The Same Deep Water (19 page)

“Okay,” I manage to whisper.

Guy touches my cheek one last time, brushing water from my skin. “Do you know what’s special about kissing in the rain?” Mutely, I shake my head. “Loving somebody is easy when the sun is shining, but when you’re caught in the storm, you discover who’s prepared to stand with you. I’ll be there again if you need me.”

I’m seconds away from asking him to wait, when Guy turns away and sprints across the road to the car park. I fight against calling after him but he’s right. Life is never like the movies.

Chapter Thirty-One

One Month Later

#7 Learn To Surf

I’m above the ocean, closer than the last time, and ready to fight the waves. But the water no longer controls me. I’m not frightened anymore. I paddle the surfboard through the water, striving to catch the waves that have eluded me for the last ten minutes. The exhilaration and joy of surfing is my new natural high.

I spot one, advancing closer and hope rises, a determination to hit the wave and clear out the negative energy that’s built up this week. I’m considering moving closer to the beach, and coming here more often. The anxiety is now excitement, the fear: exhilaration.

I pull myself onto the board, the wax beneath my feet pushing between my toes as I turn the board into the wave, and suddenly, I’m on top of the water. Nature’s energy is beneath my feet, taking me, but not pulling me down. I’m flying above the world, the way I imagined as a child; like a bird riding on the wind. Time washes away, as I escape from reality until the world is just me and the wave.

Water sprays into my face, as I become one with what I once fought. Finally, I accept the danger of life and chase it. Weightlessness takes over as I speed up and head towards shore. The power of the wave pushes my board and I move across, up and down the face, gaining speed. All my senses belong to nature – the air rushing by, the sound of the wave breaking as water sprays around, and a seagull crying overhead.

These days, when I swim the deep water it’s to ride above and not to be pulled beneath.

On the shore, I stand with my board and no other thought than to paddle out again. I know I’ll keep going until my body won’t let me, then go home with muscles aching and exhausted. All I’ll want to do tomorrow is come back.

I wave to my fellow surfers. I’ve been surfing for a couple of months now and some days I stay and chat, discussing waves and the best places to go, but not today. I’m planning to go further afield, for a weekend with a group soon. Ironic how the girl terrified of water now spends so much of her free time submerged in the world of surfing.

Today, I see Guy, his tall figure as recognisable as the custom board he once tried to persuade me to use. I know Guy sees me too because he pauses. Since the day we met at the hospital, I’ve thought about him often. The Guy I met that day was different to the one I’d known all along, perhaps because he was the real Guy, not hiding behind exuberance as he tried vainly to keep afloat. I understand that people can become well and change; but I have so many questions unanswered – am I too fragile to risk seeing Guy again or stronger than I think?

I haven’t spoken to Guy since the meeting last month, and now fate throws us together for a second time. There was always the chance we’d meet and although I spend time craving to share this experience with the man who taught me to let go, I can’t bring myself to forgive him for the betrayal.

My mind travels in circles in attempts to decipher why he lied and for so long, at how unwell he was, and should I have accepted he can get better? But when somebody tells you they intend to kill themselves in the same breath as telling you he loves you, how could I? My suicidal thoughts were a blip; his was a long-standing plan. How is that easy to let go; for me or for him?

I wait until Guy is in the water, seeking his own seconds of freedom, and leave.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The winter sun shines through the window, across my desk, and I cradle my cup of mocha as I sort through my morning work emails. Next to me, open to page 14, is a copy of this month’s magazine. Page 14 and 15 are covered by an article. My article. Not about face creams or the latest diets, but about my breakdown and recovery. No, the whole story isn’t there; twenty-one years of my life can’t be condensed into clever copy. My experience is a basis for interviewing other women my age about the pressures of adulthood, a kickback against the selfish Gen Y label.

If this resonates with one person who then looks for help, rather than find themselves hanging on the edge in a place where there isn’t a Guy with flowers waiting, I’ve succeeded.

I re-read the article for the tenth time. Similar copy is on the website inviting comments, but the printed copy is physical. In my hand. I reach the end and the final line that chokes me each time. “Don’t wait your whole life for a Prince Charming to bring you a happy ever after, find your own.”

Does Guy follow the magazine’s website? Has he seen himself in my words? Guy once said he checked out the website, but I could be a painful memory for him too. Erica shared my excitement and people have approached me asking if the story is true – if the man with the flowers exists. I smile and give a vague answer, adding in something about artistic licence.

Guy. I glance at the date on my desktop. July 8th. Our planned trip to England was due to start this weekend. Last weekend, I opened a drawer and found Guy’s odd sketch, a map of the UK with landmarks artfully doodled, a dotted red line from place to place. I remembered discussions and arguments about where we would go – his desire for history and the country versus mine for the modern, and the compromises we were setting.

This triggered the ache, the one I submerge the majority of the time. Seeing him at the beach over the weekend, even though we didn’t speak, prompted memories of our conversations

The knifelike pain to my chest that hit the day Guy sliced me open with his lies lessens, but never stops. If I take away his deception, Guy is the one person in my life who I clicked with. When Guy reached out to the raw Ophelia, he took hold of more than just her heart. Not having to pretend around Guy meant I became the girl who drowned with her family, and lost the shell of a person who survived. Although I can never be Lia again, and never want to be Ophelia, he made it okay to be Phe.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The doors glide closed behind, shutting out the last breath of the Perth winter air. I stand at the edge of the airport terminal and drop my heavy rucksack on the floor. Rubbing my shoulder, I take a deep breath then exhale the doubt. I can do this. I moved across Australia to start a career on my own; a trip to England is nothing. Temporary. Exciting. New experiences that I denied myself open to me, a bucket list item ticked. 

A family pushes past, suitcases trundling loudly over the tiled floor as they wrangle two small children. The blonde-haired girl’s wide-eyed awe contrasts with her older brother’s pursed lips. I edge to one side, to avoid being bumped again. The steady stream of arrivals passes by as I remain still and scan the hall for the check-in desk.

Locating the correct queue, I shuffle my heavy rucksack along the floor. I’m a late arrival, which is unlike me, but I watched the clock at home, as I debated whether to go ahead with this. I’ve long since taken my bucket list from the fridge, but now have the folded paper tucked into a pocket inside the rucksack.

Unable to forget him and how close we came to reuniting, I almost called Guy to ask if he’d come too. Then I remembered the last time we saw each other, Guy told me he’d given up on his bucket list, which includes our planned trip abroad. Calling Guy and asking him to come would be unfair, pulling him backwards when he’s clearly moved on.

The girl at the check-in desk takes my ticket and passport as if I have no right to be here, making a loud comment about how check-in was due to close in a minutes time. I smile even though my heart pounds with the fear I might miss the flight.

I hurry through Security, up the escalator, carrying a small bag with my essentials – phone, book, passport, money. The old Phe with her anxiety over whether I’ve remembered everything resurfaces; but she has her checklist tucked into her bag next to the bucket list.

Stragglers pass through my plane’s boarding gate, and I sink my shoulders with the relief there isn’t a plane full of people waiting for me. I glance at the screen with boarding times and frown. I’m not as late as the stupid girl on check-in made out.

The dark-haired man on the gate has a genuine warmth; perhaps he enjoys his job more than the girl downstairs. He takes my boarding pass in manicured fingers; and when he smiles, his dimples kick in another reminder of Guy.

“I’m not the last then?” I ask, short of breath from my panicked travels through the terminal.

“Not at all, there’re a few behind you. I hope they leave the bar soon.” He winks at me and I smile back.

Only once I sit in the narrow seat by the window, bag stowed above me, do I relax. I gaze at the tarmac below and the ant-like airline staff loading the luggage onto the plane; and for the first time, excitement fills my body instead of nerves. Somebody once told me anxiety and fear are the same chemical reaction, and how I interpreted the sensation pinpointed which it was. I’m unsure I agree; excitement can’t come without nerves.

I spot a picture of London on the front of the airline magazine and pull it from the seat pocket, flicking through to the article.

A fellow passenger sits next to me and focused on the text, critically analysing the article as I always do, I twist to one side to avoid contact.

“If I go to London with you, will you promise to come to Scotland?”

I jerk my head up at the voice. Guy. He points at the magazine in my trembling hands. “You know I don’t like heights, right? I’m not sure I can go on that big Ferris wheel thing.”

“London Eye,” I squeak.

“Yeah, that.” He shuffles in his seat and rests his head on the back. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

I stare at the apparition. He looks straight ahead, with a relaxed smile on his face. Blond hair touches his ears and when he moved, the familiar scent of his safety and warmth reached me. I grasp at words. “You said you weren’t doing anything else on your list; I didn’t think you were still going.”

“I don’t have a list. I’m travelling.” He turns in his seat, leg brushing mine. “Travelling companions?”

My skin goosebumps under his scrutiny, the dark blue eyes dragging me back to who we were. He reaches out a hand and folds it around mine, reconnecting.

“We knew we’d both be here, didn’t we?” he asks softly. “I did. I knew if you were here that we were meant to travel together again.”

“Yes.” I bite inside my cheek, stopping the stream of words fighting to come out of my mouth. Yes, I’d hoped Guy would be here and denied that hope is what drove me to this time and place.

Guy runs his thumb across the back of my hand and I squeeze his fingers. Why did I leave this so long? I could’ve contacted him after the kiss at the hospital but never did.

We remain in silence, holding hands as the cabin crew walk up and down checking the passengers’ seat belts are fastened. Head already spinning from the fact I made it to the airport, Guy’s presence has taken me from spaced out to sky high. My palms sweat beneath his.

“Are you scared of flying?” he asks as the engines rumble to life beneath us.

“No. Are you?”

“Last plane I was on I jumped out of, hopefully I’ll stay inside this one.”

I turn to him, cheeks heating as my chest constricts with the happiness of seeing him. Guy reaches out with his other hand and smooths my hair.

“You think sometimes life could be like the movies?” he asks. “Can I kiss the girl and kill the bad guys?”

“Who are the bad guys?”

He shrugs. “Who knows? I’ll just do the ‘kiss the girl’ part.”

Guy places his lips on mine and, in an awkward embrace, obstructed by airline seats and seatbelts, we kiss. His mouth is familiar, his taste and touch pulling me back down to earth as the plane gathers speed along the runway. Who knows if the take-off is what lurches my stomach, or the sheer emotion of being back with the man who set me on the path I’m on.

The plane lurches, tipping to one side and I bury my face in Guy’s chest, inhaling his warmth, and ignore my confusion. Guy rests his chin on my head, rubbing my back. “I’m not running away from the future anymore, Phe. I want to make one. With you.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I was scared you’d say no.”

I look up at him. “What if I’d said no when you sat down next to me today?”

“Then I’d spend the next twenty hours explaining why you should say yes.”

I groan and he flashes the dimpled smile I’ve missed. “I knew if you were here, you’d already said yes.”

“And I knew if you were here, I could never say no.”

The seatbelt light flicks off and I shift so I’m closer to Guy. “I think we should start a new journey,” he whispers. “And this time I know where I’m going.”