Which was fine and good and a friendship I valued because it felt like forever.
“How’s the writing going?”
“Good.” He nodded as if underlining the word with the gesture. “It’s flowing, so I’m making hay while the sun shines. I might be able to get a couple of books done in the time it’d take for one usually, so if I need to take a break, I can.”
“Would you actually be able to stop writing?”
He laughed. “No. If someone tells me I can have a break, I want to write even more. It makes no sense, I know.”
“Enjoy it then. Where’s this hot chocolate?” I brought us back to easier subjects.
“Sit down, I’ll make it for you.”
I wasn’t one to be waited on. I was capable of looking after myself, thank you very much, but for some reason, I let Gully make the drinks and then a breakfast of pancakes with fruit and syrup, watching him busy about the kitchen in a way that I hadn’t expected.
We hadn’t spent much, if any, time together inside someone’s home. Our time with each other had been when we were away, staying in hotels or briefly at mine for a night in London. This stay, however long it lasted, was going to show me a different side to him and I was looking forward to it.
We had breakfast looking out over the garden to the jetty, watching the boats and the mist that dropped down. A sea-fret, it was called, and when it cleared the sunshine would return.
“How long can you stay for?” he asked, while he was loading the dishwasher. “I’m hoping it’s a while.”
“I have a few bookings that I don’t want to cancel. They’re big ones and between them bring in as much income as I made with everything last year, but I’m flexible. I guess a lot of it depends on what we decide.” This was the first either of us had mentioned what I was here for, or what the main reason was.
“There’s a lot to talk about. Logistics. Where we both live. How things work.” He spoke to the mug he’d picked up rather than me.
“I’d move here.”
Gully laughed. “You haven’t seen the place properly yet.”
“I don’t need to. I can literally be based anywhere. My job means I have to be away sometimes, and so does yours, but we can coordinate that. If we have a baby, they’d grow up here with family and cousins and Mavis’ stories. I don’t see any reason why that wouldn’t be the right thing to do.” My heart sang as I said the words. It felt like the pieces were clicking together in the right places.
“Oh.” Gully looked puzzled. “That would make sense.”
“It would. Why are you surprised?”
He shrugged and mussed his hair. “Because I thought it would be more complicated than that. You’d still want to be in London or somewhere, but I guess there’s no reason for that.”
“There isn’t. I can buy somewhere in Puffin Bay, if somewhere comes up. I might do that anyway. Ivy loved it here and just seeing the views this morning and everything you’ve said about the place – it feels right. I love travelling but it isn’t the places you see; it’s what you do with your memories when you return home and right now, I don’t have a home.”
I expected him to say something, but instead he studied me, not giving anything away.
“Your thoughts?” I needed something, a response, an acknowledgement. Something.
“I think we should take a walk and have a look around. If you’re thinking about living here permanently, you need to see more of this place.”
We headed out, my camera fixed to me as usual, my clothing practical rather than fashionable. The forecast was cold but fine, no rain forecast for the next couple of days, which was ideal so I could explore this town my sister had fallen in love with.
We didn’t head straight for the town itself, taking a long road from Gully’s house to the coastal path that was built onto one of the cliffs.
I’d been here before, almost four years ago.
The birds were singing. They darted from shrub to shrub in front of us, a cheeky robin eyeing us up, seeing whether we were carrying food.
The spot where Ivy had come off her bike and flipped over the cliff bore no scars. The trees and shrubs that had tried to break her fall had grown back, the path no longer marked from the skid of the wheels.
I’d seen the photographs of the aftermath during the coroner’s inquiry. I’d walked up here before the funeral, trying to understand why she was no longer here.
Time does not heal. I’d long since accepted that, but old and new memories provide a cushion from which we can rebound, and I did rebound, each time I felt myself shatter over the loss of her, there was something that reminded me that I lived, and it was still a good life.
