The House We Called Home Read online

‘Do you want to try it?’ Amy asked, eyes goading as she held out the Twister.

  ‘Not after you’ve licked it like that, not a chance.’

  Below them Rosie sat back on her heels. ‘He’s afraid.’

  Gus held his hands to his temples in sheer disbelief. ‘Why do you do this to me, Rosie?’

  Rosie giggled.

  ‘Go on,’ said Amy. ‘Unless you are afraid. I mean, it’s only an ice lolly.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Gus sighed and snatching the Twister out of her hand took a bite off the end. ‘Urgh!’ He made a retching face. ‘It’s revolting.’

  Amy shook her head. ‘You’re lying.’

  Gus took another bite. ‘Yeah, it’s not actually that bad.’

  She snatched the Twister back, trying not to smile.

  ‘Gus, we need some shells for decoration!’ Rosie ordered.

  Gus shook his head. ‘You’re a hard taskmaster, Rosie.’ He looked down the beach, shielding his eyes from the sun, then after a pause said to Amy, ‘Do you er— want to come?’

  Amy stopped licking the Twister and glanced down the beach to where he was pointing. ‘OK,’ she said, feeling strangely flattered that he’d asked.

  Gus nodded, clearly half expecting to be rebuffed and pleased that he hadn’t been.

  Amy picked up one of the water bottles they’d bought, Gus took it from her and chucked it into the bucket, then they tiptoed across the burning sand, swearing until they hit the cool relief of the shoreline where the dark sand was ridged and raked by the tide.

  They walked, heads down inspecting the washed-up seaweed for shells. There were mainly pine cones and bits of burnt wood, bottle tops, and an old shoe. But every few steps empty shells lay dotted along the water’s edge. Gus bent to pick one up, a long razor-clam, holding it over his finger like a talon. ‘Imagine if these were your fingernails,’ he said.

  Amy gave it a glance. ‘It’d make being on your phone a nightmare,’ she replied.

  Gus laughed as if he hadn’t expected to, chucking the shell in the bucket.

  Amy picked up a couple.

  They walked on in silence, just the echoing sound of shells hitting the plastic.

  Then suddenly Gus said, ‘Watch out!’ nudging Amy out of the way of a giant flobby jellyfish that had been washed up on the shore.

  ‘Urgh,’ she said, as they peered over to inspect it. Gus gave it a prod with one of the razor shells and it wobbled.

  They carried on. Seagulls cruised overhead. The sun beat down. Gus unscrewed the cap of the water, then handed the bottle to Amy before he had a drink.

  ‘Did you know that they think wind turbines and off-shore rigs and stuff have the perfect surface for jellyfish to breed. That’s why there’s so many of them nowadays?’

  Amy shook her head. ‘I did not know that.’

  Gus nodded. ‘I saw it the other day on a documentary.’

  ‘Do you like watching documentaries?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Sometimes nature. But mainly depressing ones with subtitles.’

  Amy laughed. ‘So, do you watch them just because they’ve got subtitles?’

  ‘Mostly, yeah. It’s one of my key criteria,’ he said, kicking the surf with his foot and smiling like he’d scored a victory with her laugh. ‘And the longer and more depressing the better. What do you watch?’

  ‘Stuff I think you wouldn’t like,’ she said. ‘I watch of lot of YouTube – I like all the make-up stuff.’

  ‘Yeah you’re right. I wouldn’t like that.’

  Amy took her sunhat off, smoothed her hair and then put it back on again. ‘I put the subtitles on the TV sometimes, just when I can’t really be bothered to listen.’

  ‘Really?’ Gus looked to check she was serious.

  ‘Yeah.’ Amy nodded, smiling. ‘It’s much easier to read them than listen.’

  ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.’

  Amy shrugged, uncaring, and bent down to pick up a little white shell for the bucket.

  They walked on a bit more. More razor-clams went in. The sun went momentarily behind a cloud. Amy stopped, relieved for the shade. ‘Can I have some more water, please?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, handing it to her.

  She felt him watching as she drank. She swallowed, paused and looked back at him. ‘Why are looking at me?’

  He bit his lip. Thought for a second about whether he was going to say what he was thinking or not. Then said, ‘I heard what you said, you know. When you were in the attic with Stella.’

  Amy frowned, taking another sip of water to buy herself some time as she tried to remember what they’d talked about. Then she remembered and did a spluttering gasp, coughing up water onto the sand.

  Gus gave her a couple of thumps on the back. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you choke.’

  Amy was frantically playing the whole attic conversation back in her head. His big nose. The funny sex. She felt herself blushing. Bobby. The guilt. She stood up straight, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘How?’ she said. ‘You were downstairs with Sonny.’

  Gus put his sunglasses on. Pushing his hair back with his hands. ‘Actually, I was being dressed up by Rosie in her room which is just below the attic window. And I have really good hearing. It’s one of my things. Like really, really good. Weirdly, my dad has a really good sense of smell. We’re like sensory superheroes.’

  Gus took the water from her and had a gulp, then he screwed on the lid, put it back in the bucket and started walking again.

  Amy was dying inside, shuffling along next to him, pretending to focus on the smattering of empty razor-clams.

  ‘All that guilt that you’re feeling. It’s crazy, you know that?’ Gus said, looking out at the beach ahead.

  ‘Sorry?’ Amy frowned.

  ‘It relies on the fact that he’s watching. Your husband. But he’s not watching.’ Gus turned to look at her. ‘The belief that he is, it’s just a comfort.’

  Amy looked shocked. ‘I don’t want to talk about this.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because.’

  ‘Because what?’

  ‘Because it’s got nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I think it does. And no one else is saying it to you.’

  Amy bent down and picked up a shell with a huff. ‘OK, well you’ve said it now. Fine.’

  ‘I’m not saying it to upset you,’ Gus said. ‘I’m saying it to free you.’

  ‘Well, it’s not freeing,’ Amy snapped back. ‘It’s just a mean thing to say.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Gus said, incredulous. ‘It’s not freeing? The idea that there’s no one watching? That he can’t see you? That your every move isn’t being watched and judged? Please!’ Gus strolled on, gaze fixed on the horizon. ‘And it’s not mean, it’s reality.’

  Amy blew out a breath. ‘You sound like one of your documentaries.’

  ‘Oh, believe me’ – Gus shook his head – ‘they are way worse than that.’

  Amy stomped ahead to put some distance between them. Then she slowed, knowing he wouldn’t try and catch up. She toyed with the razor-clam in her hand, running her finger down the line where the two halves joined. She stared at it, picturing Bobby. Then she tried to imagine nothing. No viewing from above.

  She felt a shiver of fear.

  There was comfort in the idea that he could still see her. Like her life was a giant Instagram story for him to watch and review like Gogglebox.

  Without that, it was a daunting path ahead of her. No safe pair of eyes watching, checking.

  She threw her shell down, it moved forward in the surf then rolled back in the damp sand.

  She thought of the baby. Put her hand on her stomach. She remembered the feeling, when she had been standing in the garage, of his disapproval. She remembered thinking that she had to stand up to it for the sake of the baby. But what if there was no frown of Bobby’s upset? What if he could see none of this? She looked down at the sand, al
l confused.

  A huge part of her believed he was watching. And if he wasn’t? She squinted her eyes up towards the sun, hand back on her stomach, and found herself overcome by a small flutter of excitement. That maybe the sky held no watching eyes. That she was going to have her baby. Her tiny little baby. That she had wanted for years. And it was OK to be happy about that. The sensation was like clouds parting to reveal a patch of blue sky.

  She heard Gus’s footsteps speed up behind her, and next minute he was just ahead walking backwards, facing her, feet splashing in the shallow water. ‘OK, it was a bit mean, I admit. I could have said it better.’

  Amy nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘OK, so go with me for a minute. Let’s say he is up there’ —they both glanced up at the vast expanse of blue above them— ‘you really think he’s spending his time looking down at you? Really? You don’t think he’s talking to Picasso. Or Henry VIII. Or’ —he held his arms wide— ‘Patrick Swayze’s surfer dude character in Point Break. Or Patrick Swayze for that matter.’

  ‘I don’t think he’d be talking to Patrick Swayze.’

  ‘No? Not getting some Dirty Dancing tips.’

  Amy shook her head, eyes creasing up at the corners trying not to laugh because it was all in really bad taste.

  Gus fell into step beside her, pushing his hair back again with his hand, grinning. ‘Who would you talk to?’

  ‘I have no idea, Gus!’

  ‘I’d try and find Anne Haddy. You remember – Helen Daniels from Neighbours? She always gave sage advice.’

  ‘You talk such bullshit.’

  Gus laughed. The waves continued to roll over their toes. The flotsam changed from razor-clams to black pebbles. A couple of aeroplane tracks lined the sky.

  Amy realised as she walked that it wasn’t really about whether or not Bobby was watching. It was about her clinging on to the thought that he was out of comfort, hiding in the safety of the past. A past and a role she had understood. Really it was about finding the courage to walk head high, eyes forward, straight into the unknown. And if he was up there, well, maybe Bobby could watch if he wanted but as a bystander on the sidelines rather than the guiding light.

  They walked on, side by side. On the beach were pockets of people sunbathing, striped umbrellas flickering when the wind blew. Up ahead was a kid running in the surf with a blow-up dingy. The noise of the waves lulled hypnotically. Gus sighed contentedly then said, ‘You know a big nose is quite often considered a key sign of wisdom and virility.’

  Amy covered her face, wincing at the memories of what she’d said to Stella. Gus turned and winked at her, actually looking quite cool in his sunglasses and navy T-shirt.

  Before she could apologise though, she felt something soft and squishy beneath her foot and then a red-hot searing pain up her leg. ‘Oh my God, oh my God!’ she screamed. ‘I’ve trodden on a jellyfish. Oh my God, Gus. It hurts so much. Oh my God!’ Amy collapsed on the sand, clinging on to her foot, red welts appearing on her skin. Her face contorted in pain.

  Gus stood frozen to the spot. Eyes wide. ‘It’s OK,’ he said, almost a mutter. ‘It’s OK,’ he said again, then ‘Shit!’ raking his hair back, looking about wildly for someone to help.

  ‘Gus, it really hurts.’ Amy was crying. ‘What about the baby?’

  Gus squatted down next to her, he took her hand. ‘I think the baby will be OK. I don’t know.’ He looked at the clear glistening jellyfish on the sand. ‘Shit, it’s massive. OK. Think. We need to get you to a hospital.’

  ‘I can’t walk.’

  Gus put one arm under her knees, one round her back and started to lift. ‘No, I can’t, you’re too heavy,’ he said, dropping her back down into the shallows.

  ‘I’m not that heavy!’ she cried.

  ‘You are! You’re really heavy!’

  ‘Oh God, Gus. Do something. It really hurts. It hurts so much. I think my leg is swelling up.’

  Gus looked down at her leg which was indeed swelling up. She had no visible ankle. ‘No, it’s not too bad,’ he said, disguising a disgusted face as he looked around for what to do. ‘Oh!’ he said, spotting the kid with the inflatable dinghy who’d paused to stare at the commotion. ‘I need that,’ Gus shouted, running and grabbing the rope from the child who immediately started to cry. His parents sunbathing down the beach glanced up and started shouting, but Gus was already sprinting back to Amy with the tiny blow-up boat.

  ‘What are you going to do with that?’ she cried.

  ‘Pull you!’ he said, out of breath, panicked.

  ‘No way.’

  But Gus hauled her up again and slithered her into the centre of the inflatable.‘Hold on!’ he shouted, and taking the end of the rope started to heave. The boat moved about half a metre. Gus’s shoulders slumped with defeat. Then the tide came in and the boat lifted an inch off the sand and suddenly they were moving.

  ‘Shit, Gus!’ Amy shouted, holding on tight to the plastic handles as he pulled her further out and the boat tipped precariously.

  ‘It’s OK! I’ve got you. Don’t worry,’ he shouted without looking back, eyes fixed on the giant sandcastle being constructed in the distance.

  ‘Gus, it’s miles.’

  The tide retreated, the boat slid heavy on the wet sand. The rope strained against the plastic, not designed for adult weight. ‘I can do it,’ Gus panted. ‘I worked on a farm.’

  Amy almost laughed through the pain. ‘How long ago?’

  ‘A long long time ago.’ Gus was heaving the dinghy, skin scalded by the sun. Then suddenly the rope snapped. The boat stopped. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit. STELLA!’ Gus shouted as he hooked his arms around the front of the inflatable to keep dragging.

  ‘She won’t hear you.’ Amy shook her head. ‘Please hurry up. Hurry up – it hurts. Oh my God.’

  ‘Why can’t they be the ones with the supersonic hearing? I’d hear them!’ Gus was muttering. Staggering. Muttering. His back bent double. ‘Jesus. I need a distraction.’

  ‘I need a distraction. I’ve got red-hot pokers on my leg.’ Amy winced. ‘What about the baby?’

  ‘The baby.’ Gus nodded. ‘Let’s talk about the baby. That’s a distraction.’ Almost the moment he said it, the moment he realised that it might be in danger from the jellyfish sting, it hit him, square in the chest, that the baby was an actual thing. There was a baby. His baby. There would be a baby. A kid that he would take out at weekends and maybe it would stay over one night of the week and he would take it to school the next day. There would be packed lunches and fish fingers. Gus loved fish fingers. They had that comforting after-school taste about them, always best with tomato ketchup and peas. To him, fish fingers meant family. They meant hectic and chaotic and six kids and two parents and three dogs and baby sheep in the kitchen and cats walking over the sideboard, and shouting and squealing and washing and no one going to sleep and everyone barging into his room and the water going cold during his shower and watching endless television, a lot of it that he didn’t want to watch and having to explain the plot of every film he did want to watch over and over again and everyone else always scoffing all the biscuits and all of them being dragged out at dawn to stack the hay when all he wanted to do was sit by himself and read a book. A life that he had loved but had staunchly decided against ever emulating. The selfless hassle more than it was worth.

  But this, this was just one baby. He wasn’t having six of the buggers. He was having one. One little heartbeat. One that he could tell jokes to and make laugh. One that might love Lego. One that might love comics. One that might understand the films he loved. One that he wouldn’t mind so much explaining the plot to because it would be half him. One. That would be his.

  He had a sudden vision of his young self finishing the hay stacking at sunrise, lolling exhausted on the tractor, his dad carrying him over his shoulder up to bed. He remembered having his boots taken off for him, his dad tucking him into bed still in clothes that smelt of sweat and hay, sweeping his shoulder-length
-huge-mistake-hair out of his face and kissing him on the forehead. ‘You’re an awkward little bastard, but a great kid, Gus.’

  Gus almost welled up at the idea of having his own great little kid. He found he could suddenly barely breathe, and it had nothing to do with hauling Amy’s weight along the shore. ‘Actually, no,’ he managed to splutter, ‘let’s think about other stuff. What else can we think about?’ He glanced over his shoulder to see where he was going. ‘STELLA! JACK! SONNY!’ he shouted, muscles straining.

  ‘Rosie might be the one with the supersonic hearing,’ Amy said, one hand clutching her leg, the other clinging on to the boat.

  ‘ROSIE!’ Gus hollered. ‘Oh my God, she’s looking up. ROSIE!’ Gus let go of the boat with one hand and frantically waved. He saw Rosie stand and look then hit her dad on the arm. He saw Jack spring up. ‘Oh, thank God,’ Gus almost cried. ‘He’s much more suited to this type of thing than me.’

  ‘Come on, Gus,’ Amy chivvied him along. ‘You worked on a farm.’

  Up ahead Jack was yelling at Stella who started swimming hard to get back to shore. Rosie and Sonny were running towards them, then Jack. Really fast.

  Amy was crying. Holding her leg. Gus thought his back might snap in half. Sweat was dripping from his brow as he pulled. ‘Remember the hay,’ he mumbled. ‘Stacking the hay. That was really hard work. Harder than this. Remember the hay.’

  ‘The baby, Gus.’

  ‘I know the baby.’ Gus was starting to really panic. He couldn’t fail. His legs were burning. Save the baby. Save the baby.

  And then suddenly Jack was there, a hero hoisting Amy out of the little boat and into his arms. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Jellyfish,’ Gus huffed out the word, trying to catch his breath, trying not to collapse on the sand.

  ‘What type?’

  ‘A massive one.’

  ‘Colour?’

  ‘See-through with brown veins.’

  And then Stella was there, breathing fast, cheeks flushed. ‘Do we need to pee on it or something.’

  ‘No.’ Jack shook his head, carrying Amy with effortless ease. ‘We need to check there are no bits of tentacle on the leg.’ Stella peered to examine Amy’s skin and shook her head. ‘We need heat on it for the pain and to get her to a doctor just to be on the safe side,’ he said, striding back in the direction of the car park. ‘Sonny, run and see if you can get a warm towel or similar.’