Shopaholic to the Stars(133)

OK, that just popped out. Not sure where I was going with that.

‘We’ll both be dead?’ says Luke disbelievingly. ‘Why the hell is that relevant?’

‘Because …’ I flounder for a moment. ‘Because you’ll be in heaven or floating around in the sky, or wherever, OK?’

Luke raises an eyebrow. ‘Floating in the sky.’

‘Yes. And you’ll look back at your life, and you won’t remember any one argument or one hurtful comment, you’ll remember the relationships you had. You’ll see a great big pattern to your life. And your pattern is all wrong, Luke. Don’t let one false stitch spoil your pattern.’

Luke doesn’t react. Is he even listening?

‘Do you realize that by cutting off contact with your mother, you’re spoiling Minnie’s pattern, too?’ I warm to my theme. ‘And what about my pattern? You know, life isn’t just about your own pattern, Luke. All the patterns weave together, and they make, like, a worldwide web of patterns, like, an über-pattern, and—’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Luke expostulates. ‘Enough with the bloody patterns!’

I stare at him, feeling hurt. I was rather proud of my pattern theory. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Elinor retreating towards the door. She’s not trying to escape, is she?

‘Where are you going?’ I grab her. ‘Tell him about the cottage.’

‘Cottage?’ Luke manages to make the word ‘cottage’ sound highly suspicious and sinister. I nudge Elinor to speak. Honestly, these two really don’t help themselves.

‘Dirk Greggory has died,’ says Elinor. ‘You were fond of his cottage, I think. It will be possible for us to visit one last time before his daughter sells it. But I will have to let the family know.’

‘Oh.’ Luke sounds taken aback. ‘I see.’

‘I have a photograph of you there,’ says Elinor to my surprise, and opens her bag.

She produces an ancient-looking crocodile case, and snaps open the stiff clasps. I immediately see an old black-and-white print of some gorgeous-looking man, which Elinor bundles out of view. She leafs past about five more pictures, then removes a photo and hands it to Luke. ‘You remember this?’

I peer at the photograph with curiosity and see a younger-looking Luke standing on a wide, sandy beach, dressed in a polo shirt and rolled-up cotton trousers, with bare feet. He’s holding a wooden spade and laughing. His hair is longer than it is today, and it’s rumpled in the wind. I feel a tiny stab of jealousy. I wish I’d known him then.

Luke gives the photo the barest glance. ‘That was a long time ago.’

‘You were twenty-three. It feels like only a year or two ago.’ Elinor places a different photo on top, without saying anything. This time Elinor is in the shot too. She’s wearing such a hideous-looking mustard-coloured halterneck and slacks combo, I nearly gasp. But her sunglasses are quite cool, and the setting is amazing. The pair of them are standing on a boat, with nothing but ocean in the background.

‘You carry photographs around with you?’ I can’t help saying incredulously. Elinor immediately looks as though I’ve tapped into her secret source of weakness.

‘A few,’ she says, her face closing up. ‘On occasion.’

She’s like a snail, I think in fascination. Every time you touch her, she retreats. But the point is, snails can be tamed.

Actually, can snails be tamed? OK, she’s not a snail, she’s a … tortoise. No. A meerkat? No. Oh, fuck knows what she is. The point is, this picture seems to have gripped Luke. I can’t tell if he’s gazing at the sea or the boat or Elinor’s revolting outfit, but something has got to him.

‘Minnie would love it there.’ He glances up at me. ‘So would you. It’s a magical place. The sand, the sea … You wouldn’t believe it.’

‘You could easily charter a boat,’ puts in Elinor.

‘Minnie should learn to sail.’ Luke has that gleamy, distant look he gets when he’s making plans. ‘Becky, you need to learn to sail too.’

Luke’s mentioned the whole sailing thing quite a few times in our marriage, and so far I’ve managed to avoid it.

‘Can’t wait!’ I say brightly.

The oven pings and we all jump. It’s as though we’ve come back to life. For an awful moment I think Luke’s going to snap back into his cold, angry self and tell Elinor to leave. But instead he looks up from the photo and surveys each of us in turn. He walks over to the window, heaves a deep sigh and rubs his face with the flat of his hands.

I know it’s all going on inside his head. He hates to be rushed; we just have to let him get there. Elinor is following my lead. She’s standing absolutely still, barely even breathing.