by Raynor Winn
‘So that’s why you call her Lettuce. Wouldn’t it be easier to just put her in the garden?’
The man rolled his eyes as we took another step forward.
‘You can’t do that. She needs to get out and stretch her legs. I can’t confine her; she’s a wild animal. I bring her here every day.’
‘Right.’
We climbed up the next headland before either of us dared to speak.
‘What?’
‘Don’t even try to tell me that was a coincidence.’
When we’d stopped laughing and turned around, Lantivet Bay was below us, and beyond that the familiar sight of Pencarrow Head. We walked painfully slowly, stopping to look around every few minutes, excited to get to the end but willing it not to come. That night, not some disconnected night in some possible future, but that night we would unpack our rucksacks and unroll our sleeping bags on an unknown floor. Over the next few weeks we would sell off most of our remaining possessions to pay for a hire van to move what little we needed to Polruan. Moth would begin a degree without any real hope of surviving to the end of it. I would look for a job and start writing. And out of thin air, out of loss and pain and fear, we would be as happy as we were when we were twenty.
When it couldn’t be delayed any longer we walked over Pencarrow Head. Our homeless trail was over. We sat on a bench overlooking Lantic Bay, our rucksacks propped together, and shared the last of a pack of wine gums. The peregrine swooped close by, following the line of the cliff down towards the bay before soaring back up and out of sight.
A figure appeared out of the gorse, wearing the same coat and hat he had a year ago, walking with the same stick.
‘She’s been back a week now. She’d gone same day you were las’ year. Knew you were comin’, told them all you were comin’, that she were bringin’ you back. It’s a sign, i’n’ it.’
He headed slowly away to the road as the sun began to drop on the horizon and the mist lifted in the hollows.
We hadn’t been afforded the luxury of time for the shockwaves from our past to play out and then – as in any good nature-redemption story – to go off into the wilderness to refind our way in life. Bad things had hit us in the face like a tidal wave and would have washed us away if we hadn’t found ourselves on the path. Our journey had drained us of every emotion, sapped our strength and our will. But then, like the windblown trees along our route, we had been re-formed by the elements into a new shape that could ride out whatever storms came over the bright new sea. I thought about the two teenagers wrapped up in the essence of each other, of a passion that had lasted for most of my life, of heavy rain and burning sun, of a peregrine soaring free on the thermals of the cliff edge, of two molecules that were held together by little more than an electrical charge, a charge that had been strong enough to form a powerful bond, but a bond that one day soon might break. At last I understood what homelessness had done for me. It had taken every material thing that I had and left me stripped bare, a blank page at the end of a partly written book. It had also given me a choice, either to leave that page blank or to keep writing the story with hope. I chose hope.
I had no idea what the future would bring, how it would be shaped by the months spent living wild on the Coast Path. All I knew was that we were lightly salted blackberries hanging in the last of the summer sun, and this perfect moment was the only one we needed.
Acknowledgements
Huge thanks to two amazing people: my incredible agent Jennifer Christie from Graham Maw Christie and my talented editor Fiona Crosby of Michael Joseph. Without these two visionary women this book might not have made it into print. Also Jane Graham Maw, for her help and hospitality. I can’t thank Richenda Todd enough for her meticulous copy-editing, she was a pleasure to work with, and Angela Harding, whose artistic skills have created this beautiful cover. I’m also incredibly lucky to be working with the many other wonderful people at Michael Joseph; their enthusiasm is uplifting.
For all their patience and generosity as we sofa-surfed through their lives, I’ll always be indebted to Adi and Cara, Sue and Steve, Janette and of course Polly. Sorry to all of you – for loitering too long in your bathrooms and using all the teabags.
We met many helpful, interesting and thoughtful people on our journey, many of whom are untraceable, but they know who they are. A special thanks to Dave and Julie for their continuing friendship, and Anna, who gave us the thing we needed most – a roof. However, there’s one friend we made on the path without whom we couldn’t have made the journey. His foresight, wisdom and judgement made impossible days possible and encouraged us through the hardest moments. Without the friend in our pocket, Paddy Dillon, we might not have made it to the end of the path. In the writing of this book, I’ve found that he’s just as enthusiastic and reliable in real life as he is on the page.
But, most importantly, all the love to my children Tom and Rowan; thanks for believing that I could walk 630 miles and write a book, when I didn’t believe it myself. And of course Moth. Kind, persistent, inspirational Moth. Love of my life. Thank you.
THE BEGINNING
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MICHAEL JOSEPH
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Michael Joseph is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published by Michael Joseph 2018
Copyright © Raynor Winn, 2018
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover illustration by Angela Harding
Part One: The Odyssey, Homer. Translation © Emily Wilson, 2017, Norton; Part Two: The South West Coast Path: From Minehead to South Haven Point, © Paddy Dillon, 2003, Cicerone; Part Three: Beowulf. Translation © Seamus Heaney, 2000, Faber & Faber; Part Four: ‘The Stone Beach’, © Simon Armitage, 2003
Every effort has been made to contact copyright holders. The publishers will be glad to correct any errors or omissions in future editions.
This book is a work of non-fiction based on the life of the author. In some limited cases, the names of people or detail of places or events have been changed to protect the privacy of others. The author has stated to the publishers that, except in such respects, the contents of this book are true. Any medical information in this book is based on the author’s personal experience and should not be relied on as a substitute for professional advice. The author and publishers disclaim, as far as the law allows, any liability arising directly or indirectly from the use, or misuse, of any information contained in this book.
ISBN: 978-1-405-93752-8