Page 38 of The Women at Ocean's End

There was something else too. This time, in the dream, Constance was in the boat alongside him. Instead of standing on the shore, helpless and distraught, she was terrified, but she felt Oisin’s arms encircle her. She would not have this dream again, she knew it; by next year, they would be reunited. She felt it in her bones. And maybe, she was grateful for that.

25

Heather

Heather stood on the pier, gazing across in the direction of the mainland. Although her morning walks were getting earlier, it seemed that she still could not quite manage to get here before the rising sun. Funny, but in London, the beginning of each day was marked with the sound of her alarm clock, the bleat of breakfast news and the hum of traffic, a background noise to every second of her life then. These days, the sound of a car approaching made her stop what she was doing, because islanders always made sure to pass the time of day before moving on. It was still too early for tourists, but probably everyone knew exactly who she was anyway, because it was such a close-knit place, a new face would instantly be news to share.

There were no cars today. It was that in-between time. It was those few hours between the trawlers setting off to work for the day and the life of the village taking shape for business as usual. The only other person busy for miles that she could see was the guy with the coffee van everyone called ‘Surfer Dude’. Heather now knew his name was Jake.

He waved at her now, energetically, as if calling her over, as if he needed her. One morning a week earlier she had helped him to set up his coffee van. Jake didn’t do much more than protein bars in the way of actual food, but he made a very fine cup of coffee, especially if the sea air had whipped around you longenough to make you appreciate the simple aroma of a decently brewed cup of something warm.

‘Hey,’ he called to her. ‘You’re up early, couldn’t wait to come and have the best coffee around, I suppose?’ He was joking, but already he was spooning beans into the grinder, getting ready to serve up any arriving customers.

‘That must be it,’ she said and she leaned against the truck, reluctant to take her eyes off the glittering sea in the distance. ‘Go on then, make us both a cup, on me,’ she said, reaching into her pocket and placing coins enough for two cups and a small tip. Usually, he never charged her for the first cup, but she made a habit of placing the price and then some into his tip jar when he wasn’t looking. Not that he needed it, probably. Ros told her that Jake was a solicitor in Dublin. His surfer dude coffee van was only a summer holiday project. He loved the waves, loved the island, but probably there was nothing to anchor him here, not properly, so the coffee van gave him some sort of purpose, she supposed. She’d asked him about it, a few days earlier.

‘It’s just different, y’know?’ he’d said, squinting up against the sun. ‘My colleagues at the firm, they think I’m mad, but when I’m there, I’m good at my job. I enjoy the law. It’s just a balance. I’m not sure anyone should bury their head in law books all the time. The sea rejuvenates me and…’

‘The coffee van?’

‘Without it, what would I do? Surf all day?’ He shook his head. He was hardly forty; sometimes Heather wondered why he hadn’t married or settled down with some nice young woman or man – she had a feeling it could be either – but she’d never voiced any of those things. ‘I enjoy the van and meeting customers; I’ve had some of the funniest moments, right here, serving up a frothy white or a simple black.’ He’d smiled at her.

‘Purpose,’ she said now, surprising herself that her thoughts had brought her back to the present moment so succinctly.

‘What’s that?’ he said, placing her Americano on the counter before her.

‘Purpose, that’s what the van gives you when you’re here – otherwise, you’d just drift.’

‘I guess so. I hadn’t thought about it, but probably, yeah.’

‘You’re lucky,’ she said and sipped her coffee. It was divine, strong and hot and exactly what she needed after the walk across the clifftops from Ocean’s End.

‘How’s that?’ He shrugged, but she had a feeling he knew exactly how lucky he was.

‘Well, I owned, or rather we owned, a string of flower shops in London.’

‘Wow, I didn’t know that,’ he said, coming out to stand next to her, and they ambled over to the low wall and sat on it. This was one of her favourite places on the island, just before people arrived, to linger here and look across with the rising sun on her back.

‘No? God, I thought everyone on the island knew everything about everyone!’ she said. It was not an unpleasant thought. ‘Anyway, when we decided to divorce, we agreed to sell them on…’

‘I’m so sorry, but if it’s any help, from the legal side of things, it was probably the right thing to do.’ Perhaps Jake understood more than she gave him credit for.

‘It definitely was. I mean, we didn’t have an acrimonious break-up or anything like that, but it was just time…’

‘Still, not easy. Divorce is bruising, no matter what the circumstances.’

‘The thing is, I was at peace with all of that. I mean, until my mother died and I realised that Philip had moved on, I was happy, you know? I was drifting, but happy.’

‘I’m no expert, but they say, after a divorce, the best thing to do, for a while at least, is to take time. This is a good place to heal,’ he said as if he knew what he was talking about.

‘It is, I can see that, well, I can feel it.’ The sea was rippling, the current turning, changing before her eyes and, on the surface, the water fighting hard, waves against tide – perhaps there was something to be said for letting go. ‘I had a therapist in London.’ How ridiculous that seemed now, thinking of the amount of money she’d thrown away on something that, really, was here all along, if only she had looked. ‘But now I see it.’

‘What’s that?’ Jake drained his coffee. There were people arriving, surfers setting out their boards, struggling into their wetsuits, his first real customers of the day.

‘I need purpose, that’s what I’ve been looking for, all this time, a purpose.’ It was not, as Heather had supposed for so very long, making a success of the flower shops, nor was it in being married to Philip, neither was it having a baby that never managed to materialise. She needed a purpose within herself that would anchor her to wherever life took her.

‘Wise words.’ He looked at her now. ‘Do you still think you have togoand find it?’ he inclined his head, as if it was a trick question.

‘Maybe not,’ she said, because suddenly, she knew the answer, it had been here all along, right here, on Pin Hill Island, in a little corner on the edge of the ocean, where all the best memories of her childhood had been carefully stored away.

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