Island 2: Everything Is Splendid and Marvellous

“…So let me get this straight– you want to find a tenant for the cottage, and you want them to pay you five hundred a month for it, and they have to be prepared for you to turn up every now and again - and they mustn’t change anything – right?”

I shade my eyes – it’s so bright here, and look over at Marnie to see if she’s paying attention. It’s never going to happen – I mean who in their right mind is going to go for something like that? I’m repeating it all back to her because perhaps then she’ll see how unlikely it is

“I thought maybe a writer, or an artist or something..Do spread the word won’t you? Anyway, I have to go back – in June I think. I have to face up to my problems. I can’t stay here enjoying myself. Do you think we could book my ticket on the internet this afternoon?”

I get up off the sunlounger – we are sitting by the pool – and I pile what’s left of lunch onto the tray to carry it back into the house. She puts her hand around the wine bottle so I can’t take that too. I have an awful feeling that facing up to her problems means she’s thinking of moving back in with me- there’s no way – no way on earth that she’s going to find this mythical artist or writer – and even if she did, they would stay about ten minutes and then run screaming into the night. It isn’t going to work.

I'm thinking of taking my house off the market – staying for another year or so, seeing what happens, but I’m not going to tell Marnie, because I don’t want her to think she can move in with me, not permanently. The thing is, I don’t see what else she can do. She talks all the time about her friends in London – her many many wonderful friends, all of whom would be thrilled to have her as their guest – or so she says… I notice though that she’s only actually stayed with them for three days this year.

I can’t –I can’t do it. Not permanently. I just can’t. It would mean the end of everything for me. You can’t leave her alone for a second. When she was there she got worse and worse – by the end I’d had to give up on everything else. What can I do though? What can she do? I am running out of ideas.

After I’ve put the tray down, I look around – this place is hopeless. Beautiful but hopeless. A gentle dust falls steadily from the ceiling - you can actually see it falling - and into the keys of my laptop which Marnie has left open, again, even though I’ve asked her not to a million times. It’s from the stone – which is beautiful – the most wonderful pale gold colour – it’s everywhere - but I’d rather it didn’t mess up my keyboard any more than it already has. The O is already fucked– it makes an irritating click whenever I press it.

Curiously, for such a dusty place, Marnie’s house is also very damp – I mean really damp. The cushions for instance, on the long built-in seats that line two walls of the downstairs room, are wet (as well as gritty) to the touch, and I don’t quite understand how that could be – you’d expect the dampness to make the dust stay where it was wouldn’t you? It seems rather unfair to have both at once.

This is a holiday house – like the cottage is really a weekend place, not very good for year-round living. It’s for summer holidays: perfect when you’re here for a long break – you and friends – the beach everyday, picnics, swimming, zipping round the little island in your jeep. In the summer it’s boiling and no-one ever wears much more than a bikini. No-one in their right mind would spend a day inside. So that’s what it’s designed for: when it never goes below 75 even at night. The thing is, it isn’t quite the same in March, or anything past November really. It isn’t like the Caribbean. So the stone walls and small windows, which make the house so deliciously cool and shady in July … it’s not really what you want at this time of year, especially not Marnie, who is always cold.

She needs the one thing she hasn’t got – well two things. Money and people – constant people, always there, with nothing much else to do. I don’t mind having her part of the time, just not all of it. I wouldn’t mind sharing the responsibility – if there were someone else prepared to take a turn. I don’t think she can stay here full time – certainly not alone.

She doesn’t say she can’t cope – that wouldn’t be her style - but it’s fairly easy to see. She says everything is splendid, marvellous, and we both make a big deal of the sunshine – more than it deserves. Each day she says she’s going to start painting again, or writing, but somehow it never happens.

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My phone starts ringing almost the minute I turn it back on again at the airport. First of all it’s him – this man …

“I’ve missed you”

I don’t know what to say – He must know how I feel, but I’m not going to say anything because what’s the point? What’s the point of falling in love with someone like that? He is there and I am here and nothing's going to change. I want to have a life with someone – not this. I’ll think about it another day though, because the next person to call – straight after, is Zachy, to say he’s on the train from London and could I please come and pick him up in an hour or so from the station, and do I mind if he stays for a few days, maybe more because – well, he says he’ll explain when he gets there. I say of course he can come, for as long as he likes – plenty of room. It’s always a pleasure to spend time with him.

This is the best time of year to be in Suffolk – and it’s so hot – as hot as on the island, and all the trees are in leaf - it’s all so beautiful, so green. On days like this it’s hard to remember how horrible it can be.

I haven’t even been home for ten minutes when Zach says he’s at the station, so I get in my car and start the engine. If I do stay here, that’s the first thing I’ll do – dump this car and get a better one. Something less shit – especially if I’m going to be back and forth to the cottage in the winter – which reminds me – I have to go and do a couple of things there for Marnie. I promised I would.

He looks exhausted when I pick him up – greyer and thinner than he was the last time. he says he needs some fresh air, and a bit more sleep. I ask if it’s going ok for him,

“Not really” he says. “Too much happening in London – I need to work and I can’t. Too many distractions”

I know what he means – everyone needs space. I think that’s why I’m dreading Marnie coming back so much. If only…. Suddenly I have an idea. I get up, go over to the dresser in my kitchen and pick up the carrier bag full of keys to the cottage – there are about fifty of them, and they’re all mislabelled - the key for the front says "back" and so on, but it doesn’t matter because I know which ones to use.

“Come on. I’m going to take you somewhere you might like - it’s not far”

Even though she doesn’t know him - yet, I don’t think Marnie would mind..