Chapter Two
“Come on then, lad. Let’s see how you’re doing.” Liam rose in the stirrups and urged the powerful racehorse into a full gallop, listening intently to the rhythm of his hoofs and feeling for any hitch in his movement.
It was peaceful out here on the beach at this time of the morning, long before any tourists had even thought of rolling out of bed.
The pale-lemon sun was just above the horizon in a sky of silvery blue, the sea shimmering like mother-of-pearl.
The air was cool, the only sounds were the quarrelling of the gulls and the soft hush of the waves sliding up over the sand.
They reached the far end of the beach beneath the rocky cliff and the caravan site, then turned and galloped back.
As they turned again beneath the cliff on their third run, he realised that they weren’t quite alone after all.
An early morning swimmer was rising like Venus from the waves.
And he didn’t need a second look to know who it was.
She was wearing a vibrant orange-and-purple swimsuit which, soaking wet, left nothing to the imagination.
As a teenager she had been almost skinny, but now there were curves in all the right places.
Her skin gleamed golden brown, her legs were long and elegant, and on her shoulder was a tattoo about six inches long, in shades of blue and green and purple.
It looked like a flower and a feather, delicate, but with a hint of classic Maori styling.
She was watching her footing, but as she waded into the shallows, she tipped back her head and slicked her dark hair from her face.
Then she saw him.
The Bandit was prancing, impatient, but it would be impolite to just ride off without at least saying hello.
“Hi.”
“Oh . . .” She hesitated, a little uncertain.
“Hello.”
Yes, he’d remembered right — her eyes were green.
Not hazel, but pure green, the colour of forest moss, and fringed by long, dark, silky lashes.
She wasn’t quite beautiful — her bone-structure was strong, her chin betraying a determined streak in her nature.
Though her lips were soft and .
.
.
tempting.
He pushed that thought aside.
“You’re out early,” he remarked lightly.
“I like a morning swim.”
“Isn’t the water cold?”
“Not too bad.” She glanced out at the distant horizon and back again.
Deliberately avoiding his eyes?
“You’re out early too.”
“I can only gallop him when the beach is empty.”
“Of course.” She took a couple of steps up the beach and picked up her towel, wrapping it around her body, sarong-style.
“Is he friendly?” she asked, approaching the horse with the calm respect of someone familiar with large animals.
“Very friendly. He’d sign autographs if he could hold a pen.”
She put up her hand and stroked down The Bandit’s sleek neck.
“He’s a nice-looking boy.”
“He’s a beauty.” Maybe it was just as well that she’d wrapped herself up in that towel.
“So . . . you’ve come home?”
“Yes. To see my grandmother.” She was still avoiding his eyes.
“Oh, yes. How is she?”
A crooked smile curved that soft mouth.
“Not good. I’m going to see her this afternoon.”
“Wish her well for me.”
“I will.”
Such a stilted conversation between two people who had once meant so much to each other.
But that had been a long time ago.
“Well . . . I’ll see you around then.”
“Yes.” Another quirky little smile.
“See you.”
He watched her go, across the beach and up the cliff steps.
His first love.
Why the hell had she had to come back?
He didn’t need to have all those old memories dragged up from the furthest corners of his mind.
He was doing okay — he had his daughter, his family, his friends, his work.
He was doing okay.
The Bandit seemed to pick up his tension, stomping impatiently on the sand.
He nudged him forward, and the horse surged into a gallop, his movement smooth as silk.
Another few days and he could go back to his training yard, and he’d be racing again in a couple of months.
Meanwhile, he had a full day’s work ahead of him.
Vaccinations, dental checks and visits to a couple of mares who were due to foal in a few weeks.
And a pre-purchase vetting for a young show-jumping hopeful who was aiming to progress from her pony to a full-size horse.
Enough to put Cassie Channing and her orange swimsuit out of his mind.
Completely.
* * *
Cassie strolled up the beach.
Her heart was beating faster than usual, but that was understandable — she’d just been for a vigorous twenty-minute swim in water that was not much above fifteen degrees.
She wasn’t going to watch Liam Ellis galloping along the beach .
.
.
But as she climbed the steps up to Cliff Road she found herself glancing back, as if her gaze was drawn by a force stronger than gravity.
After all, there was nothing wrong with looking.
He was just a man, riding a beautiful horse.
The motion was like poetry, as if they were one.
He had been tall as a teenager, and now those wide shoulders and lean stomach were a man’s physique, not a boy’s.
He still let his hair grow over the nape of his neck, and he hadn’t shaved yet, a morning shadow darkening his hard jaw.
And his eyes .
.
.
Impatiently she shook her head.
At seventeen, eighteen she had let herself drown in those eyes.
But she was a grown woman now, and she wasn’t going to let herself drown in eyes the colour of espresso coffee.
Nor let herself be mesmerised by that tempting mouth .
.
.
Yes, okay, the attraction was still there, but it was unlikely to go anywhere.
They were two different people now.
He had a kid, and she .
.
.
she hadn’t made up her mind yet.
Use that airline ticket, or leave it tucked in the poetry book?
She still had six weeks to decide.
At the top of the steps she paused again and looked down at the village, curving around the bay.
Home.
She had dreamed of it so often while she had been away — that was part of the reason why she had stayed away so long, why she hadn’t once come back for a visit.
She knew that if she stayed too long she might never want to leave.
* * *
The Bandit was enjoying his gallop.
Liam could feel the smooth power in his stride as raced along the water’s edge.
Maybe dreaming of winning the Derby?
He turned him again at the end of the beach and gave him his head — down the home straight and first past the winning post!
Another half a dozen laps and then he turned him for home, up the ramp and along the first few yards of the South West Coast Path.
Though it was early a few of the serious walkers were already out, with their backpacks and their sensible walking shoes, some of them set to hike the whole length of the path which wound over six hundred miles around the peninsula.
Later the casual strollers would be along in their shorts and tennis shoes, with babies in buggies and kids on their scooters, admiring the view and picking blackberries along the way.
He greeted several of the walkers with a wave as he turned in through the gate and rode across to the stable yard.
“Well done, lad. You’re doing great.”
He slipped down from the saddle, led the horse over to the row of stables that edged two sides of the yard, and removed his tack.
He stroked his hand over the warm russet flanks and down the horse’s legs.
The Bandit’s eyes were bright as he peered inquisitively around, his breathing already steady and slow, and best of all, he was standing square on all four legs with no sign of favouring the one that had required such delicate care for the past six weeks.
Liam sponged him down with cool water and checked his hoofs, then led him over to the trough and let him drink his fill.
Then he brought the jar of liniment and smoothed it thickly over the horse’s leg — he always seemed to quite enjoy the treatment, standing still to allow him to do it.
“Okay, lad — turn-out time.”
The horse rested his head trustingly on Liam’s shoulder as he followed him over to the gate into the grassy paddock behind the house.
Liam patted his nose affectionately as he opened the gate.
He would miss him when he was gone.
He leaned on the gate, watching the horses grazing happily on the lush green grass, looking for any signs that one might need more attention.
Most were rescues — failed racehorses, or here to recover from neglect or ill-treatment.
Hopefully some of those could be leased out to responsible new owners in due course.
Others were retired and could maybe be fostered.
A couple were his in-patients, needing his extra care.
Then there were the family’s horses, five of them, plus the children’s two ponies.
And their pet, little Spice, the small white mountain pony.
He was probably too nervous to ever be ridden, but with patience he had gradually been coaxed to be less shy, and even to take a slice of apple from Robyn’s hand.
That nice bay mare that his sister-in-law Julia rode now — he remembered Cassie riding her.
They used to hack along the bridleway beside the coast path, the whole gang of them, or sometimes they’d load the horses into the trailers and drive up to Dartmoor for a longer trek, maybe stopping for a picnic on the banks of one of the fast-flowing rivers.
Good times, carefree times.
Weekends, the long summer break from school and later from university — the sun had seemed to shine every day then.
Or maybe that was just in his memory.
And then there had been just him and Cassie.
The memories tugged at him.
The first time he had kissed her, when she was seventeen.
The first time they had made love, days after her eighteenth birthday.
On the beach in the moonlight — her first time .
.
.
Shaking his head, he pushed those thoughts aside.
There was no point stirring up those old embers now — they had long since gone cold.
And he had a small daughter who would soon be waking up and wanting her breakfast.
* * *
Cassie strolled down the cliff steps, a soft breeze ruffling her hair as she breathed in the cool, fresh sea air, listening to the soft, sleepy whisper of the waves.
Even with her eyes closed she would know she was home.
It was the height of the summer season.
The mid-morning sun was already high in the clear blue sky, sparkling like diamonds on the waters of the bay.
The grey shape of a large ship hovered far out on the horizon — a cargo ship or a cruise liner — while closer in, a couple of small yachts set their white sails to catch the wisps of breeze.
Lazy wavelets edged with frills of white foam lapped at the edge of the sand.
The beach was already crowded with families — children squealing and splashing in the waves, mums and dads flopping around on towels and deckchairs, seagulls stalking arrogantly between sandcastles and ball games, ready to snatch at any unguarded hamburgers or crisps.
Sturcombe was full of tourists staying in the guest houses along Church Road and the caravan site up on the cliffs to the east of the town.
The little family-run bed-and-breakfast places would have their ‘No Vacancies’ signs in their windows, and most of the rooms in the Carleton Hotel would be booked.
The shops along the Esplanade would be eager to grab their custom while they could.
The amusement arcade on the corner would be buzzing, the ice-cream parlour would be doing a roaring trade, and every table in the CupCake Café would be full.
At the foot of the steps she let Barney off his lead.
He trotted off to sniff along the bottom of the sea wall, reading all the pee-mails and lifting his leg a little stiffly to leave some of his own.
“Cassie!”
Lisa was waving to her from the small encampment she had established with a picnic blanket and a colourful canvas windbreak a little way along the beach.
Cassie waved back, the coarse-grained red-gold sand crunching beneath her feet as she called Barney to follow her, slipping him one of his favourite treats for obeying promptly.
“Hi. I was afraid I wouldn’t find you with the beach being so crowded.”
“I saw you coming down the steps. Noah, come and say hello to your Auntie Cassie.”
A small boy, five years old and dark-haired like his mother, stared up at her — still baby enough to be shy of a stranger, too grown up to let it show.
“Hello. So you’re Noah.” Instinctively Cassie hunkered down to his level.
“I’ve got a little present for you, from Australia. A road train. You can have it later.”
He frowned, puzzled.
“Trains don’t go on roads. I’ve been on one.”
Cassie laughed.
“They do in Australia. It’s a very big country and the roads go on for miles and miles, and the trucks pull so many trailers they call them road trains.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
He nodded solemnly before another thought brought a wide smile to his face.
“I’ve got a sister.” He pointed to the baby lying in an infant carrier in the shade of the windbreak.
“So I heard.” Cassie peered into the carrier.
A small pink face topped with a fluff of dark hair, a pale-yellow Babygro with a teddy-bear print, two tiny hands curved into fists.
“What’s her name?” She knew, of course, but she could see that Noah was almost exploding with the need to tell.
“Kyra. She’s asleep. But she’ll wake up soon and then she sometimes cries.”
“Ah . . .” She shared a smile with Lisa.
“She’s so cute.”
Kyra’s mum was glowing with pride.
“Isn’t she? And this is Amy — Debbie Rowley’s daughter. You remember Debbie? She and her mum run the CupCake Café.”
“Of course.” Cassie could have guessed who the child was.
Half hiding behind Noah, she was the image of her mother — the same soft dark curls, the same wide brown eyes.
“Hello, Amy. I’m Cassie. I knew your mum when she was at school.”
The little girl managed a shy smile, her rosebud mouth forming a small, O.
“We’re going to build a sandcastle,” Noah announced proudly.
“A great big one.”
“That’ll be fun. I used to build sandcastles, but I expect yours will be much better.”
“Sit down,” Lisa invited, patting the picnic blanket.
“Want a cola?”
“Thanks.” Cassie settled herself comfortably on the blanket and accepted the can of drink Lisa produced from her colourful tote bag.
“So, give me all the goss. I know you’ve sent me regular updates, but email’s not nearly as good as a proper natter. Tom Cullen’s getting married?”
“That’s right. Her name’s Vicky — Vicky Marston. She’s old Molly Marston’s niece — well, great-niece. Do you remember her? She used to come down for the summer holidays, years ago.”
Cassie pursed her lips, thinking.
“I remember Molly, of course — she was a one-off — but I don’t think I knew her niece.”
“She’d have been a couple of years younger than you. She was great friends with Debbie. She’s really nice.”
“Didn’t you tell me she inherited Molly’s place? And that funny portrait. It looked really weird in that picture you sent me.”
“It was weird. She told me her ex-boyfriend said it was rubbish and to throw it in the skip, but it turned out to be worth a fortune. Which just goes to show.”
“And it was by the same guy who drew that one of Nanna Marjory?”
“That’s right. Mum got a tidy bit for that, and so did several other people. Kate — Debbie’s mum — and Tom’s mum, and Brenda who runs the shop up on Church Road.”
“That was lucky. Seems like this Vicky brought a windfall to the town.”
“She did.”
“And now she’s going to marry Tom. What happened to that actress you told me about, that he was engaged to last year? The witch?”
Lisa laughed, shaking her head.
“Oh, she wasn’t actually that bad. She was very beautiful, and she could be really nice — at least when things were going her way.”
“And when they weren’t?”
“Well, yes.” Lisa’s lips twitched.
“She could be a bit of a witch.”
Cassie laughed.
“You think everyone is really nice. Anyway, what about this Vicky? Didn’t you say she’s from London? Who’s to say she won’t toddle off back there sooner or later, especially now she’s got all that money.”
“I don’t think she will.” The baby gurgled in her sleep, and Lisa patted her tiny hand to quiet her.
“She’s buying those old cottages on Slaney Road. Some developer was going to buy them and knock them down to build holiday apartments, but she outbid him and she’s having them done up to rent out — locals only.”
“That’s good.” Cassie nodded her approval, though she was still slightly doubtful.
“Anyway, you’ll probably meet her soon and you’ll see for yourself. She’s covering my maternity leave over at the hotel.”
“Why?” Cassie slanted her sister a look of surprise.
“Surely she doesn’t need a job after getting all that money for the picture?”
“I told you, she’s really nice. She took it on before she knew the painting was worth so much, and she didn’t want to let us down. You know how Mike gets — he’d have worried himself to a frazzle. And that’s not the only wedding we’ve got coming up. Debbie’s getting married too. To Bill, who works up at the Cullen farm.”
“Oh, yes. I remember you telling me that.” She took another sip of her cola.
“Wasn’t she married before?”
“That’s right — to Alan Gowan.”
“Alan Gowan?” Cassie frowned.
“The one who was in your class at school? You used to call him the Octopus.”
“That’s right.” They were both speaking softly so that the children wouldn’t hear, but fortunately they were too intent on their sandcastle to pay any attention to the grown-ups’ conversation, Noah issuing instructions and little Amy dutifully following them.
“He used to lurk in the senior library, and if he caught you on your own in there, he was all over you.”
“Sounds like a right toe-rag. Why on earth did Debbie marry him?”
“Ah, you know what a little innocent she was. She was flattered that he paid her attention, and he liked that she always agreed with him about everything. They went together for a few years, then Debbie got pregnant with Amy so they got married. But it didn’t stop him messing around with any bit of skirt he could get his hands on.” She laughed.
“Then he took up with Kelly-Anne Wallis. Remember her?”
Cassie frowned, dragging through the remote corners of her memory.
“Pasty-faced girl, bad haircut? Always eating sweets, but she’d never share them.”
“That’s the one. The bad haircut’s long gone — she’s really glammed up these days, gone blonde.”
“Wasn’t she always a bit of a bully? I remember Dad had to take her prefect badge off her for shouting at the first years after she made one of them cry.”
“That’s right!” Lisa nodded.
“I’d forgotten that. Anyway, she wouldn’t stand for just being his bit on the side. She made him divorce Debbie and marry her.”
“Sounds like she did Debbie a favour,” Cassie remarked dryly.
“She did. They got married a year ago, just a few months after the divorce came through, and there’s already a baby on the way.”
Cassie laughed.
“Well, if old Octopus gets up to his tricks now, he’d better watch out. She’ll have his nuts for breakfast.”
“She will.” Lisa’s eyes danced.
“Debbie should have done that years ago.”
Cassie sipped her cola, watching a seagull stalk arrogantly across the sand.
The person she really wanted to ask about was Liam.
She had avoided asking Lisa about him while she was away, hoping her sister would assume that she wasn’t interested.
Lisa had once sent her a photograph of their gang of friends here on the beach, and there had been Liam among them, his arm around the waist of a very pretty blonde girl, both looking ecstatically happy in the sunshine.
And a few months later Lisa had mentioned that she was going to his wedding — she assumed to the same blonde.
“All these weddings.” Cassie took a moment to ensure that her voice held only casual interest.
“Didn’t you tell me Liam Ellis was married too?”
“Oh, yes — to Natalie.” A shadow darkened Lisa’s eyes.
“But she died. It was a horrible shock to everyone. It was so sudden. They were on holiday in Greece, and there was an accident. It was so sad. She was . . .”
“Really nice?”
“Yes, she was. She was Ollie’s receptionist for a while till she had their little girl. She was really good with his elderly patients — they all loved her. There were lots of tears at her funeral.”
Cassie felt her heart crease.
Lisa had told her about it at the time, but being so far away it had felt like something from another life.
But now, having seen Liam again, seen that hint of darkness in his eyes, she could feel the depth of his loss.
It must have been awful.
“Robyn was only two when it happened. Liam’s done a great job bringing her up on his own. And he’s a great vet. Barney’s got a touch of arthritis, and he can be a bit grumpy at the vet’s, but Liam’s really good with him. But mostly he works with horses, of course.”
“I saw him this morning,” Cassie remarked, carefully casual.
“He was riding along the beach on a beautiful roan.”
“That would have been The Bandit. He’s a racehorse. He had some kind of problem with his knee, but Liam fixed it and he’ll probably be able to race again in a few months. He has a real way with any animal.”
“Useful skill for a vet.”
Lisa slanted her a questioning glance.
“I thought at one time you’d marry him.”
“Me?” Cassie shook her head, laughing.
“Oh, that was just an adolescent thing. I couldn’t wait to be off on my travels.”
“Ten years.” Lisa’s smile had dimmed a little, a shadow of hurt darkening her eyes.
“You didn’t even come home for my wedding.”
“No . . . I’m sorry — really. It wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . .”
Lisa leaned over and squeezed her hand.
“It’s okay. I missed you — I wanted you to be my bridesmaid. But I understood.”
Cassie managed a smile.
There was really nothing she could say.
Her explanation at the time had been that she was due to start a new job on a dude ranch in Montana.
The guy who owned it had already applied for the change to her visa, and if she had left the country, there had been a risk that it would be refused.
But though that had been true enough, it had also been a convenient excuse.
What she hadn’t wanted to admit, even to herself, was that she hadn’t wanted to see Liam with his new girlfriend.
Hadn’t wanted to look at her and think, that could have been me .
And now, though Natalie was gone, the memory of her lingered.
It always would.
In a way, that was even harder.
She put her cola down and rose to her feet, picking up her swim-goggles.
“Well, I think I’ll go for a swim.” She hoped her voice was casual enough that Lisa wouldn’t suspect that she was escaping.
“Won’t be long.”
She shrugged off her T-shirt and shorts, and strolled down the beach to the sea.
The water was a pleasant few degrees warmer than it had been first thing this morning.
She waded out until it was past her knees, then rolled forward beneath the surface and swam along the sandy bottom.
When she was a child she had always wanted to see real, wild coral reefs — not just the ones in the Aquarium at Newquay Zoo.
And she had — in Florida, Tanzania, Australia’s Great Barrier Reef.
They had been even more beautiful, more spectacular than she had dreamed, all brilliant colours and crazy shapes, and teeming with the exotic fish which made them their home.
Here there would be nothing to see — sand, pebbles, a few rocks, seaweed.
A torn plastic bag, several empty drinks cans.
She surfaced slowly and rolled onto her back to float for a while, then she began a lazy backstroke.
After the long flight from Wellington it was good to stretch the ache out of her muscles.
The sun was warm on her face, the gentle rocking of the waves beneath her could almost have lulled her to sleep.
Liam.
She had dreamed about him last night — at least she had sensed that it was him, though she hadn’t actually seen him.
They had been walking side by side along the beach here.
The sea had been as tranquil as a millpond in the moonlight.
They had been talking, but she couldn’t remember what about.
But then when she had turned, he wasn’t there any more, leaving her with an aching sense of loss.
It was a dream she had had before.
Quite often actually, especially in the early years after she had left.
And last night, as on those other nights, she had woken to find her pillow damp with tears.
But now her stomach was warning her that it was almost lunchtime, so switching to an easy breaststroke, she swam back to the shore.
* * *
The hospital had an open-visiting policy.
Cassie and her mum had brought punnets of strawberries and grapes, and two bottles of Nanna’s favourite milk stout, which the doctors had agreed she was allowed to drink.
Helen Channing turned into the car park and drove around slowly until she spotted someone just pulling out of a parking space.
“Ah, lucky.” She eased into the spot, turned off the engine, and unfastened her seat belt.
“No tears now,” she warned Cassie.
“Your grandmother hates any of that kind of fuss.”
“Of course.” Cassie forced a watery smile.
“I promise.”
“Come here.” Her mother produced a tissue from her pocket, and taking Cassie’s chin between her fingers, she dabbed it over her eyes.
“Aw, Mum!” Cassie protested, laughing.
“Anyone would think I was in Year Three.” They both climbed out of the car and set off across the car park to the hospital entrance.
“I just keep thinking I should have come home sooner. I would have had more time to spend with her.”
“She understands. You needed to live your own life. You wouldn’t have been happy if you’d stayed here — you needed to fly. You’ve always been like that, since you were a little girl. You always wanted to go that bit farther, climb that bit higher. You were always asking questions, and then more questions when you got the answer.”
“Sounds like I was a nightmare!”
“Not at all,” her mum insisted.
“You were great fun. A challenge, but fun.”
“But I was your youngest.” Cassie’s eyes danced.
“You didn’t have another one — you didn’t want to risk it turning out like me!”
They laughed, which made them both feel a lot better.
The hospital was busy with staff and visitors milling around the reception area, a few patients in dressing gowns and slippers taking a little careful exercise for a change of scene.
“It’s on the fourth floor — we’d better take the lift,” Helen suggested.
“Sure.”
They stood aside to let a wheelchair out, then rode up to Nanna’s floor.
As they stepped out into the long, stark corridor, Cassie tucked both her hands into her mother’s arm, feeling the comfort that had always been there for her, even when she hadn’t wanted to need it.
The guilt was digging at her, tightening in her guts — she should have come home sooner.
She had always been close to Nanna when she was little, loving to run up the road to her house further up the hill and sit in her kitchen watching her bake, begging to lick out the mixing bowl or nibble the cut-offs of pastry.
Then breathing the wonderful aroma that came from the oven, and finally being granted a slice of mouthwatering apple and blackberry pie or coffee-and-walnut cake.
Now Nanna was ninety-three and her heart was failing.
It was that which had brought Cassie home, taking extended leave from the adventure tourism company she was working for in New Zealand and booking the first available flight when Lisa’s email had warned her that time was running out.
So, she was here, and she knew that she had to do her best to keep a smiling face for her grandmother, though she felt like breaking down and sobbing her heart out.
It was a four-bed ward.
Nanna was in the bed in the far corner, her white hair in wispy curls around her head, her face almost the same colour as the pillows propping her up.
Beside her, a heart monitor was beeping — faster than normal, and with the occasional skip.
Signs that a once powerful and loving heart was finally failing.
She turned her head as they walked in, her pale eyes twinkling as brightly as ever.
Cassie’s mother squeezed her daughter’s hand as Cassie walked to the bed, forcing down the lump in her throat so that she could speak.
“Hello, Nanna.” She bent and kissed the papery cheek.
“How are you?”
“Much better for seeing you, my little Pickle.”
Oh, lord.
Cassie almost lost it.
That had always been Nanna’s pet name for her.
To catch a moment to compose herself she went to fetch a spare chair so that she and her mother could both sit down.
“Ah, what have you brought me?” Nanna demanded as she spied the bag her daughter-in-law was carrying.
“A few of your favourites.” Helen set them out on the bedside table.
“Would you like some strawberries now?”
“Never mind strawberries.” Nanna dismissed the punnet with an impatient hand.
“I’ll have some of that milk stout. I hope you’ve brought the good stuff.”
Helen briefly rolled her eyes.
“Of course.”
The rich, dark brew poured with just the right amount of creamy head.
Nanna took a good swallow and smiled happily.
“Now—” she squeezed Cassie’s hand — “tell me about everything you’ve been up to.”
Cassie laughed.
“Everything?”
“Of course. I want to hear all the details.”
“I sent you loads of letters. I wrote every couple of weeks, and sent you photographs.”
“Bah! That’s not the same as hearing your voice tell it.”
Still as bossy as ever, though her voice sounded a little thin, a little raspy.
Afraid of overtiring her, Cassie glanced across at her mother.
She smiled, nodding to indicate for her to go ahead.
“Okay.” She drew in a breath.
“Well, I started out in Florida, in Key West. I was the dogsbody to begin with.”
“That’s right,” Nanna approved, nodding.
“You always have to start at the bottom.”
“I did — just checking and handing out equipment at first. But I’d got my Divemaster qualification, so after a few weeks they let me lead tourist groups on the reefs. I stayed there for almost two years.”
“Was it fun?”
“Oh, it was wonderful. As well as the diving, I learned to sail, waterski, windsurf . . .”
“So, you weren’t sorry about leaving Sturcombe then?”
Cassie hesitated.
“Well, maybe a bit,” she admitted.
“I did get homesick sometimes. But mostly it was all too exciting.”
“And boyfriends?”
Cassie smiled.
“A few.”
“But you didn’t let any of them slow you down?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Good for you.” Nanna nodded, smiling in satisfaction.
“So what did you do next?”
“Well, I lined up another job in Montana, working with horses on a dude ranch. On the way there I hired a car and took the long way round. Up to New York, down again to New Orleans . . .”
Nanna’s eyes had closed and her regular breathing suggested that she had fallen asleep.
The beeping of the heart monitor had slowed a little.
But as soon as Cassie stopped talking she opened her eyes again.
“Go on,” she urged, an edge of impatience in her voice.
“I don’t have all the time in the world anymore.”
Cassie laughed uncertainly but continued her story.
Her mother had slipped quietly away to get a coffee, leaving Cassie to talk quietly as her grandmother continued to smile.
At last, when Cassie’s mother returned, Nanna opened her eyes.
“There, I’ve heard all about my little Pickle’s adventures. I told you it was the right thing for her to go.”
“You did.”
“You only get one go round, you know. It’s not like a library where you can finish one book and take it back to get another one to start. You have to live your life like you mean it — don’t waste a moment of it. So, go and tell the nurses I’m coming home tomorrow.”
“ What ?”
“You heard me. I’m sick of being stuck in this place. I want to be back home where I can be comfortable. I don’t need this stupid noisy thing to tell me what my heart’s doing.” She indicated the heart monitor.
“I might have a few weeks left, I might have only a few days, but I’m going to spend them at home. And don’t you go telling me I can’t.”
Cassie’s mother sighed and rolled her eyes.
“You’re a very obstinate old woman.”
“Of course I am! That’s how come I’ve lived so long. And if I can’t go out in my own way, well, I wonder what’s the point?”
“Very well.” Helen Channing threw up her hands.
She knew when she was wasting her breath.
“I’ll go and talk to the nurses.”