I have the back-to-school blues, and I really should go to bed, but these are the first moments of peace I’ve had since my stolen afternoon on Tiree and I’m making the most of it.
That afternoon’s gone in the bank. I set off on foot, without any agenda. I wandered along the coastline; time flew by. A string of tiny coves revealed by the falling tide- each one different from the last. It felt like my own desert island. I paddled, took photographs, peered into rockpools, filled my pockets with stones and shells. Just took time to be me, without anyone following me glumly, asking why I was doing that, and when we were leaving…
It was a rare still day on Tiree, almost windless. As the clouds burned away, I grew hot. The water was icy, inviting. I stripped off my clothes and swam, deliriously glad to be alive, to be here, now, to be me. Afterwards, I wondered how on earth it could have taken me 37 years to swim alone like that.
The last ten days have been dire. He’s been seized by the idea that I’m seeing someone else. (Because, obviously I couldn’t just want out of this relationship. He needs there to be A Reason. I think maybe in some way he minds that idea less…) But, you know, I’m actually not. And I can’t say how angry it makes me that he doesn’t believe me. I admit, I have form on this one; over the years, I haven’t been the most faithful. But I have always been honest with him about it. Being disbelieved brings out the worst in me. I can’t say how much I resent that he’s suddenly policing my every move, arriving home mid-afternoon, ‘accidentally’ answering my phone, and checking for texts. It’s a vicious circle, because it makes me behave furtively about all my (perfectly innocent and terribly dull) goings-on.
I’m trapped, and I don’t know how to escape.
I’ve even run out of words.