At The Top Of The Hill

Coffee Break Tale

There was urgency in my dream again that night, and an ugly mix of fear and worry. I ran and ran. I had a stitch in my side, and my chest was heaving. But the hill got steeper and steeper, and the sky pressed down on me. I never reached the top.

The next morning before work I let myself quietly out of the house. It’s so early Mum and Dad are still asleep. I set off up the same hill at the sedate pace of a mum-to-be. The shadow of the dream – five nights in a row I’ve dreamed it now – hangs over me, and I’m barely aware of the sun rising over the hills to the east. I have some thinking to do.

In my heart, though, I know what my decision should be.

Threads of mist curl up from the ground. Dew seeps into the canvas of my trainers. I carry on up the path, past the chalk pit, past the tangle of brambles, heading for the clump of trees at the top.

Memories, such happy memories, crowd into my mind…

Playing on the hill with Mum and Dad, or with my friends. Later, as teenagers, coming up here to try out cigarettes and alcohol. And later still, riding up here with Jamie, on his motorbike. Jamie. I’ve reached the trees at the top and I turn, looking back the way I’ve come.

That first time we came up here on his motorbike, he spotted a group of rabbits on the grass. With a laughing backward glance at me, he increased his speed and steered towards them, twisting the throttle and making the gases in the silencer go bang.

“You might have killed one of them,” I protested when he brought the bike to a halt. I was close to tears. The rabbits had all disappeared into their burrows.

“Jeeze! They’re only rabbits, Mia. Who cares?”

I bit my lip and said nothing. We walked a while, wrapped in each other’s arms. And when he turned me to him and kissed me in a long, lingering kiss, I thought I could forgive him anything.

I’d fallen in love with him, of course. He’s great to look at and fun to be with.

“Long-distance lorry driver, is he?” Dad had said. “It’s a good well-paid job.”

“But you’ve got very little in common,” Mum cautioned. “And you’re both very young still.”

He’s 21 to my 19, and I’d bristled. I hadn’t understood her then, but I do now.

I sigh as I remember, and look out beyond the strip of houses that lie between the hills and the sea. The English Channel is a deep sapphire blue and sunlight dances off the calm between the waves.

That white speck over on the horizon. Is that the ferry bringing Jamie back?

He hasn’t texted or phoned – but then, he rarely does. Before he left, though, taking a load of spare parts to Greece, he told me to expect him this evening.

I place the flat of my hand across my stomach, protective even at this early stage. Maybe he’ll surprise me, but I doubt it. I know him too well.

Ababy? Jeeze! How could you have let that happen, Mia?” he says, returning yet again to the subject, picking at it like a boy at a scab.

He was on that ferry, and now we’ve ridden to the top of the hill on his motorbike, and are facing each other. Only a metre separates us.

For the last – how long? – I’ve wanted to reach out and push my fingers through his hair. But I don’t move. His reaction to the news has told me my decision was the right one. “It’s over between us, Jamie.” I hand him my helmet and watch as he gets back on his motorbike. He roars off down the hill, shooting stones and fragments of chalk up in his wake.

I fight back the tears as I make my way slowly downhill.

It won’t be easy, being a lone parent. But I have a job, and I’ll be able to support myself and the baby. I have my parents, too, and my friends. I don’t expect to see Jamie – fun-loving don’t-tie-me-down Jamie – ever again.

That’s probably for the best.

Iwake up the next morning, and there’s a smile on my face. I dreamed I ran up the hill on feet that were as light as a ballerina’s – and reached the top.