Always and Only You

Chapter Fifty-Six

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Present Day

There’s a reason hundreds of thousands of holidaymakers flock to South Devon every year, clog up the roads, and fill every available dwelling that could conceivably be listed as a holiday let, and I’m lucky to be in one of the prettiest spots of all.

Every morning I wake up, open the French doors and walk barefoot onto soft green grass and breathe in the slightly salty air that snakes its way up the curves and bends in the river. The light is different here, I swear. Everything seems to be brighter, the colours more vivid, especially when the sun shines. But even when it doesn’t, the dusky blues, greens and greys of the river are soothing.

I fall into an easy daily routine, waking when I want to, eating breakfast, then going for a walk. Sometimes I get the ferry across the river to Whitehaven Quay and I walk up the winding hill and stare at the drive through the wrought-iron gates before turning round and retracing my steps back to Heron’s Quay.

Gil has made good on his word; he leaves me to my devices during the day, and I often don’t see him until the evening. The only evidence I’m sharing a house with him is the noise coming from the downstairs rooms: occasional banging, sometimes scraping, the sound of furniture being moved. I don’t venture down to see what he’s up to. I’m happy to keep my distance for now.

Each night, he appears from downstairs and cooks dinner, and it’s always really good. Nothing fancy, but he seems to prefer fresh local ingredients over speed and convenience, flavour over presentation. We eat on the roof if the weather is fine. I don’t start any conversations and even though I feel him watching me occasionally, he doesn’t either, which is a relief. I know he’s letting me stay here as a favour to Simon, but my wonky brain hasn’t forgotten all I know about him. I’m not going to let myself get lulled into a false sense of security.

I’ve been at Heron’s Quay for almost two weeks when I walk into my little suite of rooms after lunch and head for the bedroom. I’m just kicking my shoes off, ready to take a nap, when I realize the cotton wool feeling inside my head that drives me to my bed in the afternoons is missing. I stand there staring at the pattern on the duvet cover, realizing I don’t actually feel tired enough to sleep.

I feel a strange sense of hunger deep in my being. Not for food, but for something to do. For the last few weeks I’ve been happy drifting where the current of the day takes me, but now I feel as if I want to take the rudder and point myself in a direction I choose. The only problem is, I don’t know where to head for. Not work. I’m clued up enough now to know I’m still not ready for that. But something …

I turn away from the bed and open the doors of the art deco wardrobe. A few of my clothes hang at one end of the rail, but I push them aside and pull out the smaller of the two bags I brought with me. It’s still heavy, even though I’ve unpacked all my shoes and toiletries.

After placing it on the bed, I unzip it and pull out my wedding binder. When I packed for this trip, I smuggled it in there while Simon wasn’t looking, but it’s been in here since I arrived.

I hug it to my chest and head out of my rooms, across the hallway into the main living area. The light is better at the long dining table and I might need space to spread things out so I can look at them properly.

I make myself a cup of tea and then sit down in front of the binder and flip it open. There are colourful tabbed sections for different items like ‘Dress’ and ‘Flowers’ and ‘Cake’, and within those sections dozens of colourful page markers.

I stare at the binder for a good two minutes, paralyzed by indecision. Just start anywhere, Erin. But I don’t. And the longer I look at the contents page in the front, the more uneasy I feel. I keep thinking about my epic meltdown, as I now refer to it, how I felt so out of control of my own emotions, so helpless. It scared me. This book was part of what prompted that.

The dregs of my tea are cold in my cup when I admit defeat, close my binder and deliver it back to its hiding place at the bottom of my wardrobe.