Something Was Shifting

The whole length of the sea facing wall was glass. From the sofa, and behind the faux fur cushions, I watched the waves crash against a shore that was just across the beach road. Grey, stormy and powerfully beautiful. It may not have been the bikini clad day that you expect from South Africa, but it was an experience I would hate to have to erase from my memory – one not to have.

On the wall at the far end of the room was a large gas fire, with flames licking through pebbles. Seeing fire at one end of the room, whilst water was being blown against the earth by a powerful wind, meant the noises of the elements seemed to fill the room. It felt strangely cleansing. I felt somehow a step removed from myself, like an actor in a play. Something was shifting.

There were only two other guests in the hotel and they were in the dining room when we arrived. It made me feel more self-conscious. The waiter approached us, to take an order for cocktails, and introduced himself. “My name is Hemming. Like the writer Hemmingway, only without the ‘way’…” We caught each other’s glance, and it made us smile. I knew it would be a story he would tell, in that relaxed but intimate chit-chat style he would rely on in situations where he wasn’t completely relaxed but wanted to endear himself.

We were both quiet during dinner. There were brief spates of conversation, but it was the polite sort, not the comfortable way we were used to. It was tiring and, when we had finished desert, we headed to the room with the unfinished bottle of champagne.

He disappeared in to the bathroom as soon as we were over the threshold. Kicking off my shoes, I padded through to the bed and undressed. I wrapped myself in the smoky grey throw from the bottom of the bed, pulled back the curtains that the staff had closed as part of the ‘turn down’ service during dinner, and stared in to the wall of darkness. The only thing I could see in the glass was his return. He looked at me with such love in his eyes, but there was something else and I couldn’t place it.

I watched him undress through the reflection and for the first time, in all the time I’d been with him, he looked embarrassed, nervous. I think that shook me the most. I got up and went to close the curtains, but he stopped me by calling out. “Don’t. I want to be holding you when the sun comes up.” He pulled me down on the bed and just held me. Still wrapped in the throw, I was pulled in to his arms as he tensed himself around me. I was expecting him to quickly release me, but he tensed again and wrapped them so tightly round me that I was buried in his chest, and he kissed the top of my head. This wasn’t him. His breathing and heartbeat were erratic. There was no mistaking that there was something in the room with us, but I knew he was not about to voice it.

I woke hours later and rolled in to his soft warmth, kissing his chest as I did. He rolled in further, as if trying to squeeze every breath of air from between us and kissed my shoulder. Gradually we moved to each other’s lips and slowly, sensuously, still half-dazed and languishing in almost-sleep, the room temperature rose a couple of notches and it had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

Whilst he showered in the morning, I sat in the small sitting area of the room and pulled back the curtain further to stare out and watch the end of the sunrise. A multitude of thoughts zipped through my head, but not one I wanted to put my finger on. There was no mistaking that this was the end of something and I didn’t think I’d have to wait long for time to tell.

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Excerpt from a new short story soon to be released in our upcoming online e-book /digital products store.

Copyright © Highcroft Writing 2018