Chapter Twenty-Eight
I t was a testament to how little I’d settled into university life that when I decided to quit halfway through the second term, I could get all my possessions in a large holdall and a slightly battered cardboard box.
The journey from York to Alperwick was doable on the train, but it was extra-long, with delays and cramped carriages, wailing toddlers and an atmosphere of unbridled disgruntlement, and I ended up sweaty and frustrated long before the final connection that would take me into Cornwall.
I had made a couple of friends in my halls of residence, and when I told them what I was doing, they tried to talk me out of it, to give it until the end of the year at least. But I had already made up my mind, and I hadn’t connected with them deeply enough to stay in touch once I was gone.
I’d only met my assigned tutor three times, because I’d been flying under the radar since I got to York, so nothing felt like too much of a wrench as I filled in forms confirming the severing of my course and accommodation, stating blandly that my home situation had changed, and finalizing the return of most of my loan.
The spring sun was watery but determined as I got on the last train and leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the window, wishing I could block out the squabbling family sitting in the seats across the aisle.
I tried to work out if I was feeling dread, resignation or relief at returning to my life in Alperwick, to Mum and our little terrace, but there was nothing but a bleak sort of flatness.
It had been there since Ethan had walked away from me the morning after the prom, and had only intensified when I’d come home for my first Christmas break to discovered that the Sparks family had left Cornwall altogether.
I had sent emails to the North Cornwall Star, the Western Tribune and the Alperwick Papers when I’d decided to quit my course, hoping that they would see my decision as a sign of my dedication to Cornwall, a need to be back here, rather than a lack of sticking power.
I needed to do something more than look after Mum, prove I could be productive and make something of myself, even if a journalism degree wasn’t it – at least not right now.
I knew from Freddy that Ethan was in Sheffield, that he’d got the grades he needed, but I hadn’t heard from him at all.
I still hadn’t got my head around how it had ended so suddenly between us.
After Ethan’s visit the morning after prom night, my anger had faded almost instantly.
I’d been sad, sorry for him and everything he’d been through, and even sadder that I hadn’t been able to put my frustrations aside and support him when he’d needed me.
I’d expected to hear from him, to at least get a message once the shock had faded and he’d had a chance to process what had happened.
But it was Kira and Freddy who had filled me in, a couple of days later when I’d met them on the beach.
Freddy was off to Spain the following day, and I hadn’t planned to hang around long, wanting them to have some time to themselves, but Kira’s sympathetic expression when I greeted them at the edge of the sand told me she knew what had happened.
‘What a clusterfuck, eh?’ she said, after we’d had a suncream-scented hug. ‘I’m so sorry, Georgie.’
‘I can’t believe he did it,’ I said. ‘Although, actually, I can. He’s always put Sarah first.’
‘Yeah.’ Freddy wrinkled his nose. ‘Not easy for you, though. Especially now he’s gone for the whole summer.’
‘Did you get to say goodbye before he left?’ Kira asked.
My mouth had gone dry. ‘What do you mean?’
Kira and Freddy exchanged a glance. ‘Oh babe,’ she said quietly. ‘Didn’t he tell you?’
‘Tell me what?’ The day had blurred around me, seagulls and the crash of waves, the bustling and laughter of the busy, summertime bay fading as Kira and Freddy took turns to update me on the news that, apparently, they’d found out from Orwell.
Ethan had told him and not me, and it felt like one more betrayal; proof that it was over between us.
The Sparks family were going to a remote part of Scotland for a much-needed break , according to Ethan’s father.
They would be there for the whole summer, a place where phone signal was almost non-existent, then Ethan would go straight to Sheffield University, if he got in – and I knew he would because, despite all the distractions, he had worked hard.
It was looking like he’d escape the careless driving charge with a caution, everything neatly swept under the rug by his dad’s lawyer because he’d taken the blame, and it had been his mum’s car that had been taken.
So that was it.
I’d dismissed him after the prom, told him he wasn’t who I thought he was, and there was no second chance, no opportunity to see him in person, apologize or take any of our angry words back. He was hundreds of miles away, and I hadn’t even got a final hug.
I’d listened to my friends, trying to take it all in, then I’d made my excuses and hurried home, getting to my bedroom before I burst into tears.
After that, my summer was hollow. Kira went to London and Freddy was in Spain; as the days passed, I ignored the sunshine and the beach minutes from my house – something people waited all year to experience – and wrote in my room.
I wrote letters to Connor from Amelie, and bits of stories that had been crowding my thoughts.
I wrote a whole notebook’s worth of a love story about two people torn apart by the heroine’s conniving cousin, and I didn’t bother to change a whole lot because nobody else was going to read it.
Then I went to university and drifted through the first term.
It was as if I was experiencing everything from behind a frosted screen, and when I came home at Christmas, it seemed as if Mum was getting worse again, and the Sparks family had moved away permanently.
I should have kept going. I should have returned to my course and my boxy student room with renewed enthusiasm, but instead I’d limped on for a couple more months and now here I was, with all my stuff on the seat beside me, and Alperwick the only future I’d allowed myself.
The sun was a glowing red streak along a swiftly darkening horizon when I finally made it home, trudging from the station with my bag and my box, and the air was icy and bitter.
The familiar landscape seemed worn, as if I was already tired of being back here, but the front room light was glowing around the edges of the curtains when I stopped outside our house, and I ferreted in my rucksack for my key.
Before I found it, the door swung open, Mum standing on the other side.
She looked better than I had expected her to, in a red jumper that highlighted the pink tinge in her cheeks, her hair longer than it had been at Christmas, falling in light brown waves to her shoulders.
‘Georgie!’ It was a surprised bark. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Hi, Mum.’ She stared at me like I was a mirage of the Alperwick Mermaid instead of her daughter, so I clarified. ‘I’m back.’
‘For how long?’ She reached out for my box but, even though my arm muscles were aching, I held onto it. She stepped back to let me in, and I dumped the box and holdall on the floor under the coat rack. I stood up straight and massaged my spine, letting a groan escape.
‘Georgie, for how long ?’
Our eyes caught in the hall mirror. ‘My course wasn’t working out,’ I said, and watched as her shock morphed into something else. ‘You need me here, Mum, and I—’
‘I don’t. I have never asked you to give up university to look after me. Not once.’
‘You didn’t need to ask.’ I thought of all the times I’d skipped classes to go to her hospital appointments with her, or when she’d phoned the school office to check up on me because I hadn’t replied to her messages soon enough. She might not have said the words, but I knew she needed me.
‘So … what?’ She folded her arms, not taking her eyes off me as I hung up my jacket. ‘You’ve just quit everything? You’re not going back at all?’
‘I can reapply in a couple of years, or find a new course when things are more settled.’
‘What does that mean?’ Her laugh was incredulous.
‘My MS isn’t going away, but I’m managing it.
I’m doing all I can, and what made me happy, what made me feel content and, if I’m honest, relieved, was that you were in York, getting on with your life.
We’ve talked about this so often. I don’t want you to be my full-time carer. ’
‘I’m not going to be. I’m going to get a job, and …’ I glanced towards the living room, where a soap opera was playing on the TV. ‘I just think it’s better if my life is here right now.’
‘I told you not to do this.’
I shrugged past her into the kitchen, taking a glass off the draining board and running the cold tap. ‘I know you said—’
‘I meant it, too. I don’t want you here.’
‘Thanks very much.’ I gulped down the water, felt relief as it cooled my overheated body.
‘You know what I mean.’ Mum perched on the edge of the table. ‘I know that, in the past, I’ve depended on you more than a mum should, and that I haven’t always been there for you when you’ve needed me.’
‘You’ve been there,’ I said quietly.
‘But I am fine,’ she went on. ‘I have a routine, and regular appointments. Helen helps out whenever I need it, and I have other friends I can rely on. The last thing I wanted was to clip your wings just as you’d started to spread them.
’ There was a pause, and I used it to study my scuffed trainers. ‘Can you go back?’
I looked up. ‘What? I … no.’
‘You’ve cancelled your course, your accommodation – everything? Without talking to me first?’
‘It’s done, Mum.’
‘Jesus Christ, Georgie! This is your future .’
‘Exactly. I have to do what I think is right.’
Mum glared at me, and I thought that would be it, that I’d be able to slink off to my room and unpack slowly, thinking about my next move. But she wasn’t finished. ‘This is about Ethan, isn’t it?’
‘No, I …’ I stalled. ‘No, Mum.’
‘Oh, love.’ All the anger seeped out of her, and she got up and wrapped me in a hug. I resisted for a moment, but then I let her, surprised by how reassuring it was. Her tight arms around me felt fierce and dependable. ‘You can’t give up your whole life because you’re sad about a boy.’
‘I’m not.’ I hugged her back. ‘Things just weren’t working out at uni, and there were … more reasons for me to be here right now.’
‘OK,’ she said calmly, and I braced myself, because that neutral tone was never a good sign. ‘We can talk about this some more once you’re settled.’
‘There’s no need, because—’
‘But I want you to know that I think it’s a mistake.
’ Mum planted a swift kiss on my cheek, then turned to the cupboards, taking out a saucepan and a tin of baked beans, flashing me a smile as she got out the grater.
‘Beans on toast for tea?’ she asked, as if I hadn’t upended both our lives with this decision, by not telling her until it was a done deal and I was back on the doorstep.
‘We can do something fancier tomorrow, now I know you’ll be here. ’
‘Great,’ I managed past the lump in my throat.
It was this: sliding back into our old ways, almost as if I had never gone to university in the first place, that made me really question what I was doing for the first time.
But I’d done it, and there was no point crying about it.
I was back in Alperwick, and I would just have to make the most of it, do whatever I could to make this part of my life count.