Chapter 10
I t was one of those autumn mornings you read about in books: crisp, clear and fresh. Millie moseyed along the shoreline of Sandyhaven beach, her gaze following the winding coastline. When the tide was out, you could walk across to neighbouring beaches, exploring the many rocky coves and inlets. When the tide was in, the beach was tiny, barely room to fit more than a few families squeezed up against the rocks. The sea came right up close to the wall, almost brushing it with each ebb and flow of the tide.
There was magic in both circumstances, she had realised. She enjoyed times like now, where she could wander for what felt like miles, lost in thoughts tainted with sea spray and wet firm sand before she’d lose her nerve and have to start heading back before the tide cut her off. But there was also great comfort sought in sitting, back against the crumbling sea wall, legs outstretched, and toes being teased by the waves as they broke.
Did she prefer living here to London? On paper, living in a quaint cottage in a charming Cornish seaside village was a dream. Having a group of people who had taken her in and looked after her was also incredibly fortunate. It’s not like she was alone. But there was still so much missing. She had no purpose. It wasn’t even the absence of a job that was causing her discomfort: she’d only ever worked in menial jobs that anyone could have done. They didn’t require any real skill, and she didn’t feel like she’d contributed anything as a person or was even greatly missed once she’d left. It was just convenience, something to get up for in the morning and feel like she was participating in society’s expectation of 9 to 5, paying taxes and being an adult. What she was really missing was purpose, feeling inspired and productive. Not once had she woken up in Sandyhaven and thought “I’ve got a real plan for today.” She’d spend her days drifting through, no real direction or aim and it was starting to really affect what was left of her positive mental health. She needed a direction and a motive.
Almost right on cue, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She felt immediately twitchy as she always did now when her phone went off. She kept having these horrible visions of it either being Alan telling her he was sorry, but there had been a change of plan and she’d have to leave the cottage. Or even worse, that it would be Sam contacting her out the blue, either to yell at her or to plead for her to come back. She wasn’t sure which one would be worse.
She was relieved to see Jenny’s name requesting a FaceTime. There wasn’t great signal on the beach, but she was closer to the Sandyhaven end which usually offered at least 3G, so she swiped. Jenny appeared, with baby Leo swaddled somewhere within a large, patterned wrap around her body. Millie recognised it as the one she had bought and sent her shortly after he was born, and it made her heart do a little flip.
“Hello gorgeous lady,” Jenny announced, swaying noticeably from side to side. “How are you doing?”
“I’m OK! Are you? You look drunk,” she replied, mimicking the rocking and giving a little chuckle.
“Oh, I bloody wish. I can’t remember the last time I was tottering around due to the effects of a sexy gin and tonic! This is the only way I can get him to sleep!” She sounded tired and annoyed but the way she had one hand resting gently under his tiny bottom and the other delicately stroking his head suggested otherwise. Millie glanced downwards and brushed a strand of wavy hair out of her face as a means of distraction. Jenny’s face broke into a frown.
“You look thin. Are you eating?” She had never been one to mince her words.
“How are you deducing that, you can’t even see me properly?!” Millie answered in mock outrage. Deep down, she knew Jenny was miraculously correct. She hadn’t been eating properly. It was either a major pizza and chocolate binge washed down with a bottle of wine or picking at pieces of bread and fruit. She had to remind herself to even drink water some days. It was likely that she may have lost weight, and it was now that her best friend had abruptly pointed it out that she realised it was true.
“I can see it in your face Mils. You’re all gaunt.”
“Gee, thanks,” she responded, rolling her eyes.
“I’m just worried. I can’t keep an eye on you from all the way up here. By the way, where are you? It sounds like you’re in a washing machine.”
“I’m down on the beach.” Millie flipped the camera and panned around the shoreline, pausing at points to allow the beauty of it to sink in. She flipped the camera back.
“Looks beaut. You lucky bugger. I bet you’ve got loads of inspiration for painting down there!”
A little switch went off in Millie’s brain.
“I haven’t done a huge amount with a brush, to be honest, considering the time I’ve had.”
“I can tell, your hair’s a state,” Jenny countered but with a smile playing on her lips. “Seriously though, why haven’t you been painting? I thought now would be the perfect time to crack on with something like that?” Millie picked a piece of stray fluff from her tartan scarf whilst contemplating an answer.
“I don’t know really. I don’t have many supplies here. Just random bits I’d managed to grab when I left.”
“Then go to a shop. They do have shops down there, right? Come on Mils, you can’t use that as an excuse! Use this time wisely. Enjoy the freedom to just create! You’ve got such a talent and you’re letting it go completely to waste.” Millie felt a tweak of a smile pulling at her mouth – she wasn’t used to being complimented.
A little gurgle sound was heard, followed by a full-blown wail coming from deep within the bulge of cloth.
“Oh, all systems go again,” Jenny sighed, before planting a gentle kiss on the shock of dark hair peeping out from the swaddle. “I’d better go. But I mean it, Millie, get off your arse and get creating. And EAT SOMETHING. That’s an order.” She blew a kiss before disconnecting the call.
Despite the demanding nature of her friend’s words, they had stirred something in her brain. Would it be as easy as buying up some resources and really throwing herself into painting? What would it achieve? Where would it lead to? As she picked up the pace across the sand, she realised she didn’t really care. She had a mission and that was to “get off her arse” as Jenny had so eloquently put it and get creating. Properly, this time.
* * *
“What is it?” Sam stared at the canvas in front of him, a frown etched on his forehead. Millie’s face fell.
“You mean you really can’t tell?” He tilted his head from side to side, like a dog hearing numerous high-pitched noises, or the crackling of a food wrapper.
“Uh…no not really,” he replied. She exhaled loudly and let out a huge shrug.
“It’s the white cliffs of Dover!” she declared, storming closer to the canvas. “See?!” she pointed. His face slowly de-wrinkled.
“Ohhhhh...of course,” he announced, still not looking convinced. “I think I was looking a bit too deep into it. I was expecting it to be something all abstract.” He said the last thing like it was a dirty cuss word. She rolled her eyes.
“You know my style isn’t really abstract,” she explained, knowing full well he probably didn’t know that despite how much she’d talked about her art. It was something Sam had never really “got”. And she didn’t mean that in a snobbish way. It was more that he didn’t really have a desire to try to get it. He viewed art as the manufactured pieces you’d buy ready framed in Ikea or The Range. Not that there was anything wrong with those, but she just appreciated how long it took to create original pieces, and she wished Sam would give her the credit for that.
Still, they couldn’t match on everything. There would always be differences in interests and intrigue. He liked his numbers; she liked art. Opposites attract and all that.