Stella had been rummaging in her bag for the car keys, only to discover Jack was holding them, and when the ice cream chat had finished said, ‘So, I take it you four are going together?’
Amy and Rosie looked disparagingly at Gus and Sonny. ‘I suppose so,’ said Amy, putting her sunglasses on and poofing her hair. Then she looked down at the list again. ‘So, we’ve got the pub, John and Sandra’s house … Oh, that’s going to be awkward – what am I going to say? Have you seen my dad?’
Stella raised a brow. ‘Sounds about right.’
Amy sucked in a breath and went back to the list. ‘Post office, other shops, Londis. OK.’ She nodded, grabbed her bag, and said, ‘Come on then.’ Rosie trotted after her like an adoring puppy, dressed today in her own emoji vest, while Amy was wearing skin-tight white jeans and an acid yellow T-shirt. Sonny and Gus followed a little less enthusiastically, both now checking their phones.
The easiest walk to the village was across the headland. They walked the road part of the way then Amy paused by a gate and started to climb the stile, lifting her legs over it really high so she didn’t mark her jeans.
Gus watched, thinking of when he’d first seen her profile picture online. In it she had long blonde hair in high pigtails, dressed up like Britney Spears for – hopefully – a fancy-dress party. Gus remembered all his friends passing it round the pub table sniggering because it was clear she was a bit of a dimwit, but also mocking because there was no denying she was good-looking and well out of his league in the looks department. That was why, when he’d seen them the next time, he’d sat down all cocky and full of it, making the fact he’d slept with her unmistakable. They hadn’t believed him at first, but when he didn’t back down, didn’t crack a smile and agree that he was winding them up, his best mate had blown out a breath, held up his pint and said, ‘Gus shagged Baby Spice. Nice one.’
Baby.
He felt suddenly woozy.
The air seemed to get muggier and more humid. Above him a gauzy layer of clouds locked in the heat, smothering them all like a huge white duvet.
The kids followed Amy over the stile. Rosie tripped and in the process trod in a cow pat. Sonny laughed. Rosie slapped him on the stomach. Sonny laughed even more and called her Cow Pat Rosie, which made Amy have to hold in a laugh as she told him not to call his sister names while Rosie cried.
It made Gus think about his own family. About the near constant bickering with his siblings – all five of them – and his own parents’ house on a farm in Suffolk, crammed full of stuff and people and kids. There were always more babies, more cats, more dogs, more tiny chicks in the airing cupboard; everything mismatched, spotlessly clean but worn and tired. He couldn’t imagine anyone going missing other than because they’d got lost on the land somewhere. He had spent his life appreciative of it but desperate to escape it. He had lain on his triple bunk bed dreaming of one day having his own space. A place where he and he alone would be in control, where he could do as he pleased, where it would be silent. And now he had it. He cherished his independence, barely had long-term relationships, and shuddered inside when a girlfriend tried to make him commit to a holiday a couple of months in advance. Yet here he was, on the verge of being permanently tied to this Britney Spears wannabe because of one stupid, drunken mistake. He had to make her see sense.
They walked single file down the side of the field, the footpath jagged with stones, the air scented with cows and wild garlic, and the barbs of the blackthorn bushes clutching at their T-shirts.
‘Amy,’ Rosie said, idly plucking at the long grass. ‘Is Gus your boyfriend?’
Gus snorted a laugh at the back as Amy visibly bristled, her hand fluffing up her hair like a nervous tick. ‘No,’ she said, short and sharp without turning round.
Sonny turned round though and made a sniggering face at Gus. And Rosie was walking backwards now, eyes narrowed as if she’d been certain she had cracked a particularly difficult code that no one else had yet deciphered.
Gus raised a brow, smug to have outwitted her.
Amy marched on ahead, not speaking, putting herself as far ahead of the group as she could.
Gus thought about the phone call he’d had with his mother last night when he’d been out walking the dog. Needing to talk to someone but unsure who. As soon as she’d answered the phone he knew she’d been the wrong person to call.
‘She says she’s going to keep it.’
‘Oh, Gus, love, that’s wonderful.’
‘It’s not wonderful.’
‘Where are you? It’s very loud.’
‘Cornwall. It’s the sea.’
‘You could do with a bit of fresh air.’
He imagined her bustling round the kitchen, desperate to envelope him in a big, busty hug. She’d be clutching the cat, probably, to make up for his absence. He’d sighed, regretting the panic that had made him ring in the first place. ‘If she has it, I suppose it’ll only be every other weekend though, won’t it?’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Isn’t that what people do?’ He could hear his sister, Claudia, in the background as his mother relayed the whole chat to her, say, ‘Overnight usually in the week as well, Gussy!’
‘Stop it, the pair of you,’ his mother said. ‘You don’t just have a baby at the weekend, Gus. It’s forever. It’s in your life, that’s it.’
Gus had made a hasty excuse to hang up then walked glassy-eyed after the dog, the word ‘forever’ looping in his head like the monotonous drone of the waves.
Now the air was getting warmer as they walked. Out the other side of the field they trudged up the coastal path. A maze of brambles on one side, a sheer drop on the other. Gus peered down at the sea, tide in, lapping at the base of the cliff like a hungry dog. There was no shade. No one had thought to bring any water. By the time they got to the Coach and Horses they were all sweaty and sulky with thirst. Amy snapped at Rosie and Sonny to stop squabbling as she patted her skin with a tissue, checking in the window that her make-up was all still in place before they went in. Gus wondered if he had time to get a swift half in but thought he’d better not when Amy opened the door and all the locals greeted her with a big show of sympathetic enthusiasm. Gus thought he’d loiter close to the door instead. An old man by the bar gave Rosie a pound for the fruit machine which kept her and Sonny busy. Gus watched as a group of young surfer-looking guys hovered round Amy, hugging her, draping their arms round her shoulders, kissing her on the cheek and ruffling her hair. It was fascinating to watch. She seemed surprised to see them all and less comfortable with the attention than he’d presumed she might be, breaking the chat short to ask the barman if he’d seen her dad recently or noticed anything unusual.
‘Barely been in,’ the barman said. ‘Last couple of weeks haven’t seen him. Sorry, love.’
Amy nodded. ‘That’s OK.’
Behind her the fruit machine started beeping and flashing. Rosie yelped as coins started clanging into the tray. ‘I’ve won!’ she shouted.
The whole place turned to look. Amy’s friends laughed, a couple of them swaggering over to gawp at the jackpot. Gus heard them invite Amy to sit down for a drink but she declined, pointing to the door, inadvertently at Gus, saying that they had to go. Gus lifted
