There was a gig on at the pub, a singer who had a little bit of a following around north Wales and I’d agreed to go, although that didn’t mean I’d definitely turn up. I would be there though, just on the off chance that Anya would go.
This morning, last night, whatever the time was when it happened, had recalibrated me. I wanted to see her again. I wanted to taste her, touch her. Fuck, I wanted her in my bed and under me or on top riding me, hell, however she wanted it, I’d be there. Ryan would’ve approved. He’d have liked the idea of a pretty primary school teacher, not a woman in an uptight suit who didn’t like the sea breeze because it messed with her hair.
I pulled off my T-shirt and grabbed a clean brush, intending on painting a little more before cranking up the shower and rinsing off, then heading to the bar. A shrill sound interrupted me, my phone always my least favourite item. Had it not been for Janie and my parents I’d have launched it into the sea months ago.
It was James, one of the partners. I answered, having a very good idea as to what he was going to say.
“You saw my email?”
He laughed. “Jesus, Gabe, don’t you know how to politely answer a phone anymore? Has living in the wild turned you totally caveman?”
“It’s you. I don’t remember ever asking you how you are when you called.” I grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge I kept in the barn.
“True. And yes. I saw your email. So did Marv. We’re going out for a beer to celebrate.”
This time I smiled. I knew what it meant to them. “Yeah, well. I get I need to either leave or start trying to bring in some new work.”
He was silent. “Gabe,” his voice was quiet when he finally spoke, the background noise having dimmed also. “I don’t give a fucking shit if you never design anything ever again, I just want you to be okay. Whatever it takes for you to be okay. We’d give the fucking lot up if that’s what it took.”
I looked at the painting of Anya. The sky, the sea. I heard the gulls and felt the wind on my face. Her lips on mine.
“I’m not moving back.”
“Didn’t think you would. We’d like to come and see you. See your island.”
He’d mentioned it before, visiting, coming to walk the house, sample the local beers and the women. I’d always put him off, never having been ready to see him without Ryan because that was the hardest. The missing piece of our jigsaw, forever lost. A big fuck-off gaping hole that I’d be constantly trying to lose myself in because that fucker died and I didn’t.
This time, the suggestion didn’t stab me as hard. I didn’t want to make a list of excuses, a list that James had every time seen straight through the bullshit for exactly what they were. “Maybe.”
“What?” He sounded like I’d just told him I’d won the lottery.
“Maybe. Give it a couple more months. Then maybe come visit. Not with Marv, not yet. He could come separately.”
There was silence until he coughed. “Really? Jesus fucking sunbeam, Gabe. I never thought I’d even see another email from you again, but this too? In the same day.”
I started to laugh, loudly, like I hadn’t in twenty-five months. “Don’t be surprised if I retract everything tomorrow.”
“I’ll be hungover tomorrow so I won’t care about anything except eating greasy food and watching porn. I’m going to meet Marv and buy champagne. Speak to you – I don’t know. Call me. Tell me about something next week, even if it’s to get help counting the number of cows in the field. Love you, man.”
I laughed and told him to fuck off before hanging up. I threw the phone down and brought my hand to my face.
My cheeks were wet.
It wasn’t raining inside the barn.
* * *
The bar was halffull by the time I got there, people spilling out onto the decking that led onto the beach. The singer was already warming up, strumming his guitar and surrounded by a couple of weekenders. He was easy game for them, not that he’d probably mind.
I sat down at the bar and was passed my usual without any comment from the bartender. There was no need to hand cash over; like a few of the locals I had a tab I settled once a week and every week since I’d lived here it got a little smaller. And every week I’d painted a little more.
“Hey, long-haired lover!”
Catrin’s louder than expected-from-someone-so-short yell came from the open doors. I turned round, hoping she wouldn’t yell anything else.
“We’re all outside. Come join us!”
It was easier just to go rather than put up any resistance and I hoped Anya would be out there too. Maybe last night had scared her, or she hadn’t felt what I did. I was so fucked up I could’ve imagined anything.
