Often when Trilby thought about her future it became a vastness that she could not wholly imagine. The breadth of her fear at time passing, at this thing she could not control or slow down, pulled her like a strong vacuum. Sitting on the edge of the cliff, she thought that it was how people with a fear of heights must feel when they looked out into the ocean, as she was doing, and saw the waves churning. It felt like she was being drawn down to something terrible and intoxicating.

The sky was grey and heavy although the rain had stopped. Underneath Trilby’s hands the grass was damp. She leant backwards, putting her weight on her arms and her feet on the edge of the cliff among the rogue weeds. The hood of her jacket was raised to stop her hair from blowing around in the wind. Below her, the sea ebbed and crashed against black rocks. She watched quietly as the white-capped waves broke against an ocean plateau and the spray burst towards the sky. In the distance, she couldn’t tell where the ocean ended and the sky begun. The greys of the water and fog bled into each other until there was no horizon. But it was not a claustrophobic effect and Trilby no longer felt dizzy.

She would often come to the cliff when she felt anxious. Sometimes the weight of her thoughts would inspire a fear that clutched at her lungs until she could hardly breathe. She would walk to the cliff and sit this way, with her knees up and her shoulders back and the cold wind in her face, until she felt herself relax. The edges of her jacket sleeves and the seat of her blue jeans would be stained with mud once she stood up, but for now she felt grounded. The overcast sky acted as an anchor to pull her circling thoughts back to earth. There was something about the sight of the billowing waves and the smell of the ocean that enthralled her; the swell and surge lulled her into a state of hypnosis and she gradually let herself become placated. The future was infinite, but what was overwhelming was also inescapable.