Page 34 of Coming Home to Wishington Bay
On a beautifully warm day like today, bare floorboards and the charm and character they could lend might be a good choice. But I had spent an awful lot of time at the house, in all seasons. And once the colder months came, I knew I’d be pleased that I’d made the decision. I mean, for the new owners of the place of course. By the time those months rolled around, I’d be back in London. The days of watching a winter storm from an upstairs window in this house, as I sat cosy within its warmth, were a thing of the past for me. I felt the stirrings in my chest and quickly closed my eyes, remembering Gabe’s words.
Just breathe.
My hand went to Bryan’s soft, shiny fur and I rhythmically began to stroke. He gave a little shuffle and a contented sigh and I smiled, feeling the tightness begin to dissipate.
‘So basically all I need to deal with this stuff is you on my lap and your ridiculously handsome master in front of me, holding my hand,’ I said to Bryan, who opened his eyes lazily for a brief moment and then closed them again. ‘Come on, lazy bones. Let’s get us both out for a walk.’
Walk was clearly a word Bryan understood and he was off my lap quicker than I’d have given him credit for, zooming off the deck without using any of the steps, and landing safely, if not gracefully, in the soft sand below. Gabe had already told me that the dog was very good off the lead and generally came when he was called but he stuck one in his pocket when he went out, just in case there was ever anything he needed to keep him close for. I did the same, and stuffed a few treats in the other pocket, added a couple of poo bags and after stopping to quickly lock up, headed out. Bryan was already dancing around by the water’s edge, the tide being in on the shallow beach. He darted in and out of the barely there waves as swifts danced overhead.
‘Come on, you,’ I called, heading across the sand, my pace brisk as Gabe’s accented words continued to replay in my head, deep and soft and controlled, and I kept my breaths even and regular, taking in the air with its slightly salty taste and breathing it out long and slow. My pace might have been steady but I wasn’t rushing. There was nothing to rush here for – and I loved it.
Once we got back from our walk, I gave Bryan some fresh water, which he guzzled down and then I grabbed his bed and Petey and headed upstairs. The dog aimed immediately for my bed.
‘Bryan, no,’ I said, firmly. He turned and gave me a look as if assessing whether I meant it or not. ‘Here’s yours.’ I knelt down beside my bed, which was now back in position, as was the rest of the furniture, thanks to the carpet fitters, and put the dog bed next to it. Tucking the toy prawn into the side of it, I patted the bed. ‘Come on, in you hop. We, my lad, are going to be very indulgent and take an afternoon nap after all that sea air and exercise.’ Bryan pondered for a moment, then scooted in and clamped his little jaws over his prawn’s head, dragging the toy towards him, before beginning his rhythmic mouthing.
Climbing onto my own bed, I pulled the new throw over me, and lay down, my head on the pillow, one arm dangling over the side to stroke the little dog.
It was nearly two hours later when I woke to see the first pastel streaks of sunset tinting the sky with the palest of pinks and heard the call of seabirds circling high in the sky. Rolling over, I looked down and saw Bryan also having a stretch.
‘I expect you need to visit the garden, don’t you?’
He cocked his head at me and I smiled, giving him a little rub under the chin, and he pushed his head against my hand in appreciation.
* * *
Ablutions complete, I now set about preparing some dinner. My brother and I had both learned to cook many years ago in this very kitchen. Ned had continued to build on that knowledge and used it to create a restaurant with a reputation that meant it was almost permanently booked months in advance, and that people came from miles away to eat at. I, on the other hand, had most certainly not. Most days, when I wasn’t too tired to eat, I was as guilty as Gabe of relying on a ready meal, and I’d begun doing the same thing when I’d got here. But unlike him, I didn’t have the excuse of not knowing how to prepare food. I just had stopped taking, or making, the time. Even just a few weeks’ distance from my life had shown me that I was making some pretty poor decisions when it came to my health, and possibly life in general.
Sat at this kitchen table, hands laid flat, feeling the smooth texture of the well-worn and scrubbed wood beneath my palms, I didn’t need a panic attack to tell me that I needed to make some changes. I wasn’t entirely sure how I would implement them all once I got back to my old life, but I could at least begin making more of an effort here.
An hour later, Bryan and I had had a quick walk into the village for supplies and he was now sat in his bed, which I’d positioned in a slant of sunshine for him by the open patio door, boffing a tennis ball about with his nose and paw. I, meanwhile, was just sliding a tray of muffins into the oven. I’d thought about something a little more fancy but as this was the first time in longer than I cared to remember that I’d even picked up a mixing bowl, something easy and reliable felt like a good choice.
With the muffins cooking, I set about making dinner. Gigi had a tonne of recipe books and I got a little thrill as I thought about taking them all off the shelf, stacking them in a big pile, and poring over them. I’d also brought my own favourites from home. Just because I’d got out of the habit of cooking didn’t mean that I’d stopped buying cookery books. They were so pretty! And I loved the thought of cooking things from them, even if I never actually got around to the reality of it. I’d brought them down here, not because I had any thought of making anything from them, but more as props to dress the house when I’d got it ready to sell.
But now that I’d opened them, running my fingers over the crisp, shiny pages and salivating at the colours, and food pictured in the stunning photography, I felt a rush of excitement that I’d long since forgotten. I’d experienced it earlier today as well, when I’d first dipped my paintbrush into the dried palette of watercolours I’d unearthed. The thrill of creation. Leaning over, I grabbed my phone and added something to the shopping list app and then returned to the food.
I was just checking on the aubergine parmigiana in the oven when I heard Gabe’s bike coming back along the lane. Bryan was immediately up and dancing about madly, running in and out through the doorway until he saw his master appear; then he took off, launching himself off the steps at him.
‘Hello, little mate!’ he said, laughing as Bryan tried to shove his head inside Gabe’s crash helmet. Considering he was still wearing it at the time, this was a little tricky. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said, popping him down on the floor and removing the helmet, placing it on the table outside before scooping up the little dog again for more welcome-home cuddles.
‘Hi.’
‘Hello. Good shift?’
He made a sort of yes and no motion with his head, and I wasn’t exactly sure what to say.
‘You OK?’
I smiled, sensing his thoughts had obviously returned to my dramatic moment this morning.
‘I am,’ I said, honestly.
‘Good. Thanks for looking after Bryan today. I really appreciate that.’
‘No, really it was my pleasure. I’ve loved having him here. We had a walk along the beach, an afternoon nap, and a quick stroll into the village to get a few bits. It’s been … wonderful.’ I blushed a little, suddenly feeling a bit silly at my gushing but Gabe just smiled.
‘It sounds it.’
For a moment there was nothing but the sound of the waves.
