“Thatdoessound fun, but don’t think I forgot about your date tonight.” Her cheeks flush, and she dips her head. “I take it that’s going well?”
“Yeah, it really is.” She nods, adding another helping of marshmallows to the now half full mug of hot chocolate that I’d put back on the counter. I’m overcome with the need to hug her, so I do just that. She makes a gasp of surprise before wrapping her arms around me in return. “What’s that for?”
I step out of her hold. “For being awesome.” She smiles at my response, but then her attention is called away by a customer. I take my mug and my bag and sit at a table in the corner next to the window. Outside, the sun is fighting to peek through theclouds. It’s late March, so still cool out, but there are signs of spring, which should make me happy, because I love the spring. The crisp mornings, the fresh bursts of colour, the scent of blossoms in the air, but right now nothing is bright – a dull haze has settled over my entire life.
I open my bag, place my phone and book on the table, and then sip at my lukewarm drink. I’m staring out of the window, watching a pigeon battle with the remainder of someone’s lunch on the pavement when my phone beeps. Picking it up, I unlock it to read the message from Darcey.
Dars:Beach House. This weekend. You and me. Don’t say no.
Darcey’s family owns a small converted fisherman’s cottage in the small town of Whitstable. It’s a stone’s throw away from the pebbled beach and a short walk from the harbour. We’ve spent some amazing weekends there together, but I haven’t been in at least a year.
Me:When are you heading down?
I like the idea of getting away for the weekend, of a reprieve from the discomfort of sharing a space with Floyd.
Dars:Tonight. See you there.
I smile at the screen and at how she’s not asking me to be there, but telling me. She knows how much I need this.
I chuck my book into my bag and stand, waving to Florence, who is serving a customer. She waves back, and I pull the hood up on my hoodie as I open the door, wishing I’d remembered my coat.
Me:I’m in. See you later. Taking the train. Not driving with this splint on.
She sends me an angry face emoji, which I know is directed at Floyd – even if I told her the same bicycle story I told his family and Florence, Darcey doesn’t believe it.
I take a cab back to the flat. Floyd’s office door is shut when I walk in, so I creep as quietly as I can into my room, locking the door behind me before throwing clothes and toiletries into a bag, careful not to make too much noise. It’s not lost on me how fucked up it is that I’m too afraid to move freely in my own home, but the last thing I need is a confrontation with myhusband. I feed Norman, set his automatic feeder, then tell him I’ll be back soon, before slipping out of my room. It can’t lock from the outside, but I have no reason to believe Floyd would bother going in there, anyway.
I’m nearly at the front door when I hear him behind me, his feet shuffling on the hardwood floor.
“Going somewhere, sweet boy?” It’s the ‘sweet boy’ that tells me he’s pissed off. I turn, taking a breath and hoping my words come out clearly, without hinting at the anxious twisting in my gut. I’d like to believe he wouldn’t try to stop me from going, but I don’t know him, nor do I understand how his mind works.
“Yes.”Thank fuck. My voice doesn’t wobble. “I’m going away with Darcey. To her beach house.”
Floyd doesn’t move, just stands there, arms folded over his chest, lips pursed. “See you on Sunday,” he finally says, retreating into his office. I sigh in relief and head downstairs to where my ride is waiting to take me to the train station.
It’s dark by the time my train pulls into Whitstable Station and the temperature has dropped significantly. I wrap my scarf tighter around my neck as I make my way on foot to the cottage. When I’m five minutes away, I call Darcey.
“Hey Dars, I’m nearly there. Just walking past the Tesco. Do we need anything?”
There’s the sound of a door shutting in the background before she speaks. “Sorry, I’m running a little late. Use the code on the lockbox and let yourself in.”
“Okay, no problem. Text me the code. I’m going to grab us some drinks.”
I say goodbye, hanging up the phone and putting it in my coat pocket.
In the store, I buy a bottle of vodka, a few cans of cola, cranberry juice and a bar of chocolate, then finish my journey to the beachfront property.
The front door faces the beach, which is deserted now that the sun has set, and when I step towards the small weathered building, a light comes on, making it easier for me to retrieve the key from the lockbox.
A cold wind whips off the sea, making me shiver as I push open the wooden door and step into the entrance hall. The cottage is cool, but the radiator next to the door is emitting heat, likely on a timer. I strip off my coat and scarf and hang them up, then turn left into the main part of the cottage.
The room I’m in is fitted with a long sofa, a low wooden table and a TV mounted on the wall. The air smells like sea salt anddry wood. There’s a working log burner built into the wall under the TV and a pile of dried logs stacked next to it.
My favourite part of this house has always been the large front window, which looks out over the beach. With no buildings to obscure the view, it’s like looking at a postcard.
The moon is full tonight, casting a glow which makes the water appear a deep purple, rippled with white where the waves are breaking at the shore. There’s something so mesmerising about the sea that makes me feel at ease. Even with everything going on, standing here now, I feel the tension bleed from my shoulders. Despite the low temperature of the season, I crack the window open, allowing the briny scent and the echo of crashing waves to filter in.
The atmosphere in the room changes – but not from the open window – this is more an overwhelming sense that I’m no longer alone, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. Turning around, my heart leaps into my throat. There is someone else here, and he’s looking at me with a half grin on his beautiful face.
