Her tone wasn’t gossipy. Or teasing, as it would’ve been years ago. It was simple and happy.
I stilled and looked out of the window. Did I like him? I’d kissed him. He’d kissed back. But maybe that was the alcohol or the night. It had been the sort of night where you’d be swept away by a sparkle, where kisses on the wind would find you and imprint a permanent mark. I was under no illusions about the man. But he was beautiful and there was something about him that made me feel as if I could be silent and understood.
“He’s gorgeous. I bet he’s slept with half the village.” I blurted the words out like a confession.
“No. Just a few weekenders. Or women in hen parties. I heard he’s a good shag. But discreet.”
Her words were judgement-free. Kim was well aware of what Michael had been like and did not judge. Hell, in summer, half the female population turned up here looking to find a hot fisherman for a night, even if their husbands were with them.
“My life is too complicated right now.”
“Is it? I think it’s anything but complicated, Anya. You’re home for an extended summer and you’re at a crossroads in what has been a very planned life. Before your student died, were you happy? I’m not going to start going on at you to move back here, but what I will say is that I worried that you weren’t enjoying yourself. You worked so much, you dated idiots. You never talked about what you were doing and only asked about how things were back here. I’m not saying to move here again, but I think you have a lot to move on from. And not just the murder.”
Her speech was a bucket of ice cold water tipped over my head. I forced myself to look at her. There was nothing that she’d said that I hadn’t discussed with my therapist. In my heart, I knew I couldn’t remain at that school because I would forever be the teacher who taught the child that died. Some of the kids would remember their first proper year as when they had the lady who told them about their friend who was killed by his dad. My legacy wouldn’t be the library I’d built from scratch or the creation of Forest School across all ages, it was that: the woman who taught the child that was killed.
“You’re right. But that’s what makes it complicated.”
She shook her head. “Anya, it’s a summer romance with a bloke who is so hot he could’ve lit that bonfire without flames last night. And the two of you have chemistry. He couldn’t take his eyes off you and whenever he could he was looking at you. Just have some fun. No one’s saying you need to get married or have something that lasts any more than a couple of nights. Or even one night. Remember your summer fling with Idris?”
I groaned. It had been the summer between second and third year at university. He was back from his medical degree and we hooked up and had a blast, both going our separate ways when September came. But it had been fun and easy and I needed both of those. “Last night might have been it. That might have been all it was meant to be.”
She stood up with difficulty, using the windowsill to help her. I’d have offered but I doubted I’d be much use. I hadn’t said it to her face, but she did look like she was going to give birth to at least two small rhinos.
“Who knows. But you seem to have enjoyed yourself and that was good to see. And I like him. He isn’t a dick.”
I gave a little nod. “What about Marcy’s stuff? Don and Julia?”
“What about it? You’ve got the summer to do some research. Find out about our aunt and her secret past.”
“I might not find out anything.”
“Maybe. Who knows. It won’t be the end of the world either way. I’m going to go for a lie down. I’ll see you later.”
I followed her outside but headed to the top of the garden which overlooked the sea. A lifeboat was out, patrolling the coast and I saw one of the university research vessels. In a few weeks, Cat would be back out on one, following her passion.
My passion for teaching was still there. Despite that phone call and the resulting nightmares, I still loved my job. But I needed to think about where to move to because Kim was right: it was time for a change.
Gabe
Ihadn’t looked at my work emails for over a month. Technically, I was still a partner in the architecture firm with two of my university colleagues, still taking a percentage of the profits, but not a full salary because I wasn’t working. I hadn’t touched a blueprint for twenty-five months. I hadn’t accepted a commission for longer than that. I’d won three more awards in that time and had been asked to take on more work, but I’d refused to attend anything, including meetings. Really, they should’ve distanced themselves from me like a toxic virus, but they lived in hope that I’d return, even if it was to work remotely, and I was the last memory of Ryan. No one could lose their memories of Ryan.
The laptop booted up slowly, clearly needing an update before it would play nice. I sat in the bar, WiFi not something that was up and running at my place. I didn’t want to be contactable. I needed control over when I spoke to people or heard from them. Last night had given me a slice of normality, even though it had felt like some sort of fantasy. The way I’d felt when I’d been with Anya had reminded me that I was not just the sum of my parts, that I could be more.
The browser window opened and I keyed in the password to access my emails. Eight hundred and ninety-six started to load. Some would be junk, marketing emails that I needed to unsubscribe from. Some would be messages enquiring after my wellbeing: they would be ignored. Some would be work proposals.
One of the latest caught my eye. It mentioned the island in its subject line and I was interested to see who had approached me. I didn’t recognise the sender, but I did recognise the building they referred to, an old former hotel on the main road on the east of the island that they had permission to turn into a restaurant and they wanted to make it environmentally friendly, incorporating vegetables they’d grown themselves and having an area to teach people to cook. I looked up the name of the man who had sent me the email and saw that he was an acclaimed chef, someone who could bring more tourism to the island and build on its growing reputation for food. This was the sort of job I would always have been interested in.
I was interested in it right now.
Not analysing anything, simply acting on instinct, I responded, asking if he’d like to meet to discuss his ideas and walk round the property. It was near enough that I could walk there in just over an hour, or even cycle along the coastal path in a lot less than that. I copied in the other two partners and waited for the ensuing influx of messages from them.
Then I opened up one of the software packages I used to design and saw the blueprint for the house I’d bought as it was now and started to play.
* * *
I leftthe pub feeling lighter than I had done in months. My back hadn’t ached in a couple of days, I had a project that wasn’t just about me and I’d kissed a girl and she’d kissed me back. If Ryan was here now, he’d have been buying me a pint and a whisky chaser to go with it, having a celebration, because that was who he’d been. He revelled in other people’s success, not just his own and when he did get an award or a big contract or even scored a goal at Sunday morning football, he praised the others.
My barn felt stuffy and over warm when I dropped my computer back off. I’d only spent a couple of hours painting this afternoon, mainly on a piece that had been commissioned, a picture of one of the beaches on the island where a man had proposed to his wife. It was going to be an anniversary gift, and although I wasn’t as caught by it as I was my two giant projects, it was fun to do and meant something to the man.
