Leaving the Highlands - Again

Reminiscence.

Claudet awoke early to the cry of gulls, that piercing plaintive cry so often heard just after daybreak on these cold, crisp autumn and winter mornings, and before the sun has awoken to warm the day. This was the time of year she most enjoyed, when all the tourists having retreated from their summer migrations allowed the village to sink back into a semblance of normality. She got out of bed and opened the window in order that she might better hear the gulls, and for that blast of cold morning air which would finally bring her wide awake. The sun was just showing itself over the horizon, surrounded by and coming up behind a bank of clouds. The sky at the horizon was a mass of violet purple, changing through various shades of reds, oranges and yellows to a beautiful azure blue, the higher in the sky one looked. The sun itself a brilliant orange red crept into the morning sky. To look at it direct was like looking into the heart of a furnace. Although the morning air was quite chilly, just looking at this large orange ball made her feel quite warm, even though it was not yet radiating much heat. Claudet's attention was drawn down to the sea, she noticed how all of the colours in the sky were reflected in it, and how if it were not for the sun being cut in two by the horizon it would be almost impossible to tell just where the sky ends, and the sea begins. She noticed that the slight swell of the previous day had changed, the waves having increased in size with their foaming crests turned into a spectrum of colours by the early morning light. There was a veritable symphony of sounds from the waves crashing against the foot of the cliffs, and even Turner would have been hard pressed to do justice to the spray leaping suicidally from the rocks.

She stood watching and listening, appreciating this elemental concert of nature and let her mind drift back over the last few years. Reflecting how Peter had come back into her life after four years working in the North of England. That was a little over four years ago now, and the New Year party that she will never forget. She had been without a partner for almost a year since that bastard William had been caught with his prick well and truly up her sister Sylvie. He had insisted that it was an accident but couldn’t quite explain how they had both ‘accidentally’ lost all of their clothing, how they had ‘accidentally’ fallen onto the bed with him on top of her or how his prick had ‘accidentally’ slipped inside her. He even had the cheek to come up to her that evening, looking to get back together, as if nothing had happened, well, a glass of red wine down those favourite trousers of his had soon sorted that out, earning her a round of applause. She remembered that she had then really got stuck into both the red wine and dancing, and that she had been pretty merry when Peter turned up later in the evening. It was the first time she had seen him in four years, he had not been back since going away to work. They had spent the rest of the evening together catching up on old times.

Claudet and Peter had been at school together and she had always mourned the fact that he had never asked her out, then they had both gone off to university she to study history, he civil engineering. She had stayed in London for a few years carving out a career in writing before moving back to Cornwall the week after Peter had headed north for work. She remembered how getting to know him again had made it plain to her that she wanted him, not just sexually, although that was very true, but as a part of her life. Somehow, she had always known that she had loved him, she thought that was what had made commitment in previous relationships so difficult. She remembered buying this house from the old retired couple who had run a market garden across the road, and that, at the time, she had sort of known that Peter would come back to Portreal, and had hoped that they would share this beautiful property. It had been a struggle, even a gamble, and had been really hard in those early days when she had struggled to pay the mortgage, but now, thanks to her writing success, there was no mortgage, and Peter was lying in the bed sleeping peacefully.