I let out a gentle hum of appreciation.
“People like to fill in the gaps, to paint their own picture, but no one really knows the truth of someone else’s story.”
“You’re very wise, Gerry,” I say, as we get back to the footpath that leads up the hill to Sans Ennui. “Have you ever thought about becoming a guru? You could write a book full of all your wisdom.”
Gerry lets out a throaty cackle.
“I’d have to call it Gin and Gibberish.” Gerry taps my arm with his hand then and asks, “What has you up so early then, besides worrying about Ted?”
“I don’t know, everything.” I sigh. “Work, thinking about my mum and dad, wondering what I’m doing with my life.”
“What are you doing with your life?” he asks, and his tone is so serious, it catches me off guard.
“Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Watching the waves foaming over the rocks, I feel a new clarity as to what’s unsettling me. “When I was twenty, if you told me that by twenty-nine I’d be alone in the world, with all my friends moving on, clinging to my job because it’s the only solid thing—” I let out a sigh. “I guess that’s why I have to believe the universe has a plan for me, because if it doesn’t, maybe I’m simply doing everything wrong.”
Gerry squeezes my arm tight and taps the end of his stick in the sand.
“Well, Laura, if we consult the book of Gin and Gibberish, it would say, the question is only—‘What are you doing with your life today?’ I think I told you my philosophy is not to look too far back, or too far ahead.”
“Well then, today I am going on a boat trip with a lovely young man, I am writing my article as best I can, and I am in a breathtakingly beautiful place, having a wonderful walk with you, Gerry.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound all that bad.”
Helping Gerry up the path from the beach, I think he definitely shouldn’t be coming down here on his own, he’s so unsteady on his feet.
When we near the garden, I ask, “So, what should I do then, about Belinda’s letter?”
“I’ll leave it up to you. I’ll probably have forgotten all about this conversation by tomorrow or fallen over again and knocked it clean out of my head.” He makes a funny face by squinting his eyes and pulling his bottom lip up over his top one. I squeeze his arm tighter. For someone whose body is so out of his control, Gerry is astonishingly at ease with the world. It’s as though he knows some secret contentment that the rest of us are not privy to; being in his company is enough to make you feel it might rub off on you.
It is strange to think I have known Gerry such a short time and that tomorrow I will go home and not have a chance to know him better. I wonder if this feeling of being stuck, of being left behind, has come from not traveling much these last two years—not stepping out of my own small sphere, not meeting new people, not seeing new places. Every trip I took in my early twenties sent me home with a broader mind and a new perspective on the person I wanted to be. Then again, there’s something about this island and the people I have met here. It feels like more than a research trip or a holiday to me; it feels like something I might want to stay connected to when my real life resumes.
Chapter 19
When we get back to the house, Sandy is sitting in her garden with a hot drink and a newspaper.
“Morning! I’m surprised to see you up so bright and early, Laura,” she calls over the wall, waving an arm for us to come and join her. I look to Gerry.
“Hold on, I just need a run up,” Gerry says, backing up as though he’s about to take a flying leap over the garden wall. It must show on my face that, for a moment, I think he’s seriously going to attempt such a thing, because Gerry laughs, points at my face, and then rocks forward on his stick to get his balance again.
“Maybe not today,” he says. “I’ll leave you ladies to it. Sandy, why don’t you show Laura round the barn? I think she’d be interested.”
“The barn?” I ask.
“My life’s work,” he says cryptically, then he gives a small bow, turns, and starts slowly making his way up to the house.
“What’s the barn?” I ask Sandy as I clamber over the low stone wall.
“Well, Gerry must rate you if he wants you to see the barn,” Sandy says. “It’s just across the road, we’ll have a gander in a bit. How are you feeling?” Her ruddy, round face breaks into a knowing grin.