‘Nothing to worry about now. I’ve fenced us in as far as I can. Aside from someone trying to get in from the public footpath along the cliffs, that is. But I have cameras around you see. Not inside the cottage might I add– I’m a purveyor of peace, not a pervert.’ Sabrina managed a smile as he pointed to a small device above the back door. ‘As I said, I like to keep myself and my grounds as private as can possibly be. I saw you head out earlier and leave the door open, so I just came up to lock up and check if the key was in the key safe. If not, I’d have left you one and a message on the door. He smiled sympathetically. ‘So… you are alone here?’
‘Yes.’ Sabrina whispered.
‘I saw you arrive on your own last night, too.’
Sabrina wasn’t sure if she was comfortable with this level of personal intrusion, but at this point she was too sad to care.
‘Is everything OK… Jilly?’
Her voice trembled. ‘No, no, it’s not OK.’ She then started to sob so uncontrollably that Beethoven, picking up on her vibrations of distress, began to lick her hand gently as if to kiss her better.
Not fazed at all by this outpouring of emotion, Isaac stood up, took her hand, and guided her to the table with a bench seat either side at the bottom of the back garden. She was sure she could feel her blood pressure lower at just the sight of the impressive views over the headland. Beethoven made a little whimpering sound, then lay down on top of her feet.
There was a battered old flask on the table.
‘Here.’ He sat down opposite her, his back to the extraordinary view, and handed her an old orange towel from his rucksack. ‘Wipe your face.’
‘Thank you.’ Sabrina, not daring to question whether it was clean or not, did as she was told, her whole body shaking in an uncontrollable explosive blubber as she did so. Once she had levelled herself, Isaac spoke.
‘I take it you drink normal tea? We don’t pander to any pretentious alternatives on my watch.’ He pulled two plastic cups off the top of the flask and poured the steaming liquid in each. ‘Is black alright?’
Sabrina nodded furiously, took a tentative sip from the comforting liquid, and then grimaced as she realised the big man had laced it with sugar.
‘If you tell me you’re sweet enough, I won’t believe you.’ Isaac acknowledged Sabrina’s watery smile with one of this own infectious ones.
Placing one of his huge hands on top of her tiny manicured one, his enigmatic green eyes looked right into her almond shaped watery blue ones.
‘You can have this place for as long as you like…if that would help?’
Isaac was hypnotic in his delivery. His soothing west country accent and tender touch enveloped her like a soft warm dressing gown after a relaxing bath.
‘Thank you. That’s so truly kind when you don’t even know anything about me.’ Sabrina replied as he moved his hand away gently.
Isaac stretched his long arms out in front of him and let out a contented sigh. He was dressed very simply, Sabrina noticed. Dark, not particularly well-fitted jeans, a plain green t-shirt and old walking boots that had certainly seen better days. He looked directly at her as though he was looking right through her soul. ‘The thing is… Jilly. It’s knowing who to trust in this world. I think people are like music, you see. Some let out a meaningful tune, and others are just noise.’
‘I haven’t quite masteredRequiemyet but give me time.’ Isaac smirked and Sabrina’s voice lilted. ‘I can’t believe you brought tea for us. My mum always dished out brandy for shock. Thinking on it, she dished out brandy for everything, since…’ her voice tailed off. Isaac waited for her to fill the gap with words that never came.
‘I didn’t really make it for us, as such,’ he said eventually. ‘I always carry a flask of something. And honestly, my intention wasn’t to scare you.’
‘I know. My bad. I should have locked the door.’ She blew her nose. ‘I really am sorry.’
‘Let’s forget that now.’ Isaac waved his hand nonchalantly in front of his face, then with softened voice, asked. ‘Does your mother know that you’re here?’
‘Isaac, I’m thirty-eight years old.’
‘And…?’
Sabrina still wasn’t sure what to make of this man in front of her, a man in his mid-fifties, she guessed, with the looks of a Viking and his odd, opinionated air.
‘I guess I’m not up on whatnormal mums’– she outlined the words in the air with her fingers– ‘might do. She died, you see,’ Sabrina said matter-of-factly. Then she put a hand over her eyes as if to block out the memory of finding her flamboyant mother motionless, an empty litre bottle of vodka and tablet packets strewn around the side of the bed.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Yes.’ Sabrina’s voice was almost inaudible. ‘So am I.’
There was a moment of silence, which allowed the heavenly sound of birdsong to filter down from the fruit-loaded apple tree next to them.
‘Five years ago, now.’
