A fortnight later, with the holidaymakers crowding Newton beach, I walked through the sand dunes with Alan. Time had passed, emotions had cooled; I could think straight again; I had my Sensible Sam head on.
While glancing at the news items on my mobile phone, at the sports section, I said, “V.J. Parks knocked his opponent out in the first round.”
Alan nodded. “He channelled his aggression, coupled that aggression with his natural talent; the mood V.J. was in, his opponent stood no chance.”
We climbed a sand hill and gazed at the beach. As Alan admired the bronzed and the beautiful, I adjusted my shell bracelet then said, “You met Vittoria today.”
“I did. A social meeting.”
“How’s she doing?”
Alan turned to face me. He said, “She’s interacting well with her counsellor. It will take time, but she’s adjusting to what happened. She’s strong; she will recover. And although I wouldn’t wish it on her, on anyone, that awful experience might make her a better psychologist in the long run.”
“Because of her personal insight into emotional and psychological suffering.”
“Yes.”
“Before Elin died, were you as good a psychologist as you are now?”
Alan shuffled his feet. He thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets and kicked at the sand. “Probably not,” he conceded.
“But it’s a huge price to pay to be good at what you do.”
He nodded. “A price way over the odds.”
In thoughtful fashion, we continued our stroll through the sand dunes. At one point, we encountered a couple, a young man and woman, who were walking together. Both were talking into their mobile phones. Maybe they were talking with each other; after all, that’s the modern way.
I turned to Alan and said, “People admire and respect you.”
He smiled then offered a diffident shrug, as though wary of accepting praise. “People admire and respect you too,” he said.
“I wasn’t looking for a compliment.”
“You rarely do, and that’s part of your charm.”
We walked on, away from the crowd, heading east, towards the ruin of Candleston Castle, a fourteenth century fortified manor house.
As we kicked our way through the sand, Alan asked, “How do you feel about recent events?”
“About Osborne?”
“Uh-huh.”
I paused then said, “I don’t believe in capital punishment, but you have to concede that some people are beyond the pale; Osborne got what he deserved.”
Alan nodded. He asked, “If pushed to the limit, would you have shot him?”
“Yes,” I said. “I would. Does that make me a monster?”
An easy smile spread across Alan’s face. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and gave me a big hug. “History tells us that there are times when angels have to lay down their wings and pick up their weapons. Whatever happened, you are still on the side of the angels.”
I kissed him and said, “I’m very proud of the way you handled the situation with Vittoria.”
“Uh-huh.”
“More than that, I’m very proud of you. I love you, and I’d like to make that love permanent.”
“Through marriage?” Alan asked.
“Yes. Before you change your mind.”
He laughed, “I’ll never change my mind about you.”
As we walked, hand in hand, oblivious of everything, of everyone, with minds only for each other, Alan asked, “Do you have a date in mind?”
“How about sometime in the summer, when it’s warm and sunny?”
“We can’t control the weather,” he said with a shrug and a smile.
“Even if it rains,” I said, “we can still be together, sheltering under an umbrella.”
“Hand in hand.”
I kissed him again. “Lips to lips.”
“Thigh to thigh.”
We rolled on to the sand and giggled.
“I’m not sure I can do that,” I said, “and hold an umbrella.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Alan smiled. He brushed the hair from my face and planted a kiss that lingered; “you’re very inventive.”
Although my face glowed like a beacon, I didn’t care. I was content. More than that, I was happy. I sighed, “A summer wedding then.”
Alan nodded, “A marriage to last now and forever.”
“Until the world runs out of rainbows.”
“Until the playing of the final coda.”
I hugged and kissed him. “Until the winter of our days.”