Page 66 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

‘Come on, Liz, tell your old pal, what’s been going on?’ He reached for her hand across the table.

The kindness in his voice was almost too much to bear. Little did he know that the situation she found herself in was largely down to her feelings for him.

‘I tried to make it work, but I’ve failed, Mike,’ she replied in a wobbly voice. ‘I thought I loved Jonathan enough for our marriage to last, but I don’t.’

‘But I was under the impression he left you?’ Mike said, confused.

He was still married to Frankie at the time, and their paths didn’t cross as often as they’d once done. He wasn’t to know that she and Jonathan had been on the rocks for a while now.

‘He did. Because he’s a better person than I am. I’ve been burying my head in the sand, knowing he deserved better but not wanting to tell him how I felt.’

‘We’re a long time dead, Liz. It’s all very well not wanting to hurt other people, but a relationship in which only one person is happy is not a good one. And, in time, Jonathan will find someone else who’ll make him happy. As will you.’

‘I won’t,’ Liz said. ‘I know I won’t.’

‘There’s someone out there for everyone, Liz. Yours is out there, you just haven’t met him yet.’ He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

But I have, she thought blinking tears from her eyes, and that’s the problem.

Liz gave an exasperated laugh under her breath at the memory. Mike had his faults, but he’d been good to her over the years, and she’d appreciated those words of encouragement at the time.

But this morning she was craving the comforting memories of her father instead, and the carefree hours they’d spent together, when life had been one long, smooth, happy ride.

The quay at Whitestrand was busy all day and long into the evening, owners tinkering on their boats, tourists watching them longingly from the row of benches, daydreaming about jacking their jobs in to move here permanently. At this hour, however, Liz had her pick of benches and chose one close to the water’s edge.

She sat down and closed her eyes, allowing her ears to tune in to the sounds around her: the tinkle of masts and the creaking of boats and the slap of gentle waves against the harbour wall. She breathed in the familiar smells, of the air, and the water, the faint seaweedy aroma of the fishing nets piled up to her left, and she let her mind wander back through time.

This place had been the centre of her father’s social life. After work, at weekends, in the holidays and during his retirement before he passed away, he’d spent as much time here as he could. He’d had a succession of boats over the years, sometimes more than one at a time. She still remembered his excitement when they’d jumped in the tender and he’d taken her across the water to see his new Boston Whaler.

‘One hundred and fifty foot long,’ he’d boasted. ‘You’ll be captain of the high seas in this, Lizzie,’ he’d said, jamming his cap on her head before breaking into ‘I Am Sailing’ by Rod Stewart. She must have been seventeen at the time and had pretended to be embarrassed, but secretly she’d loved singing at the top of her voice where no one could hear them.

She remembered buzzing with the prospect of adulthood, of leaving home for university, gaining her independence and making her own way in the world.

When had she stopped captaining her own ship and settled for being first mate of someone else’s? She frowned irritably; she knew the answer to that one, but it was so pathetic that she didn’t like admitting it to herself.

Liz cast her mind back to Jen’s twenty-fourth birthday. It was late, almost midnight, when Jen had arrived back to the flat they shared at the dodgy end of Islington.

‘Guess what?’ Jen had been almost levitating with excitement.

‘Er, you met George Michael on the night bus?’

She and Jen had been obsessed with the pop duo at the time. Jen was in love with George, while Liz was devoted to Andrew, because she thought it wasn’t fair that George got all the attention.

‘Ta-dah!’ She’d stuck her hand in front of Liz’s face and waggled her ring finger, on which sat a slim gold band and a trio of diamonds. ‘I’m going to be Mrs Marriott.’

‘Congratulations!’ Liz had squealed, hoping she sounded as if she meant it.

Blood roared in her ears and she told herself to be brave, do the right thing and never let Jen know how she felt. Her best friend was getting married and the pain was unbearable.

Because, despite accepting Jen and Mike’s romance since that first supper club at uni, she’d kept a corner of her heart solely for him. They might split up one day, she reasoned. And then maybe, once Jen had got over him, Mike would realise that the love of his life had been right under his nose all along.

And it wasn’t just about Mike. Liz’s relationship with Jen was bound to change once she was married. Jen was more than just a friend, she was the sister Liz had never had. And the thought that their closeness might diminish was worse than the prospect of losing Mike.

‘Thank you! Obviously I want you to be my bridesmaid!’ Jen had flung her arms around Liz’s neck and the two best friends had cried tears of joy. Mostly.

So that was probably the moment, Liz reflected now. From that night on, she’d become the third leg of a stool and she had propped the other two up for the next three decades.

The sound of a boat engine being choked to death flipped Liz back into the present. Someone was having difficulty with their outboard motor by the sound of it.