by Annie Dyer
She was quiet. “I don’t know what to say. Everything I can think of is just words and words won’t take any pain away or dilute the grief.”
I nodded. “It isn’t rational. The way I felt.”
“I know. I know and I get it. Go get your shower. I’m going to grab some of that god-awful juice you drink.”
The change of topic was good. My apple, kale and ginger juice was an acquired taste and I think she’d just about acquired it. I would’ve asked her to jump in the shower with me, but I needed the space more than I needed her, more than I needed to need her.
I washed and rinsed off quickly, finding Anya in the kitchen with a half drunk glass of juice and one of my sketch pads that I had left lying around. The pictures were ideas, things I’d seen and wanted to capture while they were still in my memory, others were variations on photographs that I’d taken.
“You’re really talented.” She didn’t look up when I entered, her eyes fixed on the sketches.
“Thank you.” Two months ago I would’ve said that Ryan was the talented one, which he had been. But this, for once, wasn’t about him. It was about me and it felt a little bit easier to say that now.
“Do you want to go to the barn and see my paintings?” I folded my arms and raised a brow when she looked up at me.
“I do. Maybe you can show me something else too.”
I put my hand on her back while we walked outside and round the back of the house to the barn. The touch was slight, but it built a thousand bridges between us, crossing a chasm.
I put the lights on full and started to move the canvases to show them off. I had around two dozen in the barn on easels or against the wall stood on boxes. Yesterday I’d had a gallery owner come to look with a view to showing some of them in his place in London. Tomorrow I had a collector, who had seen some of my work on Instagram and then my website, coming to see me. I didn’t need the money. My lifestyle on the island was hardly the same as it had been when Ryan and I had been out most nights when we weren’t working. But I was doing something that was easing my soul.
“These are incredible. I mean, I’ve seen them before, but I haven’t looked properly. The lighthouse – and that one of the beach…”
She saw the one of her which I’d recently finished, the one from the first evening I’d seen her when she was on the sands with the wind catching her hair.
“That’s me.”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
“I remember that night. I was wearing those clothes because I hadn’t unpacked properly. You saw me.” Her eyes didn’t leave the painting.
“You looked like everything fitted together at that moment. The way the light caught you and how the breeze whipped up your hair – it was like you were one of the elements or something.” I laughed, partly out of embarrassment.
“Gabe, I feel like I should tell you I hate it because it’s of me, but it’s really good. Are you going to sell it?”
I shook my head. “No. I want to keep this one.”
She looked at me, eyes wide as if she’d just seen something.
“Tell me about the others.” She made the request quickly, foisting her hand into mine and moving us on.
I explained each painting that she pointed to, talking about the colours and textures of the paint and she told me about where they were on the island and some of the history. By the time we’d finished it was late and she’d fallen in closer to me, touching more.
“Do you want to stay?” I moved her hair back from her face. “I get if you don’t.”
She put her forehead against my chest and grabbed onto the T-shirt I’d thrown on. “Yes. I feel like we had a fight and I don’t know why. But I don’t want to leave.” Her eyes were shiny when she looked up at me.
“I know. I don’t get it either. Let’s just go to bed. Just be.” I held her close, not wanting to let her go. Not quite understanding what this actually was.
Anya
Gabe was in bed before me, the white sheets contrasting sharply against his tanned skin. He’d managed to fix a lamp up so there was some light where his bed was, making it slightly less of a challenge to get up there. I scrambled under the covers, feeling him studying me. It had been a trying day and once I would’ve been walking away from him, from any man, who wasn’t able to handle my shit, but I didn’t know if that was the case here.
“Are we good?” My words were quiet as I lay next to him, taking one hand and stroking his beard.
“We’re good. I think today was a learning curve and I don’t think it was a bad one to have.” His hand went to my hip, staying placed there. I could feel his heat and I shifted closer.
Today was possibly one of those days which I’d look back at and flag as a time when things shifted. Harry was fine. There could’ve been a disaster but there hadn’t. Things wouldn’t always end tragically.
But it showed me how fractured we both still were and I wondered about the serendipity of things, why had I met Gabe this summer when we were both so broken and had no clear idea of our futures? But maybe that was why he was here right now, before I went back to tidy up my life in London.
“We can say that now. And all is good. We’re a little clearer.”
“That this is just a summer romance?”
I laughed, the phrase taking me back to when I was about sixteen and a boy who had summered here had broken my very fragile heart. “I’m not sure. Aren’t we too old for a summer romance?”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever too old for that.” He held me closer and I shifted into his arms. We didn’t need any more than this because this was all it could be.
I moved my arm around Gabe’s neck and pressed my mouth to his. It was a soft kiss, especially compared to the ones we’d shared that could’ve lit a fire. He held me, demanding nothing and I wondered whether we were at an end, whether this was where the road stopped for us.
Then he kissed me. It was the sweetest kiss I’d ever tasted. I was shifted onto my back, my wrists in his hands, gently pressed to the mattress, the dim orange light casting shadows over the sheets, over us.
His lips moved to my jaw, my neck, tracing soft trails over skin that felt almost too sensitive to bear it.
“Leave your hands where they are.” His words were a demand, however gently they were said. He freed my wrists and lifted himself so he could push up my T-shirt – his T-shirt that I’d borrowed – exposing my breasts. My nipples were hard already, getting a very good idea as to where his mouth was heading to next, or hoped.
My wrists were once again pinned down, the grip never more than what I could escape from, underlining that I was the one in control here, really. Then his mouth was trailing down the centre of my chest, between my breasts. I hitched my hips up, wanting him where I needed his mouth most, needing more pressure, craving the touch of his tongue.
He licked at my skin, then nipped at the side of my breast, eliciting a moan that I felt rather than heard.
A chuckle vibrated through his chest and I felt wetness start to build between my legs, heating me up inside. His mouth found a nipple, teasing and sucking, his teeth nipping and making my words fall out jumbled and needy. I tried to press into him with my hips but he simply shifted himself so I had no chance of any relief. The other nipple received the same attention, his hands still there on my wrists, subjecting me to a sweet torture which I didn’t want to end.
He moved my hands from above my head to the sides of my body as his head traced further down, trailing kisses across my stomach, his tongue dipping into my bellybutton, making me laugh and squirm. I tried to move my legs, but he’d positioned himself so I had no leverage, I simply had to wait until he got to his chosen destination; which took too damn long.
Then he was there, licking and suckling, tonguing and tasting me as if I was his only source of nourishment. I heard moans and knew they were mine, my body strung out and ready for him to play, a violin and he was the musician.
He would bring me close to my
release and then take me back, withholding my orgasm and there was fuck all I could do about it. He had total control which I was granting to him.
“I need to come.” I wasn’t sure how I found the words but they were somehow there, my body becoming wrecked with being so close and then edged away from tumbling down into a gluttony of pleasure.
He looked up at me, his mouth too busy to speak. His eyes were gleaming and heavy with lust and I wondered how close he was himself.
“Need to touch you.”
“No.” He removed his mouth and lifted himself up over me, finally releasing my hands. I was too dazed to be fully cognizant of what he was doing, my body craving orgasm so much my vision was blurred. I didn’t even grab his skin even though I now apparently had permission by the fact his hands no longer held my wrists.
And then he was inside me in one swift movement and I cried out as I immediately spasmed and my cunt clutched his cock, my body thrashing.
He kept up the pace, holding my hips almost roughly as he fucked me, a wicked smile and satisfied eyes focused solely on me. It felt as if he’d forgotten his own need, he was just purely intent on making me melt into a puddle of spentness.
“You need to come again.” His rhythm was incessant, driving into me.
I’d managed to hold onto him now, found some ability to control my own body. I could feel a tightening through my core and I knew another orgasm was on its way, but I wanted him there with me.
“How close are you?”
I saw the vulnerability in his eyes and knew he was hanging on there. “Your cunt is the best I’ve ever had. It makes me lose my mind. It’s fucking mine, you know that.”
It wasn’t a question because he showed me the answer with the way he pounded, almost painfully. He raised himself up and looked at my breasts, bouncing as he moved.
“Play with them.”
I wouldn’t have argued anyway. I moved my hands to them, finding hard nipples and squeezing them, watching Gabe watch me and seeing the lust on his face.
He slowed and grasped my hips harder, maybe hard enough to leave bruises and then I came, taking him with me, making him lose control as he ejaculated far inside me, hitting my clit with each small, deep thrust.
“Fuck.” He just about stopped himself from collapsing on me, resting on his forearms and then kissing me softly again. I moved into his arms and we shifted onto our sides.
I’d never been held so thoroughly. Or fucked, but that wasn’t the end of it with this man. He made me feel safe and cherished and lots of other things I didn’t need from a summer fling.
“You went in the sea to help me today.” The thought had been there but it was only now I realized the sum of his actions.
“I didn’t think. If I had, I’d have either been paralysed with fear or gone in.”
“You’re more than what you give credit for.”
“Anya, I couldn’t be there afterwards. I had to get to that room…”
I touched his face, stroked the stubble that was almost a beard. “Which is all understandable. Gabe, you still went into water to help. I get that after it was hard, but…” I kissed him and he responded as if he was tasting me like I was an addictive substance.
“Maybe.”
I curled up into him.
“Maybe you’re right.”
I woke up before him, just as it was becoming light. Yesterday lingered around me like a hangover that should’ve been there but had decided to ghost me instead. I expected there to be some form of doubt, but instead the day felt less fragile.
I need the bathroom so I trundled out of the barn and into the house. I knew Gabe was working on plans to start renovating, beginning with the parts of the house he wanted to keep. He’d need to be in the house before October, when the storms would come in and the winds would pick up. And I was a little insistent that I needed to sleep closer to a bathroom, even if he didn’t.
My bag was at the foot of the stairs, Marcy’s letters inside. I’d read a little more, finding out about her life on the island, recognizing places she mentioned. There had been another box of photos I figured had been taken around that time too, which I’d used to almost illustrate the story.
I poured a glass of juice, normal orange this time and not the weird crap that Gabe made, and sat down to read a little, not quite ready to head back to barn. Her writing was rushed, it seemed, as if she was having to write in a hurry and I wondered whether someone was trying to read over her shoulder.
Dear Alice,
It’s been an odd few days. The weather has taken a turn; the blue skies we were used to have been a shade of grey I haven’t seen since the storms we had in April. This has meant the guests spending time indoors, which in turn has meant more work with washing and tidying up, but having to do it as discreetly as possible. Julia Stretton has spent much of the time in bed resting. In all honesty, Alice, I’d have done the same. It seems like summer has sailed away.
Your present thrilled me! I was so excited to receive one of Arthur’s books. He is so talented, although I’ve only read the first few chapters and usually just before I go to sleep. Do you think he will write you in to one of his books as a character? It would be wonderful if he did! Or even use your name for the heroine?
Every letter you send is full of him and what he’s been doing. It appears that your relationship is growing into something more than friendship, my dear. I do hope you’re enjoying it. My only wish is to meet him soon to make sure he is worthy of you.
Things have been strange at the hotel. Don talks to me every day. He waits in the lounge each morning until I’ve finished with the breakfast dishes and always orders an extra pot of tea for me. We then sit and look through the newspapers together. No one pays us any mind, especially as I play bridge with Julia each afternoon when she comes downstairs for a cucumber sandwich, which I think is the only thing she eats all day. Julia seems to like me, which makes me feel rather bad although I shouldn’t.
Every interaction I’ve had with Don has been civil, friendly, nothing inappropriate.
Until two nights ago. But no one knows, not even Jennifer.
I took my usual evening walk along the beach just when the tide was coming in. The gulls were flying low, suggesting that more bad weather was on the way. A few fishing boats had gone out early, again probably because they sensed a storm incoming. Snowdonia was barely visible across the water, the clouds low and dark.
Don was sitting on one of the large rocks that had been worn smooth with walkers taking a break there. I didn’t spot him, too lost in my own thoughts, until he said my name.
“Mr Stretton!” I almost stuttered, partly because I was unaware that anyone else was out there, but also because I had been thinking about him.
He laughed, a really deep laugh which made my insides vibrate. “Sorry. And you should call me Don. You’re hardly just a maid. You’re the hotel owner’s daughter so don’t dismiss yourself.”
“I’m really not of the same status as you.”
He shook his head at me. “I’m the son of a man who lit the fires in the morning for the people who lived in the big houses as a way to earn money so he could have food. I know everyone here thinks we’re like the big mill owners are and we’re out to just make money, but it isn’t that simple.”
“Your wife’s said to be a cousin of a duke.” It was a rumour I’d heard fly through the island.
Don laughed. “Third cousin twice removed or something like that. She’d like it to be a closer relationship.” His words were almost as sharp as my father’s knives.
I wasn’t sure what to say at that point, Alice. All the years I’d spent at the guesthouse had taught me not to interfere in relationships unless I thought someone was at harm. It wasn’t my place to be someone’s confidante or offer advice, but something tugged in my chest.
“You don’t sound like you’d appreciate a closer link.” It wasn’t interfering. That was what I told myself, but I was curious.
“No
. I’m not into that status thing. I want to develop my father’s business and create jobs for people. Not through using my connections, but using my brain.”
“How did you and Julia meet?” I felt like Alice in Wonderland, taking two steps and falling down a rabbit hole.
He gave me a smile that wasn’t a happy one. “It was almost arranged. Her mother is friends with my step-mother. She pushed for it as it was a good connection to make and Julia’s father was looking to invest money. My step-mother was also interested in widening her social connections. But Julia was friendly and happy and at the time, she was the wife I thought I should have.” He looked desperately unhappy by the time he finished speaking.
I wasn’t sure what else to say. I knew people got divorced but it was frowned upon and I was certain that Don wasn’t the type to take himself out of a marriage easily. I have no idea what to do, Alice. I can’t talk to anyone here about our conversations, but it feels like we’re becoming closer.
We walked along the sand and he talked a little more about how he missed having someone to chat to every day, how Julia wasn’t interested in his job or anything relating to his interests. She didn’t want children yet, even though she was nearly thirty and he confessed that he didn’t know how to make her happy.
Then it happened, Alice. We paused at the steps to go back up to the hotel. Don was planning on walking to the village for a night cap in the pub. Maybe he thought like me that we’d be better off not being seen together for fear of what people would say.
Neither of us seemed to know what to say, standing there, looking at each other. Then he put both his hands on my arms and bent down, pressing a kiss on my forehead.
“Sorry.” He apologised straight away. “I shouldn’t have. It’s totally inappropriate of me. I’m married. I just wish I’d met you first.”
I felt my cheeks flush. “It’s okay. Maybe we shouldn’t talk so much.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t. Goodnight Marcy.”
We parted. When I reached the cliff top I watched him and at one point I saw him turn around and look for me.
