dead sister, her murdered mother,
and now the cruel letters that somebody had placed in the paper. She had
almost convinced herself. As they ate the soft flesh of the fish with small
wooden forks that they had picked up from the fish and chip shop, they laughed
as they spoke about the happy memories from life in the city, when they would
spend most weekends together. They laughed at how David and Helen had told
Graham he was crazy to get involved with a twenty-two year old girl. ‘ She’s
just a kid’, he had said to Graham. Then, only eighteen months later, on a
humidity-soaked summer evening out on their rooftop terrace, he’d said how
crazy Graham was that he hadn’t already asked her to marry him. They laughed
about nights out, about lunches, about long gone friends who had amused them
for all of the wrong reasons. It felt like old times; the good old times.
It was Graham who
had first noticed the grey clouds out to sea. He had become adept at
predicting ocean-borne storm fronts. He was convinced that it was coming their
way, but his companions hadn’t listened to him. When the first heavy drops
fell, splashing into immediate evaporation on the bed of hot rocks, they’d
thought that they had enough time to gather their things and walk back to the
house, at little faster than a casual pace. But the storm came with almost no
warning, soaking them before they had even left the beach. As they ran back up
the hill, David slower than the rest, they arrived at the front door to the
cottage and huddled together laughing underneath the small porch as Graham
fiddled in his pockets for the keys. They bustled through into the hallway, shaking
off the last grains of sand onto the wooden floorboards. Elizabeth was first
in the shower. She let the heat of the water wash over her, the contentment of
the day spent wrapped up in the comfort of friendship was exactly the tonic she
had needed. After dressing in her leggings and woolly jumper, they all
filtered through the bathroom one by one. Elizabeth dug out some other clothes
of hers and Graham’s for David and Helen and set about making some mugs of
tea. The storm brought with it the chilliness of autumn, and when it got cold
up here on the hill that overlooked the village it was hard to bring the warmth
back in. So Graham loaded the open fire with some coal and driftwood from the
big brass bucket that always sat full, heavy against the high stone wall in
front of the fireplace itself. The fireplace was raised, about thigh high; it
was perfect as you sat in the chairs either side, or on the settee enface. The
heat was always perfect, the atmosphere unbeatable as the raindrops crashed
into the window panes, the wind whipping them against the glass in heavy waves.
“Well, I’m glad
not to be driving back in this tonight,” announced Helen as she walked in to the room, looking slightly uncomfortable
in Elizabeth’s smaller clothes. She looked at David, and everybody knew what
she meant. It didn’t need to be said out aloud.
“We would have
been fine. There is nothing wrong with my driving.” Everybody knew that a
drive back in weather like this would have ended up with the pair arguing, as
David took the corners too fast and too wide. Elizabeth didn’t like travelling
in his car at all.
“Here,” said
Elizabeth, as she handed Helen a cup of tea.
“Thanks
darling, you’re an angel.” Helen was always over-exaggerating. She was so
different from Elizabeth, but they had formed a bond. Helen had really tried
hard after Rebecca’s accident to be there for Elizabeth. She had called her
every day the first week, and spent countless hours with her. After the
funeral, she went into very practical mode, taking Elizabeth out: shopping,
the salon, the cinema, or for coffee. Even if Elizabeth hadn’t wanted to go,
she dragged her out. Some of their outings had not gone well, and several
times Elizabeth had
and now the cruel letters that somebody had placed in the paper. She had
almost convinced herself. As they ate the soft flesh of the fish with small
wooden forks that they had picked up from the fish and chip shop, they laughed
as they spoke about the happy memories from life in the city, when they would
spend most weekends together. They laughed at how David and Helen had told
Graham he was crazy to get involved with a twenty-two year old girl. ‘ She’s
just a kid’, he had said to Graham. Then, only eighteen months later, on a
humidity-soaked summer evening out on their rooftop terrace, he’d said how
crazy Graham was that he hadn’t already asked her to marry him. They laughed
about nights out, about lunches, about long gone friends who had amused them
for all of the wrong reasons. It felt like old times; the good old times.
It was Graham who
had first noticed the grey clouds out to sea. He had become adept at
predicting ocean-borne storm fronts. He was convinced that it was coming their
way, but his companions hadn’t listened to him. When the first heavy drops
fell, splashing into immediate evaporation on the bed of hot rocks, they’d
thought that they had enough time to gather their things and walk back to the
house, at little faster than a casual pace. But the storm came with almost no
warning, soaking them before they had even left the beach. As they ran back up
the hill, David slower than the rest, they arrived at the front door to the
cottage and huddled together laughing underneath the small porch as Graham
fiddled in his pockets for the keys. They bustled through into the hallway, shaking
off the last grains of sand onto the wooden floorboards. Elizabeth was first
in the shower. She let the heat of the water wash over her, the contentment of
the day spent wrapped up in the comfort of friendship was exactly the tonic she
had needed. After dressing in her leggings and woolly jumper, they all
filtered through the bathroom one by one. Elizabeth dug out some other clothes
of hers and Graham’s for David and Helen and set about making some mugs of
tea. The storm brought with it the chilliness of autumn, and when it got cold
up here on the hill that overlooked the village it was hard to bring the warmth
back in. So Graham loaded the open fire with some coal and driftwood from the
big brass bucket that always sat full, heavy against the high stone wall in
front of the fireplace itself. The fireplace was raised, about thigh high; it
was perfect as you sat in the chairs either side, or on the settee enface. The
heat was always perfect, the atmosphere unbeatable as the raindrops crashed
into the window panes, the wind whipping them against the glass in heavy waves.
“Well, I’m glad
not to be driving back in this tonight,” announced Helen as she walked in to the room, looking slightly uncomfortable
in Elizabeth’s smaller clothes. She looked at David, and everybody knew what
she meant. It didn’t need to be said out aloud.
“We would have
been fine. There is nothing wrong with my driving.” Everybody knew that a
drive back in weather like this would have ended up with the pair arguing, as
David took the corners too fast and too wide. Elizabeth didn’t like travelling
in his car at all.
“Here,” said
Elizabeth, as she handed Helen a cup of tea.
“Thanks
darling, you’re an angel.” Helen was always over-exaggerating. She was so
different from Elizabeth, but they had formed a bond. Helen had really tried
hard after Rebecca’s accident to be there for Elizabeth. She had called her
every day the first week, and spent countless hours with her. After the
funeral, she went into very practical mode, taking Elizabeth out: shopping,
the salon, the cinema, or for coffee. Even if Elizabeth hadn’t wanted to go,
she dragged her out. Some of their outings had not gone well, and several
times Elizabeth had
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