Chapter Five
Over the next few days, Ivy began to wonder if Trip had cloned himself. It was the only logical explanation. Because he was everywhere.
No matter how early and how quietly Ivy had crept into the shop, there he was.
At the counter before she’d even switched the kettle on, raving about the ‘best croissant I’ve had since I was in Paris’ (Fin’s almond ones, obviously).
Then again at the Co-op, comparing oat milks and chatting away to Sarah, the bemused but charmed shelf-stacker about whether pea protein was actually more sustainable.
Later that week, Ivy noticed him outside the Mariner’s Arms, helping Simi unload casks of beer.
‘Thanks,’ Simi had said, wiping her hands on her jeans. ‘Whoever you are, you’re a lifesaver. I wasn’t sure I’d manage that on my own.’
‘No problem,’ Trip had said. And with a cheerful boy scout’s salute, he’d headed off. Probably to adjust his circadian rhythms or something, Ivy had thought bitterly, watching him go.
On Monday, a cold, misty morning, she sought refuge in the Driftwood Café, where she found Skye, Fox Bay’s coolest inhabitant, freshly back from London for the holidays, chattering away to Trip like an old friend as she frothed milk.
‘I can’t believe you were at Coachella this year,’ she was saying, as Ivy waited to order her double espresso. ‘I was there too. It was so cool.’
‘It was cool,’ Trip said happily. ‘There should be more festivals like that, only smaller and at more accessible price points. You know, I can totally imagine a festival here, on the beach.’
Skye’s eyes widened. ‘Now that would be awesome …’
Ivy exited swiftly, without ordering. She really didn’t need the coffee and any more of Trip’s seemingly boundless good spirits and big plans. On the way to the shop, she ran into Old Bill, Fox Bay’s unofficial mayor and teller of tall tales.
‘You have that Trip chap staying at the shop, don’t you?’ he asked Ivy, pushing back his sailor’s cap. ‘He’s a good lad.’
Ivy groaned. ‘Not you too, Bill.’ Surely someone in Fox Bay was immune to Trip’s relentless charm offensive.
‘Lad says he’s going to show me some of those yoga moves he’s always doing,’ Bill told Ivy, shifting the pipe that was permanently welded to his mouth. ‘Says it’ll keep me limber which is important for bone density as you age. And he wants me to give up smoking. Got to watch my chest, he says.’
‘How’s that working out for you?’ said Ivy, looking meaningfully at the pipe, which Bill lowered sheepishly.
Ivy unlocked the shop to find a woman sitting at the counter, wearing expensive-looking gym gear, reading Variety and drinking from a KeepCup.
‘Oh hi,’ said Ivy, wrestling the door shut. ‘You must be Brooke, Josie’s mysterious lodger, sister to the most cheerful man in the world.’
The woman considered her. She had Trip’s chestnut hair and brown eyes, although her hair was cut in a sleek bob and her eyes had a sharper, more knowing expression. ‘And you must be Ivy, the mysterious housekeeper. Thanks for the towels – I assume that’s you.’
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ Ivy said. ‘Josie’s paying me a bit extra for housekeeping but I’m really studying art and … anyway. How are you finding it here in Fox Bay?’
‘It’s only the most picturesque Airbnb ever.’ Brooke’s tone was dry. She cricked her neck. ‘Even though that bed is a killer. And that shower isn’t exactly warm.’
‘I tried to tell Josie Wildest Dreams needed some more improvements before she could rent it out. I think she’s hoping the view makes up for everything else.’
‘It is a great view,’ said Brooke, turning back to her magazine, clearly shutting down the conversation. While her brother could talk for the USA, she was clearly a woman of few words.
‘So you’re a Kathleen Lee fan, then?’ Ivy asked.
‘Not really,’ said Brooke. ‘I just came here for the vibes.’
Ivy frowned – hadn’t Josie said that Brooke was a fan?
Just then, the door opened. ‘Hey!’ Trip beamed, appearing in the doorway with coffee.
‘Brooke, you’re up! And you’ve met Ivy!’ He handed Ivy one of the takeaway cups.
‘I got you one too,’ he said. ‘Hope that’s okay.
Skye said this was your order. Double espresso? ’
‘Thanks,’ Ivy said, taking the cup, feeling a surge of gratitude. ‘I really fancied a coffee that doesn’t taste of dirt this morning.’
‘Isn’t this place awesome, Brooke?’ Trip said, his gaze lingering on the carved ceiling beams and little stained-glass panels above the door.
‘It’s great,’ said Brooke, still immersed in an article.
Trip was drinking his coffee and scanning the Fox Bay Sentinel. ‘There’s so much cosy stuff to do here,’ he said. ‘Look at this, Brooke. A winter pageant, put on by the local primary school. How cute is that?’
Did he ever stop talking, Ivy wondered. As though reading her mind, Brooke glanced up and rolled her eyes affectionately. ‘He’s like this all the time, you know,’ she said to Ivy. ‘Doesn’t pause for breath.’
‘Yeah,’ said Ivy, fighting back a smile. She hadn’t expected Trip’s sister to be so different to him. ‘I’ve noticed.’
Trip waved the paper, unfazed. ‘It’s part of a fundraising drive to save the library. We should see if we can help. Brooke, you’d be good at—’
‘I’m on holiday, remember?’ said Brooke sharply. Ivy was sure she shot her brother a warning look and he fell silent.
‘Why did you pick Fox Bay? It’s so out of the way,’ said Ivy, watching Brooke closely. There was something odd here, she thought. She just couldn’t put her finger on what.
‘Why not?’ Brooke said with a shrug. ‘I liked the idea of a nice old-fashioned English winter.’
‘In a town with no good hotels, one restaurant and a pizza van? In an Airbnb with a terrible mattress, a cold shower and no functioning coffee machine?’
‘Brooke works all the time,’ Trip chimed in. ‘I think she’s just looking to switch off for a bit. If Brooke’s not organising or booking or scheduling something, she’s lost.’
Brooke smiled thinly. ‘That’s because someone has to think five steps ahead.’
‘What do you do?’ asked Ivy.
‘Consulting. Boring.’
‘Ivy’s an artist,’ Trip said.
‘Good for you.’ Brooke stood and stretched. ‘Well, have fun kids. I’m going for a walk – alone.’ She pointed a finger at her brother. ‘Got that, Trip? Alone. I want peace and quiet, not having you point out every landmark you’ve decided is totally adorable.’
Trip grinned. ‘She’s kidding,’ he told Ivy. ‘She loves me really.’
Brooke rolled her eyes again, then headed out into the morning mist that still shrouded the cobbled streets, leaving behind the faintest scent of expensive perfume.
Ivy watched her go, frowning. Had Brooke seemed oddly evasive about her reasons for being here?
Or was Ivy so bored of Fox Bay life already that she was imagining drama where there wasn’t any?
Trip sipped his coffee happily. ‘She liked you.’
‘Really?’ said Ivy. She hadn’t got warm and fuzzy vibes from Brooke.
‘Yeah! I could tell. She doesn’t open up like that to just anyone.’
If that was Brooke opening up, Ivy wasn’t sure she wanted to get on her bad side.
She took a sip of her own coffee. Hot, bitter, delicious.
‘This is really nice coffee,’ she managed.
‘And it was … very thoughtful of you to get it for me.’ She headed into the stock room with a backwards wave.
‘Now if you don’t mind, I have to work.’
After their brief meeting, Brooke remained as reclusive as Aunt Josie had promised, preferring to hole up in her room typing furiously on her laptop, holding long, muttered calls, or going for solitary walks along the coast. In contrast, Trip remained ever present; always cheerful, always smiling, with his perfect hair flopping on to his forehead.
‘That young man,’ Josie remarked the next day while restocking the history section, ‘has a very distracting energy.’
‘Distracting?’ asked Ivy.
Josie laughed. ‘Not to me, of course, I could be his grandmother, but you know what I mean, don’t you? I’m surprised you can do any work at all with him around. Those eyes. Have you noticed the dimples yet?’
Ivy had no intention of agreeing out loud, but she was keenly aware of Trip’s dimples.
And also his eyes, and the way they changed according to the time of day.
Caramel brown in the morning sunlight, wide, warm brown as he burst in with some other new and apparently utterly charming Fox Bay discovery, crinkled with laughter in the twilight of closing time when he told them some hilarious anecdote from around the harbour.
Never had Ivy met someone so enthusiastic about everything and anything.
Which was very annoying. In fact, Trip was entirely lacking in the sort of intellectual depth that Ivy needed right now.
‘I do wish you’d show him around a bit, darling,’ Josie said now.
‘It feels churlish not to. Fox Bay is full of glorious secrets that only the locals know. The poor boy must be getting a bit bored, with his sister up in her room most of the time.’ Josie lowered her voice.
‘It’s quite odd behaviour. But I was thinking – maybe she has burnout.
I hear lots of young people have it these days.
I do wish she’d let me cleanse her aura.
’ Josie shook her head worriedly. ‘I hope she’s having a nice holiday here.
Anyway, it must be dull for Trip. Why don’t you take him on a tour? ’
‘I’m too busy to babysit Trip,’ Ivy said firmly. ‘If Trip wants a tour he can pay for one, along with the rest of the tourists.’
It was true – she was busy. Each time Trip had stopped to talk in the last forty-eight hours, Ivy had had her hands full.
Literally. Once with a stack of paperbacks, once with a hair-raising inventory that Josie had blithely asked her to ‘glance through’ and once with her phone buzzing from the winter pageant WhatsApp group that Ivy had been added to against her will.
As if on cue, it buzzed now in her pocket. She pulled it out. 178 unread messages.
Ivy groaned and started to read, scrolling through a fast-raging argument.
She had suspected the show planning would be a nightmare and so it was proving.
Mr Hargreaves, sweetly eccentric but ineffectual, had no more control over the Holiday Show Planning Committee than he did over his students.
The committee were growing anxious. The teacher heading up the direction, Mr Patterson, had ideas that were so bold and so experimental that Ivy thought privately they hovered on the edge of lunacy.
Things were escalating by the second. Mr Patterson had floated the idea of the entire show being performed in Cornish and there was now a vigorous debate raging over whether they could light an actual bonfire on stage to represent Midwinter traditions.
Mr Patterson suggested the smugglers could also fight the tax collectors in a ‘politically loaded act of defiance’.
Technically, Ivy didn’t need to do anything until rehearsals started the following week, so she could – again, technically – ignore these messages.
But Ivy found that if she didn’t nip the ideas in the bud, the group got more and more carried away.
Every time she reached for her sketchbook to do some actual art, her phone buzzed.
Or someone came in to ask for the latest Kathleen Lee.
Or Trip appeared, trying to talk to her about running or yoga.
It was all too much. With a sudden burst of decision, she muted the show WhatsApp and flung her phone in the drawer along with a heap of rubber bands and some crystals.
There. She wanted as little part in the show and the attendant madness as possible. Once a loner, always a loner.
It was much safer that way.