I looked at Iris as she saw the view for the first time. The stairs led to a mezzanine, a long stretch of hallway with floor to ceiling windows meaning light cascaded into the space from the north, south and above.
Today really wasn’t the day to see it for the first time. The light wasn’t strong. It was moody and the day had never stepped out of darkness properly. Lights on the boats had been visible all day and the lighthouse hadn’t stopped with its flashing. The sky was whipped with black and grey clouds which moved tumultuously as if jostling for prime position.
I had very little in the way of furnishings in this area. The floor was reconditioned wooden tiles. There were two or three thickly woven rugs and a low sofa covered with a soft beige material, a couple of throw cushions over it. Next to the sofa was a side table, made from a piece of driftwood. Other than that there were metres of window; it really was a glass front house.
“I can’t believe this view.”
“It’s a pain to keep the windows clean,” I said flippantly. She’d let go of my hand and I didn’t like it.
“Gulliver, it’s just – wow. How many bedrooms are up here? Do they have this view?”
She was talking about bedrooms, which wasn’t good. Not for my sanity anyway.
“Three bedrooms and a lounge. Let me show you the lounge.”
She followed me along the hallway to the west of the house into the lounge. It had a double aspect, with windows lookingover the sea and then over the gardens on the side. There was no TV in this room. Instead there were sofas and bookcases, the décor light and airy, throw blankets and cushions dotted around, artfully placed by my housekeeper who came in twice a week. Fleur had created cosy corners to read a book or just to watch the sea. There were speakers so I could play music, which I often did when I was writing and sometimes I would write in here.
“This is just something else.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started snapping away. “I could offer this up to a décor magazine.”
“That would help Fleur with her business. I don’t mind if you do.” I was serious about that. “My publicist has mentioned getting more personal photos on my social media as well.”
“We should plan that while I’m here. What about your bedroom?”
That was when the lightning struck.
My eyes met hers across the room, a whitewashed coffee table in between us. The air was thick and heavy, like it had been in New Orleans, but we weren’t in New Orleans anymore. We were in Wales in January and this wasn’t a week’s jaunt.
“It’s the other side of the hallway. I’ll show you.” I followed her out, watching her take stock of the view over the Menai Strait. The hallway was balconied, looking over at the entrance hall. A few paintings were dotted on the walls, but for the most part I’d left it uncluttered.
“The door in front of you now. The one next to it is the main bathroom, and the one next to that is my study.” My study should’ve been the room downstairs, but the view was better up here.
Iris opened the door and walked into my bedroom. Another floor to ceiling window looked over the water.
“Is that privacy glass?” She pointed at it.
“All of it is. No one can see in.” I looked around my bedroom, trying to see it through her eyes. “I’m not an exhibitionist.” I managed a smile, trying not to look at her. The room wasn’t spectacularly tidy. My bed was crumpled, the throw straightened up although the duvet was pulled up to the pillows. I slept on the right, nearest the window, which was obvious with the dented pillows, the other side still pristine. A chair still had folded clothes on it which needed putting away, but there was no laundry. Next to the bed was my wallet and the book I was reading currently.
It was simple – light wood and white walls, the furnishings basic, the material heavy duty with thick stripes in light taupe and cream.
“This is so not what I was expecting.” She looked around the room and then focused on me. “You had a big input into everything – it wasn’t just Fleur?”
I nodded. “I knew what I wanted. What did you expect? I’m curious.”
“Bachelor pad. Not this. I don’t know, but not this. It’s gorgeous.” She sat down on the bed, bouncing slightly. “This is comfy. Is the spare bed the same?”
I stifled a groan. “Let me show you and you can see for yourself.”
I needed a few hard words with myself. Iris wasn’t asking for a relationship. She was asking for my sperm and involvement as a father. A co-parent. Not some romance where we headed off on horseback into the distance.
The having a baby part wouldn’t involve the fun bit in making it. My part would be donating my sperm, it being washed and scientists and doctors doing the rest. Iris had the hard part. Injections, mood swings, worry, anticipation, fear. Then if it was successful – which it may not be – there was the wholepregnancy and labour. Not much I could do about that apart from be supportive.
Which probably didn’t involve thinking about exactly how good the mattress was in my bedroom or the spare bedrooms.
I showed her the other rooms, letting her choose which of the two spare bedrooms that were set up she wanted. She swooned over the views and the peace, which was one of the reasons this place had felt right.
It was quiet here. There was a lack of voices, other than the ones in my head and the occasions when I had visitors. The sounds of the sea and the wind and the seagulls were enough to compete with the voices of characters that continually echoed around my head when I chose to give them time.
I knew that if Iris and I decided to go ahead with the baby, my life here would change and I already knew I wanted that. It wouldn’t destroy my peace, it would add everything.
