Jetsam

"Are you a geologist or something?"

"Me?" she snorted. "God, no. Just someone who never grew out of her childhood love of dinosaurs etcetera. You haven't answered my question."

"I was hoping you'd forget it and move on."

"Yeah, I don't do that, I'm afraid. It's a character flaw."

"Why do you care?"

"I'm just making conversation. No need for you to get bent out of shape if it's a state secret..."

"Sorry," I sighed, after a pause. "Old wounds. Well, then..."

I took a breath. "I'm hiding out from the mutiny and desertion of a friendship circle who sided with my ex-husband during our divorce. I'm also trying to keep some distance between me and my resulting tendency to drink too much and misbehave shortly thereafter."

"Yikes," she said, glancing up. "That's a lot to unpack out of two sentences."

"I was compressing several years worth of horror down to a catchy tagline."

"Uh huh."

She turned over a few pebbles and pursed her lips as she picked one up.

"And you chose this part of the world to hide out in?" she added. She glanced up again. "No offence intended."

"None taken. I basically drunken-rage-Googled and searched for seaside cottages for sale. I was looking at Wales and the Hebrides at first - the old run as far as you can routine, I suppose. Then I found the one here. It started as a whim, almost a mad self-mocking joke. But... bit by bit it's become, well, a kind of home to me now; far more so than... the other place. Which is a bit of a problem given that my job is in London and isn't really the sort of thing I can do remotely."

"Yep, that's going to take some untangling. Here. Hold this one for me, will you?"

She handed me a pebble and positioned another. She raised the hammer.

ping. ping. ping. clonk.

"Fuck," she muttered. "I was sure there'd be something in that one.

I grinned at her. "It looked like a rock to me. Like the previous one."

"It was just a rock," she agreed amiably. She stood and stretched out her back with a groan.

"So is this how you spend your free time?" I asked. I shook out my hair and bound it up so that it wouldn't tickle my neck in the faint breeze.

"Sometimes."

"And other times?"

"Kiteboarding. Surfing. Sailing. Volunteering for the RNLI when they need me."

"The lifeboats?"

"Yeah, my dad's ex Royal Navy and my cousin's on a freighter somewhere off Macau at the mo, so it's my act of contrition to the sea," she said. She tucked a strand of hair back and squinted out at the waves. Then she took the pebble she'd handed me, and knelt down. "Close your eyes."

ping. clonk

"Oh sodding arseholes, I'm losing my knack."

"So what's work?"

"Bit of this, bit of that. Basically, if it's outdoors or involves driving a van, lorry or tractor then there's a chance I've done it at some point."

"That's really cool," I said. "It sounds interesting."

"It has its moments," she agreed. "Ok. Time's up. The tide's started to come in. We should turn around and get out of this choke point."

"I take it that it's dangerous?"

"There's a strong rip that develops in this bay. And if the water traps you up against the cliffs you get washed off and pulled out to sea - and here that's basically it for you unless a lifeboat can get round from Lyme Regis or Weymouth in time. And there's always a chance of rockfalls, so you really do never want to be under the cliffs if you can possibly help it. And absolutely never, ever walk to the edge to look over - unless you know how to fly."

"The coast is ravenous and I am delicious. Got it."

She laughed. "That's a good description. I'll steal that one and use it." She slung her bag over her shoulder and we started walking. "So why the divorce?"

"How long have you got?" I sighed.

"About fifteen minutes at this speed. Maybe twenty if we dawdle," she added.

"Wow. You weren't kidding about you guys not picking up on social cues."

"I know, right," she said, amused. "So what was the reason?"

"Infidelity."

"Ah. That's a harsh one. Yours or his?"

"I like how you assume..."

Her eyebrow arched ever so slightly.

I sighed. "Yes. Fine. Both of us. But he was first, so it's all his fault."

"Mhmm."

I stared down at the sand, watching it shift under my weight as I took a step. And another.

"Lots of things built up to it," I continued, hesitantly. "I won't go into them now. But... I honestly do regret my lapse. I broke a solemn promise to myself and I doubt I'll ever really forgive myself for it. I suppose I could mutter platitudes about how he was already cheating and I was - and still am - extremely lonely but... I still did cross that line of my own free will."

"Mm. That's the attitude of an adult right there."

"I've had lots of time to think about it," I said. "That said, I don't think he ever regretted his own behaviour. Oh, of course he paid lip service to being ashamed and begging forgiveness. The first time anyway. But in retrospect I don't think he's actually capable of understanding how his actions affect others. It's like he's missing that part of him. I guess I worked that out as the... process... went on."

"And now you're... alone?"

"Most of the time."

"That's rough. I know how that is."

I took a few silent, contemplative steps. "It's kind of liberating to be talking to you about this," I said.

"How's that?"

"It's just... easy. You're a stranger; it really... shouldn't be this simple to tell you these intensely personal things about myself."

"Perhaps it's because I'm a stranger that you feel like you can do it - because I don't know you, you feel like you don't have to fear being judged. Or if you are judged, it's irrelevant, because you're unlikely to see me again."

"That's a sad thought."

"Is it?" she asked, glancing at me once more.

"Well... yes, actually. This is the longest non-work-related conversation that I've had with anyone in over a year. It's... nice to just be able to talk to somebody who has no vested interest or history. Someone who doesn't see me as a victim or, worse, a perpetrator. Thank you for listening."

"You're welcome. I'm told that I'm a good listener."

"You should try being a therapist."

"Hah, that's a solid nope," she grimaced. "I've barely got enough energy to deal with my own issues."

"What would life be without luggage, eh?"

"Too bloody right."

We reached my rock, and I paused. I nodded at the path up to the bluffs.

"Well, this is me," I said. "Thanks for the walk, Ashleigh. It was... it was nice."

"How far away's your cottage, Kelly?"

"About a mile or so, I guess. It's not far to walk, but it's a bit further by road."

"Want a ride?" she offered with a hesitant smile.

"You know, that would be very kind of you. Thank you."

"See," she added, as we continued on to the car park. "You're not the only one who's having the first meaningful conversation in some time. And I'm being greedy; I'm not ready to let it end just yet."

"Um... well, I have coffee," I said. "And tea. And gin and other delicacies for when it's late enough to have something boozy. And I'm free until seven this evening when I need to leave for London... so if you'd like to stay for lunch?"

I felt uncharacteristically uncertain of myself.

Then I smiled, relieved, as she accepted the offer.

"That sounds great, I think we may need to make use of all of those things, then. I've got nowhere urgent to be and it's nice to talk. With you, that is," she added, as an undertone. "Well. That's my car," she said, pointing at her ancient Mazda. "I must warn you, though, it leaked a few days ago and hasn't dried out yet so it may be a bit funky in there. I need to repair the window seals but I've been too lazy."

"I'm sure I'll survive," I said, with an easy smile.

.:.

"Come in," I said, self-consciously. "It's a bit of a mess, sorry."

"It looks perfectly fine to me," she said. "You should see my tip. Where can I put my bag?"

"Anywhere it fits." I said as I closed the door behind her. "So. I've got coffee and tea and hot chocolate to start us off."

"Hot chocolate would be grand. Mind if I snoop?"

"Go ahead, the bodies are all buried out back under the hedge - let me know if you see anything twitching and I'll grab the pitchfork."

She laughed, and made her way to the kitchen window. "It's a nice little garden. Small, neat and manageable."

I filled my kettle and put it on the stove.

"I needed something low maintenance. It's part of why I bought the place, but it needs love and attention."

"It will be really nice in winter, should catch what sun there is very well. What do you want to do to it?"

"I want to put some flagstones in here near the door and let the rest go semi-wild. I'm not really a fan of all the grass, it's too much work to keep it looking nice. I'd far prefer wildflowers. Maybe I'll see if I can train a vine up a trellis for some shade in summer. Kind of an English mediterranean wild garden or something..."

"Mm. It's doable and it would probably work," she said. "Just make sure whatever climber you choose is hardy or winter will kill it stone dead."

She turned away and browsed my small collection of lanterns. "And you're clearly into oil lamps. Greenpeace must send you tons of hate mail."

"I like the soft light. It feels right out here. I don't like harsh lighting... it sounds stupid, but it makes me feel old and ugly."

She snorted and peered through the door to my bedroom. "You should add some colour," she said. "This cottage is screaming for loud blues and yellows."

"Maybe once I've bought out all the lamps in the area I'll move on to 'I love the seaside' pillows."

She laughed, then came and pulled out a chair at my weathered kitchen table. The kettle began to boil, and I could feel her watching me as I put a pot of tea on to brew for myself.

Something about her disturbed my equilibrium - I felt a heightened awareness of her presence. It was not unpleasant. Just... different.

"How sweet do you want your chocolate?"

"I like it sweet and as dark as sin. Three spoons, please."

I put her mug in front of her and sat down; I watched her as she blew the froth and steam away. She took a sip, and sighed. "I love this stuff, it's my guilty pleasure," she said. "A direct link to childhood memories and all that. Whatever his other faults, Dad used to always have a thermos of it whenever we went anywhere."

"So you've local?"

"These days, yes. We moved around a bit when Dad was still in the Navy, but when he retired we came out here. It's been twelve years or more now, give or take. I don't see myself leaving; I like it here."

"It's a lovely part of the world. I always feel better when I get out here. The sky is bigger. The world intrudes less."

"How long were you married?" she asked. She leaned back into her chair.

"Eleven years on paper, more or less. Several years less than that by behaviour."

"So you're... what... thirty-two, thirty-three?"

"Wow. That's a good guess. Thirty three in a month or two. How on earth did you work that out?"

"I'm not really sure. You just have this air about you of someone who married young, and you're either late twenties or early thirties. I'm pretty good at judging that, though I never have managed to figure out why."

She took another sip of her chocolate. "Any kids?"

I busied myself pouring a cup of tea, and didn't answer her.

"From the expression on your face that was a terrible question to ask you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"No... it's... it's ok. I..."

I took a breath, and looked up at her.

"I can't have children. At all. That's part of what... caused the divorce, I guess."

I was proud of how steady my hands were on my cup, of how my voice didn't shake even a little.

"Fuck," she said, softly. "That's... Jesus, that's brutal. I'm so sorry. Jesus."

I made a noise, shook my head.

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"It's fine, really," I lied. "It's done. Dust on the wind. Can't be helped. I don't dwell on it."

I coughed to clear my throat, took a sip of tea. "So... my turn to pry. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Well, I don't see a ring on any of those fingers."

"I'm not a ring kind of girl," she said. "Or earrings, for that matter. My body is sacred. But, since you asked, I am most emphatically single. I have a tattoo, a leaky car and my wits and that's about it."

"A tattoo?"

"Yes."

"Of what?"

"Now that is a secret that many have died trying to discover," she said, grinning.

"Mm. So is there anybody at all in your life?"

"Other than family? Nuh uh. People bring... complications for me," she added. She glanced down. Then she took a breath and squared her shoulders. "I'm a full-time consort of Neptune. Strictly fishy kisses only."

I laughed, and put my teacup down as I tried to recover. "You're funny," I managed. "Oh, you're a breath of fresh air."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"For sure."

She smirked and took another sip of her hot chocolate. She licked her upper lip clean with the tip of her tongue.

I watched, entranced, then caught myself. I stared at my hands and wondered what it was about her that I found so fascinating.

"So what's your work?" she asked. "I told you mine." She turned slightly on her chair so she could stare out the window.

"Middle management in a payments company. It used to be somewhat rewarding. Now it's just about filling my days, if I'm honest."

She made a face. "That's no way to live."

"I don't really have much of a choice just yet. I'm still growing used to my status as a Newly Discarded Female. But I think I'm going to start looking for something to do out this way. I'm... I'm growing bloody weary of London. And I don't need the money that comes with it. I've got enough, and I've had enough."

"And what do you want?" she gently probed.

"No real idea to be honest. Peace maybe. Time. A friend or two would be nice. Some hobbies and the time and energy to do them. I could try being an eccentric, I guess. Or a failed artist. Or one of those crazy old ladies in a coat who shouts at people."

"We're oversubscribed in that department around here. Besides, you're far too young for that," she grinned.

"Young. Hah. Once, maybe..." I rolled my shoulders to ease them. "God, it's so nice to have you to talk to. I'd almost forgotten what this was like. To just sit and talk. To just be..."

"So what on earth happened? You said that people just turned their backs on you? That sounds extremely... well, cruel."

"I guess that people have to pick a side. And he was the more... advantageous side. He's extremely well-connected. He comes from money. I'm a social dead-end from a working-class family who was always a barely-tolerated outsider in the circles he moved in..."

I raised my cup to my lips, took a sip.

"What a bunch of shallow pathetic loathsome malodorous weasel-fucking swamp-donkeys," she growled.

I let out a shocked cough and sprayed tea everywhere. I hunched over the table, stomach muscles heaving as I shook with barely-controlled laughter.

"Sorry," I wheezed, struggling. "That's the funniest thing I've ever heard someone say. And it's so true. They were shallow weasel-fuckers. Oh god, my sides," I whispered. "Ow."

"Where are the dishcloths?" she laughed as she pushed back her chair.

"Just grab the towel from the bed," I said, wiping my eyes. "Oh God, thank you, I needed that laugh. Oh wow."

"My dad says I have a filthy mouth," she called. "It has its uses, and honestly, it's his own fault. Not sure how he expected me to turn out a princess when he kept the company he kept."

"So are sailors crude, then?"

"You simply cannot comprehend how bad it is. There are no words. I'm still scarred by some of the things I've heard."

She finished drying the table, turned the towel over, and handed it gently to me. "Your hands and top," she said, smiling mischievously. "I got you all wet."

"Oh dear, so you did. I'd better go change."

I walked to the bedroom and stripped off my fleece and vest. My bra had a large damp spot so I pulled it off as well. "Put the kettle on if you'd like another cuppa," I called, turning unselfconsciously back to the kitchen. She looked at me, froze for a wide-eyed moment, then flushed and turned hurriedly away.

I pulled on a clean vest and bent down to dig a fleece gilley vest out of my bag. I pulled it over my shoulders and zipped it partway up as I returned to the table.

"How late does it need to be for booze?" Ashleigh asked. Faint spots of colour highlighted her cheeks; I thought that they suited her. "I know it's technically just after breakfast but..."

"I won't tell anyone if you don't," I answered. "I can't be too silly because I'll be driving later, but one or two between now and then won't be a problem. Grab the glasses from that cupboard by the stove, I'll get the bottle. Any preference?"

"I'm an absolute terror for gin or rum."

"Gin it is then."

.:.

"Thanks for the lovely chat and the company," I said, as I leaned against her car and peered down at her through her open window.

"It was great. We should do it again sometime and make a day of it."

"That would be lovely."

"So you're driving home this evening, right?" she asked as she fastened her hair up into a straggly tail.

"Yeah. I can't wait," I added, sarcastically.

"Make sure you leave early. It might get misty tonight and the lanes around here can get... exciting. Lots of locals know the roads backwards and drive at stupid speeds whatever the weather. If I were you I'd try to be past Ringwood and close to if not on the motorway by seven."

"Thanks. I'll do that. Hey... do you have a cellphone number or landline I could reach you at? It would be really nice to be able to get hold of you when I'm next down here."

"Got your phone?"

"Yes."

"Zero Eight Four Two Two Three Five One Seven Nine Five."

I sent her a :P and she grinned as her bag vibrated. "See you later, Kelly. Ta for the gin. Take care, now!"

"Cheers, Ashleigh. Thanks for the lovely day."

I waved at her as she drove off down the lane.

I made sure I was well past Ringwood by seven, and I was back in Barnes by nine. I gazed around with newfound distaste at the perfect clean lines of the flat, and dumped my bag in the middle of the floor in as messy a manner as I could manage.

On a whim I sent her a home safe, and smiled at the :) I got in return.

.:.

The monotonous days of the week slid past in slow succession. Mornings were my workout routine and commute, followed by meetings, deadlines, reports and far too many other people's crises - followed inevitably by the late evening journey home back to the flat with whatever I could scavenge and eat on the way. I struggled to fall asleep, and most nights I spent far more time than was healthy awake, staring at the roof of my bedroom, wishing I were back in the warm, silent darkness of my cottage and the landscape in which it nestled.

And... stupidly enough as it sounded, I discovered that I missed her.

I missed the simple companionship we'd shared. The jokes, the easy conversation, the subtle, warm lilt of her accent and the ready smile that always seemed about to shine through when she looked at me.

But as much as I missed her I didn't dare presume on our brief contact to reach out to her.

It was Wednesday morning when she lost patience with me. A simple So how is the week going?, winking at me on my phone's lock screen.

I leaned back into my chair, unnerved and shamefully gratified at the thought that she was thinking of me - however fleetingly.

I responded after a great deal of internal debate and several false starts.

I could tell you but you'd pull a face. How are you?

Her reply was swift and clearly unrehearsed.