris, offering her his arm.

  ‘And you’re going to show me the glories of Shetland tomorrow?’

  ‘Uhm, yeah,’ said Chris. ‘Don’t bother waking up too early. Although we’ve got a new Morrisons.’

  Chapter Nine

  In the event, Posy was always going to wake too early. The clanking of the chemical toilet, the creaking of the boat, the creaking of Chris’s and Elspeth’s bed next door - Chris was, Posy decided, simply too large to live on a boat.

  So she had lain absolutely rigid, trying not to strain to hear the urgent whisperings coming from next door, mainly from Elspeth. She was pretty sure they were along the lines of, ‘When is this evil bitch bag from hell getting the fuck off our boat?’

  Plus the little bunk was in a curved space so cramped and tiny it felt not unlike lying in a coffin. There was a shelf full of manuals just above her head so she couldn’t sit up. The pitch dark made her feel queasy, as did the slight motion of the boat and the ominous noises it made. By five a.m. she would have given anything to be back home in her nice cosy Ikea bed. She missed Matt - she missed everything, out here bobbing on the harsh Nort
hern seas. Feeling very sorry for herself, it took a long time for her to drop off, and she had a restless, uncomfortable few hours, with shallow dreams of drowning and death and Davy Jones’ locker.

  ‘Sleep well?’ boomed Chris, as she finally made her way, sticky and unrested, into the main cabin, where she could hear tea - alas, no coffee, and double alas, no Starbucks - being boiled.

  ‘Uhm,’ said Posy, conscious of her little stripy pyjama bottoms and vest top. She was freezing. Elspeth was wearing a full fuzzy dressing gown loosely tied round the middle and great big fuzzy slippers. She looked like a cross between a bear and a bun.

  Chris smiled. ‘You get used to it,’ he said.

  Posy privately thought that having a bed you had to get used to rather went against every concept of comfort and relaxation that the principle of going to bed had ever stood for, but decided not to mention it. Today she was going to be positive, inquisitive, and not freak out Elspeth.

  ‘Would you like tea? Or do you drink some strange southerners’ drink in the morning made out of Japanese goat petals?’ said Elspeth, stomping fuzzily over to the kettle.

  Today was going to be harder than she’d thought.

  ‘So I thought we’d go into Lerwick,’ said Chris. ‘It’s the capital.’

  ‘It’s got a Morrisons,’ said Elspeth, defensively.

  ‘OK, smashing!’ said Posy, hoping they weren’t actually going to take her and show her the Morrisons.

  Elspeth plunked a bowl of grey sludge in front of Posy, along with the tea. Posy eyed it carefully, knowing this was some kind of a test.

  ‘Ooh, porridge,’ she said. ‘I love porridge.’ Posy had never had porridge in her life. Her mother was strictly muesli, for all three daily meals if necessary.

  ‘Do you want sugar or salt with it?’ asked Chris. Posy tried to work out how bland something had to be before you could do that to it, then wondered if it might taste like popcorn. That would be a good way to get it down. Pretend it was just soft popcorn.

  ‘Salt, please,’ she said, tentatively.

  Three spoonfuls in, Posy wondered if this wasn’t perhaps some dastardly plot on Elspeth’s behalf to send her to the bottom of the sea wearing concrete boots. People ate this stuff? It tasted like plaster. She glanced up, only to see Elspeth watching her maliciously. She pushed away her bowl.

  ‘Thanks for that!’ Posy announced cheerily. ‘It was delicious . Right, I’ll go and get changed.’

  ‘But you’ve hardly eaten a bit of it.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m on the . . . boat diet. You’re only allowed three bites of everything. Works brilliantly for Jennifer Aniston, I’ve heard.’

  ‘You don’t look much like Jennifer Aniston,’ observed Elspeth.

  Well, you look like one of her minders, Posy wanted to say, but managed to restrain herself.

  ‘No, Elspeth. No, I don’t,’ she said instead, with a heavy sigh, then headed back into the coffin-room to get dressed.

  ‘I am never ever ever ever ever coming to frigging Shetland ever again,’ she vowed to herself through gritted teeth.

  ‘What was that?’ said Chris, poking his head round the door.

  ‘Chris! Get out, I’m getting dressed.’

  Chris rolled his eyes. ‘Posy! I have totally seen it, like a million times. And anyway, the door is so thin that if I wanted to I could probably see through it anyway. And you’re dressed.’

  Posy heard a loud sniff from Elspeth, and felt guilty again.

  ‘Get out! Get out! Get out!’

  Ten minutes later she’d adorned herself in jeans and a huge fleece of Chris’s she’d found hanging on a nail. It made her look shapeless and drab, but seemed to be the only thing sensible enough to keep out the wind. Elspeth noted that she was wearing it, she could tell. She didn’t mean it to be a mark of ownership, she just didn’t want to freeze to death, that’s all. Elspeth was clomping around unhappily.

  ‘So, uh, we’ll be home later, yeah?’ said Chris. Elspeth sniffed in response.

  ‘Are you sure you can’t come with us?’ asked Posy.

  ‘No. I have to do laundry.’

  ‘Do you have a washing machine?’

  Elspeth laughed. ‘Yes, it’s in the conservatory, next to the home cinema.’

  Posy pouted. ‘Well, at least you could get a service wash.’

  ‘No, we wash our own clothes here,’ said Elspeth.

  ‘There isn’t a single launderette on the whole of Shetland?’ said Posy, cross.

  ‘It’s just nicer to do it in fresh water,’ said Elspeth. ‘More environmentally friendly.’

  ‘What do you do, hit stuff with stones?’

  There was a silence, which Posy took to indicate that that’s exactly what she did do. No wonder the whole boat smelled musty.

  ‘OK, well have a fun day,’ said Posy.

  They left in silence.

  ‘You know,’ said Posy on the way to the car. ‘You’ll think I’m strange and mad, but I have the weirdest sensation that that girl may not like me very much.’

  ‘It is weird,’ said Chris, musingly. ‘Elspeth could have the pick of anyone, but she seems quite jealous about me.’

  ‘What do you mean, she could have the pick of anyone?’ said Posy jealously. ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, any girl can have the pick of anyone,’ he said. ‘They’re outnumbered here about six to one.’

  ‘Seriously?’ said Posy. ‘I should send up Leah.’

  ‘Are you still seeing that crazy friend of yours? Wow, I remember her,’ said Chris, shaking his head. ‘Does she still dress like an explosion in a dustbin?’

  ‘She’s creative,’ sniffed Posy.

  ‘She’s a nutjob.’

  ‘And you know a lot about fashion.’

  Chris smiled.

  ‘So where are we going?’

  ‘We’re here.’ Chris pulled up at what looked like a great mound of stones. ‘It’s Scapa Flow.’

  ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’

  ‘This is where the original settlers lived.’

  ‘On some stones?’

  ‘Come on out and have a look round.’

  Chris parked up. The wind was blistering outside, and it was hardly light even now, at ten o’clock in the morning. Even though Posy could see the airport in the distance, there was no doubting that this was a wild, wild place. Flat, windy and deserted, she absolutely felt perched on rock in the middle of the sea.

  ‘Why did anyone settle here?’ she breathed.

  ‘Could you stop being insulting for two seconds?’ said Chris. ‘This is my life you’re talking about.’

  Scapa Flow turned out to be an incredibly well preserved settlement that dated back to the Bronze Age. Carefully constructed caves and holes revealed themselves, and a way of life quite, quite alien.

  ‘So everyone just sat down a hole round the fire till spring?’ said Posy.

  ‘When they weren’t being slayed by Vikings,’ agreed Chris, as they walked around.

  ‘Amazing,’ said Posy. ‘And I think I have problems.’

  Chris raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Don’t do that! Stop it!’

  ‘Well, come on, Posy,’ said Chris. ‘It’s not a real problem, is it, you poncing about pretending to be looking at alternative lives. You’ve already made it quite clear you’d hate it here. So get over yourself and your spoilt little parallel universes. Of course if everything was as perfect with “Matt” as you say, you wouldn’t even be here, but let’s not talk about that, shall we? Let’s just point and laugh at the funny island people.’

  They didn’t talk so much after that. And watching Elspeth and Chris make lunch in the small enclosed space of the cabin, she noticed something. As Chris brought in turnips and carrots he’d grown himself on their allotment, and Elspeth started to chop, the two of them seemed to be taking part in an intricately choreographed dance that had been going on for years - Elspeth would put out her hand, Chris would fill it with the pepper grinder, or she woul
d point and Chris would lift a huge tureen from a high shelf. There was an intuitive sense between them that she suddenly wondered if she and Matt had, given that neither of them could ever find the potato peeler, and Matt didn’t really approve of carbs anyway. The way (as Elspeth rather over-patiently explained) that they ate in tune with the seasons, mostly what they grew, and how she made her own bread (Posy was eating it at the time and wasn’t entirely sure whether she was eating the bread or the table mat) and caught their own fish from the sea was a full way of living.

  ‘But you buy your pepper at Morrisons?’ asked Posy.

  ‘Oh, the new Morrisons is great,’ said Chris.

  ‘Scapa Flow was interesting,’ said Posy, directing her comments at Elspeth.

  ‘They say Shetlanders really discovered America,’ said Elspeth.

  ‘Well, I’m not surprised they came back,’ said Posy. ‘This is great soup, Elspeth.’

  Elspeth looked taken aback by the unexpected compliment.

  After lunch Chris jumped up, animosity apparently forgotten. ‘Come on then! You’ll need some warm clothes.’

  Posy squinted. ‘Warmer than your duvet that I’ve been wearing all morning?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Chris.

  ‘OK, just bring me every single item of clothing you have. And all your towels. And any old newspapers.’

  The daylight had gone already when they all left the boat at three p.m. and started stomping up the road.

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Posy. She was wearing two woollen hats, some mismatched gloves, tights, jeans, two T-shirts, a jumper and two coats. She felt like an upright pig. No wonder girls did so well up here. You could look like Elle Macpherson or Anne Widdecombe under all this and no one would ever know.

  ‘Never you mind,’ said Chris, striding on ahead, illuminated by the rising moon. His great clumping boots, Posy noticed, were as ideally situated to this environment as they had been inappropriate hopping up and down library stairs in Leeds, or, she envisaged, stepping on commuters’ toes getting on and off tube carriages in London. Once freed from the houseboat, his ludicrous size had room to stretch out; his legs could move and he could stand up straight.

  Her phone finally picked up a signal, and it rang immediately. Matt.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hey, hon, how’s it going?’