by Amanda James
He looks at me, eyes sympathetic, cheeks full of sandwich, and puts his hand on my thigh. I am wearing shorts and my skin is hot under the sun, but his hand is hotter, though his touch makes me shiver, or to be more accurate, tingle. I shift slightly and push how I feel about that to the back of my mind, concentrating instead on the words waiting in my throat.
Before I have chance to order them, I say to the horizon, ‘Yes, I once stood on a clifftop in Tintagel and thought how beautiful it would be to end my life right there. I could spread my arms like I did just now and walk right off the world. Then I thought about how much it would actually hurt if I wasn’t successful, and realised that if I was thinking about that, then I probably wasn’t ready.’
Caleb opens his mouth to say something, but a voice behind us gets there first. ‘Afternoon, isn’t this a stunning view?’
A portly man in a red T-shirt, and shorts baggy enough to store a couple of elephants in, steps into our aforementioned view, which is a little rude considering we’ve just climbed up a huge hill to see it. I pointedly crane my neck past his hairy calf and say, ‘Yes, stunning.’
The man laughs, well chortles really. I love the word ‘chortle’, though I don’t always love listening to one, but then again, that depends on who’s doing the chortling. This man’s chortle is pleasant and sounds like river water rushing through stones. Not little stones, the larger round ones – it’s a deep chortle.
‘Sorry, I’ll get out of your way,’ he says, stepping to one side. ‘Would you mind very much if I ate my sandwiches with you?’
While I’m thinking about that, Caleb says, ‘Of course. Be our guest.’
The man sits on the grass next to Caleb and introduces himself as Peter Halliday. He has thinning brown hair, looks to be in his fifties, has a cherubic round face and remarkably smooth skin. His eyes are round like his face, keen, navy, and I can tell by looking into them that he is intelligent, quick and probably very funny. You might think this is a lot to take in from just one glance but I’m good at it, and rarely wrong.
I tell him my name, take a bite of a cheese and tomato sandwich and listen while he and Caleb chat. It’s not that I don’t want to join in, but until there’s something more to comment on than general chit-chat, I’ll use the time to wonder why on earth I felt it necessary to tell Caleb about my suicidal thoughts back when I was fourteen. I had told him the big fat secret and some of what happened after, so why stir the hive again?
‘You two on holiday, then?’ Peter directed this question at me, so answers to my unpredictable psyche would have to wait.
I considered saying no, we live out on the path all year round and use caves for shelter but wasn’t sure if it was chortling material or just ‘out there’. That’s another one, where exactly is ‘out there’? Presenters say it a lot on TV, don’t they? Okay everyone out there, here’s the number to ring if you want to vote for Douglas the farting budgie to win Britain’s Got Nothing to Offer. The ‘out there’ in the sentence I just used, though, means something weird, doesn’t it? Perhaps there are two ‘out theres’ or even multiple ones, as in parallel ‘out there’ universes…
I realise Caleb is frowning at me and Peter is smiling politely. ‘Sorry, Peter, I was miles away, you know, “out there”’. I sweep my arm in a flourishy way and a bit of cheese lands on Peter’s walking boot. I pretend not to notice as he flicks it onto the grass. ‘Yes, we are on holiday, initially for a week and then we’ll see. Caleb is a teacher and I used to be, but now I’m an artist. I hope to open a shop and studio soon – well, with Caleb’s help. What do you do?’ Now, he certainly can’t say that isn’t a full answer, can he?
Peter puts a wide smile in his round face and I think it looks like a child’s drawing of the moon. His face isn’t silvery-white; it’s ruddy, so perhaps it’s a blood moon.
‘I used to be a hotel manager at an upmarket place in St Ives, but my life changed beyond all recognition three months ago,’ he says, and offers us a custard cream.
I accept and hold a bag of sherbet lemons out to him. Peter says he’ll take one for later and I tell him to take two. I always say that to people. One, because I like to be generous and two, because I wonder if the sweet will feel lonely or abandoned, all by itself in a stranger’s pocket, under used tissues and other people’s odds and ends. No, don’t worry… that was actually an ‘out there’ made-up comment… I think.
‘Sounds exciting,’ Caleb says through a mouthful of custard cream.
I correct him. ‘Intriguing. I mean, until Peter has told us how his life has changed, how can we say if it’s exciting or not? It could be awfully tragic and then we’d feel bad.’
Peter does the river-water chortle and nods at me. ‘You have a very direct way of speaking, Lottie. I like that.’
‘Thank you. I do pride myself on saying what I think – well as much as I can without hurting people,’ I say, remembering the sparkle in Neave’s eyes yesterday disappearing under the shadow of a jet fighter.
To Caleb he says, ‘It is exciting, actually. I won the bloody Euro Millions lottery!’
Caleb and I stop chewing and look at each other, our faces frozen in surprise as if we are each other’s mirror. Then we look at Peter and I say, ‘My goodness, how much did you win?’
‘Let’s just say it was a lot. Huge,’ he says in a voice that sounds like it can’t believe what it just said.
I’m glad I swallowed my mouthful of sandwich because my jaw drops just like Caleb’s and we both say at the same time, ‘Huge?’
Peter’s chortle comes out higher and raspier this time. ‘Yes, and I still find it hard getting my head round it.’ We are both still gawping at him with our mouths open. ‘Your faces are a picture. Everyone looks like you two when I tell them, though.’ Peter grins and takes a swig of water from his bottle.
There’s a stunned silence that stretches a bit too long until Caleb says, ‘So, what, you won it all by yourself?’
‘Yes. I’d been doing it for a few years but hadn’t told my wife because she moaned, said it was chucking money away.’
‘I bet she didn’t moan when you told her you’d won,’ I say, and notice that there’s a dark side creeping across his moon.
‘She wasn’t too pleased, as it happens, because I told her I was leaving. Verity had been having it off with various men over the twenty-five years we’d been married and thought I didn’t know.’ Peter’s moon is almost totally eclipsed now, and I wish I’d never asked. But what else could I have done?
‘Oh dear,’ Caleb says.
‘Indeed,’ I say. And then we look at each other for inspiration.
‘Yes. I was too in love with her all those years to say anything in case she left me. I thought it might stop, settle down after we had the children, but no. So, when I won all that money I decided that she could have the house and I’d leave. It’s the children’s home, after all. Well, I say children, they’re nineteen and seventeen now. She had half the money in the divorce settlement of course, even though she didn’t deserve it, but that’s the law.’
‘But that is so unfair!’ I say, wishing his cheerful expression would come back.
‘Yes, but it’s all behind me now,’ he says, granting my wish. ‘I left my job, bought a new place overlooking the beach, gave lots away to good causes and started this walk. I feel so free!’ Peter flings his arms up and laughs out loud.
Caleb’s face brightens. ‘Oh, I’m so glad. You deserve to be happy – many lottery winners aren’t, are they?’
‘No. And some just carry on in the same old jobs and lives. What the hell do they bother to enter for if they don’t want change?’ Peter says.
I nod – I have often thought this myself. ‘What will you do in the long term?’
‘I don’t know. Travel perhaps, or perhaps not, whatever really.’ Peter fixes his intelligent gaze on my face. ‘The thing is, I can spend my time just finding out about who I am and what I want from life, just doing what makes me happy. My lif
e was like a frayed old washing line with me pegged out on it by the balls, you know?’
I think I do, kind of. My imagination certainly does, and I have to smother a giggle.
‘Verity did the pegging and I was helpless to do anything about it apart from hang there, miserable, impotent.’ He looks out to sea for a few moments and then back at us. ‘Now I have the chance to come out from behind the facade, the pain of pretending to be normal, happy when I wasn’t. Say what I like, be who I want to be instead of some sham husband. Do you know what I mean?’
Caleb nods, but I can tell he’s doing it to humour Peter. He doesn’t really know, but I think I do.
‘Yes, I do know what you mean. I decided that I wouldn’t be like everyone else when I was a teenager – well, before that really, but certainly from the age of thirteen. I am true to myself and refuse to be moulded, put in anyone’s box or pegged out on anyone’s washing line, balls or no balls,’ I say and give him a big grin, the kind of grin that you can feel spreading through your body and that shows all your teeth.
‘I’m happy to hear it, Lottie. I must say it’s refreshing to meet someone like you. That’s something else I’m doing: collecting experiences and emotions, trying to remember them and how I felt at the time in order to build a new me. I’m open to lots of things now that were closed to me before. Instead of just existing and at the behest of Verity, I am at last alive.’
Peter’s eyes moisten and before mine have a chance to copy them, I rummage in the rucksack for the coffee flask while Caleb says how pleased he is for Peter and so forth. This tearing up business is all very odd and has to stop. So, does the random spewing up chunks of my past into regular conversations. It isn’t like me. It puts an anxious roll in my gut and makes my heart beat too fast.
‘Where are you thinking of having your business, Lottie?’ Peter says.
The word ‘business’ sounds like I want to make money and that’s not what it’s all about. I tell him this and add, ‘My new venture is kind of what you were talking about, you know, doing what makes you happy, being the person you want to be, actually living life.’
Peter nods. ‘I’m lucky enough to be able to do that because of the lottery win.’ He tilts his moon to the side and does that slightly glazed stare at me that people do when they are considering something. ‘If you need money I will gladly give you some. I have a good chunk left in the bank, the interest keeps growing, mad really—’
‘No, no!’ I say and flap my hand at him and wish I hadn’t, because as you know I hate it when people do it to me. At least I haven’t said bless you. ‘That’s so lovely of you, but I have enough – a little nest egg from my grandma’s will.’
‘Oh, I’m so glad. You must let me know when you’re up and running, I’ll pop by and have a look.’ He jots down an email on the back of a paper bag and hands it to me.
‘You can count on it,’ I say and swallow a wiggle that’s appeared in my voice. I notice Caleb notice it and he jumps up and starts clearing stuff away with more noise than is necessary.
He slaps Peter on the back. ‘We certainly will, Peter. You’re a really nice guy and I can’t think of a better person to win the lottery.’
‘Me neither,’ I say and mean it.
The moon beams and Peter makes ready to leave.
Caleb does the twisty thing with his mouth that he does when he’s had an idea but isn’t sure if it’s a good one. Then he says, ‘There is a cause that you might like to give some of the interest to in the future, if you’d like.’
We watch him scribble details from a crumpled leaflet onto a bit of the paper bag that Peter used. I knew immediately after he’d said it that it was for Neave and Leo. Then Caleb explains all about how we met them yesterday and Peter says it would be his pleasure to give. Then Caleb looks right at me with his forget-me-nots and then back at Peter as he says, ‘We shouldn’t have to give to charity and Neave and Leo shouldn’t have to walk round the UK to raise money, but they do. I mean, there’s plenty for war and destruction, but it seems the pot is always empty when it’s for the NHS and stuff.’
‘Oh yes, that’s the tragedy, isn’t it?’ Peter says, and I can tell he means it. He hoists his rucksack. ‘Well, it’s been great to meet you.’ He shakes us both by the hand and his grip is warm and reassuring. ‘And I will look forward to meeting you again very soon when you open the shop.’
We tell him that we enjoyed meeting him too and then we stand hand in hand and watch him stride away over the bouncy heather. Nearly twenty-four hours ago I had felt like a wire had come loose in our circuit. Now because of what Caleb had just said to Peter and the way he’d intuitively built a subtle screen with his noisy clearing away between Peter and my uncharacteristic emotion, our connection feels stronger than it has ever been. Unbreakable perhaps? Not sure, but I hope so.
12
That Thing I Worried About
I look from my bedroom window at Cliff House (an adorable B&B right next to Portreath beach), just as another morning is creeping over the sand. It drops sparkly kisses into rock pools and gradually sharpens the edges of the purple headland until it turns green and stark against the pale blue sky. A pendant moon still dangles over the horizon, though its necklace of stars has long since faded.
Judging by the white horses galloping in on the waves it looks as if the wind is stronger than yesterday, but I don’t want to open the window to check, as it’s still early and I might wake Caleb. That surprised you, didn’t it? It certainly surprised me last night.
That thing that I worried about happened not long after dinner as we kissed and embraced outside on the moonlit beach. We were both exhausted after the day’s walk and decided we both needed an early night. But moonlight does something to a person and the longer he held me, the longer I wanted him to… and then I heard myself ask him up to my room.
Am I still worried? Yes and no. Yes, because as you know, I don’t want the way we are with each other to change – our friendship is very special. No, because I loved what happened last night. Last night our connection deepened, in fact it was no longer a connection, we almost became the same person. I know that’s impossible, but that’s how it felt to me. Physically we couldn’t get any closer, but it was as if our hearts and souls were one, too. It was very different from just the physical need thing I told you about before, you know, when I’d had unemotional sex with men. The night I spent with Caleb meant something. But I can’t be doing with all that lovely-dovey romance nonsense though, and I’ll tell him to stop it if he starts.
Caleb opens his lovely eyes and beckons me back to bed. I go to him and decide that I’m not too worried about that thing for now. Then after, we get ready, have breakfast and set off to Hayle. This leg of the walk is around twelve miles again and I’m looking forward to the short six miler from Hayle to St Ives tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong, I’m loving every minute, but it will be nice just to pootle about St Ives for a bit and perhaps go for a swim.
First stop is Ralph’s Cupboard, which is in fact not a cupboard at all but a collapsed sea cave, where yet another giant used to store his booty. He would get this from ships that he wrecked and then eat the sailors later. Waste not, want not, I say. The thing is about this cupboard is that you can only see it from the top of a very sheer cliff. I know I said earlier that I wished could fly, but that wish only manifests when I am atop cliffs that have absolutely no danger of sending me toppling onto to the jagged rocks and white sandy beach below. Well, unless I’m contemplating suicide, of course, which I did as a teenager, but not anymore.
‘Wow, this view is spectacular!’ Caleb’s excitement is evident even in the shaky snatch the wind allows me to hear.
He is standing far too close to the edge. I am standing a good five feet back now having just peeped over and had that wiggly feeling in my stomach that you get when you realise how close you might be to death. ‘Yes, come away now. I don’t like you up being there!’
Caleb turns to look at me and preten
ds to wobble. ‘Oh, no… I think I’m going to fall!’
‘STOP IT!’ I yell, and feel my stomach turn over. I know he’s just fooling about, but what if he really did lose his footing? The thought of my world without Caleb in it makes me panicky and nauseous. This is a worry because I haven’t experienced such a thing before. I watch Caleb walk towards me laughing at my panic, and even in worrying about his potential loss, I realise that I am totally selfish. People in general are totally selfish, aren’t they? Because when they worry about someone they care about dying, or even leaving for a long time, they say things like ‘I’ll miss you. I don’t know how I will live without you.’ So really, it’s all about them, isn’t it? It’s about how they will be affected. But I guess that’s normal. How else can we measure what matters? Then I remember that I don’t like being normal and get very confused.
In Caleb’s arms now, I rest my head on his chest and inhale the smell of him through his T-shirt. He is warm and comforting and I’m reassured by the fact that he’s not in Ralph’s Cupboard ready to be eaten by a giant.
‘You’d miss me if I’d fallen over the cliff, wouldn’t you?’ he says, and his voice vibrates my ear still against his chest.
I step back and push him playfully on the arm. ‘Not at all. Just didn’t want the faff of phoning the coastguard and interrupting my holiday.’ We both know I don’t mean it, but I want to prune that lovely-dovey look budding in his eyes before it blossoms.
Lunch is two hours later just before we come to Godrevy Lighthouse. Caleb is yet again looking over the cliff, though this time there’s a railing to prevent folk plummeting to their untimely deaths. I am placing my jacket on the ground as a makeshift cloth and putting out fruit and a couple of now coldish pasties that we bought just before leaving Portreath.