I glance at Luke as he goes about his business, filling a kettle, getting mugs. The kitchen is tiny but perfectly formed, everything in its place, little storage cupboards built in all over. He is a big man, I realize, and he takes up a lot of the space.
I have seen him before, of course, and part of my brain had registered that he was a good-looking human—but his standoffishness completely obliterated that aspect. Now things are different, and I find myself seeing him in a much more appreciative light.
He is as wet as we are, a black T-shirt with the logo of a rock band on the front plastered to his body, a pair of faded Levis dark with rain and mud. He has dark hair, so closely cropped it is almost shaved. He has the tanned skin of the outdoors type, the kind of nose you see on statues in museums, and a wide mouth. I stare at him as he concentrates on what he is doing, and wonder how old he is—there are creases on that face, laughter linesaround the green eyes, a certain lived-in quality that speaks of challenge and experience.
He meets my gaze, and I am suddenly embarrassed. I know nothing about him, and he is not a stranger on a bus. I am silly to be trying to make up a backstory for him. He is clearly a seasoned traveling man, without a care in the world—I am simply filling in the blanks, pondering his life to stop myself from thinking about my own.
As though I have manifested it, he produces a bottle of brandy and holds it up. I nod, and he glugs a generous splash into my mug. He glances at Charlie, and I fight off the urge to say no. He is eighteen, and he has had a Very Bad Day as well.
Luke sits opposite on a small footstool, and we are silent for a few moments. The mug is warm against my palms, the brandy is warm against my throat, and it is helping.
“I called 999,” he says, once we have all savored our first mouthfuls. “Emergency services told me they’d get people out here as soon as they could—there’s been a pileup on the Norwich road, and all kinds of accidents because of the storm. They’re sending people out to cordon it all off, and to close the beach, in case...”
“In case my house falls on a dog walker’s head?”
“Yeah. That. It started getting bad about an hour ago, stuff flying around from your garden—but this... this happened pretty fast. It was like the sea just swallowed the cliff. It all collapsed, and then the cottage started to shake, and bit by bit... it fell. I’m so sorry. But at least you weren’t there—I saw your car was gone, but there was still a moment where I wondered, and that’s why I came down to check.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, really meaning it. “That was both kind and brave, running toward the disaster instead of away from it.I’m not sure I’d have done the same. And I know it’s lucky, really, that we weren’t in—we might have been, but my car broke down in town and we had to get the bus. I was pretty annoyed about that at the time, but... well, maybe it saved our lives, now I come to think of it...”
For a moment my mind drifts to a dark place; a place where Charlie and I were at home, getting ready for a quiet night in. Where Charlie was gone, along with his Xbox. It’s been an absolute shit of a day, but it definitely could have been worse.
“Do you have a phone charger?” I ask, suddenly aware of the fact that I need to start thinking about some practicalities.
Luke nods and retrieves one from a drawer. I root my phone out of my bag and find, naturally enough, that it doesn’t fit. Charlie’s, however, does. Success.
“What will you do?” Luke asks, frowning. “I mean, in the short term?”
“I was thinking maybe a brief period of anxiety followed by a full-blown panic attack... but after that, well, I don’t know. I have to speak to the landlord—he lives in London. I have to speak to my work colleagues and tell them I won’t be in tomorrow. I have to... find somewhere for us to live?” The last few words trail out limply, as though they ran out of energy halfway to being spoken. It’s all too much. It’s too big, and too weird, and too insane.
“That’s long term,” says Luke, looking at me with concern. “For now, let’s take it one step at a time. Get warm. Drink your tea. Make your phone calls. You can always stay here for the night if you need to. Betty won’t mind.”
A small smile makes its way to my lips, and I see Charlie has scooted Betty onto his lap. She’s like a canine comfort blanket.
“Again, thank you. I’m Jenny, by the way, and this is Charlie. Nice to meet you, and sorry it took my house falling off a cliff for me to introduce myself. I should have done it ages ago. Brought you some home-baked cookies or something...”
Charlie snorts in disbelief next to me, and I have to grin. He is right. The best I would have managed would have been a plate full of artfully unpacked Oreos.
“That’s okay,” replies Luke seriously. “I’m not exactly Mr. Sociable, to be honest. Plus, I don’t eat cookies. I only eat what I can forage in the wild. I live off nature’s bounty.”
“Really?” I ask, finding it hard to imagine. My idea of foraging is the bargain fridge at the supermarket.
“No,” he says, grinning. “Though I am honing my mushroom-gathering skills.”
He has a great grin, warm and infectious, which comes as something of a surprise. Both Charlie and I laugh much more than the joke called for.
For just a moment, I forget my new reality. I forget the wreckage, my lost belongings, my impending layoff, my financial strife. We are both safe and well, here in a cozy place, sipping brandy and petting a small dog. It could definitely be worse, and I need to focus on that instead of letting my mind race ahead too far.
Betty suddenly jumps off Charlie’s lap and starts barking at the door. It is a much bigger bark than you’d expect from a dog of her proportions. Her whole body is shaking as she wags her little tail.
“She’s a killer,” I say as Luke gets up and opens the door.
Outside, there is a man in a fluorescent vest, his fist raised as though he was about to knock on the door. His hard hat is blown to one side, and his eyes are screwed up against the wind. Lukegestures for him to come inside and quickly tugs the door shut behind him.
It now does feel a bit cramped in here, and Luke clears the items from the table and folds it back up against the wall, hooking it securely to create more space.
“Hi!” says our visitor. “Shocking out there, isn’t it?”
“Um... yes?” I reply. I’d say that having your house fall down definitely qualifies as shocking.
