Endless Blue Seas

by Annie Dyer

  I’m not sure how we go about the rest of this, Marcy. There is no such protocol for these situations. But is it possible we can have some sort of future?

  Yours, forever,

  Don

  My Dearest Don,

  It was splendid to see you in Llandudno and spend time together without anyone around us to speculate. The house there seems ideal as a base for you. It’s easy for me to get there also, especially since I now have a car to drive!

  I’m still surprised at how easy it is between us, how we can talk about the news and play chess, just as we always have.

  It’s also a relief to now be able to touch you. I still have moments of guilt because it’s only a reality because of the awful reality that happened, but neither of us were to blame; nor was Julia. I feel so sad, so very sad, but I have moments of lightness because I have the times when we are together and we can be together.

  I can leave the island. I don’t know how my family will react, whether they will speak to me or give me their blessing, but it is of no consequence.

  Some things are worth the risk. You’re one of them.

  Forever yours,

  Marcy

  Anya

  The drive approaching the village could’ve been used in a game of spot the difference with the drive I’d made in summer. The brightness had been replaced with a myriad of greys, clouds hanging heavy in the sky and the buildings seemed to blend into the horizon with no definable boundaries.

  I’d spent six hours in traffic, on motorways and country roads, navigating my way home like a vessel, and instead of the trepidation I felt in June, I was now aching to see my family and the building, to find the familiarity of the smells and sounds and voices that I had missed more than I thought I was.

  This wasn’t a retreat. It was a step forward. It felt like progress, only I wasn’t sure towards what. I drove past the cottages and fish and chip shop, the newsagents and then the bar. I saw a group of the fishermen about to enter it, probably after a long morning out at sea, and a cluster of walkers using all the gear.

  This was home. The place I needed to be.

  A mad woman started to wave at me from the pavement, hands in the air and gesturing wildly. I swerved slightly, convinced the ball of madness that was Catrin was going to walk out in the middle of the road to make me stop.

  “What the fuck are you playing at?” I wound down the window and yelled at her. “You could’ve caused an accident!”

  Catrin tipped her head back and laughed. “I checked. There was nothing coming.”

  She must’ve read the expression on my face as she went from vastly amused to recalcitrant in a half second. “I’m sorry, An. It was a joke. Can I get in? I’ll update you on all the gossip.”

  I unlocked the door and she slipped in, immediately putting on the seat warmer. It wasn’t warm; in fact, it felt cooler than late October should’ve.

  “Michael’s been seeing an English lecturer from the university.”

  I rolled my eyes. My brother was always ‘seeing’ someone, usually some poor, unsuspecting foreign lecturer who really didn’t know any better and thought she’d found the perfect Welsh gentleman. Michael could turn on the charm like no other.

  “Tell me something new.”

  “Gethin has finally sold his house and moved in with Lucy.”

  That was new. They’d only been seeing each other for fifteen years.

  “Anything that made him make that sudden decision?”

  Catrin shrugged. “He needed a new roof. I believe an acquaintance of yours may have made the purchase. Property developing seems to be one of the many strings to his bow.” She sounded smug. I knew there was more that she wasn’t telling me but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of asking.

  “Any sign of the pub in Beaumaris being bought?” I turned the conversation round so quickly the words got whiplash.

  “Rumour has it a woman from London has bought it and it’s going to be restored into a gastro-pub. The work on the old estate has been scheduled for February. Will Gabe end up being busy with that?”

  “Only if they need the plans tweaking, which they will.”

  We’d talked extensively about the project and how much he was looking forward to seeing the buildings restored to something like their former glory with a purpose. “I wonder if they’ll need an architect for the pub?”

  “Possibly. The same person has bought the place next door too, so I think they’re planning on merging it into one.”

  I saw her eye me. There was something she wanted to tell me, something amusing her.

  “Spit it out.”

  Without looking, I knew her eyes were widening as if she was innocence personified. “What do you mean?”

  “Has he started seeing anyone else?” I had to ask. The thought of it was eating me up. Even though we spent most nights talking until later than we should, the idea that he would meet someone else had been niggling me since he’d been in London. What else hadn’t he told me? Was he trying to spare me the heartache until I got my life back together before breaking the news that he was in love with some other woman?

  Catrin was silent for more than a moment, possibly longer than I thought was possible given that she talked in her sleep.

  Then she laughed, a belly laugh that echoed around the car. I pulled up on the drive of the guesthouse and stared at her as soon as the car was in park. “Is he?”

  “Jesus mother of all things cheese. No. Seriously. No. He’s, well, he’s changed. He’s more outgoing and hides less in his barn. But he talks about you a lot more recently and I know he’s really looking forward to you coming home. As soon as anyone mentions it, his whole face lights up.”

  “So he’s not seeing anyone else?”

  Catrin shook her head and laughed. “Anya, he’s fucking crazy about you. The only thing he’s been getting intimate with is his hand.”

  “Cat!” I’d rather she didn’t consider those things about him. “How’s Anders?”

  She fell quiet, getting out of the car and heading straight to my boot, although the back seat was full of stuff too. I had a removal van delivering my furniture next week, then a few weeks to settle in before Christmas, after which I’d start my new role.

  “He’s gone home. His grandad is poorly so he’s gone to see him for a couple of weeks.”

  “And you’re not using the opportunity to see what a trial separation felt like?”

  “I’m thinking of going to see him this weekend. I almost booked flights, but I figured you might want to hang out, if you’re not too busy doing Gabe.”

  A wave of guilt washed over me. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought about spending more time with Cat, it was just that I’d been so anxious to see Gabe. And I got that she wanted to see Anders too, especially if he was having a tough time with his family.

  “Book your flights. It’s for a weekend. We can catch up next week, or the week after or any week in November or December.”

  She glanced at me and for the first time in the many years I’d known her, she looked scared.

  “I will. But I don’t know if it’s the right thing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we said it was just a casual thing. Me going over to Copenhagen makes it more than casual. I’ve never done more than casual before.” Cat actually sounded nervous.

  “If that was me, would you go?”

  “Yes. In the blink of an eye.”

  “Then you can do it for Anders too. Even if it’s just as friends.”

  She lifted out a suitcase that possibly weighed more than she did and gave a firm nod. “Guess I’ll go check out the Little Mermaid. And maybe see what their boats are like while I’m there.”

  I decided to save the deep and meaningful conversation until later.

  Instead I took out the file of letters, pawing through them, rereading certain sections, discovering the hesitant tenderness that had existed between Marcy and Donald and then I found it. A final letter
, the handwriting different, less controlled. Older.

  To my Marcy,

  After all of this time, we still write our letters. Old habits die hard. As I write this, you are in our garden, tending the roses in preparation for Alice and Arthur staying with us for a weekend.

  There is grey in your hair now, only a few threads and I don’t point them out to you, especially when you’re holding secateurs. I’ve learned a lot from you and perhaps the most important was that you’re lethal. You hold my heart in your hands.

  It’s days like today I miss the island. You return there to see your sister and friends that you left behind and then you come home to the life that we created. But I know you miss the place and its people. The seas in front of us are the same but the perspective is not. The endless blue here is not quite the same. When I see you on the beach here, most mornings when we go for our walk, I remember you as you were.

  My beautiful Marcy.

  I don’t know how much longer we have. You know this from when we shed the tears together at the hospital.

  But know this. What we have is as endless as the sea and I will wait for you just as we’ve always waited for each other.

  And while I’m waiting, I’ll remember each day how much we loved each other. Because that was all that ever mattered.

  From grief grew love.

  And it grew strong.

  Yours, always,

  Don.

  I read it carefully, understanding the words. The date was around eighteen months before he died. In my head I saw how they spent those days, living each one as if it was precious.

  Because it was.

  Gabe

  I’d taken my sketchbook to the beach, along with a thick coat and a flask of coffee. Summer had long since gone and although I missed the warm days, and nights in the barn, I enjoyed the change in seasons.

  Anya texted me a few hours ago to say she had a couple of errands to run and she’d call me when she was back. I was nervous, wondering how our first meeting in a couple of months would go, whether we’d look at each other and realise the chemistry had been erased like the light of summer, or whether we’d still be in existence.

  I perched on a rock, using just a soft pencil to shade the seascape in front of me, the land in the distance separated from the island by the sea. A lone boat hovered on the horizon, just a silhouette and I thought about who was possibly on it. I hadn’t helped out for a while; there were fewer people on holiday and the demand for trips around Puffin island or fishing for the day was lower than in the high season. I missed being on the sea. I’d gone out a few times, just for the hell of it, and the waves and the sounds of the water had given me respite when I’d needed it, sometimes after driving, sometimes when I’d finished a design or an alteration and I missed being able to call Ryan and talk it through with him.

  The sea tumbled and rolled, far wilder than it had been in summer. The group of Sunday morning sea swimmers were still heading out – fuck knew where their sense was – but I suspected they were wearing their winter wetsuits. At least I hoped they were.

  I shaded the sea, the mountains in the distance, across the water, the lonely boat paler than the sea and sky around it. Losing myself in my art was something I thought was unhealthy before, a denial of what had happened and a way to escape reality. It had only been when I hadn’t painted or drawn for a few days that I realised that it levelled me, it was how I deconstructed the maelstrom of feelings that would cloud me like a storm and make sense of the world around me.

  “I thought I’d find you here.”

  I looked up from being lost in the shades of sea into the loveliest pair of eyes I’d ever seen.

  Anya’s smile was all I needed and she pulled me to her without even touching me. Any space between us was covered and she was in my arms, burying her head in my shoulder and her grip tightening around me.

  She was back and I had no intention of letting her go again. I wasn’t fixed; I didn’t believe any of us ever could be, but I didn’t need her to be my crutch. Her hair smelled of fruit and freshness, her touch light and demanding at the same time.

  “I’ve missed you so much.”

  I heard the words even though she was burrowed into me, her legs wrapped around my middle.

  “I’ve missed you. Have you done what you need to?”

  She moved her head back and I saw that her eyes were filled with tears, some falling.

  “Everything for now. Unpacked what I could, saw Kim and the kids, showered.” She choked her words.

  I placed her down on the sand and sat down on the rocks, lifting her onto my lap where she curled into me.

  “You’re upset.” I wiped the tears away from her face with my thumb. “Why are you upset?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not. I’m just glad to see you. I didn’t realise how glad I’d be and I’m… so happy to be back.” Her eyes fixed on my sketchpad. “That’s really good.”

  “Thanks. Something to do while I was passing the time waiting to see you.”

  “You’re glad I’m back?”

  I laughed, not quite sure how she didn’t realise just how much. “Like you wouldn’t believe.” My hand remained on her cheek, then stroked into her hair. I didn’t dare kiss her. It was too cold to take this any further and as soon as I felt her lips on mine, I’d want more.

  I’d want everything.

  “Are we giving this a real go? I know that seems like a strange question because I haven’t seen you for months and there’s loads I suppose we have to catch up on…”

  I pressed a finger to her lips. “We have as long as we want. When do you start your new job?”

  “After Christmas. I have a few weeks to sort my things. Look for somewhere to rent.”

  “Not the guesthouse?”

  She gave a little laugh. “It’s fine until when I go back to work. But if I’m there while I’m at school, my time will end up being spent on babysitting or helping Nan out when I need to be working or doing other stuff. My family wouldn’t quite realise that I have a job to do.”

  “I get that.” A cold gust of wind pierced my skin and smattered sand over us. Night was rolling in, the sky devoid of any colour other than grey. “Do you want to come back to mine and see my paintings?”

  She laughed, her eyes not leaving mine. “Anytime. And I’d like to see your house. How far done is it?”

  I held her hand as we walked up the steps to the coastal path and across the fields to my house. It was completely different from when she had seen it nearly three months ago and I tried to see her expression as she noticed the glass front and extension that she hadn’t been aware of.

  It looked new; a new design, new ideas, something totally different. Yet behind it sat the old farmhouse that had held people and families for more than a hundred years. The mix of old and new was unusual, but it suited the place and it suited me.

  “It looks incredible.”

  I’d had lights placed outside so that the building was highlighted in the evenings. Any boats passing or people walking on the beach would catch sight of it. This wasn’t to show it off, more of chance to show that they weren’t alone, that someone, somewhere was awake too, that they weren’t the only soul on this part of the planet.

  “Thank you. It’s almost finished. About three or four more weeks and it’ll be done.”

  “It’s taken less time than I thought. You must’ve had contractors who were really efficient.”

  “I called in a few favours.”

  It turned out I’d been missed. As soon as word got around that I was starting projects again, I had calls from the companies that we worked with, asking whether I could help with a project. When they’d found out what I was doing with this place they offered to do what they could to get it completed fast.

  It had taken a village. Or an island.

  The door was unlocked, mainly because it was highly unlikely that anyone would try to break in around here anyway, but also because apart from my art, the
re was nothing worth stealing. I had electrical shit on order: a big TV, wireless sound system, some fancy coffee machine, they were all due to arrive in the next week or so, along with some kitchen appliance that Janie had told me I had to get, like a fancy fridge freezer that had a screen on the front showing you what was inside. I wasn’t entirely sure why I needed one, but I bought it anyway because it was easier than having the argument about it.

  “Do I get a tour now?”

  Her hand was still in mine, small and soft. I wasn’t sure I could ever let it go.

  “Let me show you one thing first.”

  I guided her out of the door and round to the side of the house, the gardens half-landscaped and not the easiest to navigate when it was fairly dark.

  Between the barn and the house, I’d had a garage built, big enough for two cars. Car crime in the area wasn’t an issue, but the storms were and the salt in the air was problematic for paintwork.

  I unlocked the garage door and watched her face as she saw the hybrid car I’d bought and driven back two weeks ago.

  “Is this yours?”

  “Just about. I can’t say I like driving it and I’d rather take a boat or a train, but I can just about get around in this.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “I had counselling. Still having it. One of the things we looked at was me being able to get in a vehicle and then drive again. I’m never going to be happy in a vehicle or relaxed, but I can drive. I need to for work sometimes. And if there’s an emergency.” My words were stilted. I hadn’t done this just because of the night when Harry broke his arm. That couldn’t be my sole reason for taking driving lessons, researching the safest cars and booking the instructor I was working with to sit with me while I drove my new car that had undergone more safety checks than it really needed to. Driving was something I had to do; for me.

  “You’ve really worked at this.”

  “Still working at it.”