Beach Walker – Chapter 11

Shells

It had taken a year, but at last I was ‘coming out of my shell’, as George, my middle son, liked to put it. I wasn’t entirely flattered: it made me sound like a mollusc, or maybe a hermit crab in search of a new home.

It seemed that it shouldn’t be too hard to make new friends around the Bellarine. Tentative enquiries on Facebook brought several offers. I felt almost stalked by well-meaning elderly ladies determined to rope me into this group and that. I had no desire to return to the social round of Wagga, the gossipy teas and busy fundraising functions. I felt worn out just thinking about all that.

I might get involved in a few activities, make a few new friends, but I was going to be picky. Maybe something environmental? New territory for me.

Thanks to Leonard, my appreciation of the coastal environment was growing. I could tell a pied from a sooty oystercatcher now, a red capped from a hooded plover. I could distinguish a stingray from a skate from a banjo ray and knew Neptune’s Necklace from bladderwrack.

This newfound interest prompted me to join the local Coastcare group and go along to a few weeding sessions. I was even thinking of signing up for next year’s hooded plover protection programme. I’d come a long way from shaking my head over the ‘silly little birds’ and wondering why they didn’t nest in a tree.

I asked Leonard what he thought.

‘Bloody good idea,’ he grunted. ‘Poor little buggers need people in their corner.’

‘You could …’ With the evangelical zeal of a new convert, I’d been wondering about how to get Leonard more involved – okay, even slightly involved – in the life of the community. He had so much to offer.

‘Grace, love,’ he shook his head, ‘you’ve seen how well I cope with conflict. Can you imagine me politely asking entitled bastards to maybe modify their morning walk by a few fucking metres and not wipe out endangered populations of endemic shorebirds with their entitled fucking feet? Can you imagine me not offering to stuff their off-leash dogs up their arrogant arses?’

‘Ah, no. I guess not. But there’s other things you could do. Less … stressful things?’

‘I know you mean well, but I keep to myself, keep out of trouble and that’s the way I like it.’

The discussion was clearly closed. For now.

I’d thought a lot about Leonard’s latent anger issues since witnessing his meltdown back at Easter. I felt his marginalisation and loneliness. I admired him and was passionate about bringing him more respect from the community. I guess the do-gooder was still strong in me, and I had the arrogance to think that I knew what was best for my friend.

At the same time, I appreciated what he was doing for me, and I was desperate to show my gratitude by giving something back.

With hindsight: all the thanks Leonard ever wanted, ever needed, was one kind face in the vast cold ocean of strangers, a good strong coffee and a friendly chat.

Don’t we often confuse a loved-one’s need with what we ourselves need to give? I should have left him his shell. He needed it for protection against a hostile world.

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Next week in Beach Walker:

Chapter 12: Superior By Far

Leonard turns up at Grace’s house with a surprise – and an offer.