she
was the only one awake. David and Helen were still sleeping deeply upstairs,
enjoying their weekend of holiday. She had heard them still talking as she
went to bed last night. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she
imagined that it was about their crazy young friend who still, after four years,
couldn’t accept that her sister had killed herself. ‘ What a shame’, she
thought of them saying, ‘w hat a cruel joke somebody is playing’.
She cleared up
the glasses and bottles from the night before, when it had still seemed such a
good idea to open the fourth bottle of wine, when their full stomachs had
betrayed them, making them believe they hadn’t been too badly affected by the
intoxicating nectar already. She dropped four large spoonfuls of coffee into
the filter, and hit the ‘on’ button. The smell of the rich powder was already
making her feel better. She warmed some milk in a small pan, and threw the
rest of the ingredients into the food mixer. It’ll be nice to have muffins
this morning, she thought. Today was going to be a good day.
She had decided
last night that she would occupy herself today; get back to her normal self.
She really wanted David and Helen to stay and spend the day with them. They
could even travel back to the city tomorrow morning if they wanted to, it
wouldn’t be that difficult. Graham makes the same trip every day, and every
trick she had in her book of
how-to-make-people-feel-wanted-and-make-them-stay-longer, she was sure going to
bring out. She quickly kneaded the dough, regularly sipping on her coffee as
she did so, and sending flour spilling onto her robe and resting on her
cheeks. She cut out the muffins and threw them in the oven. She set the table
outside with coffee mugs, juice, pretty white and blue striped plates with
elegant silver cutlery, that in their city apartment would have looked as if
they had borrowed it from a parent, but here fitted the setting perfectly. The
muffins were ready and she could hear the first rumblings from upstairs, the
early morning groans of heavy heads and sleepy eyes. She brushed the flour
from her face, fixed her hair a little bit and waited for the first of the
guests to arrive.
It had been
remarkably easy to convince David and Helen to stay another night. Graham had thought
it a great idea, and rapidly got behind his wife’s plan. They planned their
day out: beach-combing followed by a mid afternoon barbeque on the soft
sands. They would light a small fire using the driftwood, surrounded by the
rocks on the beach. In fact, after watching one of the endless ‘Survival’
programmes that Graham was currently obsessed with and after roping in Charles
Stewart, a few months previously they had managed to dig a small hole and create
an underground oven, baking fresh fillets of Cod like the cavemen who had walked
the land thousands of years before. If Charles had some fish for sale today,
they would do the same.
As the day
passed in a wonderful summer haze, Elizabeth didn’t think about Rebecca. She
had relished the company of her friends, as they sat on the beach, bottles of
beer in the cooler and the fire burning slowly, decaying into hot coals before
they would load it with the fish which Charles had insisted they take for free.
They sat in the stripy deckchairs, sipping on bubbling golden beer as they
looked out to sea. Every so often Helen or David would interject the silence
to suggest how lucky they were to live in a place like this, quiet and
tranquil, a real comforter at the end of a busy day. It was true, they had
created their dreams. When Elizabeth found this cottage she had known it to be
exactly what they needed. An escape close enough to hang on to their old lives
without letting go completely and yet far enough away not to feel its pulse in
everything that they did. Here, she could forget about her awkward
conversations with her distant father, her
was the only one awake. David and Helen were still sleeping deeply upstairs,
enjoying their weekend of holiday. She had heard them still talking as she
went to bed last night. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she
imagined that it was about their crazy young friend who still, after four years,
couldn’t accept that her sister had killed herself. ‘ What a shame’, she
thought of them saying, ‘w hat a cruel joke somebody is playing’.
She cleared up
the glasses and bottles from the night before, when it had still seemed such a
good idea to open the fourth bottle of wine, when their full stomachs had
betrayed them, making them believe they hadn’t been too badly affected by the
intoxicating nectar already. She dropped four large spoonfuls of coffee into
the filter, and hit the ‘on’ button. The smell of the rich powder was already
making her feel better. She warmed some milk in a small pan, and threw the
rest of the ingredients into the food mixer. It’ll be nice to have muffins
this morning, she thought. Today was going to be a good day.
She had decided
last night that she would occupy herself today; get back to her normal self.
She really wanted David and Helen to stay and spend the day with them. They
could even travel back to the city tomorrow morning if they wanted to, it
wouldn’t be that difficult. Graham makes the same trip every day, and every
trick she had in her book of
how-to-make-people-feel-wanted-and-make-them-stay-longer, she was sure going to
bring out. She quickly kneaded the dough, regularly sipping on her coffee as
she did so, and sending flour spilling onto her robe and resting on her
cheeks. She cut out the muffins and threw them in the oven. She set the table
outside with coffee mugs, juice, pretty white and blue striped plates with
elegant silver cutlery, that in their city apartment would have looked as if
they had borrowed it from a parent, but here fitted the setting perfectly. The
muffins were ready and she could hear the first rumblings from upstairs, the
early morning groans of heavy heads and sleepy eyes. She brushed the flour
from her face, fixed her hair a little bit and waited for the first of the
guests to arrive.
It had been
remarkably easy to convince David and Helen to stay another night. Graham had thought
it a great idea, and rapidly got behind his wife’s plan. They planned their
day out: beach-combing followed by a mid afternoon barbeque on the soft
sands. They would light a small fire using the driftwood, surrounded by the
rocks on the beach. In fact, after watching one of the endless ‘Survival’
programmes that Graham was currently obsessed with and after roping in Charles
Stewart, a few months previously they had managed to dig a small hole and create
an underground oven, baking fresh fillets of Cod like the cavemen who had walked
the land thousands of years before. If Charles had some fish for sale today,
they would do the same.
As the day
passed in a wonderful summer haze, Elizabeth didn’t think about Rebecca. She
had relished the company of her friends, as they sat on the beach, bottles of
beer in the cooler and the fire burning slowly, decaying into hot coals before
they would load it with the fish which Charles had insisted they take for free.
They sat in the stripy deckchairs, sipping on bubbling golden beer as they
looked out to sea. Every so often Helen or David would interject the silence
to suggest how lucky they were to live in a place like this, quiet and
tranquil, a real comforter at the end of a busy day. It was true, they had
created their dreams. When Elizabeth found this cottage she had known it to be
exactly what they needed. An escape close enough to hang on to their old lives
without letting go completely and yet far enough away not to feel its pulse in
everything that they did. Here, she could forget about her awkward
conversations with her distant father, her
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