Page 71 of The Women at Ocean's End

Ros spotted Jonah Ashe immediately, leaning against the side of that horrible old jeep he drove. She dodged behind a boat that had been overlooking the ocean from the path since she’d arrived on the island. Up close, she noticed there were scratches to the hull; no-one would be takingBertha’s Breezeout any time soon. She was bloody freezing. Bloody typical. She’d been for a quick dip. It was early afternoon, the sun was high in the sky and, for once, the tidal pool at the end of the village had filled to a reasonable height. She’d known the water would be warmer than it had been all year and she’d brought along her swimsuit and a towel in her bag with hopes of decompressing for a while in the calm water before returning to Ocean’s End.

And it was lovely, just the ticket to dampen down this overreaching sadness that bundled up around her about Constance. She’d just lain there, in the water on her back, eyes closed, thinking of nothing for a few minutes. Perhaps she’d cried, but even so, she felt better now, ready to go back to Constance’s bedside and pretend that everything was just fine.

Except it wasn’t, because Constance was dying and all the tears in the world weren’t about to change that. She would have to put on a brave face, for Constance and for Heather too.

It was only when she’d emerged from the water that she’d realised her clothes, moved probably by some overly helpful local to make sure they didn’t get wet, were in a bundle onthe path next to that damn jeep. It looked as if Jonah had no intention of going anywhere, any time soon. That was when Ros had darted behind the boat. Now, she was beginning to shiver in the summer bikini that she’d picked up years before for a holiday she’d never managed to make with her own mother. She caught partial bits of conversation from across the pier, Jonah’s voice, familiar to her, seemed to travel in a straight line to her ears. Do her a favour and leave? Far from it, he was leaning back, chatting away to Astrid Murphy, a boho hippy newcomer who made jewellery and lived in a tiny cottage in the village that had once belonged to some relation.

She could hear them from here, laughing and joking, not a care in the world, while she stood there shivering with only one desire – to get back to Ocean’s End and sit with Constance for a while. There was nothing for it, she would have to brave it before she turned completely blue. She picked her way up along the cobbled path, avoiding where she could those loose stones that somehow were far sharper now than when she’d run unheeding towards the water earlier.

‘Hey?’ Astrid spotted her coming and smiled widely, pushing back long blonde curls from her face. She was impossibly glamorous, even here, in cutaway shorts and what looked like huge designer sunglasses.

‘What on earth…’ Jonah stared at Ros, tried but failed to hide a smile. ‘Here,’ he said, moving forward to pick up her towel and hand it to her. Hastily she threw it across her shoulders, feeling more like a yeti as she shuffled away from them. No doubt Astrid, in the same situation, would have resembled Brigitte Bardot far more than some prehistoric creature bent over beneath the dubious cover of a near threadbare towel that had once belonged to Max Toolis.

‘I’ll just, ah…’ Ros nodded towards the public toilets where most people changed into dry clothes after a dip. Of course, thetoilets smelled as if they hadn’t been washed out in weeks, but that wasn’t the worst of it, the worst thing was, she could hear Jonah and Astrid’s voices on the breeze; not what they were saying exactly but Jonah’s deep laughter was enough to let her know that they were getting along like a house on fire and, for a moment, Ros wondered how on earth a woman could have that effect on Jonah Ashe.Stop it.She managed to pull herself together, although one look in the mirror was enough to confirm she more closely resembled a scarecrow than she did a boho babe.

‘Right well, that’s me… must be getting back to Ocean’s End,’ Ros said when she emerged, self-conscious; of course, she wished dearly she’d brought sunglasses to hide behind.

‘I’m going your way,’ Jonah said and she actually thought she heard him sigh wearily.

‘Ye’re grand, I’m looking forward to the walk,’ she said, but time was marching and every minute counted because when Constance slept now, she could sleep for hours and Ros badly wanted to spend a little time with her. ‘Okay, so…’

‘Yeah, don’t do me any favours, it’s just a lift.’ Jonah rolled his eyes and then waved goodbye to Astrid, who strode off back towards the village, bringing her long, long tanned legs along with her.

‘You’re a dark horse…’ Ros said and she wasn’t sure why she was mad at Jonah or if she was just upset at the thoughts of Constance being so sick.

‘What’s that supposed to mean? I was only talking to her…’

‘Hmph, I’m sure that’s what you told your wife too…’ They were just past the village, heading out onto the main road.

‘Excuse me?’ He slammed on the brakes.

‘When she came home and found you in bed with your girlfriend? Oh, come on Jonah, don’t play the innocent, nobody believes it here.’

‘You have no idea what you’re talking about, I never…’

‘I really don’t care… it’s nothing to do with me, but Astrid is…’ Ros wasn’t sure what Astrid was; she looked like a woman well able to look out for herself. At this moment, the only thing she knew was that she was angry, with Shane McPherson for taking her lovely job and maybe with Jonah for no good reason apart from him being Jonah. Most of all, she was simply devastated by a life that would take away people you loved just as soon as it felt as if things were on an even keel.

‘Astrid? Astrid who?’

‘Oh, dear God, you really are a piece of work…’ He was obviously even worse than old Mrs O’Brien knew about.

‘Look, I have no idea what you’re rambling on about, but if this is some other crazy scheme like picking up a half-dead goat and making me take him around the island in the back of my jeep, well I don’t want any of it,’ he said and he pulled the van to a halt, leaving her with no option but to get out and walk the rest of the way back to Ocean’s End.

It wasn’t far, not really. Less than a mile from where he’d unceremoniously dropped her off, but by the time Ros turned in the gates, it felt as if she’d cried more salty tears than the whole bloody ocean beating against the cliffs beneath the house.

‘Ros? What is it? What happened?’ It seemed Heather had now begun to take the briars at the front of the house in hand. She was kitted out with long sleeves, heavy-duty gardening gloves and sharpened shears to tackle them.

‘Oh, I’m fine, don’t mind me.’ Ros sniffed. There simply could not be another tear left to shed, really, if there were, she would consider herself a medical marvel. ‘It’s just that awful bloody Jonah Ashe again, that’s what’s upset me, if you want to know, he really is…’ there were no words, ‘un-bloody-believable.’

‘Oh, no, what’s he done this time?’

‘Nothing.’ And against all that was natural, Ros began to cry again. ‘It’s not him. It’s me.’ Then she began to laugh, because that was the truth. ‘I’m going mad, that’s what.’

‘It’s grief.’ Heather put her arm around Ros’s shoulder and immediately Ros felt a little better. ‘Come on, I could murder a cup of tea.’ They went inside.

‘How is…?’

‘Sleeping. Soundly, last time I checked, perhaps there’s some healing in that…’

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