“I can’t be more hurt than I am right now, but thank you. I think I’ll take a walk, if you don’t mind. I need to clear my head.”
Instead of walking the coastal path, I wrapped up and left the house by the front door. I walked up to the honesty box concealed in the hedge by the farm gate. My thoughts went to Lincoln and an urge to write to him, to speak to him face-to-face overcame me. He’d understand my need, I was sure of that. I stood for ages, just looking at the cracked and paint chipped wooden box. Childhood memories flooded back. There would be a small table underneath with fruit or vegetables bagged up. Sometimes boxes of eggs would be stacked, and I remembered one time when Christian knocked the table and a couple of boxes fell. The eggs smashed on the ground and we were both so upset by what had happened that we ran back home to empty our piggybanks and put the coins in the box. I was sure that Christian even wrote an apology note.
“Woo hoo,” I heard. I turned to see Mrs. Hampton walking down the lane.
She waved and her pace quickened to catch up with me.
“I thought that was you. What are you looking at?”
“Nothing, I was just thinking,” I replied.
She skidded to a halt and stared at me. Her smile grew broad.
“Dani, you can…”
“Yes, I guess that block in my brain decided to shift. It hurts to talk too much, though.”
“You need to keep a scarf wrapped around your throat. Oh, and honey and lemon with hot water, keep drinking that. Maybe an inhalation of steam as well. You need to keep your throat very well lubricated. When I was in the choir, we had to do all sorts of exercises to keep our vocal cords in tip-top condition. I’m sure I’ve got some notes written down somewhere. I could drop them down, I haven’t had a cup of tea with your dad for a while.”
I was unsure if the drop them down was out of concern for my vocal cords, or the need for a cup of tea with my dad. Either way, I found myself smiling at her.
“That would be lovely, and I know Dad would love to spend some time with you over a cup of tea.”
“He would? Well, that’s settled then. I’ll be down this afternoon, I’m sure I have a cake somewhere. Does your dad like cake, or you? Do you like cake?” she corrected herself just in time.
“We both like cake. However, I might be out, I have some errands to run, so you might have to suffer Dad all on your own, would that be okay?”
“Oh, of course. It’s a shame you won’t be there, but I’m sure I can entertain your dad for a little while.”
I tried not to laugh as she shuffled back up the lane, without so much as a goodbye. She had been a welcome break from the shit whirling around my mind for a few minutes.
I continued to walk, taking a right down a very narrow lane. I hadn’t walked the lanes for years and struggled to remember where it would lead me. Overhanging trees shaded most of the lane, and the dip in temperature as I walked under the tree canopy was noticeable. I wondered if Mrs. Hampton might have had a point in wearing a scarf. I could feel the cold air catching in my throat. It was so quiet, and I noticed the absence of birdsong. I guessed I was used to the sound of the ocean when walking the coastal path; this route was eerie. I rounded a bend, pleased to note I was walking in a square, not that I thought I’d get lost.
A lone dog, probably a working dog from the farm that framed either side of the lane, wandered past me. It took no notice, other than to give me a cursory glance. One eye was blue and the other brown, its tongue was hanging out, as if the dog had just finished a hard session of sheep rounding. I watched it dart through a gap in a hedge too high for me to see over. The bleat of sheep suggested the dog was back to work.
I continued on my way dodging puddles, cow shit, and mud, I guessed a tractor had recently driven down the lane. Eventually, I took another turn and found myself further past the church than I imagined. I remembered that Miller lived this side of the church, or was it Daniel? Or maybe, they lived together. One of them had said that if the church hadn’t been there, we’d be neighbours. There was a small collection of cottages, and if I remembered correctly, there would be a path down to a slipway. Years ago, Christian and I would watch small boats be hauled up the slipway and buckets of fish placed on the ground. The locals would take tourists out fishing from this point, and I wondered what had happened to finish all that.
I weaved through a couple of cottages looking for the slipway. I sat on the edge of a wall that bounded the slipway and what, I remembered, had been a very small harbour area. Beside me was a collection of lobster traps, coiled rope, and a neatly folded fishing net. Such was the nature of the locals; they could leave their means of fishing, knowing it wouldn’t be stolen.
The sound of an engine disturbed the peace. I turned to see a trailer holding a small boat being reversed down the slipway. I stood, knowing there was plenty of space but wanting to make sure the driver of the vehicle could see me. I saw his elbow resting on the open window and when he looked out, he smiled at me.
“What are you doing here?” Miller asked.
“Needed a walk, haven’t been around this way since I was child, I don’t think.”
“Has it changed much?”
“Yeah, I’m sure there was a pub, or a restaurant, or something over there.”
Miller continued to reverse until the trailer was partly submerged in water. He left the engine running but climbed from his truck.
“Do you need some help?” I asked.
“I’ve got this, but thanks. And it was a fish restaurant, if I remember. No menu, you got whatever the boats had brought in that day.”
“That’s right. Although I don’t think we ate there much, but I remember sitting outside.”
I watched as Miller partially unstrapped the boat before tying it to a metal pillar on the side. He then released the boat gently into the water, before jumping back in the truck, and pulling the trailer out of the water.
“Want to do something?” he said, leaning out of his window.
“I thought you were going out in your boat?”
“Not today, that thing hasn’t been on the water in years. I thought I ought to see if she still floated first. Come on, get in.”
I rounded the truck and climbed into the passenger side. “I should tell my dad I’m still out.” I patted my jacket knowing full well I didn’t have a mobile phone on me.
“I can give him a call, if you want, or you can use my phone.”
He reached forwards to a small compartment on the dashboard and produced a battered black phone that he handed to me.
“You know, I can’t remember my home phone number. How awful is that?” I said.
“Well, you don’t generally call yourself. And you probably just have it programmed in your phone, so you don’t need to remember it.”
He took the phone back and with one eye on the road he scrolled through his contacts; the phone was ringing by the time he handed it back to me.
“Dad, it’s me. I’m using Miller’s phone because I didn’t take one out with me. I’ll be back later, okay? I didn’t want you to worry. Is Chris up?”
“He is, although he’s not talking too much. Do you have a coat, are you warm enough?” Dad said.
“I do, and I am. I’ll call you later and let you know what I’m doing.”
We said our goodbyes and I placed the phone back into the compartment on the dash.
“I’ve got to drop the trailer off first, then I want to take you someplace,” Miller said.
We pulled into the driveway of a house I could not have imagined Miller to live in. It was a chocolate box cottage, with wisteria growing up the front and hanging over a small wooden porch. He reversed down the side of the cottage and told me to wait while he unhooked the trailer. He was gone no more than a couple of minutes before returning.
“Is that your house?” I asked.
“It is. Needs a lot of work inside,” he said with a chuckle. “So how are you doing today?”
In one way I wished he hadn’t asked, I’d have to remember and up until that point, he had been a welcome distraction.