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‘I’ve missed being this person,’ says Ted, squeezing my hand as we walk back up the steps towards the car park at the top of the hill.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask. He stops walking, and we turn to look at the view one last time, the tower on the island, sleek sailing boats edging towards the horizon, a scattering of people on the pebbled shore.
‘Some people bring out the parts of yourself you like the most,’ he says. ‘I like the version of myself I am when I’m with you.’
‘I know what you mean. I feel the same, like I don’t have to filter myself around you. I’m not sure if this raw version of me even existed before.’
‘She was always there,’ says Ted, ‘you just hadn’t met her yet.’
When we finally get back to L’Étacq, my hair feels full of salt, my skin slightly sun-kissed, and my face glows with the feeling of being the version of myself I love the most.
We get out of the car and hold hands as we walk down to the cottage together. I imagine we’ll have a shower, then indulge in an afternoon in bed – I think I would be happy if I could just re-live this day over and over again forever; my own delicious Groundhog Day.
Then I notice someone sitting at the patio table in the garden. A slim woman with long dark hair and a feline yoga body. She’s wearing a floating turquoise dress and has a floral print scarf tied around her hair. She has that effortless, serene beauty about her, as though she meditates every day and never eats chocolate, or if she does, it’s only dark chocolate, and then only one square at a time. She’s looks up at Ted with familiar eyes.
‘Who’s this?’ I ask quietly, but when I turn to look at him, his face is drained of colour, his eyes unblinking.
‘Belinda.’
