called by, coincidentally
opening the back door automatically as they always did, the sight before them
turning their stomachs over like a rollercoaster. Rebecca had barely spoken
for three days afterwards, shutting herself in her home, and opening the door only
for Elizabeth. On the fourth it had rained heavily, and as Elizabeth listened
as Graham told her to get dressed - that there had been an accident, she already
knew that somehow it would be Rebecca and that she would never see her again.
“I have to
accept she killed herself,” Elizabeth said quietly. “She didn’t want to be
here anymore.” As she pulled her body into Graham’s arms, she closed her eyes
to sleep. She pushed herself to box up the thoughts of her sister, even the
good ones. I’ll think of you again. Don’t worry, she said to herself as
she reassured herself more than the ghost of her sister. But not tonight. She
closed her eyes tighter, willing sleep to take over. She would wake up
tomorrow and eat breakfast outside with her friends. She would walk by the
water’s edge and just enjoy the beauty, rather than wonder if Rebecca was still
out there somewhere. She would enjoy the tranquillity that they had built
through hard work in Haven, and not let the events of the past creep in. She
hoped that David and Helen would stay tomorrow. She would cook dinner, and
they would eat together outside if the weather held out. Their guests would
squeeze out the last moments of their getaway weekend, and their sobering
presence would be the glue of normality.
“Goodnight
Rebecca ,” she whispered as her prayer for a peaceful sleep was answered,
shuttering out the disturbance of the passing week and ushering in the peace of
the dark night sky.
Six
Waking, she was
surprised to hear the sound of the children out playing so early. There would
be no high tide yet; the water would still be sleeping far out to sea. The
sand would still be soft, and children who ran out too far had often been heard
screaming as their feet got stuck, sucked in by the soft pliable sand, yet never
really in any great danger.
She must have
slept later than normal, it was perfectly light outside. The night had
certainly passed by, as she turned to glance at her old twin bell alarm clock
that for the past twenty years had been ringing to wake her from sleep, never
once running down and failing her.
“Graham!” she
shrieked, “it’s nine thirty!” She couldn’t believe it. She had missed her
quiet morning time alone out in the garden. The paper would already be out on
the front steps ,
too big for the letterbox on a Sunday .
“So?” he
mumbled, face still muzzled by her feather pillows.
“I never sleep
until nine thirty!” She swung her feet round, standing to peer out of the
window. She couldn’t see down to the bay from here, but she could see that the
crowds had already started to gather in the village. Mrs. Lyons had already
opened her ice cream shop, and there were plenty of cars lining the village car
park. Elizabeth arched her neck to get a better view, and she noticed Mr.
Lyons directing a steady stream of inbound traffic, desperately trying to fit
another car in. They would be spilling out soon, bothering the locals and
spoiling the view from the road. Grabbing her robe, she headed downstairs in
search of coffee. Passing her little window, the tide had indeed already crept
back up onto the beach, assuming its position for the next few hours. Her head
was sore this morning, and it throbbed with each step she took. How much
wine did I drink last night? She passed the front door, determined not to
be caught by the thoughts of the newspaper lying outside waiting for an
audience. She walked straight through and into the kitchen, opened up the French
doors and the smell of the sea air breezed past her. That won’t clear my
head this morning. As she brewed the pot of fresh coffee, she knew that
opening the back door automatically as they always did, the sight before them
turning their stomachs over like a rollercoaster. Rebecca had barely spoken
for three days afterwards, shutting herself in her home, and opening the door only
for Elizabeth. On the fourth it had rained heavily, and as Elizabeth listened
as Graham told her to get dressed - that there had been an accident, she already
knew that somehow it would be Rebecca and that she would never see her again.
“I have to
accept she killed herself,” Elizabeth said quietly. “She didn’t want to be
here anymore.” As she pulled her body into Graham’s arms, she closed her eyes
to sleep. She pushed herself to box up the thoughts of her sister, even the
good ones. I’ll think of you again. Don’t worry, she said to herself as
she reassured herself more than the ghost of her sister. But not tonight. She
closed her eyes tighter, willing sleep to take over. She would wake up
tomorrow and eat breakfast outside with her friends. She would walk by the
water’s edge and just enjoy the beauty, rather than wonder if Rebecca was still
out there somewhere. She would enjoy the tranquillity that they had built
through hard work in Haven, and not let the events of the past creep in. She
hoped that David and Helen would stay tomorrow. She would cook dinner, and
they would eat together outside if the weather held out. Their guests would
squeeze out the last moments of their getaway weekend, and their sobering
presence would be the glue of normality.
“Goodnight
Rebecca ,” she whispered as her prayer for a peaceful sleep was answered,
shuttering out the disturbance of the passing week and ushering in the peace of
the dark night sky.
Six
Waking, she was
surprised to hear the sound of the children out playing so early. There would
be no high tide yet; the water would still be sleeping far out to sea. The
sand would still be soft, and children who ran out too far had often been heard
screaming as their feet got stuck, sucked in by the soft pliable sand, yet never
really in any great danger.
She must have
slept later than normal, it was perfectly light outside. The night had
certainly passed by, as she turned to glance at her old twin bell alarm clock
that for the past twenty years had been ringing to wake her from sleep, never
once running down and failing her.
“Graham!” she
shrieked, “it’s nine thirty!” She couldn’t believe it. She had missed her
quiet morning time alone out in the garden. The paper would already be out on
the front steps ,
too big for the letterbox on a Sunday .
“So?” he
mumbled, face still muzzled by her feather pillows.
“I never sleep
until nine thirty!” She swung her feet round, standing to peer out of the
window. She couldn’t see down to the bay from here, but she could see that the
crowds had already started to gather in the village. Mrs. Lyons had already
opened her ice cream shop, and there were plenty of cars lining the village car
park. Elizabeth arched her neck to get a better view, and she noticed Mr.
Lyons directing a steady stream of inbound traffic, desperately trying to fit
another car in. They would be spilling out soon, bothering the locals and
spoiling the view from the road. Grabbing her robe, she headed downstairs in
search of coffee. Passing her little window, the tide had indeed already crept
back up onto the beach, assuming its position for the next few hours. Her head
was sore this morning, and it throbbed with each step she took. How much
wine did I drink last night? She passed the front door, determined not to
be caught by the thoughts of the newspaper lying outside waiting for an
audience. She walked straight through and into the kitchen, opened up the French
doors and the smell of the sea air breezed past her. That won’t clear my
head this morning. As she brewed the pot of fresh coffee, she knew that
Similar Books
