TEN
KATE
When I wake up the next morning, my first thought is:I want to die. My second thought is:what is that noise?My flat is on a busy street in London, and I normally wake to the gentle sound of backed-up buses and roadworks. This is different. This is the most wonderful of morning calls, and if not for the pounding in my head and the sandpaper grating my tongue, I’d think I was in heaven. The waves, rolling into the bay, a gentle lullaby that eases me into consciousness.
I try to smile, but it hurts. Everything is aching, and I reach gratefully for the glass of water beside me, sitting by a blister pack of painkillers.Huh. Thank you, last night’s me. I take a few sips, clamber out of bed. It’s a little chilly, but luckily I still seem to be wearing all my clothes. I really was thinking ahead. Except… except… oh God. I look again at the pills. They’re American. I sink back down onto the mattress, holding my face in my hands.
It all starts to come back to me, a slow-motion car crash. No, I was not thinking ahead – I wasn’t thinking at all. I was completely smashed, in a way I haven’t been since I was much younger. The brandy, the Guinness, not much food, the excitement of the day. That, followed up by speed-drinking abottle of wine. I blush furiously as I remember the karaoke, and even worse, the way I’d behaved with Brody on the way home. I go back to wanting to die.
He basically carried me back, I now recall. And I have a sneaking suspicion that I made a pass at him. I drink some more water, and mentally slap myself across the face. I’m a bloody idiot, and if he wasn’t thinking of leaving before, I’m pretty sure he is now. I’ll probably go downstairs and find him already gone. What the hell was going on in my head?
Not much, is the simple answer. I was high on my new life, I was drunk, I was busy recreating myself. And the new me is a bit slutty, it turns out. Not that I technically approve of calling women things like that – apart from myself, obviously, because it always seems to be harder to show yourself kindness than others.
I shouldn’t feel bad about it, I know, logically. No harm was done, and it’s not like I pinned him against a wall and molested him. He put me to bed, he left me water, and he made sure I was safe. He acted with respect and decency, and I’m sure he’s come across worse than me in his line of work.
The pep talk gives me enough energy to get up, and pull back the curtains. I suck in a breath as the view floors me all over again. The sea, sweeping in to land, waves topped with white as they curl and crash in sprays of foam. Timeless and powerful and perfect.
I really don’t matter at all, nor do my silly mistakes or petty embarrassments – that bay has been here for millennia. Countless women have probably stood looking at it, letting the relentless beauty of nature take away their cares, reminding them of their complete insignificance in the face of such raw majesty.
Everything will be fine. I’m a human being, not a robot, and it’s okay to occasionally make a fool of myself. I will apologise to him, if he’s not run for the hills, and that will be the end of it.
I force myself into the shower, which is an attachment over the huge old porcelain bath, and make myself presentable. Fresh clothes, a brush through my hair. The shame is harder to wash away, but I do the best I can. I still feel rough, physically and mentally, with a churning in my belly that warns of a tough day ahead – but there is bacon in the house, and a bacon butty is pretty much a cure-all for most of life’s ills.
I’m also finding that my mind is drifting towards the bookshop, that I want to go back there. I know it’s nothing to do with me, but I hate how sad and neglected it is. It’s the reason we came here, after all. I could give it a quick spruce-up, at least – and it would get me away from Brody.
I walk carefully down the stone stairs, and put on my game face. I look for him, and I look for his suitcase, but both are gone.Oh. Looks like I don’t need to worry about Brody, or my game face – he’s made a wise decision, and legged it.
The churning steps up a notch, and I realise I am upset. That I’d hoped he would still be there, that we could enjoy this adventure together. He’s quiet and taciturn and as cheerful as Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas Eve, but beneath that closed-off exterior there is a warm, kind man. It’s just a shame I won’t get to know it any better. He was a brief, bright presence in my life, and now he has gone. Serves me right, really.
I shake off the impending melancholy, and decide to walk down to the bay. My head feels like a rat crawled into it to die, and some fresh air might help blow away the cobwebs. I grab my coat, and step outside.
I almost jump out of my skin when I’m confronted with a man up a ladder. I gulp, squint my eyes against the sun, and see Brody up there. He’s wearing an honest-to-God tool belt, andhas a hammer in his hand. He looks like he could have walked straight out of a Bonnie Tyler video.
He hasn’t gone after all. In fact he looks very much at home, and relief floods through me. I know it might make me a giant wuss, but I’m so happy he’s here. I’ve spent too much time alone recently, and companionship is one of the world’s most under-rated pleasures.
‘Morning!’ he says, making his way down to stand next to me. ‘I was just fixing the pipe. I cleared out all the drains, and I’ve oiled the locks. I was hoping you’d have the bacon on by now.’
‘Um… okay. I can do that. You’re very chatty today.’
He grimaces slightly, and rubs his back. ‘Yeah. Well. What can I say, I’m a man of action. I like fixing shit up. It makes me feel calmer.’
‘Making the world a better place, one leak at a time?’
‘Something like that. You feeling okay?’
I rub my eyes, and chew on my lip. Yes, I decide. All things considered, I don’t feel too bad at all.
‘Yes. More okay than I probably deserve. I’m sorry you had to see me like that.’
He nods, thinks it over, and smiles. A full smile, not even the crooked half-grin he normally rations out.
‘No problem. We’ve all been there, and believe me, I’m a lot heavier to carry home. You can make it up to me with the bacon, and then I thought we could go check out the bookstore again. Maybe, I don’t know, clear it up a little? I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about that place…’
Warmth surges through me. ‘Me neither! It’s Moira, isn’t it?’
‘What is?’
‘Well, it’s like Ginny was saying – that Moira and the bookshop are the same thing. And I really liked Moira, and I felt so sad for her, and I want to help. I think that’s kind of translated in my mind as doing something at the bookshop. I don’t totallyunderstand it, but I know that’s what I want to do. My card… the one I found in the book… it basically told me not to give up.Don’t accept that you have run out of choices, it actually said. And now that’s what it seems like has happened to Moira, and I hate that – I want to do something for her, and this… this…’
