“No, absolutely not.” I can feel anger building again. I knew she would do this. Tell me that talking is best, honesty will help. That’s fine for her. She has a family that does talk to each other, that discusses their feelings and comforts each other when they’ve a bad day, supports each other when her brother is struggling or the load is tilted too far in one direction.

It’s only good to talk if they are willing to listen though.

“No, it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. It’s just the shock, you know? Of finding the letters. Actually, I’m relieved. Now I know what they think and feel. No more wondering if I’ve done something or said something. Now I know it is my sheer existence that is to blame. It’s not personal. And I can live with that.”

“I don’t know…”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“You can’t just forget it happened, bottle it up. I know when I’m feeling angry or conflicted about my brother and what he needs, how sometimes everything in our house revolves around him, I talk about it – to my parents mostly – and it lightens the load. I’m always here to listen, but perhaps your parents should hear some of it too.”

I launch to my feet, my voice strained. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry.”

I sit down again. There is just the wind, the sea, the awkwardness.

“Oh, I finished the book you suggested,” she says in a quiet voice, so quiet that even the wind can’t steal it away.

“What did you think?”

“I loved it, thought it was dramatic, tragic, very atmospheric.”

And just like that we are talking about fictional problems in fictional worlds, where there is usually a happy ending and narrative growth for the protagonist; not sadness, solitude and more of the same as far as the eye can see.

We go our separate ways when the sky is starting to turn a darker shade of grey and the wind is too cold to bear the sting on our cheeks. I let myself into the bottom gate, my legs heavy. The pool house is in darkness, but I can feel the warmth leaking from the glass as I walk past, smell the tang of chlorine in the air. I remember my earlier urge to swim and I open the door, feel the heat wash over me like a blanket. I close the door to the cold and leave the lights off, throw my stuff on a lounger and remove all of my clothes, the gloom making me feel safe, unseen.