We didn’t talk about things – there was no breath left for conversation – and I know we will need to. I know life will now become more complicated, that I have invited something mysterious and frightening into my world.
I know this, but I decide to simply not care for a little while longer. I am on a high, and reluctant to come down from the mountain top.
I close the door quietly, and make my way outside. It is still not fully light, and as I make my way down the steps to the beach, the first fingers of sunlight are struggling to break free. I walk with Larry, realising that as I stroll, I am smiling. I am reliving, and remembering, and it is making me glow with happiness.
No matter how complicated things might get, I tell myself, I should always try to remember this sensation – the welcome rush of life that is flowing through me. Physically, I am tired – but in every other way, I have more energy than I can ever recall having.
The sea is coming in towards us, a gentle boom and hiss as the waves hit the sand and retreat, and gulls are circling in the sky as it begins to lighten.
I sit down, cross-legged, and lay my palms on my knees. I am aware of a bundle of warmth at my back as Larry settles, and I stare out at the sea, and breathe.
I breathe deeply and slowly and I inhabit every single fraction of that breath. I ignore the nagging thoughts and concerns that are starting to crowd into my mind now it is fully awake, and I remind myself of what matters: here, now, this moment. The sound of the water and the touch of the beach on my bare feet and the simple joy of taking one slow breath after another.
I stay like this for a while, long enough that the lingering gloom is chased away by day, long enough that I start to recognise the patterns the waves weave into the sand, long enough that when I glance at my phone, I realise that I have been sitting here, still and silent, for almost half an hour.
I blink, clearing away my daze, and laugh. Larry comes to investigate, and I give him a cuddle before I stand up and stretch.
“Holy shit,” I announce to the world, filled with joyous astonishment, “I think I just meditated!”
ChapterTwenty-Eight
On the surface, life continues as normal. I see patients, I carry out checks, I make home visits where I am plied with tea and home-baked cake. I feel myself being sucked into the world of Starshine Cove, and have no urge to resist – I start to realise that not only is resistance futile, it’s bloody stupid.
I’ve spent so long hiding, running, avoiding any entanglements – and none of it made me happy. None of it kept me safe. This, these simple routines and the gentle ebb and flow of village life, does make me happy. It is an almost unrecognisable sensation, and I am firmly instructing myself to simply enjoy it, to not over-think, to not try and peek around corners and spot the upcoming catastrophes.
This is, as we all know, harder than it sounds – but it is made a lot easier by the presence of Jake in my life.
Since our first night together, we have carved out many more. We have talked, and laughed, and had glorious amounts of life-affirming sex. We have explored the light and shade of our lives, the good, the bad and the ugly.
He tells me more about his marriage, about his mother, about how much he still misses her. I have told him about the way my work drained me of emotion, and I have even shown him my cherished picture of Lizzie.
While we get to know each other, though, we have decided to keep it secret from everyone else – because this is new, and fragile, and precious. Partly we are simply private people who don’t want to face the Spanish Inquisition, but I am also aware that part of me is just afraid – afraid that if we drag this thing into the light of day, expose it to the corrosive raw materials of reality, that it will fade and fizzle. That I will lose it, and I will suffer. I am trying to quash this side of me, but I am a work in progress – I have spent too long expecting the worst for that to disappear overnight.
The Betties tend to go to bed early, so either I sneak out to see Jake, or he comes to mine once he’s finished work for the night. Keeping it secret is, as he points out, also a lot of fun.
Today, I wake up alone, in my own bed, and find that I now automatically reach out to the other side of the pillows, expecting to find him there. I make a hmmph of disappointment as my brain catches up with my body – we both have busy days, and both needed our rest. Jake is going to see his business manager in London, and I have meetings with the extended integrated care team to discuss local provision and how to improve it.
That doesn’t sound as much fun as a shag-fest with my handsome friend, but it is important, and I even find myself looking forward to these things now. I’d have run a mile this time last year, preferring only to parachute in at the start of the day and leave without a backward glance at the end.
I’ve arranged to meet Dan after his morning lessons and take him along with me, because it will all help with his applications to medical school or, alternatively, completely put him off applying.
I spend a lazy morning pottering around the flat, drop Larry off with George, and briefly chat to him about life, the universe and Adrian. He’s had his mole removed and it is now being tested to see exactly what it was and if any further treatment is needed. George remains sanguine about the whole thing, and has an almost child-like belief that everything will be all right in the end. This is something I can only applaud him for.
I call into the café to get a takeaway coffee, and find Connie busily plunging the sink while she croons along to Shania Twain. She sees me arrive, points at the water that’s almost at the overflow, and sings: “That don’t impress me much!”
“Yikes,” I say, peering over the counter, “that looks fun. Do you need help?”
I ask this genuinely, but also hoping that she says no – I am much better with human plumbing than mechanical plumbing.
“Nah,” she replies, putting down her plunger and shaking her hair out of her eyes, “I’m an old hand. It’s quite cathartic, a good old plunge…”
She winks as she says this, naturally enough, somehow managing to turn a basic domestic task into something smutty.
“Dan says he’ll meet you in town later,” she continues as she prepares my latte. “He’s not going into college though. Just couldn’t get out of bed this morning.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yes. He’s just a teenager. It comes with the territory. Talking of beds, and things you can do in them, how are you and Jake?”
