A few days had passed since the night Drew left. We hadn’t spoken much since then. He’d called the next morning to look at the tap as promised, but needed to order a part before he would be able to fix it. I assumed it was being flown in by carrier pigeon with a washer in its claw when he still hadn’t been back to the cottage. I’d seen plenty of him. Chopping firewood, putting salt on the driveway when the mornings turned particularly frosty, driving the golf cart to the barns, holding his hand up in recognition when he saw me at the window, and every day, for hours at a time, I saw him sitting on Gladys’s bench at the top of Karensa’s hill.

I watched him from my window. Every afternoon, he climbed the chalk path with Archie at his side. Drew would be bundled up in a black pea coat, a matching beanie hat and a red tartan scarf. I could see the contrast of colours from my writing chair. I studied him. Caught him leaning forward, removing his hat, dragging his hands through his hair, clasping them together, sitting back and staring out to sea. Maybe those movements helped him think. Perhaps the roll of the waves gave him peace or helped him clarify his thoughts? After all, everyone had a place to dissect, everyone had a place where they sought comfort.

I started new chapters of my novel at the beginning of the week whilst watching him sitting there, speculating about what he was thinking, exactly what he was sorting out. I wondered if his jumbled thoughts were now in a straight line, how he was ordering them and hoping above all else that he was making some progress. 20,000 words and a few days later, I was still left wondering.

I’d had a nagging feeling since the last time I saw him. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d said and how I’d said it. I regretted it. I’d pushed. It was a nasty habit of mine. I’d touched a nerve and quite honestly, what did I know about his situation? A few beads of information. Ones he’d specifically chosen to tell me—that was it. I knew there was more he was choosing to keep to himself but I’d done the typical Cal thing, waded in with my natural desire to find out everything, to unearth a story and sniff out a tale. To fix him.

By Friday, I was going crazy. I was missing human interaction; even a text message would have better than the silence of nothing. I’d done a live feed on social media just to use my voice. Readers in my group continued to have one question for me and it was repeatedly asked. When are you going to release a new book? I used stock phrases along the lines of Not yet. I’m polishing it to make it the best book it can be. At one point Melissa started replying to the comments to offer some light relief. Comments that I could joke about, questions I could bounce from. Calm your tits, ladies. She’s very busy researching her latest muse. A pilot isn’t he, Cal? The feed had gone wild. I couldn’t keep up, and when I glanced at the clock on the wall, two hours had slipped by.

I knew I only had an hour or so to play with before it got dark. I went to the window, pulled back the curtain and saw that the bench was empty. I grabbed my coat, made a hot water bottle to stop the shivers that would set in after ten minutes of sitting still, and started the climb along the white chalk path. The views made the journey worth it. It was still tough on the legs, and I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest as I reached the top, but I needed the time and space to sit and take it all in.

My inspiration spot.

I traced my fingers over the inscription on the brass plaque, and images of dearest Gladys and her Kenneth flashed through my mind as clear as watching a movie in the cinema. I envisioned black and white pictures, a smiling Gladys in her younger years sitting on a car bonnet, her Kenneth sitting behind her with a broad smile. I could hear their shared laughter, feel the love. Childhood sweethearts who married when they were twenty and had their first child at twenty-one. Soul mates. Equals. Two people destined to meet and live their lives together.

‘You’ve stolen my thinking spot.’

I turned to find Drew, his lovely face underneath his hat, his brown eyes tired and subdued. Archie barked to let me know he was there too before laying his head on my knee.

‘I think you’ll find this was my thinking spot first.’

‘I thought it was your inspiration spot,’ he replied sitting down, a whoosh of warm air comforting me.

‘Details, Drew. Details.’ He fiddled with his scarf, pulling it away from his neck. Two people who didn’t know what to say to each other always encouraged an awkward silence. Drew crossed his leg and as I watched it bounce with nerves, I had the urge to stop it, tell him he didn’t need to be so wired. I put my hand there. ‘Shall we talk?’

‘I think we should,’ he replied.

‘I shouldn’t have asked so many questions. Karensa is absolutely none of my business.’

‘It’s fine, Cal,’ he said. ‘I needed some straight talking. From a friend. Someone who cares.’ His sad eyes warmed briefly.

‘Thank goodness for that,’ I replied, blowing out a dramatic breath. ‘I’ve been watching you sitting here all week wondering when you’re going to take a run for it and jump off the cliff.’

He chuckled. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in our thinking spot.’

‘I’m glad,’ I said, placing my hand on his thigh. He put his on top and held it still, linking our fingers together as we studied them like they were a curiosity, something of immense interest. A wonderment.

‘I’m sorry I spoke to you like that. I’m not used to anyone calling me out. It hit a nerve,’ he said, still captivated by our joined hands.

‘I want you to know it was coming from a good place, even if it didn’t come across that way. I just want to see you making the most of what you have.’ I looked over at the coastline, took in the vast space, beautiful and bracing. A true inspiration. ‘Everything is breathtaking,’ I sighed. ‘Imagine getting married here.’

‘Imagine,’ he mumbled, suddenly removing his hand from mine and withdrawing. I watched him slip into deep contemplation, pondering intensely and hurting hugely. He was fascinatingly expressive in his facial features and body language, and I saw every single component of emotion—small and barely seen, big and obviously troublesome—cross his lovely face.

What had happened to him? Why was he so hurt? Give me more chapters, Drew. Give me the parts where the story starts to unfold and the truth finally starts to become exposed.

‘I meant what I said. I’m here if you need me,’ I said.

He nodded towards the sea in the distance, his hands clasped with more force against his knees. I could hear the crashing of the waves, white foamy columns exploding across the cliffs. I pushed my arm through his, wrapping my hand around the thick tension pulling through his bicep. Finally, he met my eyes, smiling briefly. ‘I need to make this place work. I’ve put it off. Some days it just seemed too big. But I don’t want to lose it, Cal. It means too much.’

‘I know. That’s why I was so hard on you.’

‘Yeah. But why was I so hard on you?’ he said, pinching his eyebrows in.

I shrugged, unsure of how to answer because the truth was, I didn’t know. I didn’t understand why we seemed to be so concerned about our reactions to each other, the aftermath of those reactions, the backlash. Why I appeared to care so much about this place, about him. I barely knew him, had been here only a few days, but my association with Karensa already felt as strong as the tree roots interconnecting with the land, threading through the wildflowers, spilling out to sea.

He turned back to the angry waves, tremendous and unforgiving, almost certainly building up to an enraged storm overnight. I wondered if he could interpret the analogy, see himself within it and recognise the comparison. I leant into him and placed my head against his shoulder. I could feel Drew’s body tense before finally relaxing on a sigh, our bodies uniting and as he wrapped his arm around me pulling me closer, I hoped that he didn’t feel so alone anymore.

Even if it was only for the time we spent sitting in our thinking spot.