Somewhat unexpectedly but entirely welcome, I got a ride in an electric van. Down the road we puttered, left, then right and left again, following the curve of the dunes, passing what looked like a school and a mini hospital or something; then left, right, left and right again; I was thoroughly lost.
“Don’t worry,” Greetje instructed. “There is a map with directions—in English, too—in the cottage, and you’ll easily find your way back. Did I mention there are a couple of bikes, also? So you don’t have to walk all the time.”
She shot me an inquiring look. “You do know how to ride a bike, right?”
“’
Course I do,” I assured her, inwardly smiling. This was getting better and better.
Just when I thought the dune road wasn’t going anywhere, a little row of cottages came into view. They were nestled in amongst a few low trees and on the inland side of the road relative to the dunes, but they looked adorable. They had a steep hipped roof with red clay tiles and the pretty adornments typical of the island, judging by what I had seen so far. There seemed to be three cottages and, as Greetje slowed down, it appeared one of them was to be mine.
Greetje deftly pulled the van into a narrow driveway in front of the last cottage, the one furthest from the village. It had a white front door, and white mullioned windows including a couple of dormers, and it looked simply adorable. The house of my dreams bar the white roses.
“This is it,” Greetje announced, sensing my excitement. “
Na Huus
.”
“Na Huus
,” I repeated, noticing at the same time that these words were written above the front door. “What does it mean?” I asked.
“Homeward bound,” was Greetje’s answer, and it gave me goosebumps. I had the uncanny feeling as though the earth moved beneath me, just for a second, and I held on to the van for support.
“Are you all right?” Greetje’s voice was full of sudden concern.
“Fine,” I smiled. “It’s just that the name is so apt.”
“Isn’t it just?” Greetje acknowledged, choosing to bypass the emotion in my comment. “Let’s have a look inside.”
Inside, it was perfect. Everything was small but perfect. The front door gave straight into an open plan downstairs, with a fitted kitchen tucked to the right, and a lounge area on the left with a fireplace and two squashy sofas. At the back, a staircase led upstairs, where I found an adorable bedroom as well as a small bathroom. I clocked the shower, but it was the bedroom that had me rapt. It was a dormer room, dominated by a big, comfy-looking bed done out in white linen but adorned by a beautiful colorful patchwork quilt. A big oak wardrobe rested in one corner, and a rocking chair with colorful cushions stood by the window. It was wonderful. Without thinking, I went across and opened the old-fashioned windows, pushing both wings out as far as they would go and securing them with the metal hooks. The salty tang of sea air and dunes rushed into the room and I breathed deeply. And yes! I could hear the rushing of the sea on the other side of the dunes. I would sleep here; I would sleep well.
Greetje stood by the door and observed me silently, a smile playing on her kind face.
“You like it,” she stated when I turned back to her.
“I do,” I said simply.
“I will leave you now. Maybe I will see you later,” Greetje suggested. “Or maybe you will have some rest first, yes?”
I couldn’t quite believe my luck, and questions came bubbling out before Greetje could leave. Yes, she confirmed with a laugh, I could really have this place. At the price she had suggested. No, no need to pay her now, I wasn’t going anywhere, was I? We could settle the first month’s rent next time I saw her. No, she didn’t have anybody else lined up, and yes, I could stay as long as I wanted. Now, would I please stop worrying? Greetje gave me an affectionate pat on the shoulder as she pressed the keys for “Na Huus” into my hand.
“The electricity is on, there are directions for hot water and heating in the kitchen, and the bike is in a shed in the garden. I must away, I have some more
Fischbrötchen
to sell.”
And thus she departed, leaving me to sit in my new, if temporary, home, marveling at fate. I took another tour of the cottage, delighting in all the little details, and I also inspected the garden. I locked up and followed a random path across the dunes, finding to my intense pleasure that I was mere seconds from a beautiful sea view.
Back at my temporary home, I braved the oven to heat a pizza, ran a bath, and climbed into my new bed, leaving the windows as wide open as I dared. The air grew cold at night, but I was warm and snug under my industrial strength continental Eiderdown duvet, and so I slept.
And slept.
And slept. I slept for the best part of two days. I slept like I had never slept before. It seemed as though I was catching up on a lifetime’s worth of lost sleep.
Of course I got up to use the bathroom and to make myself cups of tea or something to eat. But every time, I found myself irresistibly drawn back to bed. I took a book each time, but without fail, I fell asleep.
I was still in bed two days later, and probably would have carried on like this for another couple of days, when Greetje came to see if I was still alive.
The first thing I knew about her arrival was a cheerily shouted “Yoohoo” floating up the stairs and through the door into my bedroom. Initially, I thought I was dreaming but the voice was vaguely familiar.
Next, there were light footfalls on the stairs, and I knew someone was coming. I was still half asleep, cozy, and warm. Somewhere deep down, the rules of social decorum informed me that I ought to get up. But I simply couldn’t obey, so I resolutely stayed in bed.
Greetje’s face appeared at the doorframe, smiling initially, then crinkling with concern.
“Sophie!” she exclaimed. “Are you all right? It is the middle of the day.”
Was it really lunchtime? I cast a glance onto the bedside table where my mobile phone did a stand-in act for an alarm clock. Incidentally, it couldn’t find a network out here so it was very much out of action as far as mobile phone services went. It read twelve thirty-four p.m. Lunchtime indeed.
I sat up wearily, rubbing my eyes and yawning widely.
“I am so sorry,” I mumbled, hastily covering my mouth with my hand lest I should frighten Greetje away with my doggie breath.
“Are you okay?” she repeated, and I nodded by way of response, although I could feel myself welling up.
Silly me.
I
was
okay
,
I was feeling better than I had done for weeks. Just very tired.
“I don’t know what the matter is with me,” I tried to joke lightly, although I could hear the effort in my own voice.
Greetje put down her bag and sat on the edge of my bed. She looked at me, waiting for me to talk.
“I—” I started, but realized I didn’t have a clue where to begin.
“You’re running away from someone,” Greetje started for me. “It’s obvious,” she stated, as though this was meant to reassure me. “You arrive here alone, call no one, speak to no one, don’t send any postcards, keep yourself to yourself, and I find you’re still in bed.” Her tone was gently admonishing before she changed tack. “We’re all guessing why you’re running, and who from. You’re the big mystery, quite the talk of the island.”
I closed my eyes.
Great.
I had come here for anonymity and put myself right in the center of attention. Greetje’s next question caught me so unawares, I nearly fell out of bed.
“Did he hit you?”
My eyes snapped wide open and locked with hers, full of concern.
“What? Who? Hit? No!” I let out a wail of frustration at this complete misinterpretation of my circumstances. “No, it wasn’t like that. Not at all, on the contrary—oh God, you’re going to think me such a wuss.”
“A wuss?”
“A person who is sad and pathetic for no concrete reason,” I qualified.
“Ah. Well. If you are this wuss, the person who is sad and pathetic for no particular reason, I suggest you get yourself showered and dressed while I fix some lunch. And then you will tell me, so I can put an end to all the speculation and gossip. And you will become better.”
Her tone allowed no argument, and I found I quite enjoyed being bossed about by this kind woman. I did as instructed—I had a hot shower and got dressed in jeans and a jumper for the first time since arriving. While the effort exhausted me, I did feel better for being up and about.
When I came downstairs, Greetje had set out the ubiquitous
Fischbrötchen
-and-potato-salad lunch and I fell unto it hungrily. Greetje ate, too, but mostly watched me with barely contained curiosity. Eventually, when I had finished, she pushed the plates to one side, propped her feet on a spare chair, and commanded, “Tell.”
My first sentence surprised me as much as her.
“I guess you could say I had a little breakdown,” I announced, bursting into tears of self-pity while laughing at myself at the same time. The effect was not pretty, and Greetje hastily passed me a tissue.
“A breakdown,” she repeated matter-of-factly when I had overcome my little outburst.
“Yup. I guess that’s what you’d call it. I told you I was a wuss.”
“A breakdown is neither sad nor pathetic,” Greetje informed me calmly. “I don’t know why you would even think that. There must have been a lot of stress involved.”
“Yeah, well…not to the outside observer, I don’t think,” I muttered darkly. “Really, this is all a storm in a teacup.”
“Good. That’s a good perspective to have, now. It means you’re getting over it all. But you must have been pretty stressed to start with, and that’s all that matters. Do you want to talk about it?”
I had nothing to lose, so I told all. “Do you know,” I concluded, “seeing them together
like that
sent me over the edge. I lost all sense of reality. It sounds so stupid now, so unnecessary. But I felt that I couldn’t go on with it all. I wanted to run away like I’ve never wanted to run away before in my entire life. I wanted to be somewhere where none of this would matter, and where I could think about everything.”
Greetje nodded thoughtfully, but still I continued. “It seems so…I don’t know, so extreme now. But it made perfect sense on that Monday. I went home and crashed, and the next morning I rang my Mum, and cried and cried. She listened to everything; I guess she’d seen it all coming. I said I wanted to run away and she said, totally casually, ‘Then why don’t you?’”
I sniffed at the recollection, and Greetje gave a little laugh. “Your Mum is a wise person.”
“You think?” I retorted. “I thought she’d gone mad. I thought she was playing devil’s advocate. But she was serious. She said, why didn’t I take some time out to get away from it all for a while? She suggested making some arrangements so I wouldn’t lose my job or my flat or anything. She called it ‘a safe runner’. She kept saying, ‘what’s keeping you?’ and I didn’t have a good answer.”
“Does she know you’re here?” Greetje interrupted properly for the first time. “Because if she doesn’t, she might be worried sick.”
I smiled. “I called her every day while I was running scared. From the train station in London and in Brussels, from Hamburg, and from Bensersiel. I told her I was coming here, but I haven’t had a chance to ring her since.”
“Well, you must ring her as soon as we’re done,” Greetje told me firmly. “She’ll be going out of her mind. But before that, finish your story. You’ve got me hanging on here.”
“Well…” I pondered. “First of all, I went into the office after I spoke with Mum and I talked with my editor. I said I wanted to resign. I insisted, but he refused to let me go. A ‘sabbatical’ was the best he could do for me, he said.” I snorted with disbelief at my own tale when I related the bizarre situation.
“We agreed I would leave until the end of the year. The sabbatical is unpaid but I’m going to write a few features here or there.” I shrugged. “It’s not much of an income but I’ll muddle through, and I have a job to go back to next year. I put the flat on the market with a lettings agent. I managed to find a removals company that could collect my stuff and put it into storage. It’s amazing, really, how quickly one can unravel one’s life if one has to. I took the last Eurostar that day to Brussels before I could change my mind. I found a hotel by the station and checked in, but I couldn’t sleep. So I used their computer to do a bit of Internet searching. I wanted to go to somewhere far away, unusual, remote, isolated. I found a reference to a car-free island in the German North Sea and I had a look and I loved the sight of it all. So, I booked myself on a flight to Hamburg the next day. I stayed there for a couple of days while I figured out arrangements to come to Langeoog. Last Friday, I took the early train to Bremen, the island bus from Bremen to Bensersiel and the ferry, and you know the rest.”
Greetje had listened attentively, and she let out a big sigh when I ground to a halt.
“What an amazing story. It’s almost like you’re gone with the wind…you know, where the wind blows you. Wow. It’s quite romantic, really.”
“Romantic?” I laughed. Somehow, I felt a lot better. Cleansed. Lighter. As though I had shed a big load. “I’m not sure about romantic. Insane, mad, and cowardly, perhaps, but not romantic.”