‘I did.’
‘I love you,’ he mouths as they are positioned to exchange their vows. Eyes fixed on his, Naomi presses her fist to her heart, points at him and holds up two fingers.
The ceremony is simple and brief. He is aware of the witness, a stranger; of his friends who are not here, who do not know this is happening. The words are eerily unemotional, almost perfunctory. They slide the wedding bands onto each other’s ring fingers and then it is time to take Naomi in his arms.
‘Mrs Moore,’ he says and kisses her on the mouth. But he is not as lost in her as he imagined he would be, is too aware of the quietness, the absence of any kind of celebration, the lack of warmth from people who do not know either of them. There is no confetti, no cheering, no excited hubbub. It is as if they are watching themselves on television with the sound off. But then they’re taking turns to sign their names in the register, and Naomi is holding his hand and saying, ‘Hey, let’s get out of here, shall we?’
He scoops Tommy up in one arm and lets himself be led out of the building. At the walled promenade overlooking the sea, Tommy lifts rose petals and watches them fly out of his hands.
Coaxed by Jo, who is holding her iPhone to take a photo, he and Naomi embrace again, but still he is self-conscious, half afraid that someone he knows will shout his name and ask him what the hell he is doing. I don’t really know, he thinks. But the idea flies away, chases the rose petals out to sea.
No one they know passes by. There are tourists, who turn to look, then pretend they are not looking. Beyond the wall, a group of women are wading into the waves, shrieking and laughing, their belongings heaped like a bonfire on the pebbles. Jo takes photographs, calling instructions for how they should pose. They swap places to take different shots, make sure everyone has a photo they are happy with, but again it doesn’t take long, and he finds it hard to relax or to feel the elation he expected to feel. Rushed. That’s how he feels. Like it has all gone in a flash, like he wants to throw up his hands and say,Please, please just wait, can we just slow down?
It will take time, he supposes. It has all been a bit of a blur.
‘Did you want to grab some cake and tea or something?’ he asks his wife, the word in his mind so familiar and yet so new. ‘We could take Toms and your sister?’
‘Nah. Let’s just get going. I’ve parked my car at Joyce’s. We can walk up.’ She crouches down to Tommy and wiggles his little bow tie. ‘OK, Tom-Toms, you’re going to go with Auntie Jo, OK? Mummy and Daddy will see you when we get back.’
‘Mummy,’ he says. ‘Da-da.’
She hugs and kisses him, and Sam picks him up to do the same.
‘See you soon, little fella. Be good.’ He hands him over to Jo, his heart clenching. Jo’s skin is greasy, he thinks. Her fore and middle fingers are yellow at the knuckles. She is not who he wants Tommy to stay with. Tommy doesn’t look particularly happy to be palmed off on his aunt. Instead, he is leaning away from Jo as if repulsed, staring after Naomi with an expression of longing and what looks like worry.
‘No,’ he says. ‘No, no.’
Surely they should take him with them? He wouldn’t be too much trouble. The hotel would find them a cot. These places accommodate anything, if you have the money.
‘See you,’ Jo says and offers that same unnerving grin. She lowers Tommy to the ground, crouches beside him and lifts his arm as if he is a puppet. ‘Wave to Mummy and Daddy! Wave bye-bye! Say ta-ta!’
Tommy says, ‘Ta-ta, ta-ta,’ his voice a sad little sing-song.
This is wrong, all wrong, but Naomi is already taking his hand and leading him away, telling him to come on, come on, that she can’t wait to jump in the hotel jacuzzi.
They round the little car park by the fudge shop and take the seafront back to the Cobb. On the beach, the swimmers hobble towards their clothes, chatting, pulling off their goggles. Under the creamy sun, the wide ocean sparkles. Overhead, seagulls screech and wheel. One dives, snatches an entire sandwich from an unsuspecting tourist. She shouts in protest, outraged, but it is too late. The people close by laugh and shake their heads in sympathy. You can’t trust the seagulls; they steal everything.
Sam turns back to wave to Tommy one last time, but his son is already out of sight, and for reasons utterly mysterious to him but which he attributes to the anxiety of grief, he feels a cold, creeping fear he cannot name. Until it crystallises enough for him to recognise.
He is afraid he will never see his son again.
CHAPTER 52
I went on the hotel website and had a good look, just to torture myself. I know, that was sad. Pathetic really. A super-posh five-star place right on the coast, which I will not name here for fear of damaging their reputation. Not that they could have had any idea they were harbouring a violent criminal. But I looked and I looked and I couldn’t help thinking,Oh Sam, we wouldn’t have needed any of that, you and me.
As for the honeymoon itself, I only know that Sam said he’d felt happy during those few days, but then qualified it and said if he was one hundred per cent honest, he felt like he was convincing himself he was happy. They had spent so much money. They had made this huge commitment to a new life together. There was no choice but to be happy.
Naomi spent a lot of time in the spa. She didn’t come walking, so he went on his own but didn’t go far in case it made her angry. She had little appetite for the delicious food, saying she didn’t want to put on a load of weight she would then have to lose. She spent a fortune on beauty treatments, which made no discernible difference as far as Sam could see. She ordered a lot of champagne. A lot of room service. It made him think of the documentaries she used to watch on television: lifestyles of the rich and famous.
He missed his son. Naomi wouldn’t let him call, said it would upset him, and this stressed Sam out a great deal. Naomi often seemed agitated, but when he asked if she was all right, she said of course, why wouldn’t she be?
As for the rest, to be honest, I’d rather not know the details. We all know what happens on a honeymoon. I didn’t ask about that.
Sam and Naomi return from Devon on the Thursday. They have travelled in Joyce’s old MG. On the way back, Sam drives. Naomi is glued to her phone.
‘Hey.’ He reaches over and lays his hand on her knee. ‘You OK? You’re a bit quiet.’
‘I’m just sorting out house stuff. The buyer is coming over late afternoon, so we’ll go to Joyce’s first, yeah? I’ll pick up my car and you can hang on for him. Does that work?’