Scamp is a terrier cross of some kind, with one ear in the air and the other flopping over his friendly little face. I notice he’s left dirty little paw prints on my dress. Someone calls Ted’s name from the garden, and we walk through the narrow, box-cluttered kitchen out of some French windows onto a gravel terrace overlooking the steep garden and the sea beyond. A woman in her early forties with a cheerful round face and short peroxide hair is sitting at a table with a whippet-thin, elderly man who is nursing a bandaged arm.
“Ah, sorry, you got Scamped before I could tie him up,” says the woman, jumping up and trying to catch the dog. Then she notices Ted is topless. “Why are you half naked, man?”
“Long story. I’m going to get changed. Dad, Sandy, this is Laura, Laura—Sandy and my dad, Gerry. Do you like crab, Laura?”
I hold up a hand in greeting to Gerry and Sandy.
“I adore crab,” I say, grinning at Ted as he retreats inside. I turn to catch Sandy’s eyes shifting between us. Her gaze settles back on me, and she enthusiastically offers me a chair.
“Sit, sit! Oh no, look, Scamp ruined your lovely dress!” Sandy covers her mouth in horror.
“Oh, don’t worry, it was already ruined.”
The sun is beating down on the patio, and I’m now too hot in Hot Suitcase Guy’s jumper, so I take it off and hang it on the back of my chair. “Look,” I say, pointing to the chocolate stain with a smile, “testament to a disastrous day.” I turn to Ted’s father. “I’m sorry to intrude like this, Gerry. Ted went in the sea looking for me, so it’s my fault he got soaked.”
“You’re this Laura then,” says Gerry. His voice is quiet, lacking resonance. I can see a shadow of Ted about his features, but Gerry’s face is softer, less expressive. Both his hands shake with an obvious tremor. “I’m pleased you persuaded him to take you around the island and have a break from all these boxes.”
Looking at the state of the house, and Gerry’s fragile frame, I feel guilty for persuading Ted to drive me around today.
“He’s been an excellent tour guide. I only hope I haven’t deprived you of his help.”
“Good for him to get out. Terrible job, having to babysit your old dad and do his packing for him,” Gerry says with a warm smile. “Though one benefit of my vision going is that I can’t see what he’s throwing away. ‘Make sure you keep the good china.’ ‘Yes, Dad. Sure, Dad. That breaking sound? Oh no, that was the stuff you didn’t like.’？” He chuckles.
We chat away; Gerry and Sandy ask me lots of questions about my visit. They are both so friendly, I feel myself relax, bask in the warmth of their easy company. When Ted reappears in a clean blue linen shirt and dark jeans, holding two plates of crab salad, Sandy says, “Ted, why don’t we let Laura stay in the cottage for a few nights? I’ve no bookings in this week, and it will be nicer than staying in town.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’m fine where I am—” I say, embarrassed to have Ted put on the spot. “This crab looks wonderful, you really didn’t have to feed me.”
“Always looking after everyone but himself,” says Sandy. Then she points to the tiny white cottage, just before the garden wall. “Laura, wouldn’t you rather wake up to this view? Best spot on the island—it might be small, but it sure is cozy. I’ve taken over the running of the place for Gerry. You can stay for free in exchange for a five-star review,” she says with a wink.
I imagine the stark beauty of this wild bay, with rocks jutting out from the sea and the long sweep of sand stretching for miles down the coast, is exactly the kind of scene Love Life subscribers would like to see.
“It is a stunning view, you’re so lucky to live here, Gerry.” I realize too late what I’ve said and feel the skin on my neck prickle with embarrassment. “I mean, to have lived here. Sorry.”
Gerry gives me a reassuring smile, then reaches out to briefly press a shaking hand over mine.
“Best view in the world. I was born in this house, so it’s etched on my eyeballs—though, with the changing tide and sky, it never looks the same one hour to the next.”
“So, what do you say, Laura?” Sandy asks. “Get some sea air into those London lungs? It’s a shame to have it there sitting empty.”
Looking down at the little cottage, I’m suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to stay here. This place, this beach, this view all feels much closer to the Jersey my mother described than the glass office blocks of St. Helier. I glance up at Ted, anxious that it isn’t him who’s inviting me to stay in his garden. I can’t read his expression as he hands me cutlery.