‘Hold that thought,’ she whispers.
33
DAY SIX
CHLOE
There are things I know I’ll never be. I’ll never front a band or win the Nobel Peace Prize or take part in the Olympics. I also never thought the day would come when I could become a hiker. Although my fake jog the other day led to me sprinting for my life from a benign snake, there was something about the experience which called to me: being in nature, the colours, the way I could walk off my feelings, both physical and emotional. It was cleansing in the very best way.
I don’t deny that I’m also hiking now as a way to counteract the sexual tension coursing through me. Last night, I had sex again. With Ben. The sort of sex that makes me shiver to recall it, eyes wide in disbelief that sex could be so good. ‘Good’ doesn’t feel like the right word for it.Magnificent. It’s the attentiveness, the commitment to the moment, the way he watches my reactions. But then, it’s so many other things too. I hear him tell a teenager to respect her mother and not run her mouth off and I wonder how he knows exactly what to say:why is that such a turn on?The way he always searches for my hand and squeezes it tightly. The way he hints at words like ‘forever’. To not add fuelto any fires, I didn’t spend the night in the cottage. I unlocked the door, I crept back to my room, I crawled into my bed and curled up in a ball, smiling, content, but missing him almost immediately.
And so I hike. When I set off this morning, Ben had already left for his market run so I went alone. I’m carrying onions with me because I read on the internet that apparently snakes don’t like them. I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m confronted by a snake –throw one at it?– but for now, they’re in my rucksack with my journal, some pens and a large bottle of water.
This morning, I’ve decided not to go anywhere near that olive tree, just in case there’s a snake nest there, but I opt to rest and take stock on a small collection of flat rocks. A rickety wooden fence separates me from the cliff and ocean. It’s exposed but the sun is pale, not too high in the sky yet, and a few uncharacteristic clouds drift like steam trails in the sky. I close my eyes and sit cross-legged as I take in the white noise of the sea below.Is this what meditation feels like?My soul feels light, quiet. I reach into my bag to get out my phone to take a photo and I see a few notifications pop up. One is a selfie of George and his boys sticking their tongues out.
We miss you, Aunty Chloe!!! Xxx
I send a message and a selfie back.
Back late on Monday. You want anything from duty-free?
Arlo wants thirty packs of Marlboro Lights and one of those giant bottles of Smirnoff.
Done xx
While my phone is open, I check on some other messages, spam and notifications until I reach one that piques my interest.
Hi Chloe, please ignore the informal approach via text but I recently heard you are moving on from Scope Associates via a colleague and I was wondering if you were available to have a chat about your future? I think we could be a very good fit for you and your design skills. I will email too but please feel free to reach out at any time. Gabi Dyson.
My eyes widen.I know that name, why do I know that name?I do a quick Google search and when the results pour in, I juggle my phone in shock like a hot potato. Gabi Dyson is one of the most amazing mentors in architecture; she’s won industry awards for that, but she also works at Zaha Hadid, the holy grail of architects, the inspiration for everything I do.When did she send this message? Yesterday morning.When I was naked on a beach. Without thinking I initiate a phone call.
‘Hi, Gabi Dyson.’
As soon as she answers, I realise I’ve rushed into this. I should have waited until I was indoors or had better reception.
‘Hi, Gabi, my name is Chloe Raymond. I’m just replying to the kind message you sent yesterday, I apologise for the delay in getting back to you, I’m abroad at the moment.’
‘Oh yes, Chloe. Hello, how are you? Where are you?’ Gabi’s voice is warm, unassuming.
‘I’m actually on holiday. In Ibiza,’ I tell her.
‘Gorgeous, which part of the island?’
‘North, at a beautiful farmhouse retreat. It was much-needed,’ I tell her.
‘I don’t doubt it. So…you got my message?’
‘I did. And thank you. It was also needed,’ I say, sighing with shock that I am having this conversation at all.
‘Well, I like to keep my ear to the ground, find out where the talent is hiding. I was there on the morning of the Spooner Group presentation. I glanced over a lot of the tenders. Your design work is outstanding.’
My face freezes at the compliment. ‘I, thank you?—’
‘You were truly wasted with Julian. He’s a relic of the industry,’ she says. ‘When are you back?’
‘Late Monday.’
‘Then come in on Tuesday. We’ll chat. I’ll confirm via email. It’s lovely to talk to you, Chloe.’
