‘I’ll let you know later,’ I reply.
‘Fair enough. See you by the door in a minute then.’
Once I’m dressed and have grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and checked that all the plugs and taps are switched off, I drive the scenic route to Olivia’s college and wave her off.
Harry’s comments have unsettled me, and I am not sure why. All I know is that our relationship has been the dominating force in my life, and now I feel like we are both examining it a lot more closely. We could emerge from all of this much stronger – or we could emerge from all of this apart. Both options seem wrong for different reasons.
Am I in love with Harry? Probably not, in a teenaged-girl way. Do I love Harry? Yes, I do. I love him and admire him and I have made a commitment to him. We have a good life together, and that is surely worth fighting for?
But, I think, as I drive aimlessly along the coastline, there is also Alex. How do I feel about him, now, all these years later? Do I still feel a flutter in my tummy when I think about him? Do I still yearn to hear the sound of his voice? Do I still watch sunsets and think about him?
If I’m honest with myself, I do. I’ve tried to deny it, but I do.
I feel so confused I am almost distraught as I navigate winter-quiet roads and out-of-season ghost towns. A few hardy souls are out on surfboards in wetsuits despite the low temperatures, boats bobbing further afield. In some ways it’s one of the nicest times of year, when you can have a beach to yourself and the sea can go from angry to mellow in the space of minutes.
There is a sense of freedom you get from being on the edge of the world. A sense of space; a feeling that the planet is huge, the horizons infinite. Since the earthquake, I’ve appreciated the infinite horizons even more.
I consider parking up and going down to the beach to borrow someone’s dog to play with. I am a well-known dog botherer in the local area. Harry’s not keen, so we’ve never had one of our own. I thought about becoming a dog walker a few years ago – frankly I’d do it for free. But the one time I mentioned it in passing, Harry had a very rare outburst of petulance.
‘Right,’ he said, his mouth twisted into a bitter version of a smile. ‘So then you’d have one more way of getting away from me?’
I was shocked, and upset that I hurt him, and also had to concede that possibly he had a point. Subconsciously, perhaps that was part of it – an urge to be free, to be alone. It’s not a noble urge, but it is there. Harry can do many things now, but the beach is always an issue – not exactly wheel friendly, and with uneven and unpredictable terrain that makes it unpleasant for him to try and use his leg braces on.
I reassured him that wasn’t the case, knowing that neither of us was entirely convinced.
I wonder how that must have felt for him – that sense of being excluded – and it brings tears to my eyes. For him. For me. For Alex. For everything that has happened to us. For all that has been, and all that could have been. For the big pains and the small, the thousand tiny papercuts to the heart that we all seem to have suffered.
My phone rings just as I have turned off the engine in a small car park by Barrelstock Bay. I glance at it on the seat next to me, see Em’s name on the display and answer it.
‘Are you busy?’ she asks.
‘Not really. Just sitting on the dock of the bay. That kind of thing.’
‘You’re not going to start whistling down the phone, are you?’
‘I make no promises. What’s up? I thought you were editing today?’
‘I was. I am. I will be,’ she says, covering all the bases. ‘I was just phoning to see how you were. And to tell you Shelley sent the photos, and you are in the background of some of them. And to see what Harry thought about coming to Mexico.’
‘He … he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Maybe he’s right. I don’t feel sure about anything any more.’
There is a pause, and she asks, ‘Are you all right, Elena? You sound upset.’
‘I am, Em. I’m upset about so many things I can’t even say what they are. They refuse to form an orderly queue. And I’m … I don’t know. Sad? Just really sad.’
‘Come over,’ she says instantly. ‘I have scones. I have coffee. I have time. Don’t feel sad on your own – come to the cottage and do it in company.’
It feels good, having Em in my life. Having someone who understands. Someone who wants to help. And I am doing a terrible job of sorting myself out – maybe talking to her will help.
‘I will,’ I say eventually. ‘And thank you.’
Chapter 26
Em has greeted me with coffee and cake, Ollie shooed out of the house to do some ‘atmosphere shots’.
I am curled up on her chintzy sofa, and I am starting to relax. Starting to feel the warmth of the log fire, and the warmth of her friendship.
I am, at last, telling her about Alex. I am telling her things I have never discussed with anybody else, and I am hoping that it will lift something from my shoulders – guilt, indecision, cowardice, false hope. Maybe all of the above.
