Day six and as soon as I open my eyes I can tell from the grey light that the weather has changed, yet again. The lovely blue sky and the crisp morning air have given way to rolling grey clouds and lashing rain. Looking out there’s no sign of Max, not that I expected to see him, as he couldn’t take the boat out in this. The driving rain would also make for a miserable walk, even in waterproofs.
Once breakfast is cleared away I load up the washing machine and then set up the laptop, carefully laying out my files once again. The first job on the list is to text a reply to Nic and the second is to call my brother.
Great. Consider yourself signed-up. I’m busy until the middle of next week but will be in touch. Thanks for bringing the wine last night.
I go to my missed calls list and redial Will’s number. Sally answers.
‘Hi Sally, it’s Tia.’
‘Oh, hi Tia. How are you?’ Sally is always bright and cheerful. Maybe that’s why she and Will work as a couple. My brother is miserable enough for them both and Sally is the person who makes it all bearable.
‘Is Will around?’
Did I purposely call when I know he’s more likely than not to be at work? Is there some psychological ducking and diving going on here that I’m afraid to acknowledge?
‘No, he left an hour ago, I’m afraid. I think he was calling to give you an update. The charity van went in this week and collected what was left. The estate agent is due at the house tomorrow.’
She sounds a little subdued, acknowledging the fact that she understands it isn’t easy to hear, but in a way, I’d rather hear it from her.
‘Thank you. I am grateful, you know, that he’s taking charge. I’m not sure I could face it.’
‘Are you better, I mean really better?’
I cringe, hating the fact that anyone knows about my little incident and the meltdown.
‘I’m back to normal… ish, but the grieving process takes a long time, doesn’t it? But that’s behind me now. I’m working on a project and I’m away from home for another five weeks.’
‘That’s probably a help. Will means well, Tia, but he struggles with the emotional bit.’
‘Does he hate me, Sally?’
Her tone is one of shock. ‘No, of course not. You just need to… let him help once in a while; it makes him feel good about himself. He wants to be the big brother you turn to when you need something, it’s a role he’s never had to fulfil. I know – what can’t we women do for ourselves? I think it harks back to when your father died and, as young as he was, he became the man of the family. You’re very self-sufficient and always have been. Allowing him to sort this out is likely to re-open the channels of communication between you both. Give Will his moment, Tia. That’s all he needs.’
‘I’ve never looked at it like that. Thanks. That’s helpful to know.’
A moment passes and as I clear my throat to speak again, Sally jumps in.
‘Well, it’s good to hear your voice. Perhaps when you’re back in London you can come and visit. I talk to Bella about you all the time.’
My heart skips a beat, wishing it were possible for me to have a relationship with them all. But we both know the first move has to come from Will. And so far, it hasn’t.
‘Soon, maybe. Will can always email me if I don’t answer my phone. I have a lot of long interviews to do while I’m here and it’s quite intensive. But if he needs to contact me urgently, tell him to text and I’ll call him back the same day.’
‘I will. Take care of yourself, Tia.’
As the line goes dead I know I can’t face the turmoil that will begin to cloud my mind if I let it. Family stuff is inevitably going to lead me to think about Mum, and I can’t do that now. It’s too soon to be able to sit, go over old memories and end up with a smile on my face. I hope I will be able to do that at some point, but it’s way too early for that at the moment.
Besides, it time to start work.
*
Aside from one short coffee break and a light lunch, I power through until just after six p.m. It feels good to be back in my stride and I’ve even roughed-out some questions to aim at Nic if we do, finally, manage to sit down together and talk.
I rustle up a quick omelette and then take the iPad into the sitting room, together with a glass of wine. Olwyn is a little star and I hoped there would be a bottle nestling away somewhere if I looked hard enough.
Before pulling the curtains I look out, but with the darkening grey sky and the light beginning to fade, there’s nothing to be seen. Poor Max, I wonder what he finds to do on days like this and in the winter, when the bad weather lasts for days on end?
Out of nothing more than nosey curiosity, I open the iPad and type in his name. If Olwen is right, then I suspect there will be some mention of his name, somewhere. Even so, I’m very surprised when a long list of items appears on the screen in front of me. I open the first article and see it’s from one of the larger newspapers:
Royal Navy lieutenant Maxwell “Max” Hartington is a senior training officer, providing accredited training to university students. He has been awarded the Queen’s Voluntary Reserves medal in recognition for his service and dedication throughout his career.
Students are taught both leadership and seamanship skills, and as Royal Naval Cadets are given the rank of Midshipman. They are able to travel around European waters on dedicated patrol vessels, one of which was captained by Lt. Hartington for twelve years. Prior to that he formally left the service in 1999 and was asked to return as a training officer six months later. With a total of twenty years in the Regular Navy and twelve attached to the training unit, when interviewed Max said that he was completely surprised, but very proud to receive this award.
Well, that probably explains both why living so near to the sea isn’t an issue and his lack of concern about his rather basic living arrangements. I wonder what he did after giving up his training role, as that seemed to mark the end of his career, which means he might even have lived in Beach View Cottage for a couple of years before selling it to Nic. I wonder what prompted the change in circumstances. It just doesn’t add up, but then that’s the way my mind has been trained to work. I can’t stand loose ends, or mysteries. Both tend to niggle away in the back of my brain like unsolved equations.
Enough intrigue, my mind needs to switch off and I swipe the screen and click on the Netflix icon. I’m in the mood for a romantic comedy and what better than The Holiday, starring Jude Law? Maybe some equally romantic and soft-hearted guy will walk up the path to Beach View Cottage. Having taken a wrong turn, he parks, and then sees the glow from the light in the sitting room. He knocks on the door to ask for directions and one glance is enough—
OK – dream over, time to settle back and escape from reality for a while. Well, there’s nothing else to do and I take a rather strange pleasure from being able to repeat some of the lines from the film, verbatim.