I had to lie as flat as possible in the bath in order to soak myself, because the slightly rusty geyser only dribbled a few inches of hot water. I lay with the warm flannel over my top half to keep me warm and stared at the brown stain above the taps made by the drops of water that leaked from the geyser. It reminded me of tree bark. I lifted my leg to touch its rough outline with my toe and remembered the cedar cone Seamus had sent me. He had polished it to a gleaming chestnut glow and said it was the colour of my eyes. Romance! I have it still, in the jewellery box. Seamus was one of those unexpected things.
I hadn’t wanted to go out for the day. My own holiday plans had collapsed without warning when my friend Mary phoned to say her father wouldn’t let her go with me to France as we had planned. He thought we were too young, at eighteen, to go unaccompanied. I was so disappointed and fed-up; all I wanted was to be left alone. But for once Mother was really sympathetic, seemed to appreciate my disappointment and insisted that I went with her to take Duncan down to Bournemouth, where he was to stay with a school friend and his family. I really needed a lot of persuading, but I knew she was right. Hanging around at home on my own would have done nothing to improve my filthy mood.
The sight of the sea excited me, and I managed a cheerful face when introduced to the family. Seamus was not there, just his mother, father and sister, Molly. We sat in the faded lounge before lunch. His father, a vicar, was a surprisingly handsome man, his mother a tall, gawky, ungainly woman, whom I liked at once. Molly was relaxed and confident, gently browned by the sun and sea. They had already been there a week. She made me feel plain and dull, but I needn’t have done, for she was friendly and kind.
Eventually, we went into lunch without Seamus, but he soon arrived, lean and tanned, and wearing a lugubrious expression. I had expected him to announce some dreadful news, but his face broke into the most radiant smile when he was introduced to me and he was transformed, all trace of his melancholy gone.
All through the meal, much to my shame, Mother recounted the woeful story of my failed holiday plans. It was almost as if she wanted everyone to feel sorry for me, but not in a nice way. She managed to make me feel pathetic.
Then from nowhere, Seamus’s deep voice said, ‘Well, stay with us.’
It took time for me to believe they really wanted me to stay and were not just sorry for me, and it was so uplifting when Molly, good-naturedly, argued that a female ally would be very welcome. They were, I knew at once, thoroughly nice people. So, that was it – I was to have a holiday after all.
We rushed to the shops, Mother and I, to buy the bare essentials: pyjamas, toothbrush, a change of pants and another top to go with the skirt I was wearing, another skirt and a bathing costume. Mother had never felt it necessary to spend much money on either me or Duncan, and so I was thrilled and excited by all this and grateful for what I saw then as her generosity.
Once alone with the family, Mother having returned home and Duncan no support to me, I know I was quiet and on my best behaviour, as all their attention was focused on me. Endless questions. Duncan was left to his own devices, having spent holidays with them before. He was perfectly at home. It never occurred to me then that me being there might spoil his holiday, and he never said. Seamus talked to me endlessly. He seemed to know so much, seemed clever and wise. His long, serious face would light up as he spoke and he laughed softly, darkly.
Sometimes Molly and I would be left alone on the beach while Seamus and Duncan did their own thing and then I lay in the heat, eyes closed and thinking all the time about Seamus. I didn’t know what to do when Seamus teased me about my freckles or touched my back with wet seaweed.
Seamus managed things so well, allocating time carefully between Duncan and me; if anything, it was Molly who was left out, but she was several years older and happy to sunbathe and read and spend time with her parents, who never came down to the beach. To tell the truth, I’m not sure what they did all day long. I was only aware of Seamus. If Duncan was a bit fed up having to share his friend, he didn’t show it, but then he often preferred to be alone, devising some complicated castle maze with sand or inventing crab traps.
On the last evening, we all went to the ‘flicks’, and not long into the film Seamus began tapping my hand and so, shy and unsure, I touched his fingertips. He took my hand, holding it firmly and quietly between both of his, as if to stop me from running away. His cool dry hands calmed my hot sticky ones.
On the way home, he sauntered with me more and more slowly so that Duncan and Molly were forced to go ahead without us and, halting in the shadows, he kissed me so seriously, so deliberately. ‘I’ll write, ‘he said.
It was my first kiss. We were eighteen with all of life before us, and someone found me lovable. I was so happy. We wrote back and forth, newsy, loving letters. But then I made a huge mistake. I had an invitation to go up to Staffordshire to stay with the family. I hadn’t seen Seamus since our week’s holiday and was nervous. Would he still like me? Would he still find me attractive? I forgot that on holiday I had no make-up or fancy clothes. I was just me. I should have thought, had the confidence. Instead I bought new clothes and even wore a hat to arrive in. My freckles were hidden by layers of make-up. He was there to meet me at the station and I knew at once that this me was not what he remembered or wanted. I knew at once. He was kind, as were all the family, but the spark had gone.
We have remained in touch by letter and the occasional phone call, but because life took us in different directions, to universities where we made new friends, the relationship never flourished. Yet I still feel a deep fondness for him, even after all these years. He liked me as I was: no make-up, no smart clothes. No showing off. No class clown. Just ordinary me. It was a tender, thoughtful friendship, which has lasted, not like the destructive passion I experienced with Matthew a few years later.
The bath water was cold. I lay still, fixed on the brown mark on the wall. Why was I remembering so much? I longed for Seamus. I longed for someone who had known and loved me when I was young and untouched. When I was alive. Would Father? No! Seamus was gentler and more fun. It hurts me to say so. I’ve never thought this way before. Perhaps that’s what retreats to monasteries do for you. But just then, all because of that brown stain on the bathroom wall, I felt a yearning in the pit of my stomach.