The Function to Breathe

Thirty Two

2015

A couple of hours later we're sitting on a bench overlooking Falmouth harbour eating fish and chips out of the paper and watching the boats bob on the tide. After our discussion back at my flat I realised I was starving hungry – I haven't eaten much over the last couple of days, my appetite always disappears when I'm stressed or anxious – and the only thing I wanted was fish and chips from Ricky's local fish and chip shop in Falmouth. There is a fish and chip shops in St Agnes but it's not as good as this one, so we'd got back in the car and Ricky had driven us over here.

We'd debated whether to eat in the restaurant, take our food home or sit out here and eat. Each option had its benefits, but sitting out here and enjoying the last of the afternoon's sun won. It's cooler now than it was earlier, but the sky is still blue and the sun is still shining. It's fairly quiet as well; at this time of year all the seaside towns in the area are getting busy but by early evening – which it is now – most of the day tourists have gone home and those that are staying in the town have retreated to their hotels or apartments to get ready for the evening. It will probably get a bit busier again later, but by then we'll be long gone; probably cuddled up in front of the television at Ricky's house with a glass of wine.

As we eat we talk; working out what we can do to minimise the stress in my life. Not that my life is stressful by most people's standards, far from it, but it is stressful and busy compared with what I'm used to. When it was just me on my own, working at Jack's and then going home to spend the evening reading or watching television or occasionally seeing friends I could cope. I knew what my limits were and I stuck within them... maybe too far within them, I made my life too safe and boring. Now I'm here, there and everywhere and I rarely seem to have time to just sit and relax. If I'm in St Agnes I'm either at the gallery or working on my assignments from Martha, if I'm in London then I'm doing stuff with Ricky or we're checking on progress with the house and choosing furniture and so on. Then of course I'm driving between Cornwall and London and back again every weekend which can take almost a day. It might not seem a lot to some people, but it apparently is for me.

It seems like something has got to give and as we talk it seems that unless that something is my mental health then it needs to be working for Jack and living down here during the week. I hate letting Jack down – I told him I'd stay over the summer – but if I move up to London now I can cut out all the long journeys and I can spend the time I would have been in the car either working on my projects or just relaxing if that's what I need to do.

Our house won't be ready for another few weeks so it means that in the short term I'll have to move into Simon's with Ricky, but apparently they've already discussed that this might happen, and Simon is fine with it. I know he would be, he's been more than welcoming every time I've been there, and I now feel as comfortable there as I do in my own home or at Ricky's.

It has cooled down even more since we sat down and started our greasy but delicious picnic and when Ricky notices me shivering he throws the last few chips at a seagull that's been stalking us from a distance, screws up the greasy chip paper and suggests we head back to the house. It's not far but he puts his arm round me and pulls me into his side to keep me warm as we walk; neither of us bought jackets out with us as it was much warmer earlier. The blue sky and sunshine lulled us into thinking that summer had arrived and it would stay warm much later, rather than cool down as the spring evenings still do.

I lean my head on his shoulder and smile up at him. "Thank you for dinner. You take me to all the nicest places."

He winks at me and grins, "I try my best."

In truth I have no complaints, the way we've spent the last hour as been perfect. Many people would be surprised by how ordinary our life is; we enjoy fish and chips out of the paper eaten sitting on a bench far more than a five course dinner in a Michelin starred restaurant. Ricky's pretty suspicious of fancy food; a typical Yorkshireman, he likes things plain and simple, a roast dinner or fish and chips. I do like nice food in nice restaurants, but I've been there, done that with Gavin and its often over-rated.