Page 22 of Coming Home to Wishington Bay
‘No, I’m not,’ I said, waving his statement away and scooping up Bryan onto my lap as an attempt at distraction. He promptly scooched around on my lap for a moment, turned a couple of circles and then snuggled in. ‘He’s seeming much brighter today.’
‘Yeah, he is. Thank goodness. And stop trying to change the subject. Have you seen anyone about your anxiety?’
This time I did laugh. ‘I’m not anxious! What have I got to be anxious about? I’m in my favourite place in the whole world with an entire summer stretched out in front of me, and the cutest dog I’ve ever met snuggled in my lap.’
‘That’s true,’ Gabe replied. ‘But what about after the summer?’
‘Then … I go back to work, but I’ll be in a better place because I’ve had all this time off to relax.’ Even as I said the words, I felt the knot in my stomach. Bryan, clearly sensing something, opened his eyes and looked up at me.
‘Look, you can’t even fool the dog, and I’ve been doing this way longer than he has.’ Gabe tilted his head. ‘Please, I know a really great psychiatrist at the hospital. She owes me a couple of favours anyway. I think it’d be a good idea for you just to have a chat with her.’
I scooped up Bryan and deposited him gently on his owner’s lap, and then stood, temporarily at least gaining the height advantage. ‘I appreciate your concern, Gabe, and thank you for being here just now but I can most certainly assure you that I do not need to see a psychiatrist. I lead a very busy, stressful life. It’s the way of the world and sometimes I get a little bit … tense. That’s all. I’ve got the whole summer off and I’m fine. And I really do have a lot to get done whilst I’m here, so I’d better get back to it.’ I turned to go. ‘I’m so glad Bryan is feeling better,’ I said, gazing down at the dog who was now watching the exchange between us with some interest. It was all I could do not to take him back and once again enjoy that wonderful, calming feeling of a warm puppy snuggled against me.
With that, I walked towards the open patio doors and stepped through into the cool living room with its opulent fabric curtains and swags. Pulling the door closed a little behind me, I hoped that I had now given my neighbour a more definite signal that this conversation was over. Permanently. I certainly didn’t need a damn psychiatrist! Perhaps I might not have picked up the drama bug from Gigi, but it seemed that living next to her for the past three years hadn’t made Gabe immune.
So I got a bit tense and breathless from time to time. And dizzy. And sick. But, as I’d said, I had an incredibly busy job and I was aiming for another promotion. Anyone in a similar position would suffer exactly the same. It was just part of life. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate Gabe’s consideration, although as he was a doctor, I wasn’t about to kid myself into believing those attentions were anything different from anyone else he might come across with the same symptoms. It was just that I was used to dealing with things on my own, and in my own way.
The last time I’d used this same argument when my brother and Carrie were up visiting one time, I’d most inconveniently had one of these … moments. It had happened after I’d taken a quick scan of my work emails while I was giving the casserole I’d bought one last stir. It had resulted in my brother voicing the opinion that my way of dealing with things in my private life was by not dealing with them at all. Of course that hadn’t gone down well with me and had resulted in dinner being a rather tense affair, after which they’d ended up leaving early. I’d hated it and burst into tears the moment they’d gone. They were all I had and I’d ended up with a shop-bought casserole – something I could have made perfectly well – and a row that simmered down to over-politeness with poor Carrie stuck in the middle.
I’d then had my second attack of the evening. Once it had passed, and I’d calmed down enough to think clearly I knew that part of the reason I’d rowed with Ned was because, deep down, I was afraid that he was right. When it came to work, I went head-on at a problem, or a promotion. But when it came to anything personal, I’d do everything I could to avoid having to deal with it. I wondered whether, had I ever had an inkling that Paul was cheating on me, what I would have done about it. Would I have done anything at all? Or would I have just waited for the inevitable moment for him to finally tell me – or for the other woman to storm in in front of everyone I worked with and take the decision out of my hands. A situation that had in fact come to pass.
That thought didn’t make me feel all that special about myself so I put it aside to deal with on another day.
* * *
The following morning I picked out another set of wildly inappropriate and hideously expensive undies, pulling an old T-shirt and a pair of jersey shorts over the top of them. After a quick breakfast of cereal, I made myself a coffee – decaffeinated – in another attempt to show all those who had doubts that I was actually trying with this whole relaxation thing.
Taking the now full coffee cup from under the machine’s spout, I headed up to the guest bedroom. As it was the room I was staying in, I felt it might be a good starting point for the clearing and overhaul of my beloved grandmother’s house.
Taking a sip of the coffee, I put it on the bedside, giving it a glance as I did so. Honestly, I was missing the buzz of my coffee. I had a lot to do and I could certainly have done with the shot (or two) of my normal morning espresso, but I knew this was probably the healthier option right now. I’d be happier when the withdrawal headaches subsided though. Once I got back to London, it was pretty likely I’d be heading straight back to the espressos anyway so a break wasn’t a bad thing. Standing, I pressed a hand against my chest, feeling the tightness in there. I was away from work now – so why was this still happening?
Forcing myself to take some steadying breaths as I focused my eyes on the waves beyond the window, I felt things begin to return to normal and risked standing. As the room seemed fairly stable, I took another deep breath before opening the large dark wooden armoire that stood to the side of the bed. Carefully, I removed all the linens and old curtains Gigi had stacked in there, laying them out on the bed. I’d tipped a few things into the drawer on the night I’d arrived, but mostly I was still living out of my suitcase. It’d be nice to start putting my things in place properly.
Don’t make yourself too comfortable, Holly …
I heard the voice rumbling somewhere deep within my subconscious and chose to ignore it. For the moment.
Finishing the wardrobe, I started on the drawers. Gigi had always left the top one free for me, and any other guests, and the deep almost cavernous capacity of the old piece of furniture meant that supplies for even several days stay could be easily accommodated within it. But now it was time to clear things properly and I pulled out the bottom two drawers and located yet more pillowcases and linens. Seriously, Gigi could give some of the hotels in the city a run for their money with the amount of bed and table linen she had going on here. I sat for a moment and ran my fingers over the fabric. The bed sheets were silky soft with their high thread count. The table linens, in contrast, were thick and crisp, as were the starched white napkins. Napkins that would actually do the job they were intended for unlike the tiny, thin paper offerings many places gave out now.
I put them into piles, deciding what I’d keep, what Carrie might want and what could feasibly be donated, before taking them down in batches to begin laundering all of them. Gigi had always kept the house beautiful and although I’d hired a cleaner to come in on a regular basis, I knew she would be sad that no one was any longer taking the pride in keeping her home as she had. She’d laugh when she said anything like that to me, accepting that times had moved on and people didn’t tend to put as much stock in certain aspects of housekeeping as those of her generation had, but I still had that niggle. And weirdly, as I flung my arms wide to open out a sheet before stuffing it into the large drum washing machine, I found myself getting a little hit of satisfaction at having now dived in, knowing what would be going where.
I couldn’t say I was feeling all that satisfied about the prospect of ironing it all though, and made a mental note to message Carrie and ask if there was anyone in the village who took in ironing. Embracing some of this was fine but I didn’t want to overdo it.
Setting the washing machine going, I traipsed back up the stairs and opened the ottoman that stood at the foot of the bed. The once rich green of its velvet seat covering had faded in places and gone shiny in others. Gigi had often talked about having it re-covered but never managed to get around to it. I sat beside it, running my hand over the soft pile and thinking how I should have helped sort that for her.
Tipping back on to my bum, I leant against the chest and surveyed the room. It faced the sea, and the voiles I’d put up gave a sense of lightness that appealed to me but they were overshadowed, and overwhelmed by the heavy green curtains that matched the ottoman covering, with their swags and tails. Although they’d suited Gigi and her theatrical past, now that she was no longer here adding context as it were, they just looked dated, and a bit tired. The voiles were on a springy pole thing jammed between the window frame but the curtain pole was plain silver with diamante-studded finials. Gigi never did anything by halves. But if I swapped the heavy curtains for a set of light voiles, hung from there instead of the spring thing, it would create the feeling of lightness that the room needed, while still retaining the sense of glamour that I loved. I was, after all, Gigi’s granddaughter. Some things you just couldn’t fight.
My excitement for part one of the makeover of the room was temporarily dampened as I stretched to unhook the curtains and felt the stepladder I was currently standing on give a threatening wobble before going the whole way over, taking me with it, as we both clattered noisily to the ground.
I cringed at the sound of tearing fabric as I wrapped my arms around the curtain I’d been working on. The curtains may have looked substantial but the folds were hiding the fact that years of sunlight had made them brittle. They were clearly no match for a woman attempting to use them to help break her fall. I landed sprawled on my back, legs akimbo, with half a curtain draped artfully over my body.
I remained in this inelegant pose for a few moments, considering whether anything hurt and pondering the fact that Gigi, who’d never made a move that wasn’t graceful or stylish in her entire life, was probably up there now looking down and wondering where she’d gone wrong.
‘Holly?’ Gabe’s voice called from below.
‘Up here,’ I replied, pushing myself up a little as I faffed about untangling the fabric from my body.
‘What are you doing down there?’ he asked, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as Bryan hopped up on to my stomach and began walking around.
