Page 32 of Coming Home to Wishington Bay
Chapter 7
I rolled my neck, stiff from falling asleep on the sofa at a funny angle. I’d woken early and the light was so beautiful I’d taken a short stroll down to the water’s edge and paddled, very briefly. As inviting as it looked, it was the British seaside and still early in the season, which all added up to the fact that the water was bloody freezing! How Gabe got any pleasure out of flopping about on a board in that, wetsuit or not, I’d no idea. No, there was definitely no chance of me taking up surfing – despite the rather gorgeous incentive.
This was much more my style, I thought, as I dipped a much smaller brush than I’d been using over the past several days into a water jar and swirled it clean before touching it into a soft umber and applying it to the thick, textured paper.
‘I didn’t know you painted.’
I’d been so caught up in my art, I hadn’t heard Gabe’s door open.
I winced as the tightness in my chest gripped momentarily, and his face creased into a frown. ‘Jeez, I’m sorry, Holly. I keep doing that to you.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said, trying not to sound breathless. I wouldn’t have minded if it came out in a Marilyn Monroe type of breathiness but mine was more asthmatic … well, according to my brother the other day, asthmatic spinster. So that was nice.
Gabe took a seat next to me as Bryan trotted out and nonchalantly jumped up on my lap, as if he’d been doing it for years.
‘Bry—’
‘I don’t mind. Please?’ I looked up. ‘I don’t want to mess up your training with him,’ I said, my chest relaxing, ‘but I do love his company.’
Gabe gave me a smile. ‘Sure. But as for the rest …’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not fine, Holly. I wish you’d let me help you.’
‘You’ve done loads already! The windowsills are all done now. The curtains are—’
‘I mean with your health, not your house.’
It sounded odd, him calling it my house. It had been Gigi’s house for as long as I could remember and to hear it referred to as anything else would take some getting used to.
‘Did I say something wrong?’
‘No, no, it’s just that I’m not used to thinking about this place as mine.’
‘Oh.’ He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.’
‘No, not at all,’ I said, automatically reaching out and laying a hand on his forearm briefly in reassurance, feeling the corded muscles even at rest, against my fingers. ‘And … the other thing, I know you’re trying to help and I’m sure I seem ungrateful but I don’t want to see a psychiatrist.’
Especially not one who probably looks like a movie star, if you’re anything to go by.
He nodded, understanding showing on his face.
I was stubborn but I wasn’t stupid and I hated having these panic attacks, if that’s what they were. I just hadn’t known what to do about them in London. Hadn’t had time to look into it. Ned had told me to go to my GP and I’d sort of agreed – but the truth was, I didn’t actually have a GP. I’d meant to register, of course, but like a lot of things I’d just never quite got around to it. Last time Carrie had brought up the subject of smear tests, having had the delight of her own one particular afternoon, we’d sympathised together about the whole process, knowing it was wise and vital to go through it but the truth was I’d probably missed about two now and I knew that wasn’t good. The thought of it all sent things careering again, and suddenly my breath had shortened into sharp, staccato-like gasps.
‘Holly, look at me,’ Gabe said, and as I looked up the world got all fast and spinny. He took my hand and as I moved my own, I could see it shaking before it became enveloped within his large, warm ones.
‘I … don’t …’ My breath hitched and I couldn’t get out what I wanted to say. In fact, I wasn’t sure I even knew what it was. I made to stand, but between Gabe’s hand on my shoulder, and the world speeding up even more, that didn’t seem like the best idea.
‘Holly, just look at me for a minute.’ His voice was soft but firm and I did what he said. ‘Just breathe.’
His calming voice and touch, along with the presence of the dog who had now laid his head on our hands, helped me concentrate and slow my breathing back to a more reasonable rate, and the world began to return to its nice, steady state.
‘I’m so sorry.’ I felt the flush of embarrassment across my face and chest, as well as an awkwardly overwhelming urge to burst into tears.
‘Nothing to apologise for,’ he replied, shaking his head.
‘I know.’
‘If I pick up a couple of leaflets for you at the hospital, will you at least read them?’
I nodded. ‘I don’t want this to keep happening.’ My voice was softer, and felt raw.
