Page 22 of And Then There Was You

Sixteen Zach

I am such an idiot.

I can’t believe I’ve run away from Merryn’s café twice .

She tried to help me, but I still ran.

Now that Seth bloke and the thunder-faced waitress will be gunning for me. And who could blame them? First I skip out without paying, then I make an almighty spectacle of myself in front of a café full of people, leaving a mess in my wake.

And what about Merryn? She probably thinks I’m a weirdo. Or she isn’t thinking of me at all. I’m not sure which is worse.

I never wanted any of this.

I just wanted to play the piano. And see Merryn again.

This morning everything feels precarious once more. Will I ever find steady ground?

Worst of all, it’s Sunday. A day when I have nothing to distract my mind from regurgitating all the crap from last night.

No bakery shifts, no work at Pengelly’s till next week.

No imminent arrival of Kieran, either, as he’s taking Aggie shopping for baby stuff in Truro today.

I don’t want to head into town, in case anyone who witnessed my fall in Sweet Reverie recognises me.

I’m stuck within these four walls. Feeling like I threw away an important chance.

I know it’ll pass. But it’s too raw right now. If I’m not careful, my regret over last night will join hands with all the other mind-crap that’s followed me around since I quit the surf scene.

I try to read, but my focus is gone.

I scan the groceries I’ve stocked the cupboards with, but nothing appeals.

I don’t want to look at my phone because nothing I scroll will soothe my head today.

Why is nothing helping?

Pacing the studio, my thoughts make an inevitable return to the life I’ve lost. I need to find a way back to who I was before. The confident me, the Zach who never questioned where he was going or cared to look too far ahead. This endless questioning is not me. It never was.

This is ridiculous. I need air.

Defying the voice telling me to hide away, I head outside.

I’ve wasted most of the morning stuck in my own head, meaning the streets are busy when I reach the centre of town.

I’ll be okay as long as I avoid the street where Sweet Reverie and Porthia Surf are.

St Ives might be small, but there are enough alternative routes available to me to be able to avoid that area.

It’s another gorgeous day, the recent run of sunny weather a blessing in every sense. Good for visitors, good for businesses, good for me. Despite the heaviness of my mood, sunshine warms my limbs and spine as I climb up steeper streets to the hill at the back of the town.

The harbour sparkles far below as I rise above the rooflines, the ache in my calves gratifying.

I don’t do well cooped up inside. Never did.

Mum used to joke that I’d be happier with a human-sized kennel in the garden than a room in the house.

‘That way you’d never have to be separated from fresh air. ’

Man, I miss her.

There were so many years when I was competing that I never gave Mum a second thought. She was such a force of nature that I assumed she’d be there forever. I thought it was a given, as much as the air or the sea or the land are always here.

Since I lost everything, Mum’s returned to my mind often. I wonder what she’d make of me now, kicking my life back into touch after it fell apart.

I loved her with every breath, but I was never one for hanging around.

She was content to love me from a distance.

Always there if I needed her, happy to wait until I did.

That’s why moving back to take care of her three years ago almost broke us.

She hated that I had to be there and I hated that she was going through it.

We muddled through, enough for her to see out her final months with dignity and some level of humour.

I guess I should be grateful for that time.

I missed six months of the competitive circuit surf meets, but I was there for her when it mattered.

Five and a half months taking care of her at her house, followed by two weeks pretty much living by her hospice bedside.

During that time, she lectured me whenever she was lucid. Go back to the circuit, Zachary, win all the trophies you want, but start to think about life afterwards. Be ready for it, sweetheart, because life changes before you know it.

I thought I had another five years to think about that – and I told her so. Little did I know that, just over a year later, my injury would kick me out of my career for good, and Mum’s words would follow me as I lost my home and headed for the place where she no longer was.

Not that she would ever have let me wallow if she was here.

Chin up, boots on. Or probably flip-flops where you’re concerned . . .

I laugh, despite my gloom, looking down at the trusty Havaianas I chose to wear today.

Okay, Mum. Let’s do this your way.

I am making progress. Slower than I’d like, but I have two jobs and a roof over my head for the next few months at least. I’ll just keep being reminded of missteps until I sort everything else out, but now I’m in St Ives I can work out what I want next.

I expect Mum would have plenty to say about that.

I reach the end of a steep footpath and cross the road. There’s a bench here, at the edge of Trenwith car park, that I always sat on whenever I arrived in town for a surf meet, my first breath of St Ives air taken after too long in the stuffy confines of my car.

I find it now, the wood warm when I sit.

The breath I take feels like my first proper inhale since the mess of last night.

St Ives Bay stretches out across the horizon, the beaches that line the contours of the land small streaks of gold edging the blue.

It’s achingly familiar and startlingly new at once, the ever-changing colours of the sea making sure that no view of the bay is ever the same.

Maybe that’s why St Ives is the way it is: its historic buildings set in stone, yet restless and ever-changing in what they contain.

How long has Sweet Reverie been there? I try to spot the location of Star Court in the knot of streets below.

I don’t remember seeing it when I visited the town for competitions, but was I ever really looking then?

So much seems to have passed me by while my life was consumed by surfing. What else have I missed?

I’ll get past what happened last night. The sting of its memory will lessen as time moves on. But today I have to acknowledge it as an unwanted companion, an angry dog biting at my heels.

I was an idiot for running away.

I won’t make that mistake again.

If I’m going to move on, I have to stop thinking about the piano, and stay the hell away from Sweet Reverie. I don’t want to be reminded of what happened there. It would do me no good to return.

Taking a last look at the view, I set my sights on the road rising further out of town and start walking.