The Tor - 30. Chapter 30

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A few days later the sea had forgotten its anger.

The storm had passed east during the night, leaving behind washed pavements, broken branches and a harbour littered with driftwood. Fishing boats returned one by one as the swell settled into the familiar winter rhythm that everyone in Penmere recognised.

The wind still carried a sharp edge, though it no longer possessed the voice that had shaken the cliffs.

Christopher walked along the promenade with his hands in the pockets of his coat. Workmen repaired a section of the sea wall where several stones had shifted beneath the weight of the waves. Children in bright waterproofs and wellies searched the beach for shells carried ashore by the storm. The baker opposite the harbour had reopened, and warm bread scented the cold morning air.

Life had resumed with surprising ease.

Perhaps it always did.

The sea had no memory for yesterday's violence. He smiled faintly at the thought. That was not entirely true. The sea remembered everything. It simply refused to stop moving.

He paused beside the harbour wall. The tide drifted quietly against the fishing boats. For several moments he watched nothing in particular. He realised he had done that all his life.

The sound of footsteps approached. He did not turn immediately. Marco came to stand beside him.

Neither spoke.

They watched a gull settle upon one of the mooring posts before lifting effortlessly back into the wind.

"It feels strange," Christopher said at last.

Marco nodded. "Yes."

"I keep expecting something."

"So do I."

Christopher laughed softly. "I do not even know what."

"Neither do I."

Christopher glanced at him. "You stayed."

Marco looked across the water. "You asked me to."

"I know."

Christopher hesitated. "I suppose I expected you to say more."

"What should I have said?"

"I have no idea."

Marco smiled. "I am relieved to hear it."

Christopher returned the smile. "I have spent weeks believing somebody would understand what is happening."

"And now?"

"Now I think perhaps nobody does."

The harbour bell marked the hour. Its familiar note travelled across the water before fading into the cold morning air.

Christopher drew a slow breath. He could still remember. Celyn remained part of him. So did the monk, the sailor, the schoolmaster.

All the lives that had carried him towards this one.

They no longer pressed against the present. They stood quietly behind it. He wondered whether that would always remain true.

He did not know. The uncertainty no longer frightened him. It felt almost like standing at the beginning of a journey whose destination had not yet been written.

Marco broke the silence. "What are you thinking?"

Christopher watched a fishing boat ease through the harbour entrance.

"I realised something this morning."

"What?"

"I have never imagined growing old."

Marco looked at him.

Christopher shrugged gently. "It sounds absurd."

"No."

"I always imagined remembering." He laughed under his breath. "Or dying." The words were spoken without bitterness. "I never imagined simply living."

Marco was silent for a long moment. "Neither did I."

Christopher turned towards him. "Perhaps we should try."

Marco's expression softened into a smile that Christopher had never seen before.

It carried affection without longing, hope without desperation.

"I should like that."

They resumed walking.

The streets climbed gently away from the harbour towards the town centre, where Christmas lights had begun appearing above the narrow lanes. Shopkeepers swept leaves from their doorways. Someone argued cheerfully over the price of fish outside the market.

The ordinary world continued about them without ceremony. Christopher found that he loved it more than ever.

At the corner where their paths usually divided, Marco stopped. "I shall see you this evening?"

Christopher considered the question. Once, the answer would have seemed inevitable. Now he found himself thinking about the exercise books waiting on his desk, the walk home through the market, the meal he had promised Hannah he would help cook at the weekend, and the evening still lying open before him.

He smiled. "Yes," he said. "I'd like that."

Marco inclined his head. "So would I."

He walked away towards the museum.

Christopher watched him for a few moments before continuing towards the school.

Halfway up the hill he looked back.

Marco had already disappeared among the winter streets.