Chapter Twenty-Two #2
A polished pine desk ran the length of the room, an ergonomic chair pulled up close to it.
There was an art deco lamp, pinks and greens in the patterned glass shade, and a little copper quill on a resin plinth.
I sucked in a breath. On the wall above the familiar statuette, there was a framed picture.
I stepped forward and saw that it was a news article.
One of Ethan’s first achievements? I moved closer, my heart pounding, and then – I squeaked.
‘I particularly liked that story,’ Ethan said softly.
‘I did, too. The day I covered it, anyway.’
It was one of my articles from the Star , from about three years ago, about a Cotswold-based mythological society that had travelled to Cornwall to investigate the Alperwick Mermaid.
I’d gone to cover their investigation for the paper, because the Alperwick residents loved nothing more than finding out why interlopers were prowling their beach with strange-looking electronic devices.
But they’d been fun and friendly, not paranoid conspiracy theorists, just using local legends as reasons to visit beautiful parts of the country together.
I’d ended up telling them about my short story and the award I’d won, and when the photographer was taking pictures, they’d dragged me into the group shots.
Wynn had printed one of them alongside my report and my short story, which she must have dug up from a decade-old Alperwick Papers anthology.
I’d been livid, then embarrassed, and finally I’d felt sad, reminded of how little of my own writing I’d done since then.
Now, seeing it framed on the wall in Sterenlenn, I felt a spark of hope. I picked up the copper quill. ‘This isn’t actually my award,’ I said, turning to look at Ethan, ‘unless you have been back to my house, to do a little breaking and entering?’
He was resting one shoulder against the wall, looking wary. ‘Not guilty. This is a replica – I assume you still have yours.’
‘Somewhere,’ I said quietly. ‘You know, the mythological society sent me a little silver mermaid not long after my piece was printed. I guess they were grateful I’d got them in the local paper, highlighted their passions.
It’s sort of a talisman for me, because it reminds me that people value what I do, even if it’s not writing bestselling novels. ’
‘Of course they value you,’ Ethan said, ‘and I’m glad it’s important to you.’
‘The mermaid?’ I frowned. ‘But it’s …’ My words died when I saw his expression. ‘There wasn’t a note, so I assumed that’s where it came from.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Ethan, did you send me the silver mermaid?’
He didn’t reply, and I was blindsided for the second time in five minutes.
‘Did you send me the mermaid?’
He held my gaze, gave a tiny shrug.
I rubbed my forehead. ‘You sent me the silver mermaid, and this is … it’s the room I described in my letter: my imaginary office in our fantasy future.
The window, the art deco light, the wallpaper.
And these shelves.’ There was a beautiful built-in bookcase, several titles arranged elegantly, interspersed with pot plants and muted stone bookends, everything lit artfully by LEDs.
I peered closer and saw a complete set of the Cornish Sands series.
‘Obviously, those would be your books.’
‘You mean in our make-believe life?’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t believe you did this.’
‘I wanted to show potential buyers that all the rooms could have a unique purpose, and your letter – I loved the design. I wanted it in here.’
‘Don’t you think it would have been easier to forget about me? We broke up over a decade ago. It’s ancient history.’ It was the biggest lie I’d said all night, and so hypocritical considering everything I was feeling.
‘Is that really how you think of us?’ He gestured to the desk, and I knew he meant the letters.
‘I wrote those ages ago, when I quit university and came back here to look after Mum.’
‘And you were entirely unbothered about me finding them, clearly.’ He clenched his jaw. ‘That’s how ancient history we are to you? You came tonight because you wanted to get them back, to retrieve them before I could read them. That’s the real reason you came, isn’t it?’
‘Ethan.’
‘George.’
‘You created my perfect writing room in your superstar Smart house, the one that’s supposed to launch your career. You named the house after an in-joke we had when we were teenagers in love. It’s …’ I flung my arms wide.
‘It’s what?’
‘It’s the past.’
He shook his head. Took a step towards me. ‘It’s not.’
‘So … what are you saying? I almost didn’t come today.’
‘But you did . We’re here, and what if I …’ He paused. ‘What if I want you in my future?’
‘I don’t—’
‘Or …’ He reached out and took my hand. ‘What if we ignore the past and the future, just for a little while. We’re here, in this house, together. Can’t that be enough?’
‘Enough for what?’ But I moved closer to him.
He trailed his finger along my hairline, down the side of my face. ‘Us. Now.’
I shook my head. ‘You put my fantasy office in your house.’
‘It’s real. All of this is real. I didn’t do any of it as a joke. I did it because I wanted it here.’
‘OK, and what do you want now?’
‘This.’ He didn’t hesitate. He leant down, twisting his hand in the fabric at my waist. ‘This is the only thing that makes sense.’ Then he kissed me.
Dear Ethan,
I’m going to stop writing these letters.
It’s been nearly three years since we last saw each other, I’m standing still in so many ways, and the only thing I can think of is to try and let you go.
Besides, Mum came in to my room the other day and unearthed a couple of my old notebooks, the letters I wrote to you while we were still together, and I don’t want her to see these too.
I don’t want her to know how hard I’m finding it, being here with her.
I try my best to be a good daughter, but I don’t think I’m succeeding.
So, I’ve had an idea. I still go up to Tyller Klos by myself sometimes.
I’m not brave enough to do it in the dark, but the road is part of the cliff walk, and I can still sneak over the wall and through the bushes without anyone seeing, and get in that window round the back.
It looks so different in the daylight, because you can see the disrepair, all the cracks and cobwebs – and mouse poo – but you can also see the original features, the potential.
There’s the moulding and the brass fittings on the window frames, and in one of the rooms there’s the faintest pattern of wallpaper, a hunting scene, with horses and dogs cantering across it.
It made me think that my mermaid wallpaper isn’t all that outlandish.
I wish we’d gone up there in the daytime together, so you could see it.
It’s faded, but it’s still magnificent. You would have so many ideas about what to do with it, about the modern-day marvel it could become, without losing its sense of history.
A Tyller Klos for the twenty-first century.
Did I tell you S. E. Artemis left in the mid-Nineties?
It’s been empty for twenty years already – who knows how much longer it will be abandoned?
I’m still working for the Star , writing stories about sheep and lifeboats, about the new landlord at the Sailor’s Rest, some guy called Rick who wants to turn it into a swanky tourist hotspot with a world-famous fish pie.
Nothing that exciting or unusual, but I really like my editor, Wynn.
I go for drinks with her and some of the other staff, and it feels good to be getting out, having a few tipsy evenings at the pub.
It feels good, but I wish you were here.
I still miss you more than I thought possible, so that’s why I’ve got to stop these letters.
Just because Connor and Amelie didn’t make it, it doesn’t make their love story any less significant.
And you, Ethan Sparks, will always mean so much to me.
I will never forget you, but I need to let you go.
I’m going to finish this, then I’m going to walk up to Tyller Klos, and I’m going to sneak inside and hide these letters in the fireplace.
It’s fitting that they should end up there, where we sat together on our blanket of stars.
I really thought you were it for me, but I guess we were young and I was naive, and life doesn’t always play fair.
Thank you for being you, for being such a bright Spark of joy in my life – I had to get it in somewhere.
My future might not have you in it, but nobody can take away our memories.
I hope you think of me sometimes too, but more than anything, I hope you’re happy.
That’s all I want for you: happiness and hope, living the life you always wanted.
I love you and I miss you.
Yours always, Georgie xxx