1 February 2013
(If you missed part 2 it is because I posted it on the end of the first part instead of a separate post. Oops.)
There were seagulls. The sound of seagulls. Seagull cries and a pale morning light spilling into the bedroom. Jim sighed as his mind gently rose from a long sweet sleep. He had no desire to leave the bed, so warm and comfortable, yet the excitement of a day with Jennifer was dawning in his heart. “I met her yesterday,” he said softly to himself, “and already she is like a sunrise on my soul.” Then the writer in him said, “that’s so corny. True, but very corny.”
He sat up in bed. For the first time he became aware of the sound of the sea, it must be close. He rose from bed and went to the little window, pulled back the curtain and peered outside. The beach was right behind the house. It stretched out in the morning light till it touched a dark blue sea and there, at the edge where the waves press on the shore Jennifer was sitting looking out to the horizon. The still picture of her against the rising light and the rolling white of the waves beneath the brightening skies took Jim’s breath. At once, he wanted to be with her. He turned, grabbed at some clothes, pulling on his jeans he fumbled on his trainers and left the bedroom still pulling a jumper over his head.
In a moment he stepped out through the kitchen door of the house and braced himself against the cold air. Striding out across the sand he stuffed his hands into his pockets and took in the amazing view ahead. The sun reddened the sky near the horizon, but above it was already a brilliant blue. The sea rolled with that gentle swaying sound that hypnotises the subconscious. Jennifer sat at the water’s edge, her arms hugging her raised knees. Jim came up alongside her. “Morning Jim,” she said without taking her eyes off the sea, “it is a beautiful morning, isn't it?” “Yes, really gorgeous. How are you today?” “I’m spectacular, a little moody, and very happy you are here with me. I like the early morning.” Jim sat down beside her, noticing her hair was wet. “Have you been swimming?” he asked in astonishment. “Yes. Really wakes you up. Go ahead in if you like.” “Aren’t you frozen?” Jennifer grinned at him, “No, you only feel frozen until you have been in the sea. In the sea it is so cold that afterwards everything feels warmer.” “I’m happy to take your word for it,” Jim laughed. “It is beautiful though. Just look at the colours!” “And to think, not a single one exists.” “What?” Jennifer sighed gently and turned to him, leaning her body against his, “Hug me,” she told him. Jim thrilled to do as she asked, wrapping his arm around her and holding her tight. “What do you mean the colours don’t exist?” “Well, where do they?” “I don't understand. They exist out there in the sky.” Jennifer giggled. “No they don’t. Out there is just photons, wavelengths of energy moving at different rates. What you see as blue and red and yellow and indigo are not out there in the sky. They are just energy and photons moving.” “Ok,” Jim said slowly, “then they exist in my eye.” “Nice try, but nope. The photons enter your eyes and cause a chemical and electrical response. No colour of red or blue on your eyes.” “Ahh, ok, then it is all in my mind.” Jennifer giggled in his arms, “Nope. Your mind is just chemicals and impulses. No colour there either.” Jim considered this for a moment. It had never occurred to him before. He saw colours everywhere. It was impossible to not see them. Yet he knew that colour was just light at different wavelengths, and that was not colour as he experienced it. Again Jim found his mind spinning, the whole world seemed to shift axis when he was with Jennifer. “Alright,” Jim sighed, “where does colour exist?” Jennifer propped herself up a little and looked at him, “Why, nowhere. It exists everywhere and nowhere at all. The same with flavours, sounds and the sensation of touch. Chemicals and compressions of the air and forces between atoms are not the same as how we feel and experience them. Open your eyes Jim, the whole world is not quite the way you think. It is all a wonderful, wild art form with surprise in every breath.” Jim thought, “her lips are so close I could kiss them by accident, well, almost by accident.” But out loud he only said, “I have never thought about colour like that before. It is incredible. So that is all there is to life. Chemicals and forces and our brains making up ways to experience it. Well that puts paid to any idea of a god.” A sudden mirth lit her eyes. “Maybe. Who was it who said, “there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy?” Maybe the incredible ability of your mind to construct from chemicals and waves and forces a world full of colour and taste and touch inevitably means there is a mind far greater, conjuring us all.” “See,” Jim replied after a pause, “now you are just freaking me out.” Jennifer giggled in his embrace, then she moved and pulled away. She rose to her feet and tussled his hair with her fingers, “Or maybe I’m just stealing beauty out of driftwood. Maybe that’s what our brains are doing all the time. Fancy breakfast?” “Yes,” he said getting up, “very much.”
As they walked toward the house Jim heard a sound behind him and turned back. There was nothing there, just the ocean stretching out to the horizon and the sun rising. Jennifer paused and asked, “Something the matter?” “No, I just thought I heard…” Jim trailed off. “Heard what?” “Nothing. Never mind, just the sea probably.” Jennifer looked at him in surprise, “Really? You usually need to be here for ages before you hear the sea speaking to you.” Jim laughed, turning back to the house, “Yeah right. Here, let me make the breakfast its the least I can do.” “Fine by me,” Jennifer said, “I’ll shower, you make me bacon and eggs. And toast. And coffee. Also a tomato. Oh, and a sausage. Gosh I’m hungry.” “You know this is the strangest B&B I have stayed at,” Jim joked as they went inside, “cooking breakfast for my host.” “I’ll not charge for that,” called back Jennifer as she went through to the stairs, “but the adventure and the cuddle on the beach are extra!” I will take every extra I can get, Jim thought to himself as he opened the fridge and looked for eggs.
When Jennifer returned to the kitchen Jim had laid out the little table and they took seats opposite one another and tucked into breakfast. “This is good!” Jennifer said between mouthfuls, “very unhealthy, but good.” “I always like cooked breakfast on holiday.” Jim said. “So, do you have plans for today?” “Not at all. You mentioned showing me the island?” “Yeah, how about I get some stuff done this morning and take you over to Dylan’s for lunch?" "Dylan's?" "It's the local pub, restaurant, entertainment hub and gossip factory. And a nice walk from here." “Sounds great. Do you mind if I use my computer this morning? I feel like writing.” Jennifer asked, “Isn’t that working on holiday?” “Not really, I love to write, I’m not working to a deadline. I feel inspired. Maybe I’ll write some poetry.” “I had no idea you wrote poetry.” “I write lots. I like words.” “Ok, you write and I will sculpt. We will be like an artist’s colony.” Jim looked up at her, his fork poised half-way to his mouth, “I like that idea.”
And so it transpired. Jim set up his laptop in his room and Jennifer disappeared into her workshop. Hours went by as both happily worked on their own, Jennifer bringing him a coffee mid-morning before returning to her own art. Jim tapped and typed fast and furious, ideas erupting and spilling more freely than for weeks. He didn’t know if it was the place, or the sea outside the window, but something had set his imagination ablaze.
Just after midday Jim freed himself from his muse and stepped out of his room. He noticed a third cardboard box had appeared on the landing. He was about to step by it when something in one of the other boxes caught his eye. He turned and reached into the box and lifted out a book. It was his book. His second novel. He turned it in his hands, and there was his picture on the back. At no point in all that had happened had Jennifer shown that she knew who he was or that he was a writer. Yet, she had his book. He looked again into the box and his mood darkened. He had 5 novels published, and they were all here. Not only here, he noticed as he knelt by the box, but all with pages and bindings bent from reading, and the last still had a bookmark in it.
A part of him felt bad about looking at her belongings, but a louder part was ringing an alarm bell. She had known who he was all along. Even in the car last night. She had his picture and his name on five books she had clearly read. Yet not once had she said that she knew who he was. She had given him the impression she did not know. Or had he assumed she didn't? Or were these even her books? Was it her who read them? Then he began really wondering. How much did he know about her anyway? How foolish was he being to lodge with a woman who had robbed him? Doubts began to eat away the joy that had filled him moments ago.
Just then he heard Jennifer moving downstairs and quickly put the book back in the box and closed it over. He rose and went down the stairs just as Jennifer appeared at the bottom and raised her pretty face toward him. “Hi, you ready for a walk over to Dylan’s?” she asked. “Ah, yeah, sure,” Jim replied, deciding in a instant to say nothing about the books and see what he could discover. Would she pretend not to know about them if he tested her? He thought about how to do this as they put on coats and left the cottage.
The Pretty Thief. Part 3 • Opuss № I