Endless Blue Seas

by Annie Dyer

“Then it would be too far for Julia to travel.” He said it more to himself and he sounded so incredibly irritated! I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  “Maybe we could do something for Mrs Stretton,” I offered. “My mother knows a fair amount of teas that can be useful for some ailments.”

  “That is very kind,” he said, and when he replaced his glasses he looked at me really oddly. “She is feeling generally unwell and aching. I am sure it is nothing more than a result of such fresh air after the polluted smog we breathe. However, she does not take kindly to feeling ill and would probably feel more at ease if a doctor can reduce her anxieties.”

  Maybe the sea air had made my family – and yours Alice - stronger, or maybe the fact that we had to work put us off being ill. Either way it seemed a weakness for someone to take to their bed on a day like this one and my opinion of Julia wasn’t as good as it had been.

  “Perhaps Mrs Stretton would feel better for sitting in the garden and getting some fresh air and sunshine,” I suggested. He smiled at me and I stopped feeling quite so scared of him.

  “That may well be the cure the doctor prescribes,” he told me.

  He asked me my name and I told him, then he gave me his – not Mr Stretton, but Don. He told me his first name. I felt so funny inside because I should’ve been calling him sir, I suppose, although Jennifer does say that in the future we’ll be business owners rather than just maids.

  I shook his hand and he had such a firm handshake. When I let go of his hand I had to reach for the empty coffee pot just to give myself something to replace it with.

  He started to talk about the view and how amazing it was and then he said

  “I loved boating when I was a boy,” His face lit up and he looked so much younger, not that much older than you or I and it felt like we were talking like we were old acquaintances. “That’s one of the reasons I asked my father if I could come here this summer.”

  I felt a little shocked at what he had said. The whole village had assumed that old man Stretton had sent his son to check upon his possessions, but now it seemed that it was his son’s idea.

  “Julia needed a holiday, and this seemed like a good excuse,” he said and I realised then that my expression was belying my thoughts.

  “So you aren’t intending to lay men off their jobs?” I felt a bit impolite as soon as I said it but he laughed loudly, a real bellow. “Not at all, unless they really aren’t doing what they should. I’m hoping for a few trips out to sea, once Julia’s fine to be left alone.”

  I nodded, desperate to scarper and inform the rest of the villagers what I had learnt.

  “I’m probably keeping you from your jobs, Marcy, I do apologise,” he said, beginning to leave the table, probably to return to his wife.

  “Not at all, Mr…Donald,” I said, forcing a smile.

  He nodded and left, leaving me to face the demands of Jennifer who beckoned me into the kitchen, determined to discover what secrets Donald had shared.

  He’s so intriguing, Alice, but I’m not sure how to act around him! His wife seems very sickly and not at all like him – in fact they barely speak when they are together.

  I hope you enjoyed your day trip with your cousin and his friend. It’s so exciting that he’s at Cambridge! Do tell me more soon!

  Marcy

  I put the letter down and sat back, pulling my knees too my chest. Marcy – if it was Marcy – had clearly been attracted to Don, who was married, even if she didn’t recognise it. As far I knew, she’d never had a fiancé or a suitor, or even been close to being married.

  “What do you think?”

  Kim was looking through photos, sorting them methodically by face.

  “I don’t think Marcy died a virgin.”

  I sat up a little, my childhood idea of my great-great aunt becoming slightly distorted in an exciting kind of way. “What makes you say that? Mum was adamant that she was as pure as the driven snow.”

  Kim laughed. “You’re precious. No, Marcy had a long relationship which was complicated, I think. I don’t know anything about him though.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Something Nan said years ago. I believe Aunt Marcy was treated for the clap at some point, but if you ask me how Nan knew that I can’t answer because I don’t know.”

  “So who was this Don Stretton? And his wife? Stretton rings a bell…” I tried to pull vague memories back into my head but they were too far away to grasp.

  “Stretton was the surname of the man who had the lighthouse rebuilt. He owned the boats here at one point and made a killing with mussels – as in the seafood.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” I glared at her. Just because she was pregnant didn’t mean I couldn’t sue for sarcasm.

  “Shall we ask Nan?”

  “She’s gone to Bangor. Later. Tell me about last night. When I left you were deep in conversation with our resident artist.”

  Nothing wrong with Kim’s pregnancy blurred eyes.

  “We were just talking.” I was going to tell her about it, but now I wanted it to just be mine. My little secret until I worked out how I felt about it. I knew little about him, except for the crash and that he’d been injured badly, fracturing his spine and had to learn how to walk again. I knew he was planning on staying here too, and I wasn’t. But I didn’t know he was an artist.

  “What do you mean, artist?” This was new. Catrin might’ve mentioned something in passing but I hadn’t picked up on the whole artist thing.

  Kim eyed me and then shook her head. “Actually, Gabe wouldn’t have mentioned it. He paints. I’ve seen a couple of pieces of his work and he’s really good. Have a guess what sort of stuff he does?”

  I shrugged. Art was not my favourite subject to teach, let alone really talk about. “I’d guess something trendy looking like pop-art or something.”

  She shook her head. “Acrylic and some oils. When I saw his painting I wanted to touch it. He’s incredible. Pat Evans was going on about how talented he was and how much he should be charging.”

  Pat was a local artist and sold widely, charging well into four figures for a painting that was about the same size as my hand. He was also a dick.

  “He didn’t say.” I felt a little down about it. We’d talked about so much last night, I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t have mentioned it.

  Kim tipped her head to one side. “I think you have bigger things in common than him painting and he’s really shy about it. He’d sold a few before he moved here but when a couple of posh cars turned up at his barn, people got talking. I don’t think he does it as a way to make money.”

  “I’ll ask him about it.”

  “You like him.”

  Her tone wasn’t gossipy. Or teasing, as it would’ve been years ago. It was simple and happy.

  I stilled and looked out of the window. Did I like him? I’d kissed him. He’d kissed back. But maybe that was the alcohol or the night. It had been the sort of night where you’d be swept away by a sparkle, where kisses on the wind would find you and imprint a permanent mark. I was under no illusions about the man. But he was beautiful and there was something about him that made me feel as if I could be silent and understood.

  “He’s gorgeous. I bet he’s slept with half the village.” I blurted the words out like a confession.

  “No. Just a few weekenders. Or women in hen parties. I heard he’s a good shag. But discreet.”

  Her words were judgement-free. Kim was well aware of what Michael had been like and did not judge. Hell, in summer, half the female population turned up here looking to find a hot fisherman for a night, even if their husbands were with them.

  “My life is too complicated right now.”

  “Is it? I think it’s anything but complicated, Anya. You’re home for an extended summer and you’re at a crossroads in what has been a very planned life. Before your student died, were you happy? I’m not going to start going on at you to move back here, but what I will say is that I wor
ried that you weren’t enjoying yourself. You worked so much, you dated idiots. You never talked about what you were doing and only asked about how things were back here. I’m not saying to move here again, but I think you have a lot to move on from. And not just the murder.”

  Her speech was a bucket of ice cold water tipped over my head. I forced myself to look at her. There was nothing that she’d said that I hadn’t discussed with my therapist. In my heart, I knew I couldn’t remain at that school because I would forever be the teacher who taught the child that died. Some of the kids would remember their first proper year as when they had the lady who told them about their friend who was killed by his dad. My legacy wouldn’t be the library I’d built from scratch or the creation of Forest School across all ages, it was that: the woman who taught the child that was killed.

  “You’re right. But that’s what makes it complicated.”

  She shook her head. “Anya, it’s a summer romance with a bloke who is so hot he could’ve lit that bonfire without flames last night. And the two of you have chemistry. He couldn’t take his eyes off you and whenever he could he was looking at you. Just have some fun. No one’s saying you need to get married or have something that lasts any more than a couple of nights. Or even one night. Remember your summer fling with Idris?”

  I groaned. It had been the summer between second and third year at university. He was back from his medical degree and we hooked up and had a blast, both going our separate ways when September came. But it had been fun and easy and I needed both of those. “Last night might have been it. That might have been all it was meant to be.”

  She stood up with difficulty, using the windowsill to help her. I’d have offered but I doubted I’d be much use. I hadn’t said it to her face, but she did look like she was going to give birth to at least two small rhinos.

  “Who knows. But you seem to have enjoyed yourself and that was good to see. And I like him. He isn’t a dick.”

  I gave a little nod. “What about Marcy’s stuff? Don and Julia?”

  “What about it? You’ve got the summer to do some research. Find out about our aunt and her secret past.”

  “I might not find out anything.”

  “Maybe. Who knows. It won’t be the end of the world either way. I’m going to go for a lie down. I’ll see you later.”

  I followed her outside but headed to the top of the garden which overlooked the sea. A lifeboat was out, patrolling the coast and I saw one of the university research vessels. In a few weeks, Cat would be back out on one, following her passion.

  My passion for teaching was still there. Despite that phone call and the resulting nightmares, I still loved my job. But I needed to think about where to move to because Kim was right: it was time for a change.

  Gabe

  I hadn’t looked at my work emails for over a month. Technically, I was still a partner in the architecture firm with two of my university colleagues, still taking a percentage of the profits, but not a full salary because I wasn’t working. I hadn’t touched a blueprint for twenty-five months. I hadn’t accepted a commission for longer than that. I’d won three more awards in that time and had been asked to take on more work, but I’d refused to attend anything, including meetings. Really, they should’ve distanced themselves from me like a toxic virus, but they lived in hope that I’d return, even if it was to work remotely, and I was the last memory of Ryan. No one could lose their memories of Ryan.

  The laptop booted up slowly, clearly needing an update before it would play nice. I sat in the bar, WiFi not something that was up and running at my place. I didn’t want to be contactable. I needed control over when I spoke to people or heard from them. Last night had given me a slice of normality, even though it had felt like some sort of fantasy. The way I’d felt when I’d been with Anya had reminded me that I was not just the sum of my parts, that I could be more.

  The browser window opened and I keyed in the password to access my emails. Eight hundred and ninety-six started to load. Some would be junk, marketing emails that I needed to unsubscribe from. Some would be messages enquiring after my wellbeing: they would be ignored. Some would be work proposals.

  One of the latest caught my eye. It mentioned the island in its subject line and I was interested to see who had approached me. I didn’t recognise the sender, but I did recognise the building they referred to, an old former hotel on the main road on the east of the island that they had permission to turn into a restaurant and they wanted to make it environmentally friendly, incorporating vegetables they’d grown themselves and having an area to teach people to cook. I looked up the name of the man who had sent me the email and saw that he was an acclaimed chef, someone who could bring more tourism to the island and build on its growing reputation for food. This was the sort of job I would always have been interested in.

  I was interested in it right now.

  Not analysing anything, simply acting on instinct, I responded, asking if he’d like to meet to discuss his ideas and walk round the property. It was near enough that I could walk there in just over an hour, or even cycle along the coastal path in a lot less than that. I copied in the other two partners and waited for the ensuing influx of messages from them.

  Then I opened up one of the software packages I used to design and saw the blueprint for the house I’d bought as it was now and started to play.

  I left the pub feeling lighter than I had done in months. My back hadn’t ached in a couple of days, I had a project that wasn’t just about me and I’d kissed a girl and she’d kissed me back. If Ryan was here now, he’d have been buying me a pint and a whisky chaser to go with it, having a celebration, because that was who he’d been. He revelled in other people’s success, not just his own and when he did get an award or a big contract or even scored a goal at Sunday morning football, he praised the others.

  My barn felt stuffy and over warm when I dropped my computer back off. I’d only spent a couple of hours painting this afternoon, mainly on a piece that had been commissioned, a picture of one of the beaches on the island where a man had proposed to his wife. It was going to be an anniversary gift, and although I wasn’t as caught by it as I was my two giant projects, it was fun to do and meant something to the man.

  There was a gig on at the pub, a singer who had a little bit of a following around north Wales and I’d agreed to go, although that didn’t mean I’d definitely turn up. I would be there though, just on the off chance that Anya would go.

  This morning, last night, whatever the time was when it happened, had recalibrated me. I wanted to see her again. I wanted to taste her, touch her. Fuck, I wanted her in my bed and under me or on top riding me, hell, however she wanted it, I’d be there. Ryan would’ve approved. He’d have liked the idea of a pretty primary school teacher, not a woman in an uptight suit who didn’t like the sea breeze because it messed with her hair.

  I pulled off my T-shirt and grabbed a clean brush, intending on painting a little more before cranking up the shower and rinsing off, then heading to the bar. A shrill sound interrupted me, my phone always my least favourite item. Had it not been for Janie and my parents I’d have launched it into the sea months ago.

  It was James, one of the partners. I answered, having a very good idea as to what he was going to say.

  “You saw my email?”

  He laughed. “Jesus, Gabe, don’t you know how to politely answer a phone anymore? Has living in the wild turned you totally caveman?”

  “It’s you. I don’t remember ever asking you how you are when you called.” I grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge I kept in the barn.

  “True. And yes. I saw your email. So did Marv. We’re going out for a beer to celebrate.”

  This time I smiled. I knew what it meant to them. “Yeah, well. I get I need to either leave or start trying to bring in some new work.”

  He was silent. “Gabe,” his voice was quiet when he finally spoke, the background noise having dimmed also. “I don’t give a
fucking shit if you never design anything ever again, I just want you to be okay. Whatever it takes for you to be okay. We’d give the fucking lot up if that’s what it took.”

  I looked at the painting of Anya. The sky, the sea. I heard the gulls and felt the wind on my face. Her lips on mine.

  “I’m not moving back.”

  “Didn’t think you would. We’d like to come and see you. See your island.”

  He’d mentioned it before, visiting, coming to walk the house, sample the local beers and the women. I’d always put him off, never having been ready to see him without Ryan because that was the hardest. The missing piece of our jigsaw, forever lost. A big fuck-off gaping hole that I’d be constantly trying to lose myself in because that fucker died and I didn’t.

  This time, the suggestion didn’t stab me as hard. I didn’t want to make a list of excuses, a list that James had every time seen straight through the bullshit for exactly what they were. “Maybe.”

  “What?” He sounded like I’d just told him I’d won the lottery.

  “Maybe. Give it a couple more months. Then maybe come visit. Not with Marv, not yet. He could come separately.”

  There was silence until he coughed. “Really? Jesus fucking sunbeam, Gabe. I never thought I’d even see another email from you again, but this too? In the same day.”

  I started to laugh, loudly, like I hadn’t in twenty-five months. “Don’t be surprised if I retract everything tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be hungover tomorrow so I won’t care about anything except eating greasy food and watching porn. I’m going to meet Marv and buy champagne. Speak to you – I don’t know. Call me. Tell me about something next week, even if it’s to get help counting the number of cows in the field. Love you, man.”

  I laughed and told him to fuck off before hanging up. I threw the phone down and brought my hand to my face.

  My cheeks were wet.

  It wasn’t raining inside the barn.

  The bar was half full by the time I got there, people spilling out onto the decking that led onto the beach. The singer was already warming up, strumming his guitar and surrounded by a couple of weekenders. He was easy game for them, not that he’d probably mind.