le bonheur de vivre

16

Elodie stood, her form penitent, her eyes dilated, on the porch of Garret's house. She didn't want to be home today. Or tonight.

But she didn't want to knock. She didn't want to go in, or face him. Garrett, poor boy. He had all the wrong ideas in his little head.

So she stood. And she stood. It must have been fifteen minutes she had stood there, her bike collapsed in a bush on the driveway, the waves down by Colombier beach crashing into her eardrum every few seconds. Perhaps no one was home. Perhaps she should just wait.

After a while of this futile loitering she heard a rustle from the path that went down to the beach. Garret emerged from the dense freeness, his pace slow and his gaze distracted. She waited for him to notice her.

And he did. And when he did he smiled. She hadn't come to his house in so long. And she looked so beautiful, lurking on his doorstep. He saw her eyes longing. He noted the forlorn arch of her back. His smile widened.

"What a nice surprise."

She smiled back at him. He looked lovely.

"You look good."

He reached her and stopped.

"As do you. Would you like to come in? How long have you been waiting?"

He kept his distance from her now, as they lingered beside his door, her eyes glittering.

"I only just arrived," she reassured him, as he opened the door and beckoned her inwards.

His house was small, but unlike hers it was all in one building, rather then the rooms individual shacks. It was like American houses, but with a red cap and the tropical smell. He took his shoes off, and she did too.

"may I stay over tonight?" She begun, as soon as the door was closed.

It dazed him a little, this comment, but he hid it well.

"Of course. You can sleep in my room."

He scratched the back of his neck, awaiting her reply.

"Is there no spare room free?"

Poor, poor boy.

"Yeah, of course. They're not made up but I'll ask my mum to make a bed later."

"Thank you," she returned balmily, Gareth dawdling beside her. "I'm sorry," she started back upon herself . "Did I interrupt something? Are you busy today?"

"No, no," he replied briskly. "We can do whatever you would like."

Elodie remained in the hallway even when he darted off down towards the living room. He had to slow down and look at her to make her follow. She was thinking. She didn't like to walk and think.

"Could we play cards? Or a board game? I don't want to burden you. Perhaps that's too childish."

"Yes let's do that," he replied confidently, making his way to his room. She followed him now. The walls of the house were adorned with photographs of the island, an oasis in the sun. And pictures of Garret and his mother. His father was rarely on the island; he had work in other places.

His room was smaller than hers, the bed along one side, and the carpet on which they used to play beside it. A window looking out onto Colombier was perched above the head of the bed. There was a picture of her and Garrett on his desk. She thought she looked ugly in that picture. He didn't.

The sparkles from the water outside the window caught Elodie's eye more than anything in the room. Deep, bold, the blue flooded the whole window, flanked by the beach, further hugged by sun-kissed rocks. Oh Elodie so deeply desired to be enveloped by that coolness, the salt upon her lips, the sting in her eyes. The tide carrying her back and forth, the sand in her hair. The feeling of cold. Everywhere.