When Max arrives, he looks rather smart and on first sight I think my jaw drops a little.
‘Come in. Let me take your jacket.’
He slips off his shoes and I think that’s a rather thoughtful gesture. I do exactly the same thing, when visiting other people’s homes because it’s something I’ve always done. Then I remember that Max was the former owner of the cottage and this could be the first time he’s been inside since the renovation work was carried out. Is this something he finds difficult, I wonder? I have no idea whether it’s a place that holds a lot of memories for him, or whether he never had a real attachment to it.
‘Um… chicken is cooking, roast potatoes are crisping nicely. I’ll just pop your jacket on a hanger. I found a rather nice bottle of red wine in the cupboard, courtesy of Olwen. The glasses and bottle opener are on the coffee table if you don’t mind taking charge?’
Max nods. The warmth in those greyish-blue eyes is genuine, but I can see he is affected by this room. It saddens me as I head towards the kitchen.
Maybe giving him a few moments alone is the right thing to do. Oh, Tia, what have you done?
I try to throw off my concerns, as I prepare the meal. I meant well and that’s what counts. The laptop is playing a loop of classical musical, but the volume is low as I wasn’t sure whether Max was a music sort of guy.
When I start to dish up he appears, a half-filled wine glass in each hand, which he sets down on the table. I reflect that there isn’t anything at all about Max that isn’t gentlemanly, or refined, despite his old sea dog demeanour.
‘In my capacity as the honorary wine waiter, I took it upon myself to do the tasting. I can report on the fact that it’s a fine and robust bottle of wine, with hints of cherry and notes of blackberry.’
I start laughing and as our eyes meet I know he’s forgiven me my faux pas. Perhaps sometimes it helps to face the memories that haunt us, head-on and that’s how we come to understand that trying to hold onto the past is pointless.
‘I like what he’s done with it.’ Max turns, taking in the detail.
‘It’s pretty great, isn’t it? But now I’ve seen the inside of your cabin I’m envious.’
Max winks at me. ‘Not bad for an old fisherman, eh?’
I think I’ve figured him out. He deflects questions by presenting himself as this simple, older guy who has turned his back on the world. As if he never was a part of it and lacks the energy and enthusiasm to get involved. But having read that article, I know it’s not the truth.
‘Well, sixty-five isn’t old for a start. And anyone who is clued-up enough to run their beachside home using solar panels, knows a thing or two about twenty-first century living. You’re quite a surprise, Max, and I’m not falling for the old fisherman thing.’
His eyes widen in exaggerated surprise at being found out and he hangs his head to one side.
‘Sorry. It’s just so much easier saying little and expecting nothing from anyone.’
‘Take a seat. You have my undivided attention this evening. You gave me the short version, now I want to hear the whole thing.’
He lets out an exasperated, if somewhat resigned, sigh. ‘On one condition. You have a story of your own and I have a feeling there are many things you’ve chosen not to share with anyone, too. Is it a deal?’
I nod. ‘You first.’
It’s a leisurely meal and Max is happy to talk about his time in the Navy, not appreciating that I was already aware of his former career. He doesn’t mention his medal, only shares a few of the stories from his time in service. Then he talks about his involvement with training the cadets. His love of the sea comes across so strongly in the way he talks about the skills a young man acquires during his training. Skills that encompass every aspect of their lives, it seems, and turns them from boys into men.
‘The training makes the man, Tia. But the long periods of separation aren’t good for personal relationships and it takes a toll.’
As I clear away the plates, I can hear the sadness in his voice, even though my back is towards him.
‘Did you ever have any children?’
He glances across at me as I spin my head around.
‘Two. But my son and I don’t speak.’
It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about that and I return to swilling off the plates.
‘I have fruit sorbet, or cheese and biscuits. Which do you prefer?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. Never had a sweet tooth and that was quite a meal. A home-cooked roast dinner is a rare treat for me these days. I’m a throw it on the fire type of man.’
‘And delicious that is, too. So now you’re on your own? And happy, or should I say, happier?’
‘I wonder if divorce can ever be amicable. Mine most certainly wasn’t. On paper, it must have looked like we were the couple who had it all. That included a big house near London and a holiday cottage down here with a private beach and woodland. Our son was following in his mother’s footsteps and making a big name for himself in the City. But the truth was that none of us were happy.’
He stops abruptly and I don’t think he’s going to say anything more. I’m surprised, therefore, when he suddenly picks the conversation up again.
‘I wasn’t running away from the responsibility, I was trying to distance myself from the pain. Money and possessions, I came to appreciate, create mistrust and envy. They bring out the worst in people. I have money, more than I need. So, I gave a lot away and that was wrong, according to my ex-wife. I kept some as a nest egg and that was wrong too, apparently. I’m sure my ex-wife continues to be angry at everything I do and the lifestyle I have chosen will, no doubt, be an embarrassment to her. And that’s why my family disowned me.’
I sit back down, facing Max across the table and trying to swallow the huge lump in my throat.
‘But you survived,’ I half-whisper.
‘Yes. And it made me see that some people are judgemental and if you don’t conform to their particular standards or ideas, then you become a threat of sorts. Some traits are so ingrained they are second nature and that applies to both sides of the argument. So, I choose to live on the beach and some people choose to see that as a failure that is an embarrassment. My wife is horrified and my son would prefer me to have what he would perceive to be a more acceptable lifestyle at my age. As for me, I’m perfectly happy where I am.’
He raises his glass in the air and the twinkle is back in his eyes. I raise mine and our glasses chink.
‘Now, Tia, it’s your turn.’
‘I don’t quite know where to begin and that’s not a stalling tactic. I never intended to be a career woman, well, not to dedicate every waking hour of the day to my job… Shall we take this into the sitting room and make ourselves a little more comfortable?’
I pick up the wine bottle and Max follows me through. I top up his glass and pour a splash into my own, and then curl up on the sofa, facing him.
‘Men have come and gone. I don’t mean hundreds, but a few, and most were a couple of dates and move on. Maybe I get bored easily, I don’t know, but I’ve never met anyone who could hold my interest. It seemed the more I found out about them, the less appealing they became. That sounds sad, doesn’t it?’
‘I would say truthful, rather than sad. I think you are being a little hard on yourself, though. You just haven’t met the right person, yet.’
‘Ah, a man who still believes in hope. Now that’s comforting, as I thought you might be a little more jaded given the circumstances.’
The twinkle is back and I remember what Olwen said about Max’s lady friend. Perhaps hope never dies. He doesn’t respond, so I continue.
‘OK. Wind forward and I hit thirty and it’s all work, work, work. The only family member I had regular contact with was my mum, but I have a brother, a sister-in-law and a niece I haven’t seen for over four years. Well, except at Mum’s funeral.’
‘That’s hard. Death is a journey for both parties; those who pass over and those who are left behind.’
I sit back, staring at him.
‘Do you know something, Max? You’re the first person since Mum died to say something to me that is, actually, meaningful. People can’t handle it, can they? And that includes me. The reason I’m here is that I went to pieces and the doctor gave me some pills. Then one night, instead of taking one, I took three. I keep telling myself I had an allergic reaction to them, but the truth is that I was scared. Alone, and scared. I popped a second pill, then a third and I washed them down with half a bottle of wine. My brother came to the house with some papers that needed my signature. He looked in through the sitting room window and saw me lying on the floor. He called an ambulance and it probably saved my life. And now that’s another thing that stands between us; he accused me of being selfish.’
Max shakes his head and I can feel his empathy.
‘The funny thing, though, was that I wasn’t trying to kill myself, at all. I didn’t want to die; I just didn’t know how to cope with the pain of the loss, or the stark finality of death. I was very young when my father died, so I clung onto Mum. I suppose, with hindsight, my need actually helped her through it. But I never allowed myself to even contemplate life without her. She’s the only person who ever really understood me, the bit in here that you never share.’
I touch my chest and lapse into silence. A sense of relief lifts my spirits and I’m amazed at how natural it feels opening up to Max. I’m proud of myself, as it’s not an easy thing to admit and the fact that I’ve finally owned up to it makes me feel stronger, somehow. Before, I felt ashamed that I had been so careless and had risked my own life as if it were nothing.
‘My boss accepted the story about the allergic reaction and I took a month off. When I was due to return to work, I didn’t know if I could do it. You know – face everyone, knowing what I’d done. Having to listen to the well-meaning platitudes that people say, hoping I won’t dissolve into tears in front of them. It was a surprise being sent here and I’m sure there’s an ulterior motive behind it. Maybe I’m about to be demoted, who knows? I sink or swim, based upon the success of this project, I guess. I have five weeks left to deliver and prove myself. And that’s the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, as they say in court.’
Max is a real gentleman. Considering he’s not a talker, he sensitively changes the subject and we talk about music, opera, books we’d take with us if we had to spend time on a desert island… and before we know it, it’s past midnight.
As we part, Max leans in to give me a gentle hug and I pat his back.
‘It helps, doesn’t it?’
I nod and the look that passes between us is one of understanding.
‘It’s been cathartic and I thank you, Max. I never thought I’d hear myself say that out loud and now I have—’
‘The sky didn’t fall and the earth didn’t open up and swallow you whole. Guess we have one quite important thing in common; we are survivors. Hang in there, Tia. Inner strength will never fail you and there are many who would envy you that quality.’
He pulls a torch from his pocket and as the latch on the gate at the bottom of the garden clicks shut, he turns and waves.
‘You know where to find me if you need anything. Any time. Day, or night.’ And with that he disappears into the darkness.