Chapter 10
10
‘I’m sorry.’ Lily leant forward, not looking especially sorry. ‘Have you not come here to visit Pip?’
I took a slow sip of wine. It was almost fully dark now. A bat flitted across the indigo sky. Even here, what I presumed to be fairly inland, I could hear the water and feel the faint scratch of salt air upon my skin.
‘It’s been a very unusual day.’
‘Ooh, good. Start from the beginning and tell me all about it.’ Lily settled back, pulling one of the throws scattered about across her knees. ‘And look – even better.’
Malcolm, who had lingered in the kitchen, appeared carrying an enormous board covered in cheese, slices of crusty baguette, grapes and other fruit.
I was so hungry that I overcame my politeness and filled a plate before reciting the events of the day.
‘So,’ I finished, after another round of cheese and second glass of wine, ‘I have no idea how long I’m staying for, or what I’m going to get up to. My only plan is to sit on the beach and read my mum’s letters.’
‘And you’ve no clue who the man is?’
‘Only his initial.’ I wasn’t ready to share that yet.
‘You might have figured out that everyone knows everyone here. If it’s a C or an L, then it might not be straightforward, but if it’s, I don’t know, an F or a V, then I could be introducing you by tomorrow evening.’
‘Did he give anything else away?’ Malcolm asked. ‘About his occupation, or whether he lived in a village or on the coast? His family?’
I took a moment to consider how to answer. I’d not come here with the intention of finding this man. I still had no idea how the story ended for him and Mum, whether he really was the person in the photograph, or if he’d turned out to be someone unkind, or even dangerous. There had to be a reason my mother developed such a bitter attitude towards men and marriage.
‘Not really. But I’ve only read a couple of the letters.’ I put my glass on the table. ‘Um, if you don’t mind, I’ve been awake since four-thirty. I think I might head to bed.’
‘Of course.’ Lily heaved herself up. ‘I’m amazed you’ve got the energy to string a sentence together after today.’
We walked back to the hall and up a wide staircase that led to a corridor with six doors.
‘These doors are the guest bedrooms, although yours is the only one finished at the moment. That door at the end leads to the top floor, where there’s bedrooms for everyone you’ve met plus Jack, our six-year-old, and Beanie.’
She opened the yellow-room door, and I followed her in.
‘You’re my guinea pig, so let me know if there’s anything obvious missing, broken or that isn’t quite perfect. There’s a hot drinks station and mini fridge, towels and a robe, spare blanket in the wardrobe in case it gets chilly… breakfast is whenever you like because we aren’t officially open yet. Oh, and this is the login and password for the Internet. It’s patchy at best, but we’ve dial-up downstairs if you need it. Anything else I’ve forgotten?’
‘I can’t think of anything.’
I’d never stayed in a B&B before, so had no idea.
‘Great. My number’s on the notepad by the bed. Message if you need anything – day or night. Treat this as if you’re a paying customer, because you are. I used to run a café so I know the value of secret family recipes.’
She slipped out, almost shutting the door before flinging it open again and coming back to squeeze my arm.
‘I’m so glad you’re here. My brother hasn’t looked like that in a very long time. It’s lovely for him to have a… friend.’
I waited for her footsteps to disappear downstairs, then changed into my new pyjamas before settling on the bed with a decaf tea and a home-made brownie from the refreshments tray. A small bedside lamp bathed the room in a gentle glow. Like the rest of Sunflower Barn, it was styled with simple décor that oozed quality. Mum had always scoffed about spending money on fripperies like cushions or pictures. A house was meant to be functional. Who cared what it looked like?
Me , I realised as I compared Sunflower Barn’s clean lines with my battered old bedroom. It made me feel peaceful. Soothed. And, given how my life had tumbled into a rabbit hole, I appreciated that more than I’d thought possible.
I replied to Blessing’s numerous text messages while I sipped my tea, answering her questions and sending anything helpful that my frazzled brain could think of. I logged into the Wi-Fi, then typed a reply to Gregory’s email reminding him there were ten days before the contract ran out, and I was on my first holiday ever so please back off. Then, instead of pressing send, I deleted it, deleted his email and fetched the stash of letters from my bag.
12 November 1985
My Dearest Nellie,
The storm last week brought the telephone wires down. Lorcan Davies will hopefully have them up and running before this letter reaches you, but I couldn’t wait to let you know that I’ve booked my flights. Da is not pleased, but Richard says he’s happy to keep things ticking over for a week. Bucky will lend a hand if anything untoward happens, but I’m sure Da and my brother will be grand.
I’ll be landing at midday on 27 March. I can’t believe I’ll have gone a whole seven months without seeing your face (or kissing you!) but the photographs help – thank you for sending them. I’d be wondering if last summer was a foolish dream if it wasn’t for hearing your beautiful voice every Sunday. Speaking with you is like a drink of water from Liath Spring after six days labouring in the dirt. I’m afraid that knowing I’ll be with you in March could make the days drag even slower. But I’m a farmer and, even as my heart bursts with longing, patience is in my bones.
Besides, there’s plenty of work to keep me occupied. Ma wants a new greenhouse for her spring seedlings, on top of everything else. Da is slower every year, although he’d rather blame the tools or the weather – his sons – anything but admit he’s growing old. Which again brings up the same arguments about investing some money into making the farm easier. If it was up to him, we’d still be harvesting with a scythe.
Anyway, I’m rambling again.
All this was simply to tell you that I’ll be in Nottingham before you know it.
And I love you.
And will think of you and miss you every minute between now and then.
Entirely yours,
With faith, hope and love
G
I lay in the luxurious bed for a long time that night, gazing at the sliver of moon through the window. My thoughts tossed up and down like a dinghy from Port Cathan harbour out on the Irish Sea: Mum. The kiosk. How Barnie had the audacity to charge a pound for those mutant doughnuts.
I thought about change. How terrifying it had always seemed. How exhausting it was proving to be.
And yet, like when doing anything momentous or significant – climbing a mountain, building a house, or childbirth – I imagined, because I’d never come close to doing any of those things – for the first time in longer than I could bear to remember, I felt properly, wholly alive.
The last thought, before my mind gently drifted into the harbour of sleep?
I had talked, and laughed, and sat in a truck beside Pip.
I was in his sister’s house. He’d come to find me.
His family seemed to believe Pip liked me, as more than a friend.
Could I dare to believe it too?