Ilídio and I set to work in companionable silence, he at his workbench and me at mine. As I unpack the treasure trove from the shoebox in front of me, feeling the textures of metal and stone in my hands, the familiar clinking of tangled chains, I feel a flush of energy, the creative part of myself waking up. It’s lain dormant for a long time, too tired from work, too busy online or scrolling on my phone, too tinged with the sadness of association. Yet here, now, it holds no sadness.
I wrap green sea glass in silver wire, then solder each droplet of glass to a vintage chain bracelet. From Ted’s box, I take a simple necklace of silver mesh, mend it, and then weave a layer of sea glass through it. It takes on a life of its own once I’ve started, like a wave of silver, with all the secrets of the sea caught in its motion. Dee has always encouraged me to create things again. I cannot wait to show her this necklace—once she is talking to me again.
Time disappears into the place it goes when you are in creative flow. When I next look up through the workshop window, I realize it is dark outside. I must have been sitting here for hours. Ilídio has gone. A coffee cup is on the bench behind me with a Post-it note stuck to it: Didn’t want to disturb you, stay as long as you like. Put key under pot. He must have crept away to bed. I must go myself. Before I leave, I lay out my creations on the bench, put the sea glass bracelet around my wrist, and feel something I haven’t felt in years: pride.
“Thanks, Mum,” I say softly.
She led me here, to what I needed.
6 July 1992
Dear Alex,
She is wonderful, isn’t she? I knew you would love her the second you laid eyes on her. You can visit her any time you like. I printed out the photos of you holding her—copies enclosed. She has your chin, don’t you think? And your huge feet—she will be a giant!
I’m sorry, Al, but I still feel the same way about the coin. Finding the coin is what led me to you, to Laura, and I want a piece of it for her. You don’t experience objects the way I do—I feel all the memories it holds when I have it in my hand, visceral to me. If your family would promise to leave both pieces to Laura once your grandmother passes, then I would return my half until then, but I’d want it in writing. I agree, better for the pieces to stay together.
Love,
Annie
Chapter 26
That night I dream I’m in a pitch meeting with Suki—a standard anxiety dream for me. Usually I’m naked or mute in these dreams, but this time, I am a tiger, towering over her, roaring at the room. That’s what comes of reading Tiger Woman before bed. The tone of the book, with all its grandiose affirmations, is a bit much for me. But beyond the metaphors, perhaps the message of tuning back into your instincts is a valid one; I don’t think it was logic that led me to that workbench last night.
I wake feeling surprisingly well rested. Looking out of the window, there’s still no sign of Ted’s car in the driveway. Where did he sleep? Has he left the island to go and find her? How worried about him should I be?
I need to check my emails now the Wi-Fi is back on, but I left my laptop at Sandy’s, and when I climb over the wall, no one is home and the house is shut up. This would have been enough to send me into a panic yesterday, but this morning I feel uncharacteristically calm. It is Sunday; surely I can afford to be disconnected for one morning of the weekend. So instead of fretting, I decide to go for a sea swim.
Stepping into the garden with my towel wrapped around my bikini, I close my eyes, and turn my face to the sky. The sun feels brighter here somehow, though the September air is still cool beneath the cloudless sky. Running barefoot down the path to the sea, I throw off my towel as I hit the sand and plunge headfirst into the waves, not giving myself a chance to wimp out. The icy water winds me, stripping me back to something elemental. Then, once I’ve caught my breath, I look out to the watery horizon; Gerry’s spirit level, leveling me.
In the sea, I can’t help thinking back over the conversation I had with Dee, before she got upset with me. Her theory that my search for the impossibly perfect guy could be a distraction, because I don’t believe I deserve to be happy. She’s wrong—I do think I deserve happiness, and honestly, I don’t think my subconscious is that clever. But maybe I need to rethink where that happiness is going to come from. The feeling of contentment in the workshop last night—it gave me a glimpse of a different kind of happiness, the one you can only find from within.
Even if I do have some soul-searching to do, there’s no denying I had a great time with Jasper yesterday. I laughed, I felt fun; there is such levity and brightness to him. But then Ted feels like this anchor point, drawing me in. And in the map of my mind, all roads lead back to that kiss. He made it clear enough that it was a mistake; I need to forget what happened on the sand. I hope he is OK, though. I would like to know that he is OK.