“Oh. Hi, Gerry. You’re up early.”
“My last early morning beach walk,” he says. “Care to join me?”
Pulling a cardigan around my shoulders, I slip on my flip-flops.
“Can’t sleep either?” he asks, and I shake my head.
Gerry leads us down the small path between the fields toward the sea. We walk at a glacial pace, but I don’t mind; I’m glad of the opportunity to talk with Gerry.
“Your last night in the house. Was that what kept you awake?”
“Sleep’s always a challenge,” he says. “My body keeps me awake, not my brain, muscles just can’t turn off. Every few hours, if I haven’t conked, I have to get up and stretch my legs. It can be less exhausting walking about, giving your limbs a purpose.”
“That sounds hard, I’m sorry.”
“Is what it is. I don’t know where I’ll walk at the new place,” he mutters, with a note of sadness I haven’t heard in his voice before. “I always head to the beach when lying down gets too much. Though Sandy says I shouldn’t go out alone anymore, I’ve had too many falls recently.” He lifts his bandaged arm to illustrate. Then he reaches out for my arm and frowns. “Will you promise to push me in the sea if I keep sounding so sorry for myself?”
“Absolutely not,” I say, pressing my hand onto his, “or I’d have to go in too and it looks bitingly cold.”
We get to the bottom of the footpath and turn left along the sand, heading toward the distant silhouette of La Corbière Lighthouse at the southern end of the bay. The beach is deserted, silent but for the whispering rush of waves and birds pattering about in the incoming tide.
We chat about the party. I apologize for leaving early, but tell him how much I enjoyed talking to all his friends, how honored I felt to be included. As we talk, Gerry stumbles, reaching again for my arm to steady himself.
“Are you all right?” I ask. He nods silently, then turns his face away. Beneath his self-deprecating humor, I glimpse a man ashamed of a body that is failing him.
“So, I was helping Ted clear out some of the things in your house last night,” I say, once he’s recovered his gait, “and I found something.”
“If it was the body under the radiator in the hall, it weren’t me, Governor,” Gerry says, and I hug his arm affectionately.
“It was a page of a letter Belinda wrote to you, with her contact details.” I look across at him for a reaction.
“Oh dear,” says Gerry.
“Why wouldn’t you have given that to Ted?”
“Hmmm,” he says with a guilty sigh. “How did Ted react?”
“I didn’t show it to him,” I admit. “Not yet.”
Gerry lets out a long breath, his arm juddering against mine.
“She sent it, must have been a few months after she left,” he explains. “I called her, said it wasn’t the way to do things, to just abandon ship like that. I tried to persuade her to speak to him and—” Gerry falters. It’s clearly hard for him to talk about. “She was upset, said it wasn’t working between them, that they wanted different things, but Ted would never be the one to give it up. She thought he just needed time to get used to her not being there—that she was a bad habit he needed to break, cold turkey. She persuaded me it was for the best, and I agreed I’d give it another month, gave her my word. I put that letter somewhere safe.” He closes his eyes briefly. “And then I couldn’t think for the life of me where. I was convinced I’d thrown it out with the Christmas cards. My memory must have filed it in an unmarked bin, and I felt too much of an old fool to tell Ted that I’d lost it.”
“Oh dear.” I sigh. “Were you and she very close?”
“Oh, she’s one of life’s gems, Belinda is.” Gerry grins, a fond memory unlocked, and I feel an illogical stab of jealousy. “No one thinks of their poor parents when they separate, of what we lose.” He pulls a silly face, as though it is a joke, but I can see there is truth to it. “In any case, I don’t think Belinda is really what Ted is searching for anymore.”
I want to ask what he means by that, but I’m drawn back to the question of the letter.
“Should I give it to Ted then? It’s addressed to you; you know the situation better than me.”
Gerry stops, lets go of my arm, plants his stick in the sand, and then slowly bends down to pick up an empty cider can from the sand. He hands it to me.
“We’ll put that in the bin.” He lifts his stick up in the air. “This is probably as far as I go these days.”
We turn around together, and Gerry slows. It takes him a moment to get momentum in a new direction. I offer him my arm again.
“What went wrong between them? They must have been deeply in love if splitting up was so difficult for them both.”
“I come out here most nights, Laura. When I had more steam, I’d go to the end of the beach and then back along the road.” He points with his stick to the far end of L’Étacq, where the road curves around behind a long line of houses facing the shore. It sounds like he hasn’t heard my question, but I listen patiently. “I always pick up any litter I come across when I’m out. What do you think the young people coming back from the bars think when they see an old man wobbling his way along the road at three in the morning, holding an armful of empty cider cans? What do you think they assume the story is?”
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.”