“Thanks. I will. You don’t mind if I listen to the cricket, do you?” He gestures to the speaker beside him.
“Of course not.” I smile sweetly. “You don’t mind if I do some primal screaming, do you?”
“Be my guest.”
He pulls out a slice of pizza, and the distant waft of pepperoni makes my stomach crunch up with envy. It smells like really good pizza. I want to ask where he got it from. It looks crisp, well cooked, covered in onions and herbs …
“Shit!” Finn shouts in shock, as I simultaneously gasp. A huge seagull just dived down and stole his pizza out of his hand with no warning. “You shitting bird!” Finn yells. “Give me back my food!” He looks up furiously at the offending seagull, a hand shading his eyes. “Come back, you bloody vermin!” I can’t help snorting with laughter, and he turns his murderous glare on me. “Wait. You think that’s funny?”
“Quite funny.” I nod. “Because I have a sense of humor.”
Finn looks momentarily discomfited, and I take the opportunity to make an exit while I have the advantage. Also because I can see three more seagulls heading toward him with purpose. This may not be pretty.
“Lovely place for a picnic,” I say lightly, and turn on my heel.
It’s not pretty. Soon Finn is batting away seagulls with both hands as they circle his head, shrieking and dive-bombing and basically attacking him. He’s swearing and shouting, to no avail—there are too many of them.
Thank you, seagulls, I say silently as I watch from behind the lodge window. They did commune with me, after all! They heard my needs and they responded.
As I watch, Finn finally caves in. He clambers down from the rock, holding the remains of his pizza and whisky protectively away from the marauding seagulls while cursing them vigorously. A few moments later, I hear footsteps on the boardwalk that runs along the front of the lodges, followed by the slam of a door. He’s gone. Ha!
It wouldn’t do to grab his spot immediately. It might look as though I was crowing over him in some triumphalist, unseemly way. So I leave it a full, tactful ten seconds before I emerge from my lodge, make my way nonchalantly to the rock, and climb up. I settle back in the hollow and breathe out in satisfaction. At last. Peace. The seagulls have flown away. It’s calm. It’s perfect. Totally tranquil. Just the sound of the waves and a pleasant little breeze in the air and—
Hang on. Was that a spot of rain?
I peer up at the sky and feel a splash in my eye. No way. No way. Stupid bloody nature. It was supposed to be on my side.
Well, who cares? I’m not giving in. I’m tougher than that. I pull my anorak hood over my head and try to hunker more deeply into the hollow of the rock as the rain starts properly falling. It’s all good, I tell myself firmly as the downpour drums on my hood. It doesn’t matter that my jeans are damp and my hands are freezing. I’m being mindful. Exactly. Mindful rock, mindful rain, mindful—
As I hear a sound, my head whips round before I can stop it, and rain pours off the edge of my hood into my face. As I’m spluttering water out of my mouth, I see Finn standing in the doorway of his lodge, perfectly dry, with an umbrella in one hand and his whisky bottle in the other. For a few beats there’s silence between us. I’m glaring grimly at him through the rain, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.
“What happened to the primal screaming?” he says.
“I’m meditating,” I reply stiffly.
“Ah. Well, enjoy.”
He heads along the boardwalk and I watch resentfully until he’s gone, then turn back to face the sea. Come on, Sasha. Meditate.
I focus on the waves and take a deep breath of damp, rainy air, trying to be present and mindful and grateful for the things in my life.
Rain is in my life. And I’m grateful for rain, because …
A sharp breeze makes me shiver and I look around the deserted beach. Oh, who am I kidding? I want a cup of tea. I’m done.
Nine
By mid-afternoon I’ve had a cup of tea, a long hot bath, and an even longer nap, and I’m feeling a lot more human. The rain has been pounding down relentlessly, which I know because I’ve heard it on the other side of my boarded-up window. But around three o’clock the drumming noise dies down, and according to my weather app, it’s now fair, with a chance of sunshine.
I dress in dry clothes, put on my spare anorak, and venture out through the empty hotel lobby into a lovely, clear afternoon. The rain has stopped and there’s a pale, watery sunshine reflecting off puddles everywhere, which makes me squint after the darkness of my room.
Without pausing to consider, I walk briskly through the town toward the same goal as yesterday. Inside the dingy supermarket, I stock up on biscuits, crisps, and a cherry Genoa cake. The same guy is sitting behind the till, and as I pay, he gives me a knowing nod, as though we’re old friends.
“Going to the Cash and Carry soon,” he says in a low voice, as I stash the packets in my inside pocket. “Get you anything you like. Say the word.”
“Thanks.” I match his low tone. “Maybe.”
He leans across the counter and lowers his voice still further. “Get you a box of Club biscuits, twenty quid.”
Club biscuits! I haven’t eaten a Club biscuit since … when? Probably since I was on holiday here. Terry used to hand them out after surf lessons, and just at the memory, my mouth is watering.
“Yes, please,” I say, instinctively glancing around to see if anyone can hear. “Orange, if they’re available.”
“Orange Club biscuits.” The guy nods and taps the side of his nose. “Got it. Drop them up at the hotel, shall I?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’ll collect.”
“You’re the boss. Anytime after five.” I hand him a twenty-pound note and his eyes swivel to the door, where a pair of women have come in. “Mum’s the word.”
As I walk out, my phone buzzes, and I pull it out to see a name flashing. At once I feel a leap of joy.
“Hi!” I answer. “Hi! Dinah. How are you?”
“How am I?” Her Irish brogue nearly knocks me off my feet. “I’m grand. It’s you I’m concerned about, Sasha. Running into walls now, is it?”
I laugh, instantly relaxing. God, it’s nice to hear her voice. Why haven’t I called her before?
“I don’t know what happened,” I admit. “I flipped out. It was the well-being officer who did it. She wanted me to answer 375 emails and be joyful.”
“Joyful!” snorts Dinah. “When you’re at work you’re a laboring woman. You’re concentrating on the job. You need sensitive support and peace to get on with the demands being made of your body and mind. Sod the doctors! I mean, the well-being officers.”
Since Dinah became a doula, she sees everything in terms of childbirth and occasionally slips into “labor” pep talks. Which are actually quite instructive.
“So, what are you up to?” she demands now. “I heard you went to the seaside.”
“Trying to be restful. And healthy.” I look at my shopping bag of crisps and cake. “Let’s say it’s a work in progress.”