Chapter Eighteen #2
Ivy spread out her supplies on the counter, cracked open her tea, and began work.
The fairy lights cast a soft glow across the shelves, and for the first time that day, she felt herself relax, sinking into the paper-folding rhythm.
She didn’t have enough of the original colours and decided that these fish would have to be of the more exotic sort than those usually found in a Cornish sea – lime green, purple and fuchsia pink.
She’d barely folded six fish, though, when the bell over the door jangled. She looked up, startled.
Trip stood there, wind-tousled and flushed from the cold, holding two steaming paper parcels with ‘Cod Almighty’ emblazoned on them.
‘Hey. I thought you could use some fish,’ he said. ‘And chips. But mostly fish.’ He winced. ‘Sorry, that’s a bad joke. I brought fish because you’re folding fish and …’
Ivy let out a laugh. ‘Got it. That’s a terrible joke. But, thank you,’ she added shyly. ‘I’m actually starving.’
‘Me too.’ He held out one of the bags. ‘Take a break?’
They sat in a fort made of beanbags and cushions in the kids’ section, legs crossed, paper crinkling between them.
They ate in comfortable silence and Ivy couldn’t help wondering whether she had imagined the awkwardness of the past few days.
It felt as easy as always between them – or almost. The warm light of the shop made everything look cosy – the stacks of books, the painted backdrops stacked against the walls that Ivy would take to the town hall in the morning, Josie’s array of crystals and the glinting bottles left over from last summer, when everything had changed for Fox Bay.
‘How are you feeling about tomorrow?’ Ivy asked at last. ‘Your big UK directorial debut.’
‘I’m nervous for all the kids,’ Trip said. ‘They’re so excited. I really hope they nail it. But I’m excited too. When I started this, I thought it would be fun …’
‘You thought putting on a show in a draughty town hall with a collection of Cornwall’s biggest divas – and I’m not talking about the kids – would be fun?’
‘Yeah, I did. But I hadn’t realised how much fun.’ Trip turned to her, eyes crinkling. ‘Is that lame?’
‘No,’ Ivy said, flushing under his gaze.
She turned back to her food, rooting around for a big chip.
‘I don’t think that’s lame.’ She meant it, she realised.
Trip’s enthusiasm for the Fox Bay show, his friendliness and kindness to everyone, his willingness to throw himself into the least likely projects – even his concern for Old Bill’s health – were all what made him so special.
They fell silent again, the distant sound of the waves barely audible through the shop walls. Ivy recalled Raye’s advice. Be brave. Which meant addressing the elephant in the room.
‘Listen,’ said Ivy, clearing her throat. ‘About the other day … what I said when you got back from London. I’m sorry. You weren’t meant to hear all that and I didn’t even mean it. But I still shouldn’t have said it.’
‘It’s okay,’ Trip said, staring at his chips, ‘you don’t need to apologise. I know I can get carried away. And talk a lot and be annoying. Brooke’s always telling me to chill out. It’s fine.’
‘No, it’s not. I was being mean, and childish, and—’ Ivy took a deep breath. Be brave, be brave, be brave. ‘Well, honestly, I was kind of jealous.’
Trip looked up sharply. ‘Jealous?’
Ivy gave a half-laugh. She was embarrassed but determined to plough on now she had started.
‘Yeah, I mean one minute we were texting loads and making jokes and then … suddenly it stopped. I knew you were busy but … well, then I saw a picture on Instagram.’ She risked a quick glance at him and saw he was looking utterly confused.
‘It was of you and a girl,’ she went on.
‘An incredibly pretty girl. Her hair was all …’ Ivy flapped her hand, ‘all shiny.’
There was another beat, in which Trip looked even more bewildered. Then his expression cleared. His eyes widened in realisation. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again.
‘Oh,’ he said at last. ‘Right. That incredibly pretty girl.’
Ivy hurried on. ‘I know you don’t owe me any explanation—’
‘The thing is …’ Trip rubbed the back of his neck, ‘the thing is, Ivy, I wasn’t telling you the whole truth about why Brooke and I went to London.’
‘You weren’t?’ said Ivy, startled. That wasn’t what she had been expecting Trip to say at all.
‘Yeah. We didn’t go there for sightseeing, you see. I mean, we saw some stuff, but we went for another reason – something I can’t tell you about yet.’
‘You … can’t tell me why you went to London?’ asked Ivy, now feeling increasingly bewildered herself.
‘No. I promised I wouldn’t.’ He looked sheepish. ‘But I can tell you that I wasn’t avoiding you.’
‘Wait,’ said Ivy. ‘You’re telling me that you and Brooke were doing something top secret in London?’ Maybe Brooke really was a spy, she thought. ‘With that incredibly pretty girl? Come on, Trip. You can just say if you have a girlfriend, rather than make up some—’
‘I don’t have a girlfriend!’ said Trip. ‘Me and that girl—’
‘That incredibly pretty girl,’ Ivy reminded him.
‘Right, me and that incredibly pretty girl only hung out for an hour or so and it definitely wasn’t whatever you were thinking it was.’ There was a flush on Trip’s cheekbones. Quietly, he added, ‘If I could’ve spent that whole weekend talking to anyone, Ivy, it would’ve been you.’
A beat passed.
Then Ivy’s shoulders relaxed a little. ‘Really?’
Their eyes met. ‘Really,’ Trip said.
Ivy found herself grinning, a huge grin that hurt her cheeks.
Trip would rather have been talking to her than that girl, and suddenly that was all she needed to hear.
And okay, the secrecy around the trip to London was pretty weird – but he seemed genuine and besides, he had brought her fish and chips …
‘Okay,’ she said, feeling like a weight had been lifted off her chest. ‘I guess I’ll find out what you were doing in London one day, right?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, nodding vigorously. ‘Definitely. One day really soon. And you’ll like it. I think.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not great at keeping secrets,’ he admitted ruefully.
‘That is not a surprise.’ Ivy dunked a chip in her ketchup and glanced around at the stacks of origami paper, the piles of cardboard. ‘I forgot how much fun this can be,’ she said suddenly.
‘This?’
‘Yeah. This last-minute, putting-on-a-show stuff. All the rushing and the mess and the weird creative decisions that don’t make any sense until suddenly they do.
It reminds me of my A-level art show. It reminds me why I loved it so much.
Especially when stuff doesn’t go to plan.
You end up with something even more spectacular. ’ She giggled. ‘Like acid-green fish.’
Trip smiled. ‘Don’t tell me the Fox Bay show has inspired you artistically?’
Ivy didn’t answer for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘Maybe.’ She thought of her sketchbook of hasty drawings and wondered.
For a moment, the two of them just sat there, legs touching slightly, fingers salty, surrounded by greasy paper and cold chips. Trip leaned his head back against a beanbag. ‘Oh, man. Tomorrow’s going to be completely ridiculous, isn’t it?’
‘Completely,’ Ivy said. She groaned and wiped her hands on a napkin. ‘Speaking of which, I had better get back to these fish. It’s going to take all night.’ She flexed her fingers. ‘Time to get folding.’
‘I can help, if you want,’ he said.
She glanced at him. ‘Was origami one of your Boy Scouts’ badges?’
‘I have literally no idea how to fold an origami fish. But I learn fast.’ He stood and held out his hand. ‘Come on.’
And so, perched at the counter on stools, they folded to the sound of a George Michael marathon on the radio.
Slowly, awkwardly at first, then with growing rhythm.
Coloured paper piled between them, Trip’s hands working steadily.
Ivy kept sneaking glances at his face, soft in the low light, intent on his work.
The hours passed. They made jokes about tomorrow’s show and took bets on which of the twins would forget their lines first and whether the lightning blast that heralded King Arthur’s entrance would ever land on cue and if they should put a warning at the start in case of nervous dogs.
At last, as the hands on Josie’s ancient clock turned two in the morning (which actually meant it was twenty past), Ivy reverently laid down her last fish.
‘Done,’ she whispered, cradling one exhausted hand in the other. ‘Three-hundred-and-fifty paper fish.’
Trip laughed and pushed back his hair. ‘Phew. I’m going to see these fish in my dreams later.’ He clambered off his stool. ‘I’m going to pack them up. In a waterproof box.’
When the fish were safely sealed up and by the front door ready to go in the morning, Ivy and Trip looked at each other.
‘Can I walk you to your car?’ he asked.
‘I left it back at the town hall,’ Ivy realised.
‘We could walk along the beach at this time, right?’
‘At two-thirty in the morning? Sure, why not?’
Fox Bay was asleep, so they talked in hushed whispers until they reached the beach. The tide was out, and the sand stretched pale-grey under the sky. The moon cast silver light on the ripples of the sea. They could see harbour lights twinkling alongside the stars.
Trip and Ivy walked side by side, shoes in hand, toes curling into the cold sand. Her coat flapped lightly in the sea breeze.
‘Ivy,’ he said, ‘what you said the other day. Do you really think I’m like a – a golden retriever?’
Ivy groaned, pressing her mittened hands to her face. ‘Oh my God. No. Trip, I really am so sorry—’
‘It’s okay.’ Trip bit his lip. ‘Like I said, I’m too enthusiastic. It’s a problem. I need to learn to be a bit cooler.’