Chapter Seventeen
For the next couple of days, Ivy buried herself in work and the show.
She put in long shifts at the shop, then headed to the school art room where she busied herself setting up displays and crafting props like her life depended on it.
She finished a papier-maché boat, finessed her hand-painted Arthurian castle and gave herself a migraine gluing feathers to angel wings for the carol section.
Anything to stay busy. Anything to stay out of Trip’s way.
The hurt look in his eyes as he stood in the doorway of Wildest Dreams kept replaying itself in Ivy’s head as she lay in bed at night.
But so did the image of his arm round Madison.
Her desire to avoid him seemed to be mutual.
Aside from two polite ‘good mornings’ and a ‘good luck at rehearsal’, she and Trip barely spoke.
Not properly. She hardly even saw him, just a glimpse here and there – deep in conversation with Callum about the sound cues, a distant laugh in the rehearsal hall, chatting to the piano tuner, bussed in from Truro to try and persuade the piano into something approximating the right key.
As the days passed, Ivy was no longer sure who was avoiding who.
She learned to listen for footsteps on the old staircase, so she could vanish behind a stack of hardbacks or slip out to the stockroom the second she sensed his presence.
And yet, she couldn’t really escape Trip because, everywhere she went, someone was talking about him. It was like the residents of Fox Bay were his biggest fan club.
‘After seeing him sail, I’d trust him with my own boat,’ Old Bill told her seriously, clapping a hand to the faded wood as Ivy went for a brisk walk along the beach one morning to clear her head.
‘And look at this.’ He held out his arm, sleeve rolled up, to display a nicotine patch.
‘I’ve gone four days without my pipe,’ he said proudly.
‘The hypnosis podcast Trip sent me really works.’
‘Can you tell Trip we need numbers for the food for the after-party?’ Lou said, thrusting a piece of paper into Ivy’s hand as she stopped by the Mariner’s Arms to collect some old cardboard boxes to use as props. ‘He can choose anything on here and I’ll do him a special on the pizza.’
‘He’s such a sweet boy,’ her own mum said outside the Co-op, fondly looking after Trip as he disappeared round the corner, whistling loudly. ‘You should see him with the kids at rehearsals, Ivy. Livvie adores him and you know she’s a tough nut to crack.’
Outside the corner grocer, Ivy nearly collided with Melissa, the town librarian, who was balancing two canvas bags full of what looked like books and packets of biscuits.
‘Oh! Ivy. It’s you,’ Melissa said, slightly breathless. She had a bobble hat pulled down against the fierce wind over her crew cut. ‘I was just thinking about you.’
‘You were?’
‘Well, not just you,’ Melissa said, hoisting the bag higher.
‘The whole lot of you. Mr Hargreaves, all of you wonderful young people, the children putting on the show. I can’t thank you enough.
Things have been pretty tight at the library.
I can’t do it all by myself, you know – it would mean the world to hire an assistant.
But there’s some good news – Trip helped me put in an extra funding grant application for additional staff.
He made a very impassioned case about literacy funding.
He said the show will only get us so far. ’
‘Oh,’ said Ivy. ‘Well, he’s right about that.’
Melissa beamed. ‘He’s a good person. I work with books. I’m excellent at reading people.’
Ivy smiled and nodded, but her insides twisted every time someone said how kind or funny or sweet or helpful Trip was.
She wasn’t proud of what she’d said about him the other day and even less proud that she had accidentally said it all to his face.
She hadn’t even meant it, not really. She had just been lashing out because she’d felt foolish and exposed and humiliated.
Like she had put herself out there for a change, allowed herself to believe in some good luck, and it had backfired.
All the same, she thought, he’d had no reason to look so hurt. He had been the one to stop texting her. Left her hanging. And then he’d been all over Instagram, grinning like he was in People magazine, with that shiny-haired, beautiful girl. Madison. So how dare he look like a wounded puppy?
So why did she still feel so guilty?
On Thursday, with only two days to go until the show, Ivy had ducked out of the art room to decompress after gluing countless newspaper barnacles on to the boat hull, a thankless, sticky job.
She was just taking some gulps of biting afternoon air when Brooke appeared, perfectly composed as always, wearing an expensive-looking puffer coat with a beige cashmere turtleneck underneath, and carrying a travel mug in one hand.
‘Hey,’ she said briskly. ‘I was coming to find you. Trip said you’d be up here. Got a sec?’
Ivy tensed, feeling unaccountably nervous. ‘Kind of in the middle of—’
‘Because I’d still love to see that cove,’ Brooke said. ‘The one from the Ocean Deep launch party that was all over Insta? I’ve got an hour to kill and I can’t find it on Google Maps.’
‘You won’t find it on Google Maps,’ said Ivy. ‘It’s hidden. Although it’s kind of an open secret to everyone around here.’
‘Cool. Another Fox Bay secret.’ Brooke bounced on her feet in a way that reminded Ivy of Trip. ‘Shall we go then?’
Ivy stared at her. ‘Wait. You mean, now?’
‘Sure. That is if I can tear you away from the play prep.’ She glanced at Ivy’s paint-stained hands. ‘I’d really appreciate it.’
Her expression was neutral, but again Ivy couldn’t quite read what was underneath. Still, curiosity won. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I need a break anyway. My car’s just down here.’
Brooke took a seat in the battered Fiat, gingerly moving the crisp packets and rolls of canvas aside so she could sit down. She buckled herself in, then sneezed several times in rapid succession.
‘Would you mind if I open the window for some air?’ she asked politely as Ivy pulled out. She began to pick fluff off her coat. ‘Only I think I’m allergic to … something in here.’
‘It’s quite old,’ said Ivy apologetically. ‘We think the previous owner was a smoker because the seats have always smelled a bit weird. Um—’ she went on, as Brooke’s window stubbornly refused to budge despite her efforts. ‘You have to sort of hit it with your elbow …’
‘You know what, it doesn’t matter,’ said Brooke. She opened her shoulder bag and drew out a clear plastic pouch full of various pills and vitamins. ‘I’ll just take an antihistamine.’
The drive to the cove was quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t entirely comfortable. Ivy kept her eyes on the road while Brooke watched the sea as they curved round the bay, her legs crossed, perfectly still.
The car lurched down the lane and up on to the verge in the unofficial parking space that Ivy knew so well.
When she was little and the main beach was busy, her mum would say they could visit the secret cove and take a picnic and swim.
The cove was usually deserted, with only the occasional visitor.
Even after Wildest Dreams had thrown a seriously aesthetic book launch for Ocean Deep here, and it had become semi-famous with booktokers and travel instagrammers, its whereabouts seemed to have remained secret.
As far as Ivy knew, no tourists had discovered it.
‘I haven’t been here for ages,’ said Ivy, turning off the ignition and still struggling to make conversation. ‘I hope it’s worth seeing.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ said Brooke, shoving the door open with difficulty and stepping outside, her hiking shoes sinking into the sand. ‘Down here?’
The cove was tucked into the coastline, hidden by cliffs on either side, the path so narrow and overgrown that walking down here almost felt like trespassing.
Brooke and Ivy half walked, half skidded their way down until they emerged into the little clearing.
The sea here was always quieter than anywhere else along the coast, curtailed by a crescent of white sand.
The wind was hushed by the shelter of the cliffs and an old boat sat half-buried at one end of the beach, blue paint worn and faded, its name illegible.
Over the years, local children had turned it into a pirate ship to play on or a fairy castle.
Last summer, it had apparently become a makeshift bookshop for the Ocean Deep launch party, strung with fairy lights and bunting.
Ivy found herself drawing a long breath as the memories came flooding back to her.
Memories of scampering over this sand as a child, bucket and spade in hand.
Her college deadline, her insecurities, the hurt look in Trip’s eyes – it all melted away.
Ivy closed her eyes and took herself back to a time when all she’d had to worry about was whether she would be allowed an ice cream before dinner.
When she opened them again, she saw that Brooke had whipped out her phone and was taking a series of rapid photos in the grey afternoon light. She scrolled through before nodding, satisfied. ‘Incredible,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘This is perfect.’
Ivy, meanwhile, was turning in a slow circle around the cove.
She had known this quiet beach her whole life, yet, as with her trip to the lighthouse the other morning, she felt like she was seeing it afresh.
The new and familiar combining. She thought of Trip’s words.
‘Sometimes a break from a place isn’t a bad thing. You come back, you see it differently.’
‘It’s so peaceful,’ remarked Brooke. ‘Even the birds are quiet. I could use a place like this from time to time.’ She glanced at Ivy and drew a deep breath.
‘Listen, Ivy,’ she said decisively. ‘I’ve got to admit to an ulterior motive in getting you to drive me here today. I wanted to talk to you. About Trip.’