Elisabeth Jones - Gold Beach

‘But when you return to Lichfield and meet her again, won't you fall back into her arms?’ she asked me, clenching her jaw.

‘Fortunately she has decided to return to London. She says she misses real cities.’

‘Well, in Moffat she would have been bored stiff, don't you think?’ she guffawed.

‘Probably. In a couple of weeks, when she finishes her work at the school, she will go back to London. She told Mr Young she wouldn’t be coming back next year, so problem solved.’

‘Come to think of it, how did you dare leave her alone in your house? What if you come back and find it empty or smashed up?

‘She's hysterical but classy. She'll just collect her things and leave.’

The maturity of her thirty years of age had allowed her to keep her youthful features and vivacious and occasionally childlike behaviour. The Isobel I remembered had become a beautiful woman who hid her childhood wounds under coloured fabrics. My smile, my silence and the way I looked at her made her blush so much that she didn't take long to change the subject.

‘How could you stay so long with a woman like that? At least tell me that she was good in bed because I don't get it. English, maths teacher, blonde, whatever did you see in her?’

Apparently my mother had given her a full description of my last partner. Basically she was right. What had I seen in Claire? What did I expect to achieve with that relationship? And with the previous ones? Unintentionally I had followed Mr Young's advice to the letter. I was at the place where everything started and now that I saw her before me I knew that I was where I should be. I smiled and without stopping to look into her eyes I raised my pint of beer to make a toast.

‘To new beginnings, Isobel.’

She looked at me for a moment not knowing what to say, her cheeks went a little red until her lips started to curve into a slight smile.

‘May they be definitive, Philip.’

We left the pub at half past six. The afternoon had passed by almost without my noticing, I even forgot I was hungry. A light rain fell upon us like morning dew. The temperature had dropped considerably, so I zipped my jacket up to my neck. I walked her home as if we were the same teenagers of years ago. On the way back the old Isobel reappeared with that natural joy so contagious that it made you feel happy. It was the last thing I expected but I was thankful. I don't know what I’d have done if she had acted as I deserved. As we got to her house we took shelter under the porch to avoid the rain. Unless any last minute pretext could stop it, farewell time had come but I didn't want to leave. I had missed her company so much that the hours that we had spent together didn't feel enough. Isobel gave me peace. When I saw her taking her keys out of her handbag, I improvised the first thing that came to mind to see her again. She turned and looked at me with a questioning expression when I asked her if she would fancy going fishing with me the next morning. How tactless of me to suggest that, but now it was too late to take it back. ‘If you're hoping that we end up like the first time you invited me you're very mistaken,’ she told me.

When I was able to react I moved away from her shyly and just said with a serious countenance, ‘I just wanted to see you and spend the morning with you, nothing else.’

She looked at me, winked and said, ‘Tomorrow at ten o'clock. Picnic's on me.’ She waved goodbye and gave me a smile that touched my soul, and with no further words, she closed the door determinedly. I stood motionless for a moment because I refused to believe that she wouldn't invite me in, but she didn't open again. My physical appearance and talent for seduction, that were completely irresistible to other women, didn't seem to affect her at all any more. That summer promised to be a re-sit course for an exam I had failed long ago.

I went to the car because I suddenly remembered that I was still hungry and without thinking twice I set off for Maria's Fish & Chip shop on High Street to give myself the feast I deserved. I would find time to stock up the larder the following day.

My childhood home was located on the outskirts of the town. Once you went past the rugby field, you turned first right to go into a dark, narrow road through a deep forest. The sunlight could hardly get through those high, thick trees. Scarcely a mile later, a clearing opened in the forest and my home appeared. That house had experienced several changes along the years. It was built initially as a farm with crops and livestock areas. When my father purchased it, he transformed it into his surgery and his home. The land passed into the hands of the town council and the stables were turned into a carport and some rooms to extend the house. Before he died he converted it into the Bed & Breakfast that was nowadays.

As I came in I was grateful that the heating had been on for a while because it was actually quite cold. I had forgotten that summer in Scotland became a warm winter at nightfall. I took off my shoes just as I went in to avoid dirtying the immaculate soft carpet in the hall, I hung my jacket on the coat stand and walked to my bedroom to put on my slippers. Before I left the room I walked to the window. If there was anything I liked about that room it was the view. I drew the curtains to admire the always green and damp wooded mountains that seemed to be there to protect the rear of the house. The sheep were grazing placidly scattered over the hillsides as if they were in a paradise of their own. During the month of July a fringe of light could be seen over the mountaintops that would stay all night, like a constant dawn. I left the curtain open and went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea that would help warm me up. It wasn’t even 8pm and I didn't have any plans other than watching TV and sleeping so I wasn’t in a hurry. Fortunately Claire didn't have my phone number so she wouldn’t bother me with her insults, recriminations and repeated suggestions that I should see a psychiatrist. At that moment I particularly appreciated the solitude of the house.

When I walked into the living room I felt a slight difference of temperature. It was cold. My body shivered from head to toe. I looked around as if I was searching for something but of course I just saw furniture, curtains and china ornaments. The lamp on the side table by the sofa was on. I was really surprised because I couldn't remember when I had switched it on. While I walked towards the sofa, I refused to accept that the heat spouting from my body had been caused by fear. Fear of what? , I thought. I sighed heavily and shook my head to clear my mind of that nonsense. I went to the television, turned it on, flopped onto the sofa. I was going to put my cup of tea down on the table when I saw it.

My mother's diary was resting beside the lamp like it was waiting for me. I couldn't believe that she had left it there by accident, with her always being so careful to protect the words of her life. This time I took it and opened it without remorse. With the help of my thumb I turned the pages quickly to the end.

June 23th, 1975

I know I lost Philip years ago. And the worst thing is that I don't know how to get him now. I owe it to him that my life sparkles again, however I let his darken. What we did for his own good ended up distancing him from me. How could I have kept him away from me? Everyday I'm ashamed of my attitude and I only hope that fate will bring him back to me soon to make up for my mistakes and help him find his way. I know who can make him happy. Am I a terrible mother for not telling him what to do? I’m sure he wouldn't follow my advice. I need him to come back. I want him to return to my side. Please Philip, come back.

Once again that diary changed the course of my life. My mother's words broke my heart. I was dying to see her again. I closed it slowly and put it back on the side table. At that moment the last thing I wanted was to bring all those memories back. I turned my eyes to the TV to forget what I had read, but I was already at the mercy of a destiny that didn't stop sending me signs, just as Mr Young predicted. The show Top of the Pops announced a new performance. On the stage 10cc was beginning to sing I'm Not In Love . The lyrics of that song summarised my own reality. I kept a photo of Isobel too. The lamplight started to flicker as if the bulb was about to blow the fuse any time until it went off. Now the living room was only lit by the light from the TV. I cuddled up on the couch as if I was cold but actually, even though the notion of it made me feel ashamed, I was afraid. While the song repeated, ‘ Big boys don't cry,’ I glanced at the diary and remembered the first time I saw it. I was only fourteen years old and from that moment, my whole life changed.