‘I’m not overly fond of sand,’ Harry retorts. ‘It gets everywhere.’
‘You can’t stay here all day by yourself.’
He looks up at that. ‘Is everyone going out?’
‘As far as I’m aware.’
‘Huh.’
‘We’re taking a power kite or there’s talk of going coasteering.’
‘What on earth is “coasteering” when it’s at home?’ he grumbles. ‘That, no doubt, will be one of Noah’s bright ideas.’
I sigh. I thought that perhaps Harry was softening towards Noah a little.
‘Without Noah, I would have struggled to find you,’ I remind him. ‘Who knows what could have happened? A bit longer and you could have been swept out to sea and ended up as fish food. You owe him your thanks, Harry, not your snide comments.’
But he turns his face away. It looks as if my little pep talk still won’t encourage him to join the Noah fan club.
‘Do you want to do something, just the two of us?’ I ask.
I’d rather be with everyone else, but if it’s the only way that I can get Harry out of the cottage, then so be it. Is it bad that I don’t want to be alone with Harry any more? Once I used to value the precious times we had on our own. Now I’m more likely to dread what will fill them. This time it will no doubt have to involve going to the pub as usual and that’s the last thing I want to do.
Then Flick bursts through the door. ‘Come on, you two,’ she says. ‘Look lively. We’re leaving in ten.’
‘Harry’s not coming,’ I say.
‘Don’t be such a miserable bloody bastard,’ she tuts. ‘If it all gets too healthy, you and I can go and get pissed together.’
At that, he brightens and almost springs off the sofa.
Sometimes, Flick’s blunt way of getting to the crux of the matter can come in very handy.
Half an hour later, we’re setting up camp again on Portgale beach, in much the same place as we did yesterday. Harry and I came down in the Merc with Art and Ella, so I haven’t had much chance to talk to Noah. Despite the sun being set on scorchio, the beach is a bit quieter today and we can spread ourselves out. The school holidays haven’t started yet, so the only families are the ones with toddlers and they seem to be few and far between. The delights of Pembrokeshire seem to be overlooked in favour of Devon or Cornwall. Or Corfu.
While we’re shaking out blankets and unloading picnic hampers, generally making a lot of fuss about getting settled, Noah comes and stands next to me.
‘You’re quiet today,’ he says.
‘Tired,’ I offer weakly. ‘Too much drama last night.’
He nods at that. ‘All well now?’
I shrug. ‘For the moment.’
We both glance over to where Flick and Harry are laughing together on a blanket. If only I could elicit such hilarity from him, I think meanly. Then I notice that they already have a bottle of wine open between them. It’s not yet noon, for heaven’s sake. Harry’s going to be having Merlot with his muesli at this rate.
‘Thanks again for last night,’ I say. ‘You were great.’ My voice cracks slightly on the word. ‘Two crises narrowly averted, I think.’
‘All in a day’s work,’ he teases. ‘Now we’re going to put all that behind us and have some fun together.’
Personally, I feel like lying down on the sand and having a lovely long doze. After a few sleepless nights, I think I’m still running entirely on fumes.
‘Everyone’s up for coasteering,’ Noah says. ‘Except Ella. She’s going to stay and look after all the gear.’ He lowers his voice. ‘Is she all right?’
I match his tone. ‘Yes. Thank goodness.’
He looks relieved, as am I.
‘What about Harry and Flick?’ I ask. ‘They’re already stuck into the hard stuff.’
Noah frowns at that. ‘They both said they were coming along. I’ll have to keep an eye on them. You don’t want to be jumping off rocks and stuff while you’re drunk.’
I’m rather surprised that Harry and Flick want to be jumping off rocks at all, but I say nothing. Then, while we’re talking, Flick jogs over to us.
‘We’re going to fly the kite,’ Flick says with a nod towards Harry. ‘How long have we got?’
‘A good half-hour,’ Noah says. ‘I’ve booked us all in for noon. I thought we could work up an appetite and have something to eat later. Know how to set the kite up?’
‘We’ll work it out,’ she says, then goes back to the rug and tugs Harry by the hand. With a mock grumble, he allows Flick to tow him along and they head off on to the sand together.
Ella and Art are lying on a blanket, curled up side by side. Art is stroking her hair and it’s good to see that they’re looking quite loved-up again. I don’t want to disturb them, so I go to sit on the bank of shingle that borders the beach and hug my knees to me. Eventually, Noah drops down beside me, lying back, propped up on his elbows. I should turn my face away, cross my arms, hum a little tune, anything to avoid being close to him. I have promised that I will keep my distance and I should damn well stick with it, even though it’s taking every shred of willpower not to chat amiably with him.
In silence, we watch Harry and Flick running about on the sand. They’ve both kicked off their shoes and Harry has rolled up his jeans. He’s untucked his white linen shirt and it’s flapping loose – a look that he doesn’t normally embrace. Harry prefers to be buttoned up and tightly knotted. For the first time in ages, he looks relaxed. Flick has on the shortest of shorts, which show off her long, tanned legs. Her white-blonde hair streams behind her in the breeze. It’s very easy to see why she usually has a queue of men waiting for her.
Noah’s eyes follow her every move, a contented smile on his face.
The canopy of the bright red and yellow kite billows high into the air in front of them. Harry and Flick hold the lines together, arms entwined, laughing as the wind lifts it and pulls them this way and that at the edge of the surf.
‘They’re doing well,’ Noah says. ‘That’s a whole lot of kite to handle.’
And Flick, I think, is a whole lot of woman to handle.
The kite dips and dives and scuds sideways across the sky, while Harry and Flick hang on for dear life.
‘It looks like great fun.’
‘You’ve never flown a kite?’
‘Not like that,’ I admit. ‘I had a little one as a kid, with a string of bows as a tail.’
‘This is a bit different. Want to have a go?’ Noah asks.
I shake my head. ‘We should leave them to it while they’re happy.’
I’d like to join in, run about on the beach with Harry, but I know that if I went and took over from Flick, he’d sink into sullen moodiness. What does that tell me about our relationship?
Chapter Forty-Four
I’ve made sure that Ella is settled and happy. I can leave her now that I know she has plenty of water, snacks and magazines to keep her company. Noticeably, Art does nothing to challenge her decision to dip out of the activity.
Kissing her cheek, I say, ‘See you later. We won’t be long.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Grace,’ she says. ‘I’ll be fine. All I’ll be doing is some extreme sunbathing.’
‘Well, don’t get burned.’
‘Clear off,’ she chides amiably. ‘Just relax and have fun.’
We cross the road, go to the surf shop again and get kitted out for our coasteering experience. Harry and Flick are stumbling and giggling more than I’d like them to be. Noah and I exchange a worried glance.
‘Are you guys going to be OK?’ he asks. ‘I don’t want you hurting yourselves.’
‘Chill out, fusspot,’ Flick says, hanging on to Harry. ‘We’re gonna kick your sorry ass.’
‘Oh, you think so?’ Noah teases. ‘Well, bring it on then.’
She comes and wraps her arms round him and, knowing my place, I drop back next to Harry.
In the surf shop, we’re given rubber slip-on shoes t
o enable us to grip the slippery rocks for climbing, wetsuits and knee-length baggy board shorts, which are, quite worryingly, on a par with my black bin-bag knickers in the fashion stakes. An orange buoyancy aid and matching safety helmet top off our lovely ensemble. Flick and I go to the ladies’ changing rooms to put them on. We strip off our clothes and don swimwear, then all the gear required for our adventure.
‘Ohmigod,’ Flick stares at herself in the mirror. ‘There’s no way I would have agreed to do this if I’d known the outfit was so bad!’
‘You look fine,’ I assure her. ‘Well, no worse than the rest of us.’
At least Flick’s shorts seem to fit her. Mine seem to be about three sizes too big and dangle somewhat unattractively round my knees. They’re also in clashing shades of pink and orange and patterned with bold flowers. It’s fair to say that if they were hanging on a clothes rail in a shop, I’d pause briefly to poke fun at them, then walk right on by.
‘That is small comfort, Grace,’ she says, turning every which way to find an angle that doesn’t look so grim. Eventually, with a disheartened sigh, she gives up. ‘I should have stayed on the beach with Ella.’
I link my arm through hers. ‘It’ll be fun. You’ll see.’
‘My idea of fun is finding a great bar in the sun that does a nice bottle of something chilled, not freezing your arse off in the sea in Wales. I can’t for the life of me see why Ella would want to leave London to move down to this godforsaken place.’
‘I love it here too.’
‘You’re both mad,’ she says. ‘I could do it again for a long weekend. Probably. But be based here permanently?’ She shudders.
Clearly, Noah hasn’t yet told her about his plans and dreams.
‘Come on. They’ll be waiting for us.’
‘Lip gloss,’ she says, rooting in the pocket of her shorts. ‘At least I can add a bit of glamour.’
So I wait while Flick fluffs her hair, tries a dozen different ways to put it up under her safety helmet and slicks on lip gloss. Finally, she’s ready and we join the others, who by now must have been standing there for ten minutes.
The owner of the shop, an affable chap called Callum who’s probably in his forties, doubles up as our coasteering guide. We follow him out of the shop and over the shingle bank, making our way along the sand to the far end of the beach. My stomach’s twisting with anxiety and excitement.
Then we all come to a standstill.
Flick looks up. ‘Oh, fuck.’
We’ve clearly reached our destination as we’ve run out of beach and nothing but a big wall of rock faces us.
Chapter Forty-Five
‘We’re going up there?’ My voice comes out high-pitched and more shaky than I’d hoped. I want to sound confident and assured, as if I do this every day of the week and not as if I’m some sort of soft Southern townie who’s lost touch with what she really likes in life.
Next to me, neck craned back and staring up the sheer face of the cliff, Flick has gone as white as a sheet.
Only our menfolk are looking galvanised by this challenge and I think most of that is bravado on Harry’s part. He truly hates this kind of activity but he seems intent on turning the whole holiday into a competition with Noah.
Callum laughs at my concern. ‘Don’t worry. We can take this as easy as you want to. Don’t feel pressured into doing anything you think you can’t manage. There are always easier routes. Keep within your comfort zone.’
‘And what if my comfort zone is propping up a bar?’ Flick whispers in my ear.
‘If you need help, just stay close to me,’ Callum continues, unaware that already there is dissension in the ranks. ‘We’re going to be climbing, scrambling, diving, swimming and exploring some caves. This is meant to be fun!’ Then he adds, ‘With a bit of terror thrown in for good measure.’
It’s the terror part that’s bothering me most.
Callum gives us a safety briefing, warning us sternly about reckless behaviour and not putting ourselves in danger. No one mentions that Harry and Flick have already been drinking, but I feel that someone should have.
The sun is high in the cloudless sky as we start to climb the jagged rocks of the headland. What’s the saying about mad dogs and Englishmen going out in the midday sun? No one thought to mention them climbing up cliffs. Taking a deep breath, I hitch up my lurid shorts and, in turn, we all follow in Callum’s footsteps, taking handholds where he does. I make sure that Noah isn’t directly behind me. While I don’t mind having my bottom directly in Harry’s eyeline, I’m not sure that I want it in anyone else’s.
We climb higher and higher, working our way along the rocks, away from the beach, until there’s nothing below us but the crashing waves of the Atlantic Ocean. My knees are knocking, but there’s an exhilaration in it too. This is far higher than I would ever have dared to climb by myself. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I went rock climbing. Probably when I did my Duke of Edinburgh award when I was a teenager. The roughness of the rocks on my hands feels good and, at this height, the breeze is refreshing on my face. And to think that I could be sitting at my desk and working on an Excel spreadsheet instead. It’s only the fact that I’m having to concentrate so much that’s stopping me from shouting out, ‘Woo-hoo!’
Soon we’re strung out in a line. Callum is leading, followed by Art, then me and Harry. Flick is close behind my husband and Noah is bringing up the rear. So far, so good.
There’s no time for chatting or banter as we’re having to focus hard on our footing and handholds. Which is nice as it gives my mind time to clear. We scramble down now towards the sea and along a ledge that has the waves tugging at our legs, threatening to suck us away. I cling on to the rock, my knuckles white from the exertion. I should be good at this. It’s what I do all the time – cling to my life by my fingertips.
As we crawl along a spine of rock on our hands and knees, the water washes over us and I feel as if it’s cleansing me. All the unpleasant events of this week seem to be floating away on the foam-tipped waves. I could do this for hours and hours.
We work our way up again until we reach a broad, flat outcrop of rock. We’re all soaked through and panting by the time we arrive. Harry flops on to his back. Noah holds out his hand and helps Flick with the last few steps. Already, she’s looking as if she’s seriously regretting her decision to sign up for this. Whereas I feel more alive than I have in years. The world of balance sheets and bank overdrafts is far behind me.
‘Fuck,’ she mutters to me. ‘That was totally hideous.’ It seems that her moment of being Action Girl has quickly passed.
From the rocky overhang, there’s a breathtaking sheer drop below us. Art and I peer over the edge, nervously.
‘That’s high,’ Art notes, unnecessarily.
‘Who’s going to be the first to jump?’ Callum asks.
My eyes widen. ‘Down there?’
The others join us to have a look at our next challenge. There’s a collective intake of breath.
Callum laughs. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks and I promise that you’ll get the most amazing adrenaline rush.’
When we all cower back from the edge, Noah rubs his hands together briskly and says, ‘I’ll give it a go.’
‘OK,’ Callum says. ‘Make sure that your helmet is on nice and tight. Take a run at it, jump out as far as you can and, before you hit the water, cross your arms over your chest.’
We move out of Noah’s way as he backs up against the rocks. He adjusts his safety helmet and takes a deep breath. Then with three bounding steps and the cry of ‘Geronimo!’ he launches himself off the edge of the rock and into oblivion.
My heart is in my mouth until, seconds later, Noah hits the water with an enormous splash and shouts out, ‘Woo-hoo!’
I look over the edge and he’s waving madly at me. ‘Come on in,’ he shouts. ‘The water’s lovely.’
‘I can’t,’ I say.
‘You can do it!’
Then, jus
t as I’m summoning up courage, Harry says, ‘I’ll go.’
With that, he leaps from the edge and into the sea. I watch him plummet into the depths and it seems like ages before he bobs on to the surface again. He too shouts out with joy.
With the only announcement being, ‘Oh, fuck!’ Art follows suit, leaving just me and Flick staring over the edge in terror.
‘No,’ Flick says. ‘I can’t. This isn’t my bag at all.’
‘I want to,’ I tell Callum.
‘Just take a deep breath and go for it. You’ve heard how much the others have enjoyed it.’