For The record
Personally, Jess would much rather have gone to Soho Farmhouse or to a boutique hotel for the weekend, but instead she’s hired an Airbnb near the seafront. Ash never got a hen do for her first marriage, but now, for the second, she wants the full Brighton shebang. Jess can’t think of anything more humiliating than a bunch of 50-somethings parading along the prom with Ash in a plastic tiara and white veil, but there’s no reasoning with her loved-up best friend.
As they head to the shops on Western Road, Ash links her arm through Jess’s and Jess is suddenly glad she’s made the considerable effort to clear her diary and get away a day early before the others arrive.
“Let’s do the charity shops first.” Ash pulls her into Shelter. “I love a bargain.”
“OK, I’ll check out the records.” Jess has already spotted the stereo in the apartment.
She only gets time to listen to music in the gym, but there’s something so tangible about holding old vinyl records. It takes her back to the days when she used to save her pocket money to buy albums and her brother Billy used to tape the Top 40 on the radio on their mother’s cassette recorder.
“Ta da!” Ash announces, and Jess turns to see her in a pink suede coat with a fur collar. “I mean, perfect, right?”
“If you say so,” Jess laughs, pulling out the next record. It’s Now That’s What I Call Music II.
“Oh, classic. We’ve got to get it,” Ash says. “Some bangers on there.”
Jess slides out the record, checking for scratches.
“Oh, do you remember those?” Ash says, pointing at the white inner sleeve. “Abel Labels. Funny how we used to put our identity on everything.”
Jess narrows her eyes at the name and address neatly printed on the sticker. “Wait. That’s the house next door to Nan’s.”
Ash peers in closely. “Rob Hayes. I wonder if he still lives there? Hey. What if he’s hot?”
Ash does a comedy wiggle of her eyebrows, but Jess pulls a face, annoyed that she thinks that her single status needs fixing. Especially with someone totally random like this guy, who probably lives in Australia by now. Though she does vaguely remember a kid her age playing football against Nan’s back wall.
“Let’s go and see. It’ll be an adventure.”
“No, we’ve got lunch booked and – “
“But you promised to be more spontaneous. We can use the record as an excuse for a trip down memory lane.”
Jess already endured Ash’s pep talk on the way here. About how Jess has to stop being closed off to opportunities. Jess tuned out when Ash started on about serendipity and “channelling the universal energy”. Jess is a lawyer. She believes in facts, not fate.
Forty minutes later, as they drive out of town towards Saltdean, the undulating road is just how Jess remembers it. She stares out at the expanse of glittering sea. In the distance, she can make out the Newhaven ferry. Cormorants fly in a perfect dotted line along the horizon. This is certainly different to her usual Thursday view.
Nan always used to swear by the efficacious effects of sea air, although that didn’t stop her dying of emphysema at 72, but Jess’s mum loathed it here. She left home at 16, running to the bustle of city life and Billy and Jess came alone when they visited on their holidays.
She remembers a row of wind-blown squat bungalows, stoically facing the road, like military outposts, a strip of scrubby grass and then the cliff edge. It was only Billy who could make the plain view beautiful. He could paint anything beautiful, even as a child. But the road is full of houses now and Nan’s bungalow has gone. In its place is a two-storey chalet, with glass balconies and grey wicker sofas.
Jess gets out of the car with the record, feeling foolish for humouring Ash this far. But as she breathes in the briny air, memories surface of those long-ago summers; gooey melting tarmac, bees buzzing around the dahlias in Nan’s
Jess tuned out when Ash started on about serendipity and “channelling the universal energy”
garden, the sparrows fluttering under the eaves, cracked eggshells on the concrete path with its decorative swirl of sunken stones, the tune of a distant ice-cream van.
She’d forgotten how you could always hear the sea, too; the distant “shh”, like a promise. She remembers lugging fold-up chairs down the steps in the cliff and the pebble beach at the bottom. And Billy, always the first in, with his little spindly legs, his laugh so joyful behind a cascade of glittering droplets.
“Go on,” Ash calls from the driver’s seat and Jess looks at the bungalow next door, noticing the dark patches creeping up the white pebbledash. Its green tiled roof is stained with splodges of fungus and seagull mess and the garden is barren. In fact, it looks abandoned, she thinks, as she heads up the path to the front door. She notices a pile of garden detritus gathered together – an old rake and a collapsed bird box. A roughly painted sign in front reads: On loan from Tate Modern. At least someone here has a sense of humour.
The doorbell utters one feint ding of its ding-dong, and Jess waits, grimacing at Ash, but when she turns back, she sees a shadow behind the glass and the door opens. A man with straggly grey hair and overgrown stubble stares at her. He’s wearing a cardigan with brown leather buttons that remind her of toffees. Jess feels the colour rising in her cheeks as his green eyes meet hers.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but…” she stalls. Then, at a loss, she holds up the record, pulling the sleeve out to reveal the label. “I think this belonged to – “
“Oh boy,” he says, laughing and taking it from her. “Where did you get this?”
“In the charity shop. I recognised the address. My Nan used to live next door.”
“Peggy? She was great friends with Mum. She bought me this.”
“So, hang on, you’re… you’re Rob? That Rob?’ She points to the sticker. The same Rob who used to play football?
He nods. “Come in,” he says, and she steps over the threshold, turning to pull a face at Ash, who gives her two thumbs up. “Excuse the mess. Mum was a bit of a hoarder. It’s a big job getting the place ready to go on the market and I’m only down at weekends.” “Oh, I’m sorry, so your mum…?” “Yeah,” he sighs. “Last year. Cancer.” He scratches the back of his head. His plaid shirt rides up and she sees a flash of his surprisingly flat stomach.
“So, you must be Billy’s sister? Did he… you know…? Sort himself out?”
She shakes her head, shocked that Rob knows this about her brother. “He died. Two months ago. Well, that was when we found out. He’d been missing, you see, for about 18 months before that. We hadn’t had any contact.”
It’s this last bit that she can hardly say. The awful truth about her baby brother. The thing she couldn’t stop. The drugs.
She felt so justified following her mother’s lead, the whole family washing their hands of Billy and his lies. But since she’s found out that he’s gone for good, it’s only working until she’s beyond exhaustion that stops Jess waking up at night drenched in shame. She should have done more.
“You know, Mum used to give Billy £2 every week. To buy ‘art things’.”
She can tell by Rob’s tone that his Mum’s £2 almost certainly didn’t get spent on art equipment.
“Really? She knew him? Saw him?” “He did a bit of gardening for her.” That funny sign out front? Billy’s humour.
She follows Rob in a daze upstairs. The bedspread is covered in cardboard boxes and Rob goes into one of them and pulls out some crinkled A3 sheets. “I think these are…”
Jess takes them, the familiar seascapes blurring through her tears as she leafs through them. All dated.
Billy hadn’t been lost. He’d come back to where they’d once been so happy. And he’d left pieces of himself for her to find.
“Do you want them?” Rob asks. “I’ll swap you.” His smile makes her heart beat a little bit faster. “For the record. And, you know, maybe we could go out for a coffee one day?”
Lifesaving For Beginners (HQ, £8.99) is out now