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Fleur smiled at him. ‘So, are you visiting for long, or . . .?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m working at the woolstores.’
‘Oh, right. Did you become the brilliant wool classer you told me you wanted to be?’
He laughed. ‘I became a wool classer, that’s for sure. I’m still one.’
She frowned. ‘Just taking a pause?’
‘Not quite.’ As they walked the length of the jetty, he told her what had occurred.
She sighed in sympathy. ‘That’s a lot of pain.’
He nodded. ‘How you felt just now in the ballroom is how I felt about my life. I needed to walk away from it.’
‘So, what’s next for Tom Catchlove?’
They reached the end of the jetty and stared out at the sea. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, revealing his deepest anxiety. ‘I need to find something. As much as the work in the woolstores is welcome, I’ve got to make some decisions.’
‘Do you want to keep wool classing?’
‘The only way to do that is to return to a shearing shed and, as cowardly as it sounds, I don’t want to be in one again. I love the shed, but it holds bad memories for me now. My mother died during shearing time, my father did too, and then the business with Peter . . . I learned something about someone I loved during shearing time that has shocked me so deeply, I can’t think straight. So, everything about the shearing shed feels bad to me at the moment. Even the smell of the wool bales in the stores sends me right back there, so I think I need to find something new.’
‘I don’t think it’s cowardly, Tom. I think it’s more cowardly not to face one’s demons. You couldn’t be more honest than you’re being with yourself right now. Most people would probably prefer to put their head in the sand and ignore that inner voice. But yours has spoken, and you’re paying attention and allowing it now to guide you. I think that’s brave.’
He gave her a nod. ‘You certainly know how to throw a good light on my situation. That’s what you did the last time we met.’
They shared a sad chuckle.
‘You know, I think I saw you the other day,’ he said.
‘Really? When? Why didn’t you say hello?’
‘You were standing in a doorway down the road from the pub at Alberton, where I’ve got digs. You were with an older man.’
She frowned as she thought back. ‘Yes, that probably was me. I was with my father, trying to have a private conversation – the walls have ears in our house.’ She turned away and he followed her path as, side by side, they strolled back down the jetty.
‘I’ve not seen the sea before, so thank you for—’
‘What?’ She stopped walking, looking back at him with an expression of shock.
Tom shrugged. ‘I grew up a million miles away, Fleur. We didn’t take holidays or go to the seaside like you lot.’
‘Shouldn’t you be whooping with joy to gaze on it for the first time?’
‘I am, in here,’ he said with a grin, touching his chest.
Fleur shook her head. ‘Oh, Tom. Come on, you have to dip your toes in and have a yell or two.’
‘What, now?’
‘Yes, now!’
‘Be cold, won’t it?’
‘I’ve just finished telling you you’re not a coward. You aren’t scared of a bit of cold water, are you?’
‘Cold might be understating it.’
