Chapter Twenty-One
‘W hich part have you got to?’ I rested my head on Ethan’s shoulder and he lifted the notebook up high so I couldn’t see where he was. ‘Have you reached the bit where—’
‘Shush.’ He angled his head away from me so he could keep reading.
I had the urge to tickle him, but I also wanted to know what he thought of my new story.
It was about two people who had met in an abandoned house, clashing because one group was drinking there, the other searching for ghosts.
I suffered through two more silent minutes, then he laughed – one of those laughs that was a surprise, like I’d delighted him with one of my jokes.
After that I left him to it, rearranging things pointlessly on my already immaculate desk, until he closed the notebook.
‘It’s really good, George,’ he said. ‘It’s funny and romantic and spooky all at once.
I know exactly who Alfie and Selina are, and I cared about them.
Also, the haunting?’ He laughed again. ‘Those ghost hunters were looking for something profound, some hidden secret or tragedy connected to the family who’d lived there centuries ago, and all they found was the last owner’s awful chihuahua. ’
‘Marjory the chihuahua had a lot of character.’ I couldn’t hide my smile. ‘She didn’t want to be dead.’
‘Biting ankles for all eternity,’ Ethan said wistfully. I joined him on the bed, and he tucked my hair behind my ear and planted a sweet kiss on my lips. ‘You, Georgie Monroe, are amazing. I can’t wait to celebrate your first book being published.’
My heart skipped at the implication that we would still be together when that happened. ‘In a house that you’ve built,’ I added. ‘We can toast each other with champagne, look out at the sea view from the glass-fronted reception room.’
‘We’re going to be one of those smug couples that are really pleased with themselves, aren’t we?’ He kissed me again.
‘It sounds perfect,’ I murmured. We sat up against my pillows, and Ethan put his arm around me. ‘Hey,’ I said, after a moment, ‘imagine if you renovated S. E. Artemis’s old house.’
‘What?’ He turned to me with a laugh. ‘How would I ever get the chance to do that? It’ll be years before I’m qualified, and whoever owns it now is bound to do something with it, either bring it up to scratch or sell it on.’
‘But just imagine .’ I wasn’t ready to let go of the daydream. ‘Imagine if you could buy it – or get commissioned to redo it, or whatever. What would you do?’ I dragged my notebook over, turned to a fresh page, and held it out to him, along with my pen.
‘George,’ he said in mild protest, but he took them.
‘What, Ethan?’ I wanted to spend time on his dream, when he’d been so supportive of mine.
‘Well, the main thing would be making the most of where it is, give all the rooms uninterrupted views of the landscape. So, larger windows, skylights maybe – a huge lounge that looks out over the bay. The room we usually sit in?’
I nodded.
‘I would knock that through, so it took up the whole right side of the house.’
I went to protest, but he put a finger on my lips.
‘I’d keep the fireplace,’ he assured me.
‘It would be the focal point of the room, open all the way around, so you could divide the space into zones.’ He frowned down at the notebook.
‘It would be a huge job, but I don’t have any real clue how big yet.
I’ve got so much to learn, but right now—’
‘This is the dreaming stage,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about technicalities. I’m thinking a beautiful office upstairs, just in case a writer lived there, you know?’
He looked up. ‘You deserve the best, Georgie.’
I brushed him off. ‘It’s got so much history. Do you think some of S. E. Artemis’s talent has been absorbed into the walls?’
‘Better that than the ghost of a bad-tempered chihuahua,’ he said, and as he sketched some ideas, he was chuckling again.
I thought how perfect this was, how bright our futures looked.
I wouldn’t listen to Mum’s warnings about Ethan disappearing, even though he still dropped everything whenever there was a hint of a problem with Sarah, or her reminders that we were teenagers, that everything seemed intense right now, but we had our whole lives ahead of us.
I knew she was implying that we wouldn’t stay together, but I couldn’t imagine wanting anyone but Ethan.
We were in it for the long haul; I knew that without a shadow of a doubt.
‘Banging around the kitchen is not going to make things better,’ Mum said as I slammed a saucepan onto the stove, then got a tin of baked beans out of the cupboard and flung the door shut.
‘It makes me feel better,’ I said with a glare.
She was watching me from the table, where she was sorting through the bills.
I had told her I would cook us something nice for dinner, then ran out of enthusiasm when Ethan messaged to tell me he couldn’t join us because Sarah had had a shit time at school, and he didn’t want to leave her in case she did something stupid.
A few days ago we’d been sitting on my bed making plans about our future, and now this.
So Mum and I were getting cheesy beans on toast, and I was fuming.
‘Have you talked to him about it?’ Mum asked.
‘I’ve tried, but I sound like a bitch whenever I say I’m cross with him because he’s prioritizing his sad, fucked-up sister over me.’
‘Georgie,’ Mum admonished, but without much heat.
‘And I love how loyal he is, how he takes care of people, and he always makes it up to me. He takes me for chips, he reads my writing and shows a proper interest. He’s so apologetic, and when we’re in—’ I sucked in a breath, my rant about to go too far.
‘I know you’re sleeping together,’ Mum said. ‘You think I don’t know what goes on under my own roof?’
I slumped against the cooker. ‘You don’t mind?’
‘As long as you’re safe, you’re fully consenting – and I mean fully , to everything, every time – and you’re being kind to each other, then I don’t mind. Better with Ethan than someone you don’t care about.’ She fixed me with a cool stare. ‘But if he’s making you unhappy, it’s time to rethink.’
‘Ethan makes me happy.’ The thought of not being with him sent an uncomfortable shiver through me. ‘And no couple is perfect.’
‘You’re only eighteen. Don’t try to sound all sage and experienced. You need to go through a few heartbreaks before you find someone who’s for keeps.’
‘What if I want Ethan for keeps?’ Kira and Freddy had been together for two years and they were stronger than ever, and Grace from the Alperwick Papers was always going on about how she’d been married to her childhood sweetheart for thirty years. I had no interest in anyone else.
‘Let’s give up on the beans,’ Mum said. ‘How about we do homemade fish and chips? Helen gave me a new batter recipe, and the market had cod on offer today.’ My stomach twisted at the thought of Mum going to the market, but the doctor leading the clinical trial was quietly optimistic, and I hadn’t come home to a haze of incense covering the smell of weed for a while.
‘OK. You show me how to make this new batter, and I’ll peel the potatoes.’
‘You’re on.’ Mum bounced up from the table, kissing my forehead before she dug in the cupboard for the mixing bowl. I loved spending time with her when she was like this, upbeat and in charge.
As I peeled potatoes, my mind inevitably returned to Ethan, and the niggles that sat just beneath my skin.
He had seemed flustered going into the last couple of exams, which was so unlike him.
His dream of becoming an architect had never wavered, but it needed hard work and dedication, and I selfishly worried what would get squeezed out if he realized he wasn’t doing as much as he needed to.
‘You don’t keep a diary, do you?’ Mum asked, as she dipped the cod into her batter mix. ‘You write stories, but do you ever write your feelings down?’
‘Not really. But stories are like … they’re a way of getting feelings out, aren’t they?’
‘It’s not the same. I’ve kept a journal on and off, and it helps when I need to get things off my chest and don’t want to break the cupboard door off its hinges.’
‘Sorry.’ My guilt was instant.
‘Don’t be, Georgie,’ Mum said with a smile. ‘I remember what it was like, being in love for the first time. Your emotions are like an unruly herd of velociraptors, dangerous and impossible to bring to heel.’
I laughed. ‘That’s the most ridiculous analogy I’ve ever heard.’
‘Cheered you up, though. Just think about it. I’ll buy you a nice new notebook. We could go to that bistro in Truro, make a day of it and have lunch, if you fancy?’
‘I’d love that, Mum. Thank you.’ I hugged her, feeling lighter than I had done in a while. She smelled of her perfume, no tobacco or weed lingering underneath, and the tension left my shoulders as she returned my embrace.
‘Let’s get these in,’ she said. ‘We want to be done before Kira steals you away. The big house tonight, is it?’ She winked, and I laughed again because I couldn’t keep secrets from her. I wondered how I’d ever thought she was uninterested: she was just trying to be the best mum she could be.
‘Just the four of us again tonight, then.’ Orwell added a dusty bottle to our assortment of refreshments. It looked like cherry brandy.
‘Ethan can’t make it.’ I shrugged, when really I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face.
‘Man, his sister is a fiend.’ Freddy lay his head in Kira’s lap, and she took his beanie off and stroked his hair. I stared at my hands, taking the bottle of vodka when Kira passed it to me.
‘She’s causing lots of trouble,’ I agreed. ‘I just hope she doesn’t get in the way of his exam focus. He’s so committed to getting the grades he needs to study architecture.’
Kira waved a dismissive hand. ‘He’ll walk them. I’m more worried about you losing precious time with him. In a couple of months, we’ll all be off to different unis.’
‘We could do long distance,’ I said, then amended it, because my talk with Mum had cemented how I felt about him. ‘We will do long distance, and it’ll be fine.’
‘Even if you’re still here, and he’s off enjoying the perks of university?’ Orwell asked.
‘I’m not going to be here.’ I chugged more vodka.
‘Mum’s doing better, and my grades are OK.
I’m going to major in journalism and join whatever creative writing groups there are.
And if we both get our first choices, Sheffield and York, we won’t be that far away.
’ I loved the idea of being somewhere Ethan had lived for a little while.
I was already looking forward to him giving me a tour of the city, showing me all his favourite parts, when he came to visit during our first term.
‘You’ve got it all figured out,’ Kira said. ‘And Ethan will be all in, too. That boy adores you, straight up.’ She picked up the cherry brandy and I clinked my bottle against hers, my warm glow partly to do with the alcohol, and partly to do with Kira’s faith in what we had.
I got back to my room late, and tipsier than usual, so I sent Ethan a message:
Missed you tonight. Bit drunk. I love you. G. xx
I put my phone on charge, but my head was too full to sleep, so I took a reporter’s notebook off my desk. It had a plain purple cover, and was ring-bound along the top edge, but I wasn’t writing a story, or a journal entry.
I had decided the best way to get my feelings out about Ethan was to write him a letter, even if I never gave it to him. I could say everything I wanted to, safe in the knowledge that nobody would see it, that he wouldn’t understand how insecure I sometimes felt about us.
I lay on my back and chewed my pen. There were so many letters in the Cornish Sands series, and I loved how they made the plots tick forward, how each one was an insight into a particular character.
Then I thought of the times Ethan had been in my room, under my duvet while I nipped to the toilet or had a shower; when I’d briefly let myself fall asleep in his arms. He might spy a notebook and – though he wasn’t a snooper – think it was full of stories, and I’d always let him read those.
I imagined him opening one and seeing page after page of letters addressed to him.
I needed some kind of code, but I was only starting to learn shorthand and my feelings felt too big for that.
Then I remembered the letters between my favourite couple, Amelie and Connor, how I’d savoured each one, sure of a happy ending for them that never came.
Well, with me and Ethan it would be different.
I knew exactly what to do.
I rolled onto my stomach and opened my notebook to the first clean page.
Dear Connor , I wrote, then proceeded to tell Ethan everything I was thinking, everything I was worried about.
My drunk brain spilled it all onto the page, and I realized, even as I scribbled those first, unsure sentences, that I could write secret letters to the man I loved, under the guise of us being my two favourite fictional characters, and nobody would ever know, least of all him.