Going Astray

Rory has always been there, ready to catch me if I fall . . .

IGAZE at the villa sprawling against the backdrop of rock, the sea a blur of aquamarine meeting the blue of the sky in the distance. I booked this place a year ago, with renewed hope for the future. Now I have no idea where I’m going. “It’s beautiful, Angie.” A prickle of agitation surfs my skin at the sound of Rory’s voice. I turn in time to see the unguarded hope in his eyes. Quickly I avert my gaze.

He bends to pick up my bag before carrying it, along with his own, across the terracotta courtyard. My eyes fix on the straightness of his back, the curve of his neck.

I worked so hard to find this place: hours on the internet, searching for somewhere off the tourist track, which would give us a chance to enjoy the peace.

The scenery; the beach; the walking routes that skirt the coast and lead up into mountains and forests. A place where miracles might happen or be celebrated.

I spy the curved path which I know leads up to the hiking trails before arching wide, swinging down to the village through a swathe of woodland. I wanted so much for us to be together beyond the thrum of the crowd.

He caught me unawares all those years ago. There was me, thinking he was just my friend; the boy who lived across the street.

I hadn’t seen him approaching while I walked, head down as it often was. “Angie! You’re home.” I wanted to walk on, but the smile in his eyes held me.

No hint he knew why my three-year degree had stretched to four.

No hint he knew my heart had been stolen, then broken when I should have been studying for finals.

No hint he knew that someone had made me feel beautiful before leaving me for someone else as soon as I told him I was having his baby.

I glossed over the truth. Asked Rory about himself.

For a moment I felt like the girl I used to be. I was surprised at how quickly we fell into step together.

I could have said no when he invited me to join his walking group, but I remembered the boy he’d been, teaching all the kids about Scouting and walking.

I recalled the orienteering map and compass he showed me with such pride all those years ago. “What can it do?” “It’s a guide.” He raised it up towards the sky with a look of wonder. “They’ve been used for over a thousand years, first for spiritual divining and guidance, then by travellers.”

He lowered his hand, offered it to me.

“You can never truly get lost if you understand the magic of it.”

“If walking’s not your thing . . .” the new, grownup Rory said.

It was the memory of our childhood selves and the hopeful look on his face that opened up a tiny space of possibility.

So I went walking, to fill in time. But the pull in my muscles and the ache in my back as I’d hiked and talked gave me an unexpected sense of safety.

Rory was full of positivity, building his business as a landscape gardener, he told me as we traversed an open path.

“Unlike you, I was never very good at school. But then that scheme, the one they sent all us duffers on, opened up a new world. I loved being outdoors: loved the feel of the earth, the sun on my back, the way something barren can be transformed.”

I blanched.

“You OK?”

He reached towards me, his eyes filled with concern.

“Let’s take a rest. I talk too much. Tell me about your plans.”

Somehow I conjured up an old dream.

“I’m going to combine my design, business and technology skills to create websites for small businesses.”

Something lit up inside me as I spoke, as if just talking about what could be made my mind shift from the past to the future.

Rory’s eyes shone with interest.

“Maybe I could start by working on one for you,” I said, without really thinking.

“Wow!” he said, his smile lighting up the day.

****

When he asked if I’d like to tackle a walk together – just him and me – I surprised myself by agreeing.

“Great,” he said. “You’re looking happy again, Angie. You seemed almost sad when we first started meeting up.” He laughed.

“Too much studying, I guess.”

We set off early. There were no waymarked trails on the route we’d chosen, but Rory had his orienteering map and his trusty compass, as he called it.

We followed the ridge upwards, each turn on the path opening up the beauty of the countryside.

There were too many times as we walked and talked when we had to move closer, and I felt the touch of his skin on mine as our hands met.

The view from the peak took away my breath. I felt giddy. A strange sort of madness came over me and I ran on ahead, Rory chasing after me, shouting my name.

I laughed out loud, spun in a circle. But I didn’t realise how far we’d strayed from the route. The crumbling track was enough to make me lose my footing and stumble on the path I thought so safe.

Rory was beside me in seconds, his arm curved around my shoulder in support.

“Rory, I’m OK.” I tried to extricate my body from his arms. He didn’t let me.

I had sworn I’d never get close to someone again. I felt the pull back into the past – my experience at university when I’d been distraught, broken, but determined to keep my baby.

It wasn’t to be. My ectopic pregnancy ended, taking with it the dream of the child I longed to hold and robbing me of my fertility.

It left me free to return and complete my degree in a haze of loss.

“Ssh.” Rory’s voice was soft and low as he stroked the hair back from my face.

I felt the trace of tears on my skin, and realised I was crying.

“I should have held your hand,” he whispered. “It’s too precarious near the edge.”

I felt love weave its web around us in the weeks that followed, almost forgetting I was less of a woman than he made me feel.

“Marry me, Angie,” he said unexpectedly one bright sunlit morning as we stood, arms around each other, deciding which path to take on one of our walks.

My heart surged with joy, then I remembered.

“I can’t.” I pulled away and strode on ahead.

He caught up with me and reached for my hand.

“What is it? What have I done?”

“Rory,” I whispered, forcing back the threat of tears. “I can’t be a wife.” “What?”

“I can’t be a wife – because I can’t be a mother.” The words tumbled from my lips.

Rory’s eyes were dark as he pulled me into his arms.

“Angie, I’m asking you to be with me for life – for you and me to make a vow of togetherness.

“But if you want a child, we’ll overturn heaven and earth to see if it’s possible. I promise.”

“No,” I whispered. “You and I together will be enough.”

****

Eighteen years later, something inside me changed. Losing my Great-aunt Lou reminded me of the fragility of things, of the ticking clock of maturity.

I was still young, but I wasn’t getting any younger.

So I told Rory I wanted to use our savings to pay for IVF, not the expansion of our landscaping business as we’d planned. I wanted to see if there was any possibility.

“You said you never wanted to go down that

I couldn’t be a wife – because I couldn’t be a mother

route,” Rory said. “I never asked it of you.”

“Life slips by, Rory,” I said. “This could be my – our – only chance.” “I’m happy as we are.” I wasn’t.

And now we are here. I wish I hadn’t come. I wish I didn’t feel so wretched and hot. I wish my heart wasn’t beating so wildly, my breath so short and sharp.

I have to move, to escape from the whirl of thoughts.

I think of Rory unloading the bags, ready and willing to try to appease me, to make things return to the way they were.

I try to move, but somehow the distance towards the villa and Rory seems too far a journey to make. I move restlessly. I need space – air.

With my thoughts tangling, tightening and unravelling, I feel disorientated with no idea how far I’ve travelled as I head upwards along the track.

I’m simply glad of the shade of the pine forest, providing sanctuary from both the heat and the sudden, inexplicable fear of being trapped inside the villa with Rory, separated by the distance I’ve created between us.

My words come back to haunt me. It seems like a lifetime ago.

“I want a child. I want to go ahead with this treatment. We can afford it. Why can’t you just support me?”

“Angie, it’s just . . .” “You don’t want anything to intrude on us,” I hissed, before he could finish. “You can’t bear to think that you won’t be the only important person in my life!”

Even in the dim light of the canopy of green, as I push on uphill towards the view point I marked on the map almost a year ago, I can see the image of Rory’s face that day. I remember the silence which enveloped me.

But he carried on being there for me.

Realising I’ve stopped walking, I begin again. I see the emerging light as it pierces the upper shelf of rock; feel the ache in my bones, the empty space where my heart used to beat.

Stumbling forward, I come upon the view I’d planned we’d see together: the jagged summits in the distance, silver and white against the sky, citrus orchards sloping towards the bay.

My head in a haze, I almost lose my footing, and remember the time, all those years ago, when I ran and spun on the hill.

I remember how Rory caught me as I was falling, and somewhere in the breaking light of the view ahead of me I realise that everything he’s said and done over the past year has been to protect me from the fall of loss of hope.

His footsteps are soft behind me.

“Angie,” he says.

I stand in silence.

The treatment he tried to dissuade me from, the operation, the hormones – none of it worked. All it achieved was to reopen the old wound of loss.

Rory moves towards me, slipping his hand in mine.

“I love you, Angie. Always have, always will. The world, our world, is still the beautiful place it always has been.”

I wipe away the sudden tears.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been so lost.”

“I know,” he whispers, folding me into his arms. “Me, too, but we’ll find our way back. Remember, love is a trusty compass. You just have to accept the magic of it.”

I feel the warmth of his skin, the soft beat of his pulse; the strength of him beside me as always.

And I realise, as I fold into my husband’s embrace, that he’s right. n

“You can’t bear not to be the only important person in my life”