and sweat beads my brow, but I keep going, even though I’m supposed to take it easy because of the C-section scar. It niggles a bit, but not enough to be a problem. Nothing seems a problem today. A light mood has settled over me and for the first time in weeks I’m thinking about the future. Demi really helped me to get my thoughts in order, though she didn’t actually do much – she was just Demi. She stayed over last night but went off to work this morning.
As soon as I get back I’m packing Mum off home. Much as I love her, four days has been enough. Besides, I need to get used to coping with being a new mum without always having someone there to help. Simon took the first two and a half weeks off, and the only reason I’m allowed to be in Cornwall is because Mum agreed to stay with me.
At the water’s edge I roll up my crop trousers and splash through the waves. I slow my power walk down a few gears though; otherwise I’ll soon be drenched. The chill of the ocean climbs up my calves and cools my heated skin. I turn in a circle, tip my face to the sky and spread my arms. It’s a Tuesday out of season, so there aren’t many people on the beach today to see me; but, to be honest, I couldn’t care less if they do. This place, the ocean, makes me feel so free, so peaceful and calm. A deep breath fills my lungs with fresh ozone and seaweed and I close my eyes and let a little bit more pain slip away on the tide.
In my mind’s eye I place an image of a happy little boy playing on the dunes behind me with his sister. He’s wearing a white sunhat and dungarees, his sister dressed the same, apart from a yellow hat, and they are laughing and digging in the sand. Of course I realise this can never happen, but it helps a little to picture it. Ruan was a part of me, albeit for such a brief time, and he always will be.
I look down and realise that the water is up to my knees and my trousers are soaked. Never mind, I don’t care; in fact I love it. It won’t be long before I’m back in London and far away from the ocean, the call of the gulls and the whispering sea breeze through my bedroom window. Simon’s coming in two days to pick me up and I wish I could look forward to seeing him. I can’t though, because he represents going back to the city. Of course he’s been wonderful throughout this whole thing, bringing me down here, being attentive – overly so at times – buying loads of new stuff we don’t need for Iona, the apartment, me. It’s as if he thinks having all these things, packing them into our lives, will fill in the gaping hole Ruan has left behind. I shouldn’t be too harsh on him though; it’s his way of coping, I suppose. He’s suffered just as much as I have.
I think of the little silver urn in my suitcase. Simon and I said we’d sprinkle the ashes on the last day before we went back, but I want to do it alone… I think. Something tells me that Simon agreed to it just to placate me. I don’t think he sees the point. But then he wouldn’t feel the same about this place as I do, would he? He originally talked about planting a tree for Ruan in some London remembrance park, feeding the roots with his ashes… but… oh, I don’t know… it just didn’t feel right. My boy belongs here in Cornwall where I’m happiest. Then a little sliver of worry slips under my ribs. Perhaps I’m not looking forward to seeing Simon because I don’t feel we have that much in common – in fact we probably never did. But that needs to change. I must make it change.
An idea that is becoming a regular visitor pops up again. What if I could persuade Simon to up sticks, move to Truro perhaps, open his own consultancy? Yes, there’d be fewer people here who could afford private care, but do we have to be so rich? He could even work for the NHS. I’d prefer it, I must say. I give a wry smile when I picture his reaction to all that. No, Simon likes the finest things in life and Cornwall, for him, is not one of them.
Then I remind myself that I am supposed to be looking to the future and being more positive. We have a beautiful little girl that we love, the option of coming down to visit my beloved beach house whenever we like, and friends and family to support us. Well, mine do. Simon’s parents are always globetrotting and not particularly warm or approachable people. Nevertheless, when they heard about our loss, they sent a huge bouquet of flowers and a lovely card with a heartfelt message. I have a lot to be thankful for.
I wiggle my toes in the wet sand and look along the dunes towards the beach house. The new future says that I have to point up the positive and play down the negative. And when Simon comes, I must try my best to show him some affection too. I can’t continue to push him away. He is my husband and I have to make it work… for Iona, if nothing else. And I do love him really, don’t I? My feelings are all over the place at the moment. It’s to be expected.
Having made a decision to order his favourite wine and make a lovely meal for when he arrives, I set off back along the beach, the wind at my back. Iona might be awake now and she’ll need her feed. Mum is all fingers and thumbs with the formula. I had planned to breastfeed, but after Ruan… I just didn’t have the heart. I should have been breastfeeding two babies, not one. It makes no sense really, the more I think about it, but it’s how I feel and that’s that.
As I turn from the beach onto the unmade road I think I hear someone calling my name. I stop and listen, look round at the dunes… nope. Must have been the moan of the wind. I take a couple more steps and then stop. There it is again, closer now. So close that I recognise the voice and my heart starts thumping in my chest. Turning, I see a man with a mop of blond hair and a tanned face appear from behind the curve of the dunes and raise a hand. Mine copies his, though I haven’t asked it to, and the man powers up the beach towards me, his long legs making short work of the distance between us.
‘Holly, I thought it was you,’ Jowan says, pushing his windswept curls out of his eyes. Eyes that I once told him were as blue as summer skies. His tan deepens and he can’t hold my gaze. ‘I wasn’t sure whether to say anything to you. I saw you paddling earlier and chickened out… but in the end I couldn’t help myself. How are you, Trev?’
Hearing his old name for me, based on my maiden name, Trevillick, puts me right back at the school gates where I’d wait every day for him to walk me home. That’s nearly ten years ago, but, my God, it feels like I’m standing there again right now. In my stomach there are the fluttering wings of a hundred butterflies as I anticipate seeing him walk across the playground. I know it won’t be long before I feel his arms around me. I can’t speak.
‘Oh, Holly. Please don’t get upset.’ I curse the moisture in my eyes as Jowan places a hand on my shoulder, a sympathetic look sweeping my face. He is older, broader, more of a man than a boy now, and the nearness of him is taking my breath away.
I take a step back. How dare he? How dare he think he can be so familiar – call me by my old name, put his hand on me? ‘Is there any wonder, Jowan?’ I fling my arms up. ‘You leave without a word – fuck off to the army – and now you expect me to be all calm and collected. It might have been a long time ago, but I can remember it all as if it were yesterday!’
He pushes his hands through his hair and shakes his head. ‘Oh God. Believe me, this was the last thing I wanted. I am so, so sorry for everything I put you through. I was an idiot back then and I wish I’d never gone.’ A heavy sigh. ‘This is the last thing you need with what you’ve had to put up with recently…’
‘What? Who told you?’ I try to calm the rage pulsing through my head but I fail – this is too much. He’s not allowed to know the private details of my life, not any more – he doesn’t have the right!
‘Demi… I saw her the other day in the shop and…’
Damn her! How could she? ‘Go away, Jowan. I don’t want to see you or talk to you ever again.’ My voice is surprisingly calm, but cold. Ice cold. For a moment I think he’s going to cry. His wide mouth that used to kiss me all over, lips I can almost taste he’s so near, opens and then closes again – becomes a thin line. He nods as if in acceptance, turns and runs off back to the beach.
I don’t know how I am managing to walk up the drive to my house; my legs are trembling so much and my heart is threatening to tear apart. Once inside, I lean against the kitchen sink for a few minutes to get my breath, splash water on my face. How can he have such an effect on me after three years? Oh yes, I knew I resented him, despised him, hated him for ripping my heart out. He made me run