I said my goodbyes and watched Gabe as he sorted breakfast for us, his T-shirt tight as he moved.
“I’m sorry you were the topic of gossip.”
He laughed, passing me a bowl of cherry yoghurt and granola. “Why? What I got from that is that you think I’m hot and I make you happy.”
I mixed the seeds in. “Well, yes, that’s true.”
“Anya. I like being with you. The sex we have is amazing and I like feeling the way I do when I’m with you. I don’t have to pretend or explain. You’re like this breeze of air that helps me feel as if one day I’ll be able to fly again.”
“You have an obsession with seagulls. I’ve noticed that in your paintings.” It was a diversionary tactic. I couldn’t get into the deep talk right now. Gabe rarely mentioned the us that we were becoming, but it was obvious that we were becoming anus. And it scared me.
“Maybe I should change it round. Use a different bird.” He looked thoughtful.
I shook my head. “There was a painter – I can’t think of his name – who included a mouse in everything he painted. Kind of like a trademark.”
“I wonder why he picked a mouse?” He stood up and put our empty pots in the sink. “I’d pick a snake.”
“Why’s that?”
He grinned and glanced down at his crotch.
I shook my head and laughed. He wasn’t wrong.
* * *
I saton Lligwy beach with a windbreaker watching my nephew rush around on the sand. I’d promised him a boat trip if he gave me half an hour of reading time, or Marcy time, as Kim called it. I wasn’t rushing through her letters. Instead, I was trying to savour them, take each one as a detective would and work out exactly what was happening with Donald Stretton and Julia. I got comfy, looking up to see what the terror was doing every few minutes. He was building sandcastles and then taking a long run up to them and dive bombing them. Somewhere on the beach was Gabe; he’d promised to help with the maintenance of a couple of boats this afternoon, learning more about the upkeep of them in the process. We felt like a couple, something which both delighted and scared the fuck out of me. I tried to take a step back and just enjoy it for what it was – amazingly great sex with a man who wasn’t a complete tosser for a change, but something made me worry.
I turned Marcy’s letters to where I’d last read and squinted at the page. Her writing was precise and well formed, but these pages were more worn. I had no idea why that was.
Dear Alice,
I’m utterly desperate to know how your meal with Arthur went! He sounds like a hero from Jane Austen, although not Mr Darcy! I’m so excited that you’re having such fun.
I know you’re worried that I’m taken with a man who I can’t have – maybe it’s just a summer crush as I really don’t have time to go dancing, or take walks on the beach with anyone. I promise you I’m not going to end up heart sick.
We had a new boat arrive this week. I hadn’t seen Donald for some days; he had been busy entertaining a now well Julia, taking her in the motor to the nearby towns and villages, giving into her craving for places that had more life in them than here, or so it seemed. He had reported quickly back to his father, although I hadn’t heard that piece of news from him. Instead I had heard it from Gerald, who had heard it from his father. Donald was pleased with how his father’s boats were being used and maintained, and because of this he was sending another boat round, this time a posh one.
We were now stood at the harbour, waiting for the men to sail it round from Carnarvon. I could see Donald and Julia near the front, surrounded by people with happy faces, cheers occasionally rising from the crowds. Gerald was stood near me and Jenny, and we were at the back. I hadn’t been able to escape the kitchen till late as it had been a particularly busy breakfast. I’d had to stay till after eleven, washing up the piles of pots that had been used and tidying the dining room. Jenny had escaped much earlier, and kept watching William Gibb, a man from Newborough. He had liked her for some time and quite possibly, the piles of pots that had been a promise of future days in the guesthouse may well have been enough to make her mind up about him. There was a cheer as the boat came into view; it had large white sails and it did look good. The boat was lovely, looking like a pure white seagull resting on the waves. The day was ready for the event too; the sun was already burning hot, and so far it was edging to be one of the hottest summers on record. Everyone had dressed up in their Sunday best clothes, Jenny had put on a sundress that showed her shoulders, probably for William. I had found a white skirt and blouse that I had worn for cousin Molly’s wedding last year. I had thought about buying something new, but it seemed pointless to waste money when I had these garments that had been worn only once.
Julia looked spiffing as I’d expected her to. This was the big occasion for her; she was the centre of attention and everyone would be looking at her. Her dress was a buttercup yellow colour, the material fine cotton brought tightly in at the waist, making her seem slimmer than usual. She and Donald were at the front, her hand through his arm. He looked the happiest that I had seen him in the past few days; his eyes were smiling, and I could see the glint in them even from where I stood. He turned around as the boat came closer in and spotted me. He waved and I responded, making eye contact even across the crowd. Julia turned, a scowl upon her face, and when she noticed me she hurriedly faced the sea once more, pointing at something on the boat and bringing Donald’s attention back to what was important.
A few people had brought instruments them and were playing a sea shanty – I don’t know what Julia made of it.
I saw Donald looking at me. At first I panicked, worrying that someone else would have noticed. He was looking at me over his shoulder, away from Julia, eyes averted from the ship that everyone else but him and myself were staring at. I felt cold, even with the heat of the sun. The adrenaline that passed through me was nothing to do with the boat arriving, and it was not enough to warm to fear that was also there.
People went near to the boat once it had docked to have their pictures taken – you’d have loved it. Maybe bring Arthur to see it sometime if things continue the way they have been going. One or two people in the village had bought Brownie cameras and were sharing them freely so I’ll try to send you some pictures. Morris Stewart, who fancied himself a professional with a camera, stood near the boat, taking pictures. Ellen Jones grabbed me and pulled me toward him. We stood there while Morris directed us, making sure the light was in the right place and he could get the boat on as well as us.
“That’s lovely, girls,” he said in a way that I did not like. “Hold it still.” Ellen left as soon as the camera had done its job and Morris had given us a smile that showed the gums above his teeth. She had seen Joseph, a fisherman she had taken a liking to and clearly wanted to take the opportunity to impress him, even though I know he isn’t interested. I was about to follow her when a low voice blew the hairs that were on my neck.
“Have a picture taken with me,” it said. I turned and saw Donald, stood there, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his collar tieless. I scanned nearby for Julia, but she wasn't there.
“Where is she?” I asked in a low voice. Morris looked at us suspiciously and my heart began to pound in my chest. There was nothing for him to know. Donald was merely staying at my parents’ guesthouse. That was it. The picture would be a souvenir for me of that summer, of him staying with us. That was all.
“She’s talking with your mother,” Donald said. “She won’t think anything of it.”
I looked at him, disbelieving. He had not seen the look Julia had given me a few minutes previously, merely because he had waved, but I found I wanted the picture taken anyhow. We looked toward Morris who positioned us silently, watching us with interest. As he got ready to take the picture, Donald slipped his arm round me, his fingers sitting lightly on my waist. For a second I felt self-conscious, Julia was so slim even though she was slightly older than me. I looked at him, wondering if he was comparing me to her and then I heard the sound of the camera as it took the image.
“You’re done,” Morris said, and I wondered if he knew something that Donald and I didn’t, for it seemed like we weren’t done at all. Donald looked at me as the next couple took our place, his hand still firmly on my waist.
