One Night on the Island(63)
In my head, I conjure Julia’s ship from the cave wall and place her, majestic, on the distant horizon, sure enough of herself to plough through fathomless waters. I see myself at the helm, one hand on the wheel, the wind streaming my hair out behind me as I set a course by starlight. That’s the woman I’m becoming, I tell myself, imagining the smooth, worn wooden wheel beneath my hands, seeing the map of the planets and constellations I’ve laid out to plot my route.
I hang on to the image for a while, embedding it firmly in my brain because I love it, and because I know it’s time to turn the wheel and head in a different direction. Everything about coming here has led me to this point, to this vision of myself as skipper of my own galleon. I reach for the blue pouch Dolores gave me and tip the rose-gold Claddagh ring on to my palm. I touch my fingertip against it the next time I speak.
‘I give myself this ring as a symbol of my intention and of my self-respect and of hope.’ I find my fingers are shaking as I slip it on to my right hand. Gosh. I’m so glad Dolores gave it to me, it feels as if it has always been a necessary part of the ceremony. It looks perfect, and the symbolism of the hands holding the heart feels entirely appropriate as I cup my own heart in my own hands today. It’s okay to be reckless with your internal organs in your twenties, but I’m thirty now and need more careful curation.
I feel subtly different once the ring is on my finger. Not married, obviously, but committed. It’s a good feeling. Grounding. For a couple of minutes I sit in silence, unhurried, concentrating on my breath, embracing the sea-salt diamonds in my lungs. I’ve never been this close to myself before. A seabird wheels overhead, one of the orange-beaked ones I see regularly. I imagine him returning to the roost with news of my wedding for one, and all the birds shaking their oily black-feathered heads, mystified.
My mum was mystified by the whole thing too, but then she only knows gilt-edged save-the-date cards and tiered cakes and top hats. All of my siblings had frighteningly organized, grand weddings and I know it’s in her heart that I’ll follow suit. I reach for her birthday card now, setting the accompanying gift aside to open afterwards. My eyes mist a little when I open it to find messages from my siblings as well as from Mum. Both of my sisters have beautiful, sloping handwriting, their messages heartfelt and kind, making me smile as I think of them. Their kids have got in on the act too, bright crayoned hearts and kisses filling any empty spaces. It’s harder to decipher Tom’s doctor-like scrawl, and I laugh out loud when I work it out: Happy wedding birthday, you fucking insane weirdo! Guinness is on you when you get back. I can almost hear our mother scolding him for swearing from here. I swipe a tear from my cheek and read the final message, from her.
Happy 30th, my darling youngest child. How terribly modern to marry one’s self, but then you always were the pioneer of the family! Hope it all goes swimmingly, love Mum x
Her familiar handwriting makes me wish desperately that she was here, so much so that I can smell the perfume she’s always worn and hear the rattle of her glasses chain around her neck. ‘Love you too, Mum,’ I whisper. I blow a kiss into my hands and release it, hoping the wind will catch it and carry it home to her, that it will slip in through an open window and she’ll feel it settle about her shoulders like a scarf.
Pioneer. The word vibrates around me on the sand as I speak it aloud. It is an unexpected choice from my mother about me. I’ve always thought my family see me as indulged and fanciful, a scattergun rather than a directional bullet. The word has an air of daring, a sense of danger, a devil-may-care element of bravery. I look out towards my imaginary ship again and paint the word Pioneer on her starboard bow in looping white letters, and then I open my mother’s gift.
It’s quite a chunky box, it fills my hands. I haven’t seen it before, but the worn-at-the-edges tan leather tells me it’s a fair age. I lever the lid up on its hinge and find a wristwatch inside, again something I’m sure I’ve never seen before. The size tells me it’s a gents’ watch, edged in gold, the strap in plain black leather. I lay the box down, turning the watch over in my hands. On the back, it’s engraved with my paternal grandfather’s name, Abraham Wilder, letters worn smooth by wear. I slide my thumb over them and then I spot a note pressed into the lid of the box.
This belonged to your grandfather, and then to your father, who wore it every day until he died. It was one of his most treasured possessions. I think he’d like you to have it now. X
I put the note back and close the box, the watch still in my hands. I’m not mystical enough to believe in messages from beyond, but there is something undeniably prescient about my mother’s gift. As I fasten the age-softened leather around my wrist, I let myself believe that my father is giving me a ‘come on now, love’ nudge. I reckon he’d have sat alongside me here on the sand and handed me the watch, and then he’d have told me he was proud of me every day of my life and to always keep my eyes on the horizon. So I do. I look out as far as my eyes can see, and I lift my hand and wave farewell as the Pioneer turns slowly and sets sail in a new direction.
Mack
24 October
Salvation Island
SPRINGSTEEN, A BEAUTIFUL GIRL AND A LOW, GOLD MOON
Cleo should be back any time now. I raced to be in place to capture shots of her return across the beach, and to make sure everything’s perfect for her makeshift reception. I know she said not to bother, but it’s a special day for her. I can’t claim to absolutely understand the whole marriage for one thing, but watching her down there on the shore today was an experience I wasn’t prepared for. She looked self-contained and complete, strong and radiant. I hope the camera caught something of the mood, the shimmer of anticipation displacing the air around her. I found myself deeply impressed, a lump in my throat when she stood at the water’s edge.