The Bay by Harcourt Tendhall

3 March 2021  { Romance }


The outlook here is brilliant. The shore is only yards away. Beyond that is the island, our special island; an uninhabited lump of rock, except for a few birds and small rodents. We never gave it a name. It’s just the island, yet it means so much more.

From this balcony, I see them walking past along the shore every morning for as long as I have lived here alone. When they were younger, they would kick up the gentle surf, splashing each other, laughing, as they went. Then the first child came, and they slowed a little. That was followed by a second, and now it’s the children that play in the surf, laughing and screaming with delight, and they watch them as they walk hand in hand, laughing along with them. They seem like the ideal couple and it warms my heart to see them, even if that’s tinged with sadness. It’s how they start their day and how I start mine now, coffee on the balcony, before getting down to work.

Back when we first visited the bay, this place was just a shack, not much more than a shed, really. But it had this outlook over the bay. The old guy who owned it, Jed, was amazed anyone wanted to rent it, but that’s what we did every summer for five years. We added little personal touches, and I did a few repairs, so we kind of made it our own. He had a ramshackle house set back another seventy yards, by the side of the road. His nearest neighbour was half a mile away, on the edge of the little village on the other side of the bay. We couldn’t understand why his house was built so close to the road. The sheltered bay never seemed to suffer from really heavy seas, even in the worst storms and spring tides, but that’s what he did. He said they used the shack as a summer house back in the day, giving them easy access to the beach.

It was on that fifth visit we saw Jed was having difficulties. He told us it was the last year he could let us rent the shack. He couldn’t manage the house anymore and was moving to a nearby town; a new flat in a managed block for older folk. He was putting the place up for sale. The timing was great for us. We both had a house and were already considering selling one of them, so we sold mine and bought his. Then we got planning permission for a new house, much closer to the shore. It took a while to get that through, but then we sold Cathy’s house and moved into Jed’s old place whilst we had the new house built. It took two years to get it built, move in, demolish Jed’s old place and landscape. Once completed, we had the house of our dreams in the perfect location where we had already made some beautiful memories. The bonus was that the house came with ownership of a sizeable chunk of the bay, so nobody could build anything else anywhere near us.

We’d been across to the island occasionally during those early holidays and knew it quite well, but now we could explore it completely. The first time, we just swam out, intending to swim around it and back to shore. We were amazed to find the hidden little cove on the seaward side, with a perfect sandy beach. Couldn’t be more than ten yards across, even at low tide, flanked by rocks and a steep slope behind, but we saw it and swam up to the beach. We tried climbing the slope behind it, but soon turned back, being barefoot and all. The view from there was nothing but a clear ocean. That first time, we made love in the little cove and then on every other occasion we returned.

Each time we went back, we explored a little further, even hiring a rowing boat on a few occasions, taking lunch with us and, once we’d found the cave, a couple of folding chairs, a folding table, picnic basket and other stuff, which we left there. We never saw signs that anyone else visited the island, so in our minds, it became ours.

 

Our outlook on life changed as, after a few years, we had integrated into village life, even though we didn’t actually live in it. Cathy had joined various craft groups, and I worked one day each week in the village library and we both frequented The Anchor regularly. It was there I got talking to the locals and got interested in becoming a member of the local lifeboat crew. As an author, I had the time to devote to the training, and it gave me another purpose.

I had a regular income from the two series of murder mysteries I had written and, when I wanted solitude to write, our new home was the perfect location. Cathy had given up work once we moved here. The commute meant it just wasn’t worth the hassle. It had become our home, rather than our holiday home, although, for us, it was still the best and most romantic place on Earth.

Over the years, we became a contented couple. We had our separate interests, which gave us time and space from each other, but we still gravitated to each other every evening. There was nothing we loved more than sharing a home-cooked meal together, over a bottle of our favourite wine, looking out over the bay. My novels changed as I grew older. The trends in murder mysteries grew darker, with ever-more convoluted, twisting, incredulous plots. I turned to cosy crime and, although they never hit the heights of my earlier work, they still provided the steady income, which was all we required.

It must be five years ago since Cathy passed. It came as a massive shock when she suddenly became ill. The cancer had gone undetected until it was far too late to treat. She had already developed several secondaries, and it was just a matter of time. In fact, only a few short months. As long as she remained able to get about and the weather allowed, I rowed her out to the island. We spent many hours in our little cove, just reminiscing over the good times we’d had. By the time we rowed back, she’d be getting tired, so I’d cook the meal. Towards the end, she’d be asleep before I could serve it. That worried me, concerned that she needed all her strength to fight on, but maybe she was already giving up the fight. I guess I’ll never know. She went downhill rapidly and, mercifully for her, the end came fast.

I rowed her out to the island one last time after the funeral, scattering her ashes in our little cove, just like she’d asked me to. I only go back twice a year now, on her birthday and our anniversary. Don’t stay long – it’s too painful.

So, here I am, sat on my balcony, with a different outlook on life again. It’s good to see that young couple and their kids, still only at the beginning of their journey. They often wave to me and I wave back. I’m thinking more often these days about following in Jed’s footsteps and moving back to civilisation, into something like he did. Maybe that young couple might be interested in buying this place. It could do with updating by someone with a fresh outlook.


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