Chapter Seven #3
‘Like a gap year?’ Erin asked.
Trip nodded. ‘Something like that. I wanted to see a bit of the world.’ He added quietly, almost to himself, ‘You can have a lifetime of adventures just by saying yes.’
‘A lifetime of adventures?’ said Erin, looking confused.
His flush deepened. ‘It’s a family saying,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to live by it.’
‘Where have you been?’ Ivy asked longingly. She had never left England.
‘Um. Everywhere,’ Trip said with a sheepish smile. ‘Mexico for a surf camp and to see some distant relatives. Iceland for a glacier hike. Rome for the history. Sardinia for the pasta. Paris for the art and the food. And now … here.’ He gestured around at the pub, like Fox Bay was just as special.
Ivy felt a surge of envy. She thought of her mum fretting over her fees, the tiny, cramped room where she stayed in Truro, stuffed with her art materials, the hours commuting on buses in the dark.
The way she’d come home for the holidays not because she wanted to, but because it was the only place she could live rent-free.
And here was Trip, flitting across countries, no looming deadlines, no extra jobs to pay for petrol, no guilt.
Offers from high-end colleges whenever he decided to make a decision.
Lucky him, she thought. Must be nice to go wherever the wind took you.
No wonder he was always so thrilled with life.
‘Honestly,’ Trip said hastily, as though reading her mind, ‘it’s been great, but it’s also kind of terrifying. Everyone else has a plan, you know?’ He gestured to Erin, Mei and Callum. Not me, Ivy thought.
‘You guys seem so certain about what you want to do,’ Trip continued, ‘whereas I keep thinking … what if I pick wrong?’
There was a beat of silence. Ivy caught his eye, and for once, he didn’t look like his usual cheerful, confident self. He looked, briefly, as uncertain as she felt.
‘Welcome to the club,’ she muttered, before she could stop herself. ‘Nagging uncertainty. Existential dread. It sucks.’
Trip gave her a brief, tentative smile. ‘Thanks.’ He gathered himself. ‘So you guys have all known each other since school?’
‘Yeah,’ said Mei. ‘Only Ivy was always a bit of a loner.’ She shook her head, smiling. ‘She and Raye were too busy being arty and mysterious to hang out much.’
‘Yeah,’ said Callum, laughing. ‘Ivy, remember when you called me a philistine for putting your picture the wrong way up?’
‘Or when you wore that placard for a week as performance art,’ said Erin. ‘Teachers kept begging you to take it off because you couldn’t fit through doors.’
‘Yeah, I remember.’ Ivy felt herself tensing. For some reason she didn’t want Trip to think she had been an outsider at school. A weirdo. Even though she had admittedly been both of those things.
But Trip just shrugged. ‘Ivy sounds like she was pretty cool at school,’ he said, looking right at her with his warm, caramel eyes.
Ivy rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, please,’ she said. ‘Whatever.’ But she couldn’t help it. She was smiling. Someone – even if it was a bizarrely cheerful and aimless globe-trotting American tourist – thought she, Ivy Pearson, was pretty cool.
‘Ivy’s all right,’ said Erin, grinning at her. ‘Or she would be if she cracked a smile more often.’
Callum nudged Ivy affectionately. Mei giggled.
The dog wagged his tail vigorously and licked Trip’s hand.
Just for a moment, Ivy saw the pub through Trip’s warm, delighted gaze.
Saw her old school friends as funny and welcoming.
Saw the fairy lights and worn tables and even the disgusting Cornish pasty pizza as charming.
She had missed Fox Bay, she realised, with a faint pang in her chest. She just hadn’t known it till now.
After three drinks instead of the promised one, Ivy decided it was time to leave. It had been okay, she thought cautiously – better than she had expected, anyway – but she didn’t want to push it. The others gathered their things as well and headed out into the night.
The air was bitterly cold. Eyes watering, Ivy zipped up her coat and rubbed at her arms as the group stood outside, chatting and making vague plans for the weekend.
‘Hot chocolates at the Driftwood on Saturday, Ivy?’ Mei said. ‘Are you in?’
‘I’ll probably be working,’ Ivy said evasively. ‘And doing stuff for the school show. Mum’s roped me into helping with the props.’
‘Wait, we could help with the show too,’ said Erin suddenly. ‘Remember Mr H’s shows in primary school? I miss doing them together. And Lucy is dead excited about it. Do you think they need an extra pair of hands, Ivy?’
‘Yeah,’ said Callum. ‘I could help with the sound maybe.’
‘And I can do stage-manager stuff,’ said Mei. ‘I’m used to bossing people around behind the bar. I even have a headpiece from when I was Leavers’ Prom co-ordinator.’ She beamed at Ivy. ‘We could hang out properly. I want to hear more about your art project.’
‘And you didn’t tell us whether you met any hot guys at college,’ said Erin.
‘Um,’ said Ivy, the warmth she’d felt in the pub rapidly fading, ‘I’ll ask Mr H if he needs anyone.’ If she didn’t accidentally forget, she thought. She could keep up the pretence that everything was fine for a few hours, but any more than that would be hard.
‘Yeah, text us and let us know. Night, guys!’ Erin called, looping arms with Mei and Callum. ‘So good to see you!’
‘You too,’ Ivy said, waving.
‘I’ll walk you back,’ Trip said.
‘You don’t have to,’ she said. ‘My car’s parked a bit away from the bookshop. I’ll be fine on my own.’
‘It’s okay, I’d like the walk. If you want the company.’ He hesitated. ‘Or maybe you’re ready for a bit of peace and quiet?’
Ivy groaned internally. She was ready for peace and quiet and she wasn’t sure Trip had it in him to be quiet for more than a minute at a time. ‘How about we walk and … don’t talk?’ she said, trying to be as tactful as possible. ‘Can you manage that, do you think?’
‘I can try,’ Trip said seriously.
‘Fine. We can walk back along the beach in that case.’
They set off along the sand, the warmth of the pub quickly fading behind them. For a few blissful minutes, neither of them spoke.
Then Trip broke.
‘Your friends are great,’ he said. ‘Super welcoming.’
‘They’re not actually my friends,’ Ivy said quickly, and then felt bad.
She tried to explain. ‘I mean, we didn’t hang out all that much at school.
It was mostly just me and Raye and then those guys were more like …
acquaintances I saw every day. Because we all did art together.
Otherwise, we don’t have much in common. They’re too popular for me.’
Trip walked quietly for a minute. ‘They seem to think they’re your friends,’ he said at last. ‘They seem to really like you.’
Ivy let out a sharp laugh. ‘Of course you’d think that. Because everyone does like you.’
He frowned. ‘That’s not … do they?’
‘Yes! Everyone loves you, ergo you think everyone is great. It’s infuriating,’ Ivy snapped, surprising them both. Where had that come from?
Trip slowed to a stop, looking at her, clearly also confused. ‘Hey. What’s wrong?’
She stopped too and stood looking at him. What’s wrong? She didn’t know exactly. Trip was looking at her, entirely serious for once. Like he really wanted to know. And all of a sudden, words were bubbling to the surface.
‘I feel like I’m failing at everything,’ she found herself saying.
‘You heard the others. They’re loving uni.
Having this transformative experience. Finding themselves.
Whereas me? I spend most nights alone in a bedsit.
Everyone’s out there doing all these amazing things and I can’t even draw anything lately.
I’m an artist and I can’t draw!’ Her voice rose to a wail.
Trip opened his mouth but before he could speak, she carried on.
‘I hate commuting for college every day. I hate leaving the house when it’s dark and getting back when it’s dark and missing out on all the fun stuff.
It’s lonely. I let a stupid pretentious art boy break my heart.
I’m behind on my project and my tutor Jess thinks I’m rubbish.
And the worst thing is, she’s right.’ She let out a hard sob, unable to keep it in any more.
‘I thought art school would make me feel like I was finally becoming the person I always knew I could be, once I left this place. Growing up, I always had this – this spark when it came to art. Like it was meant to be. But it’s not what I expected,’ she finished forlornly. ‘At all.’
There was a long silence. Ivy realised she was properly crying now and she groped blindly in her pockets for a tissue. ‘I know it’s stupid, I know people have it worse …’
‘It’s not stupid,’ Trip said quietly. He pushed a handkerchief into her hand and she took it gratefully, scrubbing at her cheeks. ‘It sounds like you’ve had a really tough time. I get it.’
‘You don’t get it,’ she muttered, but all her anger was gone now and she just felt sad and tired. ‘You, Trip Wakefield, are clearly not accustomed to failure.’
‘I mean, I get looking forward to something and then it falling flat.’ He gave her a crooked smile.
‘I meant what I said back there, Ivy. I’ve known you for a week and I can already tell you’re pretty cool.
Don’t let a bad start at art school put you off what you’re meant to do with your life.
That spark you had growing up? You’ll get it back. ’
Ivy looked out at the vast dark sea, speckled with lights, and let out another wail. ‘God, you’re annoyingly good at this.’
He waited while she wiped her eyes. She looked down at the handkerchief.
‘Is this monogrammed?’ she asked, seeing the initials E.W. embroidered on the corner. ‘Seriously?’
He laughed. ‘It’s my dad’s. But yeah.’ She held out the damp piece of cloth. ‘Why don’t you, um, keep it?’
‘Okay,’ she said, stuffing it into her pocket. ‘Sorry about that. I’m over it. No more self-pity. I think the lemonade went to my head.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘Let’s go.’ Trip opened his mouth and she held up a hand. ‘Seriously. I do not want to talk about it.’
They walked on in silence. ‘What shall we talk about then?’ whispered Trip, clearly unable to take it, and Ivy burst out laughing.
‘You’re ridiculous. Okay, I have a question for you. Is Trip your actual name? Or is it short for something?’
He shook his head, mock-hurt. ‘You don’t think it’s an actual name? Wow. Aren’t you named after a plant?’
‘I’m named after my great-great-aunt. It could have been worse – the other one was called Dorcus. Come on. Is Trip at least short for something?’
He grinned at her. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’
‘Triple chocolate cake,’ she guessed.
‘Delicious, but no.’
‘Triplet?’
‘Sorry. Just me and my sister.’
‘Tripe?’
‘I tried it in Paris and no. Not for me.’
Ivy laughed again, startling herself.
They reached her car. ‘Well,’ she said, brushing her thick hair off her face and rocking back on her heels. ‘Sorry again for the dramatics. Thanks for the walk. And the impromptu therapy.’
‘Any time,’ he said, turning to go. ‘See you tomorrow, Ivy.’
She watched him walk off, hands deep in his pockets. How is even his walk cheerful?, she thought.
As she was turning the engine over for the third time, trying to persuade the car to start, a text came through.
‘Don’t make me tell you again. You’re pretty cool, Ivy.’
She was smiling as the engine flared into life.
She was still smiling when she pulled up at home.
She headed up the stairs, opened the door and stepped inside the flat, shrugging off her coat.
Her mum was on the sofa where she was highlighting Liv’s script for the show and watching a black-and-white Halloween movie.
Ivy tried to sneak past but her mum looked up.
‘Hang on,’ she said. She reached for the remote and pressed pause, the frame showing the masked killer with knife raised. ‘Something’s up. Something is different about you.’
‘You know, usually in winter people watch cosy movies,’ said Ivy. ‘Not slashers.’
Her mum ignored her. ‘I’ve got it. That’s what’s different. You look almost … happy.’
‘I’m not,’ Ivy replied automatically.
Her mum smiled. ‘Right. Of course not.’ She shrugged and reached for the remote again. ‘Well, whatever you are, it makes a nice change.’