the morning, in London. Too early to call someone? Difficult to say. The timing of this call was neither here nor there, in any case. Either this call was going to be welcome, or it wasn’t.
I took out my phone. I scrolled through the memory until I reached Clive’s name. Then I took a deep breath and pressed the call button.
The phone rang for what seemed like aeons. He wasn’t going to answer. But finally he did.
‘Hello?’ I said. ‘Hello, Clive?’
‘Yes, this is Clive. Good God – is that Max, by any chance?’
‘Yes, it is. Did I wake you up?’
‘You did, actually, but never mind. Doesn’t matter a bit. It’s just lovely to hear from you.’
Now – tell me if I’m repeating myself, but … did I mention before that the first thing I find attractive in someone, nine times out of ten, is his voice?
v-1
I stayed on the beach until sunset.
(Stop me if you’ve had enough of this by now.)
I watched the changing colours of the sky.
(You don’t have to read any more if you don’t want to. The story is over.)
I telephoned Clive and knew that everything was going to be all right.
(It’s been a long haul, I know. Thanks to all the people who have stayed with me. Really, I appreciate it. And I admire your stamina, I must say. Most impressive.)
And then …
And then a group of people arrived at the beach. A family group. They hadn’t come from Manly Wharf, they’d come along the coastal path from the opposite direction, from the west, and there were seven of them altogether. A husband and wife and their two daughters – they were easy enough to spot – but as for the others, well, that was harder to say. Grandparents, maybe? Aunts, uncles, family friends? I couldn’t be sure. The two girls were very pale, and they were wearing floaty summer dresses over their swimming costumes. The younger one seemed to be about eight, the older one twelve or thirteen – close to Lucy’s age. They ran straight down to the water’s edge and began splashing and paddling in the shallows. Their mother, who had long blonde hair, went down to keep an eye on them, while their father stayed on the path above the beach, and walked along it slowly, looking dreamy and preoccupied. He had grey hair – bordering on white – and was wearing a light-brown jacket over a white T-shirt that gave away rather too much of his middle-age spread. The whole ensemble made him look a bit like a caffe latte, served in a tall glass with a slight bulge in the middle.
There were free benches on either side of mine, but to my surprise he ignored those and sat down right beside me. At any other time I might have resented the intrusion, but by now my mood was relaxed, expansive and hopeful: it had begun to feel that anything that happened to me, from now on, could only be for the best. And besides, I thought that I could detect a certain kindness and benevolence in the deep blue eyes of this affable stranger. So, if he wanted to engage me in conversation, I was ready for it.
‘Evening,’ I said.
‘Evening,’ he repeated back at me, and added: ‘How’s it going?’
It was one of those meaningless questions that normally don’t require a proper response. Today, however, I decided to defy social convention and take it seriously.
‘Well, since you ask, it’s going pretty well,’ I told him. ‘It’s been a draining couple of days, in some respects, but at the end of it all … I have to say that I’m feeling good. Very good.’
‘Excellent. Just what I wanted to hear.’
‘You’re from England too, right?’
‘Ha! – the accent’s a giveaway, isn’t it? Yes, we’re over here for three weeks. My wife’s from Australia originally. Catching up with some of her relatives.’
‘That’s your wife down there?’ I asked, indicating the pretty blonde woman standing on the rocks with the two pale little girls.
‘It is, yes.’
I looked at the man more closely.
‘This may sound a weird thing to ask,’ I said, ‘but would I be right in thinking we’ve met somewhere before?’
‘Do you know, I was just thinking the same thing. I believe we have. In fact, I’m sure of it – I can even remember where.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘there you have the advantage over me. Please don’t take it personally, but the thing is, I’ve met so many different people over the last few weeks …’
‘That’s all right. I understand,’ the man answered. ‘In any case, it’s a bit misleading to say that we actually met. Our paths crossed – that would be a better way of putting it. We didn’t speak to each other.’
‘Where was it, then?’
‘You really don’t remember?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘It was at Heathrow airport, nearly two months ago. You were sitting in one of the cafes trying to drink a cappuccino, only it was so hot that you could barely touch it. I was sitting at the next table, getting ready to go to Moscow.’
