Chapter Seven
The following evening, the shop was quiet in the last half hour before closing.
Dusk had fallen outside and the streetlights were coming on slowly.
Ivy was restocking the window display with winter-themed books.
She was positioning The Wolves of Willoughby Chase just so, when Josie appeared in the doorway, clutching a calculator, a pencil stuck into her grey curls, clucking disapprovingly.
‘What on earth are you still doing here, darling?’ she said. ‘It’s gone half six. Well after closing time. I thought you’d left hours ago.’
‘I don’t mind working a bit late,’ said Ivy, glancing furtively at the clock. She’d been thinking that if she worked really late, she could legitimately miss the pub.
‘What are you doing tonight?’ Josie asked innocently. ‘Didn’t you have some plans? With your old school friends who invited you to the pub?’
‘Um, yeah, sort of,’ mumbled Ivy.
‘I see.’ Josie’s eyes narrowed. ‘For a moment I thought you might be using work as an excuse not to go. But that’s silly of me. Why wouldn’t you want to get out there and have some fun with people your own age?’ The words for a change hung unspoken in the air.
Ivy sighed. Josie acted vague ninety per cent of the time but she occasionally had moments of terrifying perception.
‘Fine, you’ve got me,’ Ivy admitted. ‘The thing is, I don’t want to go.
They’ll all have had an amazing first term, whereas I’m in a rut.
’ She flung a piece of crepe paper seaweed crossly over The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
‘Darling, being in a rut is just the universe telling you it’s time to expand. Think of it as an invitation.’ Josie snapped her fingers. ‘I know what you should do. You should take Trip.’
‘Erin did want me to ask him,’ said Ivy. ‘But I’m sure he’s busy—’
‘It’s perfect. The poor boy must be bored rigid. One can only do so much yoga. And the pub is a British rite of passage,’ Josie said, already reaching for her phone. ‘I’ll text him now. Besides,’ she winked at Ivy, ‘he’ll create quite a stir at the Mariner’s Arms.’
‘I don’t think he’ll want to go and hang out with a load of strangers,’ Ivy said, as the bell above the door jingled and Trip strolled in as if on cue, cheeks pink from the cold, hands stuffed into the pockets of his navy pea coat.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Is Brooke back?’
‘She’s upstairs. But Ivy’s going to the pub tonight,’ Josie said hastily. ‘And we were just saying that you should go too. Experience some British culture. A pub night – it’s an institution.’
Trip’s face lit up. ‘A pub night?’
‘I don’t think the Mariner’s counts as culture,’ Ivy said, but Josie was already shoving her coat at her.
‘Go. Be young. Be fun. Be free. Don’t let Lou give you her new Cornish pasty pizza, it was really quite strange. Maybe chopped carrots don’t work with melted cheese …’
Trip gave Ivy a hopeful grin, eyes wide and earnest. ‘Would you mind if I tagged along?’
Ivy hesitated. It wasn’t that she minded, exactly.
After all, she was only planning on paying a flying visit to forestall any future invitations.
But Trip was so … happy. Golden and sunny, with his great hair and his constant good mood.
Whereas she already felt like a flat, grey smudge next to most people, let alone him.
Still, she didn’t have much choice, not now Josie had forced her hand. And Erin and Mei had seemed ultra-keen that Trip should come along. Ivy would be doing a good deed by bringing him. And at least she would be walking in with the hot boy who everyone was curious about …
‘Fine,’ she said at last, grabbing her scarf. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Have fun, darlings!’ trilled Josie as the door shut behind them. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do – and that rules out nothing.’
The walk to the Mariner’s Arms was long enough to be awkward with someone you barely knew. Not that Trip seemed to feel a trace of it.
‘The light’s different here,’ he said. ‘And the sea smells different too.’ He breathed in. ‘Sharper somehow than California.’ He nudged Ivy gently. ‘Can you smell that?’
Ivy found herself breathing deeply. The wind picked up as they turned on to the narrow street that led down to the harbour, the scent of salt and woodsmoke hanging in the air. A smell she knew in her very bones. For good or bad, it was the smell of home, she thought.
‘What part of California are you from again?’ she asked, curious in spite of herself. She had always wanted to visit California, where so many great artists had come from. ‘Was it Santa Cruz?’
‘My parents live outside of San Francisco in this fancy suburb.’ Trip had a smattering of freckles on his cheekbones that she hadn’t noticed until now.
‘My grandma’s house is right on the coast though.
She grew up in England actually, near London, but then she became the queen of the Santa Cruz hippies. ’
‘What’s Santa Cruz like? What are the vibes?’
‘Constant sunshine, surf, tacos, yoga studios.’
Ivy sighed, thinking of how far away it sounded from her own upbringing – windswept days shivering on the beach, school trips to the local farm and fish fingers for tea. ‘I’m beginning to understand you.’
He looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The constant good cheer. The yoga even when it’s freezing out. The optimism. The green juice …’
Trip laughed. ‘Hey, I’m getting used to all the caffeine and lack of vitamins. But maybe Fox Bay needs a little spirulina. Old Bill could certainly use it I reckon, from his description of his bowel movements.’ He winced.
‘I don’t want to know about Old Bill’s bowel movements, thanks very much. That’s another thing,’ Ivy said accusingly. ‘Giving Fin recipe tips. Helping out Simi. You’ve only known these people for about five minutes but you talk about them like you’re best friends.’
Trip shrugged. ‘They’re nice,’ he said simply. ‘I like talking to them.’
‘They’re weird, like everyone here.’ Ivy kicked a pebble and it scudded across the cobbles. She could feel Trip looking at her. ‘What?’ she said accusingly.
‘Oh, nothing.’ He gave her a sidelong smile. ‘It’s just … weird is good. Isn’t it? I think so anyway. The best artists must have been pretty weird, right?’
‘Hm,’ Ivy grunted, thinking that the inhabitants of Fox Bay were weird because they’d never experienced life outside Fox Bay, rather than because they were secretly artistic.
They turned the corner by the old post office, their steps falling into an easy rhythm.
The glow from a streetlamp caught in the tousled waves of Trip’s chestnut hair.
‘So are you still deciding on colleges?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. I have a place at Stanford,’ he said. ‘And another at NYU and another at BU in Boston. And some others outside of the States.’
‘Whoa,’ said Ivy, startled. ‘That’s … a lot of universities in a lot of different places.’ And she’d thought Fox Bay to Truro was a big move.
‘Right. It’s weird because usually I know exactly what I want to do but with this, I just can’t decide. It feels too big, you know? So I took this year off. Deferred my place.’
‘Seriously?’ asked Ivy bluntly. The idea of deferring college, the place she had dreamed about for so long, seemed incomprehensible.
Trip hesitated for a second too long, a contrast to his usual ready answers.
‘I just needed a break,’ he said eventually. ‘My sister and I had a busy year. So we decided we’d do something new. Travel a bit.’
Ivy glanced up at him. Trip was usually an open book, but now it felt like there was something he didn’t want to tell her. She remembered the air of mystery she’d felt around Brooke. ‘Remind me what your sister does again?’ she asked.
‘Um. Sales. Logistics.’
Ivy frowned. ‘Sales and logistics?’ She was sure that Brooke had said she did consulting.
‘Something like that. Look, we’re here.’
They had indeed reached the pub and its warm light spilled across the street. Ivy stopped, eyeing the front door warily. Laughter was filtering out, along with the smell of spiced cider and fried food.
‘You sure you’re ready for this?’ she asked.
Trip looked up at the creaking old sign swinging above them, then back at Ivy. His expression was unusually serious as he said, ‘Are you ready for this?’
Ivy gave a short laugh. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
Still, she didn’t move. On the other side of the door, amidst the comforting chaos of the Mariner’s Arms, her past was waiting.
She had imagined returning to Fox Bay one day a completely different person, preferably a hugely successful artist. And now here she was, back again within a matter of months, even more insignificant than before.
This is ridiculous, she told herself. She would know half of the people in the pub. One drink and then she’d leave. She just had to be brave and—
Get it over with, she thought. She took a deep breath and put her hand on the door handle. Waited.
‘Should we … go inside?’ Trip asked gently, after a minute.
‘Oh. Yeah, sure,’ Ivy said, flushing, and pushed the door open.
Standing on the threshold, she was met with the warm and cosy pub she remembered. But she’d never seen it this busy in winter. More tourists than usual, presumably chasing the cosy season vibes they had read about on Instagram. The fire was roaring and there was a low hum of chatter.
Looking more closely, Ivy could see that the Mariner’s Arms had also had something of a glow-up while she had been away.
New cushions on the mismatched benches. The drinks menu scrawled on chalkboard included a handful of cocktails – Fox on the Beach, the Cornwallpolitan – when before it had been pints or soft drinks only, or occasionally some mulled cider.
But the bones of the place were the same.
Twinkly fairy lights looped along the low ceiling beams, the scent of rosemary in the air.
And she could see the familiar figures of Simi behind the bar and Lou gathering up glasses.