Can’t back out, though. Have been wearing hiking gear conspicuously all morning and announcing that I’m “off in a minute” since about eleven a.m.
Plus it’s a totally gorgeous day. We’re tipping toward September now, and I think I like the island even better than I did in that scorching week when I first arrived. Summer is lovely, but it’s all a bit obvious, isn’t it? Autumn is so much more interesting, and it’s officially on its way.
Right, have wasted another fifteen minutes writing about hiking,messaging Red for advice about hiking, and reminding Jones I’m about to go hiking. He was in the kitchen, snacking—have been leaving out sugary treats for him lately, as the internet says they help with alcohol cravings, and may have created a monster. Lately Jones gets through about eight of Doc Laurry’s cardamom custard creams per day.
Ooh, Rosie just dropped off some hiking boots—apparently my trail-running shoes won’t cut it, and Red texted her asking if she had spares for me on the off chance. Isn’t that so nice? Ended up having massive chat out on the track, and then Red cycled by and joined in, and even Kim the sheep farmer (typically Team Galoshes) stopped her tractor for a while to talk. She’s actuallyfabulous. Has an anecdote for everything. And always wearssuchgood hats.
Stood in the sunshine with a bunch of fascinating, openhearted women and could have burst with the loveliness of it. Also got loads of great Ormer gossip. Found out when Kim divorced her husband, he tried to get her farm on the grounds that she wouldn’t be able to manage it herself. After she took him to court over it, she stood for Deputy for Agriculture just to piss him off. And Red actually left home on the mainland because her dadkicked her outfor being bisexual, and Rosie heard her story and immediately took her in at the B&B and gave her a job, and now Red wants to live here forever.
Women! We’re so great. Am buoyed up by sisterhood, feminism, girl power et cetera—genuinely feel much less nervous about the walk now. Though I really should get going. Never mind, it’s good I’m leaving late—I’ll time my Pouque Rock picnic with the sunset!
Pausing midhike to jot down some gorgeousness. Am so glad I’ve ventured off the main tracks at last. It’s just stunning view after stunning view. There’s a tumbledown stone mansion I’d never haveseen if I wasn’t on the narrow coastal path—it’s on the craggy rocks above Fortitude Bay, which was completely deserted today, like a secret paradise. Also found a tiny abandoned bird’s nest in a patch of wildflowers. Very hokey, I know, but I just sat for a while with it in my palms and stared at it. It was like…the perfect home in miniature. And then there’s the sea, disappearing and reappearing every time the track takes me to a peak in the rocks.
It’s about an hour and a half until sundown, but that’ll be fine—Google Maps directions aren’t loading, as per, but doesn’t look like far to go.
This rock Jones was on about.
It’s actually kind of an island. An islet? It’s a humped, grassy-topped dot to the west of Ormer, connected to the coast by a short, rocky track, wet with seawater. Right now, I’m sitting on it.
A few months ago, I would never have crossed those slippery stones. I’d have left the adventuring to everyone else. This wasn’t my kind of fun.
Now, though, I think I get why people make so much fuss about the Great Outdoors. It’s the freedom. If I’d slipped on those stones and made a fool of myself, there would’ve been nobody here to see me.
I’m sweating. My arm muscles are shaking from scrambling up to the plateau at the top of the rock. It’s grassy up here, and the greenery is scattered with star-shaped yellow flowers. There’s a single rock in the center, a natural pyramid shape, and it’s the perfect place to rest with my diary and a squished-up custard cream.
Food is somehow better when you’ve been hiking. I feel…looser, softer, morehere. Kind of peaceful, actually. I’m not trying to prove anything to anyone right now. There aren’t any members of thecommittee around to win over (rare on Ormer, I’ve learned). This beautiful place even softens the memory of them laughing at me during The Night of the Pig. It just…doesn’t matter what they think of me, does it?
It’s something I’ve said to myself a million times—who cares what anyone else thinks!—but out here alone in the wilderness it actually hits home. Who? Cares? You know? Who cares!
And it’s so tiring. Trying to be what I think other people think I should be. It’s even tiring to write that sentence down—look at it, what a mess it is, all the thinking in there.
I wanted to be someone new, coming here, and I’ve been trying so hard to pull that off, but maybe I’ve been approaching this all wrong. If I really want to start a new life, I’ve got an opportunity, haven’t I?
If I can be anyone I like…wouldn’t it be nice to actually be me?
What. The fuck.
The walkway has disappeared??
It was just there. I just walked across it.
I’ve only been…what, half an hour?
And now it’s as if it never was. Between here and the rocky beach opposite there’s nothing but water.
This isn’t an almost-islet. This is an islet.
I’m trapped on this rock!?!
I’ve called Rosie, Red, Marly, Rog, Toby, Toby’s mum and even Galoshes. Not a single person is answering their phone. This bloody low-tech island. I’m not even surprised. Rosie left her phone balanced on top of a fence post for three days last week.
I’m alone. There’s nobody who can help me.
I’m actually really scared.
Don’t want to call him. Don’t want to call him.
I’m not going to. Turns out I would actually rather die alone on a rock than let Jones know that I’m dying alone on a rock, so that’s…healthy.
