Since Don kissed me, we’d avoided each other. I felt a mixture of emotions, a bit like when the sea couldn’t decide between being still or calm. Some hours I was elated, because he felt something back for me. Other times I was saddened, because the first man who had made me consider being more than just a girl was taken and that was how it would remain. I knew that and so did he.
I went to the boat happily though. It was a party day and the weather was beautiful, clear and fine, the seas as calm as they could be around the island. We set sail just before midday and everyone had made an effort to be in their best. I had a summer dress that I’d borrowed from Jennifer, although I’d argue it fitted me better.
We spent the first hour or so touring near to Holyhead, seeing South Stack lighthouse and the numerous birds that lived around there. Several passengers made good use of the field glasses to see the cormorants and gannets, with the colony of puffins that were there too.
I saw Don looking, smiling. Occasionally we’d meet each other’s eyes and then one of us would look sharply away. I was both dreading and desperate for the end of summer when I wouldn’t see him anymore. My chest ached at the idea of him not being around yet every time I saw him, it hurt more.
It was later that afternoon, after we’d had champagne and canapés, when I was first alone with him. I was watching the trail of gulls that followed us as we rounded the Strait. The water there was the most dangerous, the tides swilling and swelling, unpredictable and there was an undercurrent that was lethal at best.
“How are you?” His words were so gentle, Alice. It was almost like he was touching me with them.
“As you’d expect.” I had no other response.
“You know I wish things were different.”
I nodded, because I wished that too. But there was nothing that could be done about it.
I had just opened my mouth to make some inane comment in order to break the tension that had formed between us when Julia’s friend came running around with her husband. She announced that Julia couldn’t be found anywhere on board.
We started to search, desperately hunting for her, looking in the small bedrooms in case she had gone to rest but to no avail.
They haven’t found her, Alice. As I write this, they haven’t found where she could be and they now think she fell overboard. The last time she was seen was by her friend. Julia had been standing where I had been, an hour before, around the same time we headed into the Strait. Had she fallen? Had she jumped?
I haven’t seen Don since it happened. I don’t know what to think. I know he wasn’t involved in her disappearance, possibly death. He was accounted for the whole day, continually with people because he was always with people.
What happens next I don’t know.
I think about you coming home and meeting Arthur and that gives me something to look forward to.
Despite the summer sun, it feels like winter here and I’m not sure when this strange type of storm will cease. Although the sea still ebbs and flows. Things always carry on.
Love,
Marcy
The seastill ebbed and flowed, just as it had back then. I wondered about Marcy’s days with Donald, who she was clearly in love with even though he was married. Had Donald been in love with her?
Was I in love with Gabe?
We were both still learning to deal with grief. It was our grief that had brought us together in some ways, the understanding of each other’s situation clearly a bond that wasn’t necessarily a healthy one. But we hadn’t facilitated each other’s sadness. Instead, he’d understood how I needed to move forward, and I’d encouraged him to incorporate Ryan into what he was doing, taking Ryan into his future, one that he deserved.
I left Marcy’s grave and headed back to the guesthouse, wanting to catch Nan, who clearly knew more than she’d ever let on about Marcy and her secret life. I passed the boats that were coming into dock, the fishermen with their catches and a handful of tourists who’d taken a boat ride around the uninhabited islands that held puffin and seal colonies.
The light breeze was enough to make me feel awake and revived. The sadness I should’ve felt seemed to be absorbed into the day. Marcy was old and her health had deteriorated. Birth and death were a cycle that we all went through, as was falling in love. I had been naïve to think that my aunt only lived here, as a spinster.
Nan was pruning the roses, one of her favourite activities when someone had irritated her. She looked up as I approached, then viciously attacked another stem.
“Who’s in trouble?”
She put down the secateurs. “No one. Well, maybe one or two people who need to learn to be competent at small jobs a child could do. How was seeing Marcy’s grave?”
She was never one for beating around the bush. Straight to the point.
“It was fine. Sad, but fine. It’s weird – I don’t feel as if she’s actually gone.”
Nan nodded. “I know what you mean. She kind ofwasthis place.”
“Marcy’s diary.” It was an announcement because I was hoping Nan would add more information without me asking.
