Harry rested his hands on the wooden rail and closed his eyes, breathing in as deeply as he could. The fresh salty air and the sweet scent of wild honeysuckle filled his senses as the setting sun beamed down on his face, warming him right to the core. The air around him was gently undulating with the quiet roar of the sea, a weak onshore breeze and the occasional piercing cry of a gull. Somehow it seemed deafening and yet peaceful at the same time. Harry opened his eyes and stared out at the blue and orange horizon. It was the kind of beautiful that made you feel very small and very naïve.
Lazily pushing himself away from the fence, he turned and ambled further down the grassy cliff path, following it around towards where the rugged coastline gave way to the small harbour. He had lived here for only half a year and yet this already felt like home in his bones. There were few places, especially up north, where there was this sort of astounding natural beauty – he didn’t think he could possibly live anywhere, now, that wasn’t equal or greater in freedom and appeal. He certainly would never feel at home in the city anymore. It would be too closed-in – too claustrophobic. Plus, where could he stroll on summer evenings like this in the city? The local park? Pft! He’d have to play in and out the dusty bluebells with all the teens drinking their Bucky around the benches and hope not to get mugged while passing the swing area. What kind of parks were in the city anyway? Not ones that would take your breath away; a long stretch of grass with clumps of trees, a barren looking swing area and a stagnant, duck-poo ridden boat pond. Not really places of inspiration and revitalisation.
As he ambled along, curls bouncing around his head in the light breeze, the sun sank lower, turning the sky a stunning pale purple and fiery orange. The grassy path gradually gave away to rock, indicating he was coming close to the steep descent down into the harbour. Looking down he could see the jagged pillars of melting rocks and the waves splashing around their bottoms. It really was rather dramatic – just like all the postcards captured.
A flash of white caught his eye. He paused mid-step and squinted. A person was sitting cross-legged on a small boulder right near the edge. The breeze rippled through the achingly familiar brown feathered hair, blowing it in a thousand different directions. Breath caught in Harry’s throat. It was Louis.
Very slowly, Harry walked down the rest of the path towards the solitary figure. Louis gave no sign that he heard his approach nor did he so much as blink as Harry silently took a seat on the rock beside him. He just stared out to sea, seemingly lost in this own thoughts. Harry followed his line of gaze and they sat quietly together for a long time, watching as a few fishing vessels trundled back home from the open channel – heading for the Salcombe harbour.
Eventually Louis spoke. “I was meant to get married today.”
Harry’s head snapped up in complete astonishment and he saw a small grimace twisting his friend’s lips. Harry’s gaze automatically fluttered down to the bare ring finger but there was no sign of there having ever been a band there.
Louis chuckled, having turned and caught where he was looking, “Oh, it’s somewhere down there,” Louis pointed to the rocks and swirling water far below, “I stood right here, on this very rock, and threw the bloody thing as far as I could.”
“Was it expensive?” Harry couldn’t help but ask, even though his head was going a mile-a-minute trying to wrap itself around the new information.
“The sentiment was cheap,” Louis replied, and then gave Harry a small smile, “but the ring was worth three thousand. At least I got a little bit of vindictive pleasure lobbing it out there.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile back, pleased that Louis got a little bit of revenge. But he was also insanely curious and had to ask, “When…?” When had this ring throwing happened? When had Louis been engaged? Who had he been engaged to? Why had it ended?
