Just Haven't Met You Yet(77)

“I made a break for freedom,” he says with a wry smile, but there’s a sadness in his eyes.

“He rang me this afternoon, saying he needed to see the sea one last time,” says Sandy, shaking her head. “As if he’s moved to the flipping Sahara or something rather than ten minutes up the road. You won’t get to like it if you don’t give it a chance, you old pickle.”

“They said I’d have a sea view from my room, but I can’t see a speck of water. I won’t be able to sleep without the sound of it.”

“Didn’t Ted make you a CD of sea sounds?” asks Sandy.

“Not the same.” Gerry sighs.

“Speaking of Ted, have either of you seen him this afternoon?” I ask, in my best casual-inquiry voice. Sandy gives me a knowing look. “I see his car’s not back?”

“Probably picking up fares—it’s where he goes when he doesn’t know what to do with himself,” says Sandy, raising both eyebrows and slowly nodding.

“I gave him the letter,” I tell Gerry.

“Ah,” Gerry says, and bows forward in his chair.

“What letter?” Sandy asks, eyes darting between us.

Gerry and I explain about Belinda’s letter.

“And now I’ve given it to him, and he’s gone,” I say mournfully.

“He won’t have gone far,” says Sandy, reaching out to squeeze my arm. “He’ll call her. He’ll want to get the divorce rolling now. I don’t know what planet Belinda was on, thinking she could just dance off into her hippie-dippie sunset and ignore all the gritty details of a separation.” Sandy sounds angry.

“He’s going to think I hid that letter from him,” says Gerry, pressing his palms against the sides of his head.

“Yeah, he’s definitely not going to pay up for that sea view now,” Sandy says, and then she and Gerry start giggling like children.

“Hey, this is serious,” I say, looking between them. “Who knows where he’s gone?”

Sandy narrows her eyes at me.

“How was your day with Mr. Suitcase Man? I saw the red sports car this morning—very fancy.”

Ted was right about living on a small island, no keeping secrets.

“Fine,” I say, flustered. “I’m just worried about Ted, as a friend.”

“We all are,” says Sandy.

We sit in silence for a moment, all looking out to sea, and I breathe in the quiet.

“That watery horizon is a spirit level for the soul,” says Gerry. “When you look at it for long enough, it puts life straight again.”

In that moment, I know exactly what he means, and I don’t know how I’ve stayed in the city so long, where there’s no chance for recalibration, no clean horizon to level you. Even with all the emotion this trip has thrown up, there’s something about watching the ocean that puts everything into perspective. Maybe Jersey is rubbing off on me. I don’t think I’ve even checked my phone for the last— Hang on, where is my phone? I pat down my pocket and search through my bag.

“Oh no. I think I’ve lost my phone.”

“Did you leave it at Mr. Sports Car’s house?” asks Sandy, tapping a finger against her chin.

“Probably.” I sigh. “This is a disaster.”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” says Gerry, tipping his head backward and looking up at the sky.

“Well, it is. If my boss can’t get hold of me—”

“Oh, I meant to tell you, the internet’s down,” says Sandy. “There’s some glitch across the whole of St. Ouen’s, should be back on in an hour or two.”

“What?” I cry, horrified. “I can’t be offline.” As I say it, I hear how pathetic I sound. I’m not a doctor on call or a politician running the country. Then I think of my argument with Dee, the need to amend my flight, the fact that Dionne and Saul are coming here on Monday—the constant nagging feeling that I have a thousand phone calls I should be making.

“You can use my mobile, if there’s anything urgent?” Sandy offers.

“Do you know what happens when you don’t have your phone?” Gerry asks. I look at him, waiting for an answer. “Life.”

“All right, Yoda,” says Sandy.

“Yes, ‘live for today’ is all very well until I lose my job and can’t pay the rent,” I tell him.

“Someone sparky like you?” Gerry gives me a wink. “You’d find a way.” Then he bows his head and presses his papery-skinned hands together in prayer. “There is an old proverb: He who fears to suffer, suffers from fear.”

“Oh no,” Sandy says, covering her eyes, “you’ve unleashed the proverbial Gerry.”

“Man who waits for roast duck to fly into his mouth must wait very, very long time,” says Gerry.

“He’ll just keep spouting proverbs at you until you beg him to stop,” says Sandy. “He has proverbs for every occasion, mainly from cheap Christmas crackers by the sound of them.”

“Fear blows wind into your sails—”

“OK, she gets it,” Sandy says, standing up and putting both hands gently around Gerry’s neck, pretending to throttle him. This makes Gerry stop his guru impression and wrinkle his nose into a silent laugh. I smile at them, cheered up by their jokes, but the conversation does make me pause to think— Would it be so terrible if I lost my job? If I didn’t have the familiar routine? But then the thought makes me feel a bit sick and panicky, so I ask Sandy if I can bring my laptop over and hotspot off her mobile, just to get through my most urgent tasks.