SHORT STORY - The Redraft

The Redraft

The air had cooled, the skin on her fore-arms prickling like a breeze caught on the tips of waist-high grass but, for all that, her eyes remained heavy-lidded; sleep had been difficult over the past few weeks.

The chill of evening sun-burn massaged Lena’s legs and she considered turning back. It was just a moment, but longer than she would have expected. Still she reached the edge of the jetty, the sea sucking at the barnacles on the support posts ten feet below.

Her house sat idle and would do until past ten, when Will returned home, but that was still two hours away. She rubbed her hands together and blew between her palms, barely noticing arms glide around her like the sea-breeze.

“Missed you.”

Lena closed her eyes, “Missed you too.”

“You like this beach?”

“Let’s walk.”

“Sure.”

Their footsteps sank in dry sand and slowed them as they left a dusty wake. They didn’t hold hands, Lena wouldn’t allow it, but she knew that anyone who saw them would have understood.

“Did you have work today?”

“Yeah.”

“You going to tell me what you do?”

“Not yet.”

***

She met her mother the next morning, embracing her like they hadn’t seen each other for months before settling into a café. The frail woman nestled a Styrofoam coffee cup in her hands, leaning over it like she was fighting off a bitter chill.

“Good to get out of the sun,” she said absently. “Far, far too bright.”

Lena nodded silently.

“Did you hear from the people? The teaching people?”

“The University?”

“That’s the place!”

“Nothing yet.”

“You have to get...”

“I can’t quit until I have somewhere else to go to.”

Her mother took a few careful sips of her coffee, “Isn’t Will making enough?”  

***

The beach had rapidly become their meeting place and Lena had spent the days between their walks closing her eyes to hear the rolling waves and licking her lips to taste sea-spray. Will had kept hidden in the spare room with his latest project and her Pinot Grigio supply had dried up, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Friday night was spent sat in a deck-chair in the garden, a blank note-pad in her lap lit by the open living room curtains. A biro hung like a cigarette from her lips as she stared up at the stars and the old oak that grew too close to the house.

Eventually, she heard the padding of saggy trainers and her fiancé stood over her. His shirt was streaked with paint and a dollop of magnolia sat in his hair.  

“Are you... you been okay?”

“I’m tired.”

“True.” Will nodded, then carefully; “Still, there’s something else…”

She was half-tempted to tell the truth and, appropriately, what she said was half true; “It’s the house.”

Will smiled; “Don’t worry, it’ll get there. How’s the writing?”

“I’ve ground to a halt.”

“Tried taking a walk?”

“Yeah,” Lena replied a little hesitantly, “All the time.”

“Didn’t help?”

“No.”

Will sighed, “You got holiday left?”

“Not saved up but maybe six days left for the year.”

“Then take ‘em,” Will said, closing his eyes. “Take ‘em and go on holiday. Go to Corfu and do some travel writing, use the place to write. Do whatever you need to do.”

“I can’t afford it.”

“I can.”

“I can’t take your money.”

“Never stopped you before.”

***

  
A bell sounded over her head as she entered Bluebird, the small surf shop tucked away from the town’s main roads. It was packed but empty. Clothes lined the walls and filled the aisles, even hanging from the ceiling, until she couldn’t progress any further without turning sideways.

Then she heard shuffling sounds, stifled by a half-closed door, drift from the store-room. They were followed by a voice; his voice, “I’m coming.”

He threw the door open but it was cushioned by wetsuits before it met the wall and he scrambled behind the counter. Before he saw her he muttered apologies, then he froze.

“Well howdy there.”

“Hi.”

“What do I owe this pleasure?”

Lena shrugged, smiled.

He looked at his watch, “I thought you were busy during the day.”

“I got away early.”

“Superb,” he smiled, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Really?” he mistook disappointment for surprise.

“I got a brochure for the theatre productions in London…”

Lena shook her head.

“Of course we can,” he said. “We can catch a train there and stay the weekend in a hotel. I haven’t got much money but…”

“I don’t have any.”

“My treat.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend?” His eyes dulled without a smile, “How long?”

“Seven years. We’re engaged.”

He chewed the inside of his lip, fists clenched in his pockets, “Then I guess that’s it.”

Lena shook her head, “No.” Good sense told her that he was right; there wasn’t anything else to say.

“Why’d you come here?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“What more do you have to say?”

“I owe you thirty-four ninety-nine,” she said, producing a crumpled receipt as proof.

“The t-shirt was a present.”

“People write that stuff off and... I want to pay you back.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not,” Lena said and fished out her purse. “Thirty-four ninety-nine…”

“Is that why you’re here?” he asked, his voice offering echoes of different accents. “To clear all debts?”

“Just take the money.”

“Fine.”

A pause held amongst the clutter and his blue eyes.

“I can’t write in that house.” Again Lena sought the right words; “It’s just work. Whenever I picture the house I want to live in… it won’t ever be that place.”

She looked up but he was still quiet, watching her and expecting more.

“The other night, I found some old stories,” Lena sighed. “I tried to redraft them but I just made different mistakes.”

“Then leave him.”

“I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” he shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”
The corners of Lena’s eyes chilled with the beginnings of tears, “I love you.”