Chapter Two

“She had always loved the sea. It was so vast and yet so intimate.”

�" Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

I closed my eyes and leaned into the sea breeze, letting it stream through my loose hair. The sun kissed my skin passionately like a lover, urging me to remove my clothes. I raised my arms above my head and relaxed back into the sand. Sofia was applying tanning oil onto her browned body. I had avoided the oil, smearing sun lotion instead onto my pale skin. The beach wasn’t busy so there was plenty of space for a little privacy. Still I felt overly conscious of my bared skin. 

“Luca said we should find you a nice Italian man while you’re here,” said Sofia, shoving the bottle of oil into her bag.

I chuckled.

“Really?”
“Well, would it be such a bad idea?”
“No,” I replied. 

“Could just be a holiday fling? Nothing serious,” Sofia suggested, laying down on her towel. 

“Hmm,” I contemplated non-committedly. 

“I think a little romance is just what you need right now,” Sofia mused.

“Romance? What’s that?”
Sofia laughed. 

“You must want some in your life, don’t you?” Sofia probed. “You don’t want to be single forever?”
I pondered her question for a moment.

“Well, yes,” I loosed a sigh. “I do wish to have someone special in my life.”
“And you expect him to just walk into your life?”
“That would be preferable,” I joked. 

“Do you . . . do you ever get lonely?”

I wasn’t prepared for such a question.
“Yes and no. I don’t mind being alone but there are times when I am lonely,” I confessed. “Sometimes I think I’ve never felt I’ve really belonged or fit in anywhere.”

Sofia said nothing. 

“It’s been like I’m always on the outside looking in, shut out in the cold,” I trailed off. 

“Well, your family was never the warmest,” noted Sofia, rolling onto her side to face me. “But I am sorry you’ve felt like that.”
I shrugged and avoided her eyes. She laid a hand on my arm.

“You know you’re not alone, don’t you?” she said. “You’ll always have me and Luca.”
I swallowed.

“Yes, I know and thank you.”

Sofia laughed and lay back. 

“We just need to find you a man now,” she decided.

I groaned, not bothering to argue.

I closed my eyes. I was surprised at myself, admitting to my loneliness. Confiding in others didn’t daunt me, I reflected, it was more that I felt others wouldn’t be interested in my problems. From a young age, I had learnt to deal with my feelings alone, so I imagined I had merely continued in that way. My independence had kept company with my self-sufficiency and resulting isolation. How could you expect others to care when you had been made to so often feel invisible? I had trusted Sofia throughout the entirety of our friendship but never enough to reveal my true vulnerable self. Why? The fear of humiliation, rejection and further solitude? Was I really so broken and never realised it? A prickle of shame clawed at my throat. I shut it down at once. Things had changed. I was changing. 

The susurration of the sea swishing across the sand whispered seductively in my ear. The placid water differed greatly from the excitable whipped swells that had sloshed repeatedly against the cruising ferry the previous day. The heat was becoming uncomfortable and oppressive. I shifted restlessly. Flustered, I pushed up and dropped my sun hat to the ground.

“I’m going for a swim,” I announced and padded down the beach to the waiting surf.

If any eyes turned in my direction, I took no notice. I waded into the water, sighing at the cool relief. Two young children were splashing happily nearby, dressed in brightly coloured swimsuits, inflatable rings secure around their waists. They babbled and clapped their hands, wrinkling up their noses. As I walked further, my fingers trailed along the surface, the water as clear as glass. A man dived beneath the waves, his arms shooting up and down. He flew through the water with the swiftness and grace of a dolphin. I envisioned my own swimming style to echo that of a gawky turtle attempting to paddle against the tide. I slid into the water, cresting an approaching wave and dived. 

Stroke after stroke, I glided along, delighting in the weightless sensation of being held aloft by the sea. My head emptied of all thoughts. There was just the sea gurgling in my ears and reddening my eyes with salt. I spun onto my back and briefly attempted the backstroke, gazing up at the wisps of clouds skipping across the sky. I swam back closer to shore before any rogue current could sweep me out to the open ocean and lingered in the shallows, arms trailing circles to keep me afloat. I looked back at the visitors dotted about the beach, mostly sunbathing, paddling in the surf or sheltering from the sun beneath parasols. All existing in a quiet, serene harmony. I licked the salt from my lips and exhaled. A sense of peace and calm settled over me, my earlier turbulent thoughts silenced. But in my stomach a feather of anticipation fluttered. I drifted closer to the shore, my feet pirouetting weightlessly. That’s when I saw him for the first time, unaware who he was or how our lives would become so swiftly entwined.