She made me see light when I thought there was none. She made me feel like life carried on and I wanted it to. I fucking wanted it to.
“Saying no more.” Janie sat back and sighed, watching the kids.
There was something perfect that night. One I’d remember.
Anya
Janie changed the dynamics. Gabe’s time became butter, spread richly but thinly and I missed being the centre of his attention, except when we were in bed, which became every night. It was easy. The times when I was lost to thinking about a young boy and his baby sister who never had a chance and he let me be, knowing I didn’t need words or holding, just time to reflect and adjust my sails.
Gabe’s sister was the antithesis to him. She was louder and quicker, her brain worked faster than anyone’s I knew. She had an explanation for everything which should’ve made her obnoxious but didn’t, and she embraced a passion for all things human.
Passion was something Gabe showed differently. He saw it in the things humans created or how they reacted to something, taking that step away and watching from a distance. He loved the passion that had gone into making something or how someone might react to a place or an object. And I saw how he loved his family and how he realised he loved his family.
His grief for Ryan was there. Every blueprint he studied and every wall that came down, had Ryan’s ideas within it. But he seemed to have shrugged off the idea that he could live as penance for his death in small steps and what I saw was a man who had opened his eyes.
“You’ve changed him.” Jamie sat at a breakfast table that looked as if a small hurricane had cluttered through.
I sat down with my first coffee of the day. I’d been up early as Gabe had stayed with me and been up early to go out on the boats. Usually, he’d slip away and leave me sleeping, but today I’d woken and been aware of everything, the usual lull of sleep unavailable. I’d gone to the kitchen where I’d known Nan would be baking and preparing as she did every day and in silence we’d prepared for breakfast and an afternoon tea that was being done as a special for hen party.
“I haven’t.” I took a sip. I liked my coffee hot.
“He’s brighter. Happier. I wasn’t sure we’d ever have this back.”
I shook my head. “Honestly, Janie, I think he would’ve been like this now even if I hadn’t been here. The island suits him. I’ve seen it before.”
She looked at me as if I was completely clueless but said nothing.
I smiled. I could continue to argue the point but I wasn’t sure if I actually agreed with it myself. Gabe had changed. He walked like his shoulders were lighter, as if he was no longer carrying the weight of a thousand worlds on his back.
I picked my bag up and said goodbyes to Janie and her boys. Today was a rare free day. Now breakfast was done I had time to myself and I’d made a decision to visit Marcy’s grave for the first time since I’d come home.
No one had mentioned about me visiting it, or told me to. Kim had even refrained from suggesting that it would help me. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if it would or not but I had the chance to spend some time away from the village and pay my respects to a woman who’d taught me more than she’d ever realised.
I walked to the graveyard taking the coastal path. The weather was sunny and warm, a few clouds suggesting that there would be rain later, but right now the day was about as much as any of the holidaymakers could wish for. There was a foodie festival on the beach later, with local restaurants and suppliers setting up for a local food celebration.
It was the sort of day I associated with my hometown. Relaxed, laid-back. Chilled. Everyone had their jobs to do and went about them like well-oiled cogs in a wheel that had been around as long as time.
The graveyard was a forty-minute walk away, standing on the side of a hill and overlooking the sea. There was a church built from grey stone, its doors always open. Inside the building was cool, light squeezing through the narrow windows. I’d been here many times as a kid: weddings and christenings, Christmas services. Marcy’s funeral had been held here to a full church, so Kim had told me. I went inside, dropping coins in the collection box and lit a tapered candle.
Religion had never been enforced on us. The churches on the island were part of life and you participated as you wished. They were an aspect of the community and the history of the place, the island’s spirituality heading back to the Iron Age and before. Nearby were the stone relics of a settlement, there were a number of henges on the island and ancient churches too. It was part of the life here.
The candle stood in a tray filled with sand. A few others had been lit, maybe relit that morning, and I wondered how many had been done for Marcy. I left the cool darkness to head outside, my eyes tearing up with the sudden bright light.
Marcy’s grave was near the edge of the graveyard looking out towards the sea. There were already flowers there and a few plants; I figured Nan had been here recently. The inscription still looked freshly carved and someone had placed stones on the top, a sign of remembrance, that she wasn’t forgotten.
I sat down on the grass besides the grave and unpacked the bag I’d brought containing her journal. I didn’t want to come here to mope or ask questions or even pay homage in some way. Before she’d become poorly, Marcy had told me stories: some about her and the island, others about the places she’d been too, where she’d travelled. But she’d never mentioned much about Don, just in passing, like he was someone I should already know.
I pulled out the letters and flicked to where I was up to.
Dear Alice,
I’m so happy for your engagement. I can’t wait to see the ring. I keep trying to focus on that rather than what has happened here because it’s the most terrible thing. Tomorrow it will be in the newspapers, I’d imagine, so you may already know about it as you’re reading this.
The weather changed back to summer with endless blue skies and endless blue seas. Suddenly it felt like everyone was relaxed, ready to enjoy life again. Even Dad was relaxed and smiling and it really felt as if we were going to have a party or some form of celebration.
The boat from a few weeks ago was coming back into port and Don had booked it for a cruise around the island for Julia’s birthday. He asked various people to join him for champagne and a meal cooked by a chef on board; it wasn’t the people you would’ve expected him to have asked. Don invited some of the fishermen, Mindy who weaves baskets, the postman – it wasn’t about pomp and circumstance, although there was some of it. Julia’s friend had come to stay, to help nurse her I suppose. She was polite although she clearly thought that I was the servant girl and nothing more.
Which was true.
