Page 93 of Coming Home to Wishington Bay
I looked around. This was only a tiny part. There was a whole room next door I hadn’t even opened the door on. As the thought hit me, it was immediately replaced by another – that of Gigi singing a little song she’d made up, and doing the little dance that accompanied it, all about doing things bit by bit and step by step. She’d break out this routine when I was in a flap about an assignment at university, or a project at work. As silly as it seemed, it also made sense and never failed to make me smile. I remembered it now as I picked up the first piece of clothing and began folding.
* * *
I’d stopped looking at the clock hours ago. The door was open, leaving Bryan free to come and go to get a drink or do the necessary ablutions but right now, his little face was a picture of confusion as he rested his paws on my knee and made little whining sounds in response to my own gut-wrenching, chest-heaving sobs.
‘I’m so sorry, Bryan,’ I said, stroking his silky fur. The words came out broken and in between hitches but I hoped he got the message. I hated upsetting him but I’d held it in all day and it had only taken one diamond hair pin for everything to come flooding out. Gigi had never subscribed to what she called ‘all that nonsense’ about how long a woman should have her hair, depending on her age. She, like I, thought it a ridiculous notion that just because you were older, you shouldn’t have long hair if you wanted. The shining, ebony curtain of her youth had been replaced with one of pure white, but still long and strong. At night, she’d fix it in a thick plait down her back and in the day, she’d pile it up, messy but chic or, if she fancied a hat that day, in a sleek chignon or French pleat. And always, when she went out somewhere nice, like one of the restaurants we’d visit in London, she’d wear this diamond pin. It had been a wedding present from Grandpa and still shone bright all these years later.
All of a sudden I’d wanted her back so, so much. To hear that beautiful, elegant breathy voice, laughing and singing as I’d got so used to. Why hadn’t I come down here more? Why had I only made time for those weekends in London that, although special, could have easily been in addition to weekends spent down here, away from the stress of the workplace, where I could turn off my emails and messages and spend time with the people I loved instead of the job I didn’t. All that time, all those chances, wasted! And for what? A job that was making me ill, that I’d strived so hard for but one that I didn’t know if I even enjoyed anymore. This was what was important. And I hadn’t even realised until it was far too late.
Caught up in my broken-hearted sobs, I hadn’t heard the motorbike or Gabe’s call. I hadn’t heard him running up the stairs and jumped when I suddenly saw the figure standing in the doorway, the all-in-one line of the leathers making him look even taller.
‘Holly?’
Bryan’s relief at seeing his master was almost palpable, as he ran between us, clearly hoping that Gabe could fix whatever had apparently gone wrong here. And the moment Gabe’s arms were around me, I thought there was a chance the little dog might be right. Maybe he could. And then I felt the pin in my hand and the pain in my heart as the sobs continued.
* * *
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed between Gabe returning and now, as he sat on the floor, his back resting against the bed. His legs were splayed and I was sat in between them, resting in turn against his chest, which felt just as solid. His arms remained wrapped around me, mine crossed and resting on his. The top half of his leathers were off, as he’d briefly held me away for a moment so that he could yank them off. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I’d registered that his face was incredibly red and realised that in the warm room, with the sun streaming in, holding tight to a sobbing woman, he must have been slowly cooking in the leathers. Now though, he’d returned to his normal light tan, and I brushed my fingers across his forearms, the hairs bleached blond by the sun.
‘How you doing?’ he asked from behind me.
‘OK.’
‘Sure?’
I shuffled around to face him. ‘Positive. I think I probably needed that.’
‘I think you probably did.’
‘I’m dreading looking in the mirror though. I might put that off.’
Gabe caught my chin with the side of his forefinger and tipped my face towards his own. ‘You look beautiful. As you always do.’
‘As much as I admire your bedside manner, I also knowing you’re telling fibs.’
He rolled his lips. ‘Nope. Yes, your eyes are bit puffy from crying, but that doesn’t change that you are gorgeous, and cute and bright and funny.’
‘Go on,’ I giggled.
‘Talented, creative, cooks like a dream, tackles like a world-class rugby player …’
His smile had widened, and his hands had roamed, none of which I was complaining about but I needed to close the door on this room today. Today had been exhausting and I still had more to do but that was for another day.
‘Come on, let’s find something to eat. You must be starving,’ I said, pulling the larger windows closed, but leaving the small ones to air the room some more overnight. Outside, the last of the sunset was fading as the sky began turning towards twilight. ‘What sort of day did you have?’
Gabe began telling me about his day, which I was glad to hear sounded a better one than the last one he’d mentioned, and I found myself asking questions, learning and enjoying the exchange. Paul and I had talked about work, but now that I thought about it, it hadn’t been an exchange like this. This was sharing, whereas that had always been merely an extension of work talk about the next step in a project or which new clients to target.
Taking Bryan next door for his dinner, Gabe headed off for a shower while I collected some bits together for a quick pasta dish. There was a little salad left and pudding in the form of some salted fudge ice cream we’d bought on our mooch around the village the other day. By the time Gabe came back, the table was laid, I’d lit candles and the dinner was almost ready.
‘Wow! This looks great, Holly. Is there anything I can do?’
‘I’d say open the wine but I don’t have any. Sorry about that.’
‘Sorry?’ He laughed, coming up to me and pulling me close. ‘Don’t you dare apologise. This …?’ he let go briefly to waft his arm over the table ‘… is amazing. I didn’t expect any of this so I’m grateful for all of it. Every—’ he kissed me ‘—single—’ another kiss ‘—little—’ and again ‘—bit.’
The last kiss led to the pasta water boiling over as I became somewhat distracted but laughing, we managed to salvage things, and sat down to a relaxed dinner.
‘What are you doing tomorrow?’ Gabe asked as we lounged on a blanket on the soft sand in front of the house. His head was propped by a cushion from the sofa and mine was in turn propped on his chest.
