I’ve felt such a comforting sense of camaraderie with him all day, working together like we did. Getting to know him better. And I thought he was flirting with me earlier, which shows how good my powers of perception are.
Normally I would never have acted on it, but Xander’s attention boosted my confidence, made me feel like I wasn’t such a total waste of space. Gave me fake courage.
Then later, back at the cottage, seeing Brody with that towel around his waist pushed me over the edge.
It’s like being here in this new place unleashed some kind of demon in me. I have never been confident with men, especially since Harry left. Why now? Why him? I feel like such an idiot.
Oh God, I think, walking down towards the beach. It’s only when I feel the sand between my toes that I realise I’m out here barefoot.
I come to a standstill, the waves rushing in to meet me, the water cold and fast and real. I stay where I am, up to my ankles in sea and kelp, welcoming the physical sensations to distract me from my emotions. I look up. Stars, moon, reflecting from the inky blue swell rolling inland. I take a deep breath, wait for my heart rate to slow, for the fire in my cheeks to fade. I touch the skin of my face and feel tears, which makes me even more angry with myself.
I had a chance here, a chance to spend a few weeks doing something productive. To reset my life and my self-esteem. To make new friends, breathe new air, to make some changes. It was a chance, but now I’ve messed it all up, and in record time. It’s so very typically me, to find a magical card inside a book, to come all this way, and then to just transform it into a great big pile of poo. I wanted to recreate myself, and all I’ve managed to do is create an even worse version of myself.
Brody tried to be kind about it, but he couldn’t have looked more horrified if he’d tried. I can’t face the thought of going back there and pretending that nothing has happened. Maybe I’ll camp out on the beach, or sneak into the community centre. I could even call Xander, who would not be at all horrified – except I was being honest about that. For all his good looks, he just doesn’t affect me the same way that Brody does.
Birds are calling in long, slow wails, and they sound sad. They sound like I feel. The waves carry on coming, as waves will do, and I am up to my calves now. Pinned to the spot, immobile, frozen by my own self-loathing. I’m cold and I’m wet and I’m stuck. How can I ever face him again? I threw myself at him! How could I ever have thought he would be interested in someone like me?
I let out a sob, and rub my eyes, annoyed that I feel so overwhelmed. I need to pull myself together. I need to go back, and apologise, and make everything okay again. We were doing so well. We were getting on, we have a shared mission. And now… now I just feel like I could stand here, and let the waves wash over me.
They’re up to my knees, and with each whoosh and suck they feel a little stronger, knocking me slightly off balance. What would happen if I simply let them take me? Would the world really be any worse off? Would anybody even miss me? I’m so very tired. Physically, emotionally, just exhausted. Too tired to even walk back along the pretty harbour front, and back to the place I’d already started to think of as a sanctuary.
‘Kate!’ comes a voice from behind me. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
I turn, look over my shoulder. See Brody’s familiar outline running down the steps to the beach. Just as I do, a huge wave rolls in, curling over itself and drenching me. I lose my balance, stumble, then crash down into the sea.
Everything after that is panic. Salty water invades my mouth, my hair wraps around my face, and I splash and flounder and try to regain my feet. I slip on the kelp, and more waves thunder in, the pressure building and building as I gasp for air and only get liquid. Terror fills my mind, and my wide-open eyes sting against the onslaught. I can’t stand up. I can’t get out. I can’tbreathe…
I’m swept up into strong arms, and the moment my head breaks through the water I cough and splutter and draw in the longest, sweetest gulp of air I’ve ever tasted. He gallops back to dry land, carrying me with my head lolling against his chest, my hair wrapped around his shoulders like I’m a mermaid.
Once the initial relief fades, the reality kicks in, and then I start to drown in my own humiliation. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mutter,clinging on to him, feeling his heart beat against me. ‘I’m so silly…’
‘That’s okay, Kate,’ he murmurs, ‘you’re okay, I’m okay. It’s all good. Come on, we need to get you home.’
‘Home’. He’s always insisted on calling it ‘the cottage’ before, like he was trying to keep some distance. ‘Can you walk?’
I nod, and he gently places me back on my bare feet. We stand together on the shore, him still holding me steady, his eyes roving over my face like he’s searching for damage.
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat. ‘For everything. For what I asked, for being an idiot in every possible way.’
He grins a little, that half-smile of his. ‘Every possible way? Come on, I’m sure there are a few you haven’t tried yet!’
He’s trying to lighten the mood, and I am grateful. ‘Well, the night is yet young,’ I manage to reply. ‘Give me time.’
He takes my hand, and leads me back past the harbour. The fishing boats clang against each other in the wind, and the cliffs cast shadows on the silver of the water. Moira’s cottage –ourcottage – appears, lit up and warm and safe.
Ushering me inside, he goes straight upstairs and comes back down with towels and blankets. ‘Take your wet clothes off,’ he instructs sternly. ‘Get dry, and get under those covers. I’ll fetch the brandy.’
I do as I’m told, because they all sound like very sensible suggestions. I’m still shaking when he returns, even though I am cocooned in fleece. He passes me a glass, then stokes the fire. I feel a welcome whoosh of heat, and shudder at the memory of being underwater.
‘You okay?’ he asks, hovering above me, looking concerned. He’s wet too, of course he is – because he had to rescue a stupid woman from the sea. I nod as reassuringly as I can, and he tugs off his shirt and jeans, then huddles next to me with another blanket around his shoulders. We both sit in silence, drinkingthe brandy and calming ourselves. Eventually, I start to laugh – because this really is an outrageous situation.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asks, giving me a sideways glance.
‘Everything!’ I answer. ‘Mainly me. God, I really am sorry – I can get into trouble literally anywhere it seems! Plus, maybe I’m a bit hysterical from my near-death experience…’
Logically, I know I wasn’t near death. I would have been fine in the end. I wasn’t in so deep that I wouldn’t have been able to make my way back to shore. I can swim, and I can walk. It was the panic that got me, the way it overrode all common sense, tied me in knots that weighed me down as firmly as an anchor.
‘What were you even thinking, though, Kate? The sea isn’t to be messed with.’
