Page 58 of Jenny James Is Not a Disaster
“Yeah. That too. I’m trying to ignore the little digs, because she’s older, and because she’s gone through a lot, and because... well, she’s probably entitled to them after the way I behaved.”
“From what you’ve said, you didn’t do it alone, Jenny, so give yourself a break. I think it’ll all work out. Life is too short for grudges, for family rifts.”
He is, of course, right—and he perhaps knows that better than anyone.
I nod, feeling instantly calmer. I also feel... relieved. That’s a weird word to choose, but it’s the right one—I feel relieved to beback here, in this small space, with this man. Relieved to be able to just be myself again, not to have to watch every word, tiptoe over eggshells, look out for minefields in every conversation.
“How are you?” I ask. “Was it glorious to have your space back to yourself again?”
He frowns, and finishes his corner of toast, and replies: “Actually, it really wasn’t. I kind of missed you guys. You know, the gentle sound of you snoring like a truck, the delicate aroma of Charlie’s farts wafting down first thing in the morning, the queue for the Mona Lisa...”
I flick a crust at his face in response, because I am a very mature human being.
“Do you want to come on a walk with the dogs?” I ask. “All that jam might make you fat if you don’t stay active.”
“Only if you promise not to snore.”
“Only if you promise not to bore me so much I fall asleep...” We both laugh, and I feel all of the niggling tensions inside me unravel.
Luke gets his walking boots on, and I retrieve my sneakers from Susan, and we set off into yet another beautiful summer’s day. It’s almost becoming boring now, the way every morning brings sunshine and clear skies with it.
I lead Luke toward the shortcut to the coast. When I say shortcut, I mean death-defying flight of stone steps that lasts for about half a mile. I guess I’m out of practice with it, and by the time we get to the bottom, I am sweating with nerves.
“I used to run up and down those...,” I say as we emerge down onto the sand, the dogs already there and running in and out of the waves.
“Not easy,” Luke replies as he gazes out at the beach, “but, wow—worth every step!”
The cove near Foxgloves is tiny, a perfect horseshoe of sand enclosed on both sides by cliffs. The sea can get wild, and it’s not a place that many tourists ever discover. We have it entirely to ourselves, and I slip off my shoes as we walk. Nothing quite beats the feeling of sand between your toes.
The water is the same vivid blue I remember, the light catching it in shimmering kisses, the waves frothing onto the golden shore. Seabirds fly to and from the cliffsides, and the only sound is their cries and the gentle hiss of the water creeping toward us.
“The colors are amazing,” he says, sounding awestruck. “It’s like someone painted it—everything is so bright and pure.”
“I know,” I reply, smiling. “You should come down to see a sunset. I suppose I took it all for granted, growing up here—the countryside was my play park, the beach was my backyard. Summers were long and luscious, and I went totally feral from July onward. By the time I hit my teens, it all seemed very mundane—looking at it now, I can’t quite believe that.”
“Well,” he says, leaning down to pick up an iridescent shell and examining it, “that’s pretty normal for a teenager, isn’t it? You’re more interested in your social life than birdwatching.”
“Very true. I wanted to be out in the world, away from a place that felt just too small to hold me. I was so sure that some astonishing future was waiting for me. Little did I know that I’d end up working in an office and living in another very small place.”
“That’s what you used to do,” he points out, “not what you do. That’s who you were, not who you are—a lot has changed since then. You’ve traveled the country, been on a rollercoaster, lived on wheels... and who knows what you might do next?”
I nod, and know that he is right. I have changed. Even though my living quarters have become much smaller, my horizons have become vast.
“What will you do next?” he asks as we walk toward the large boulders that fringe the beach and perch there, watching the dogs play. “More short-term, I mean, not in an existential way.”
“I just don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I didn’t think that far ahead, which, with hindsight, might have been a mistake. Charlie is loving all this, and my dad... well, he’s not in the best of health, it turns out. Dodgy ticker. So I think I’ll stick around for a while. At least to see how things go.”
As I speak the words, I know that it is the right thing to do—I owe it to my family, to Charlie, and very possibly to myself to see this through for a little while longer. I will stay, but I realize that I don’t want Luke to go. It might be selfish, but I’m just not ready to say goodbye to him.
“Would you consider staying put here for a while?” I ask, looking up at him.
He is staring at the birds on the cliffs and, I suspect, wishing he had his binoculars.
“I think they’re kittiwakes,” he says, nodding in the direction of the cliffs, “and yes. I’ll stay for a while. It’s beautiful here, and I’ve never explored this part of Cornwall. I’ll stay—you know I have my two-week rule, though. But for at least that long, if you decide to run away again, you’ll have a getaway driver.”
I nod and briefly touch his hand with mine. Two weeks is better than nothing. I am grateful, and relieved, and understand exactly what he means. I am a flight risk, even though I don’t want to be. I want to spend more time with my parents and brother; I want to reconnect with them, and I want to give Charlie the extended family he needs, as well as some stability. But I also feel the pressure of it closing in on me—the expectations, the needs of others, the responsibility. I am not seventeen anymore, and I have no excuses—if I mess this up, I will be doing so as a grown-up.That alone is already making me feel like running—but I won’t. I have too much to lose by leaving, and entirely possibly a huge amount to gain by staying.
“Is it okay to swim here?” Luke asks, gazing wistfully out at the ocean.
