Ivy’s Arch (Puffin Bay #6)

1. Gully

Gully

ONE YEAR TEN MONTHS AFTER NEW ORLEANS

M y mouth was dry and my heart was racing faster than it had any right to. I hadn’t seen Iris for months, not since before she started dating Theo the Twat. Theo the Twat had recently had a few difficulties obtaining credit, but that was something I didn’t know anything about, because plausible deniability and all that.

It was my twin who had the details.

I had other details I didn’t want to share, ones that were currently buried deep inside a vault in my chest. Ones I wasn’t sure what to do with or what to say about or what to decide. Inside that vault was a maelstrom only found in the harshest of storms and I knew only too well what damage a storm could do.

I stood at the door to my home, the sky granite, the sea behind me without any shade of blue.

Iris had called me to let me know she’d crossed over the bridge and was on the island, which meant she was about twenty minutes away, if she didn’t get lost.

She wouldn’t get lost. She’d travelled extensively, been to more countries than anyone else I knew, visited more cities and stayed in more hotel rooms. She wasn’t going to get lost between crossing the bridge and arriving here.

So it was a countdown.

I didn’t know what I was counting down to exactly. We had a lot to talk about, and there might be decisions made in the next few days or weeks that would change the course of both our lives and those around us.

I was also counting down to seeing her.

Iris.

The woman I’d fallen in love with one year and ten months ago.

Reading her words about how she’d fallen in love with someone else had been painful. They’d felt like daggers driving into my chest every time I’d tortured myself with rereading them, which I did because apparently I was a masochist. I’d wanted to rip Theo’s head off when she’d phoned me in the early hours of a Sunday morning to tell me what he’d said about her and Ivy. It’d taken a fuckton of willpower not to confess there and then that I was in love with her and I’d give her everything if she asked, including following her around the world because I could write from anywhere, but I hadn’t.

I hadn’t because in the year and ten months since we’d had that one night stand in New Orleans with the sounds of Mardi Gras in the background she had never said anything that hinted she wanted a repeat.

So I was here, in Puffin Bay, pining over a woman I knew would never be mine and completely unable to move on. A woman who was now asking me to have a baby with her.

Her car reached the electric gates, which opened because I’d already pre-programmed her registration in about ten months ago when we’d last thought she might visit. It was a red SUV, splashed with mud, the hairstyle of the driver one I hadn’t seen before.

I walked down the drive to where Iris was parking, the chill of the wind fierce and foreboding, as it always was at this time of year. I’d lived here for more than five years now and I knew the tides and the winds and the skies as well as I knew myself.

We were in for a storm, but a winter one. Tomorrow we’d have rain and wind, but it would settle, and by the weekend, there would be a truce.

Iris fought with the wind for control of the car door as she opened it. I grabbed the handle and held it firm while she got out.

“Holy fuck, it’s cold.”

She wasn’t wearing a coat, understandably, because she’d spent fuck knows how many hours driving and a bigger than normal gust of wind whipped across my drive at exactly the wrong time.

“It is. Let’s get your stuff in and warm up. The fire’s set.” I went round to her boot, opening it up and pulling out two of the suitcases, full size. Iris didn’t travel light.

“This place is amazing.” She looked around the outside of the house and up at the sky, reaching into the car boot for her photography bag. “The scenery on the way in was so dramatic.” She looked at me, eyes slightly glazed, probably at the prospect of taking photographs of a new place. “I’ll drive you mad this week trying to get my bearings.”

“I can cope with that.” There’s a lot I would cope with. “I can take my laptop and find a café to write in while you do your thing.”

She shook her head, apparently no longer feeling the cold. “Oh no, I want you in these shots. You know I only really do scenery if there’s a person in it.”

This was true. Iris specialised in portraiture, but she couldn’t say no to a decent panorama.

“Let’s get inside before you freeze.” I closed the car boot. There was still stuff in there, but I’d fish it out later. I wanted her indoors so she could see the home I’d created and the views across the Strait.

We headed inside, Iris telling me about her trip, some of the places she wanted to return to and pausing in the entrance hall, looking around at the double vaulted ceiling with the handblown glass balls of the chandelier. It was modern in style because the house was, the space and size of the building emphasized. I didn’t want farmhouse style like Finn’s, or Victorian like Roe’s. I wanted to make the most of the house’s position next to the sea. This was an ocean home and that wasn’t going to change.

“This place - it’s the sort of home you dream of. I can understand why you’ve hung out for it. The staircase – I love it. I love the light.”

“The light’s why I bought it. At night you can see the lights dancing on the mainland and I’ve had sight of the aurora borealis half a dozen times since I’ve lived here. Want the tour now or later?”

Her smile made my stomach flip. I’d dreaded that feeling.

It was easy to be in love with someone who may as well have been a million miles away. You could be in love with the fantasy of the person because you didn’t know them well enough on a constant basis. I knew that. That was one of the reasons why I was nervous about her stay because I might realise that I wasn’t in love with her like I thought and that would leave me even more lonely.

“After this.” She put down her camera bag and threw her arms around me, her body pressing against mine in a hug that felt like Christmas. It took me a second to respond, my arms going around hers, careful with my hand placement, careful that I didn’t try to kiss her, careful that I didn’t say something I should like I love you or will you live here forever with me .

I managed to hold myself together, drowning in her perfume and the scent of her hair, the softness of her and her warmth against me. Having her stay with me was going to be torture.

The idea of her carrying my baby was already more than that.

“I couldn’t wait to hug you. I’m so glad I’m here.” Her arms stayed around me as she made space so we could see each other.

“Stay for as long as you want.” Stay forever.

“I will. At the moment I’ve no reason to go back to London, unless, you know. I have a couple of projects but both are abroad and only pencilled in and I can pull out.” Her expression was serious. “If – there are lots of ifs.”

I nodded. I had lots of ifs too. “Let’s just talk this week and work out a plan. I think we have a lot to cover.”

“We do. I feel excited and nervous and worried and weirdly happy that you’re okay with even having this conversation. Does that make sense?”

“It does. I feel the same. Have you mentioned this to anyone else?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to. I just want to speak with you about it first. What about you? Have you told your brothers?”

“No.” My hands were still on her, resting on her waist, my little fingers just on the curve of her lower back.

I remembered her curves. That one night we spent together in New Orleans was engraved in my memory with cuts so deep it’d never be worn away. It’d been a warm night, sultry and noisy, the sort of sounds that become part of your skin, the beats working their way into your bones. There’d been colours and lights and laughter and later there had been her skin on mine as we’d fucked until the early hours of the morning. The feel of her, the sound of her – it hadn’t left me.

“Will you? Talk to your brothers?”

I nodded. “If we decided that I’ll be the donor, yes.”

“What will they say?”

I shrugged, my shoulders feeling heavy. “I don’t know. They’ll support whatever I choose to do. If we have a baby together, they’ll want to be part of their niece or nephew’s life, so I know they’ll be worried about not having them as part of the family.”

Her face was as serious as I’d ever seen it. “You know that’s one of the reasons I want you to be the father, Gully? I want my child to have that sort of family.”

“I know.” I couldn’t talk about this anymore. Not right now. “Let’s show you round.”

I took her to the kitchen first, a big area with a large sectional sofa and TV, and a huge table with views down the garden to the sea. I’d chosen wooden furnishings, a nautical theme running through the house. A lot of the ornament things were upcycled, oddities that Fleur had found when she was wandering round antiques fairs and car boot sales, some had been from hers and Thane’s cottages when they’d renovated them.

“There’s a downstairs bedroom that could’ve been a study and a wet room.” I led her through, trying not to overthink why she was still holding my hand. “There’s another door through the wet room that leads into a garage, but really it’s storage for boat stuff and outside beachy things. You can go straight into it and shower.”

“Was it like this when you bought it?”

“It was. The kitchen and bathrooms just needed freshening up. The layout of the house suited me as soon as I saw it because it’s so open and I like having that space. For a new house, it’s got high ceilings, which I wanted. The other house I looked at didn’t have the same height.” I should’ve felt lonely living here, having a big space to rattle round here, but I hadn’t done so far. Since I’d moved in, I’d been at my most productive with my writing, so I’d had my fictional friends to keep me company.

I led her upstairs, my body still tense. This was all my first dates wrapped in one and my body knew it.

I’d never been nervous with a girl before. I’d never been nervous with Ivy, but I was with her sister.

“This view.”

I looked at Iris as she saw the view for the first time. The stairs led to a mezzanine, a long stretch of hallway with floor to ceiling windows meaning light cascaded into the space from the north, south and above.

Today really wasn’t the day to see it for the first time. The light wasn’t strong. It was moody and the day had never stepped out of darkness properly. Lights on the boats had been visible all day and the lighthouse hadn’t stopped with its flashing. The sky was whipped with black and grey clouds which moved tumultuously as if jostling for prime position.

I had very little in the way of furnishings in this area. The floor was reconditioned wooden tiles. There were two or three thickly woven rugs and a low sofa covered with a soft beige material, a couple of throw cushions over it. Next to the sofa was a side table, made from a piece of driftwood. Other than that there were metres of window; it really was a glass front house.

“I can’t believe this view.”

“It’s a pain to keep the windows clean,” I said flippantly. She’d let go of my hand and I didn’t like it.

“Gulliver, it’s just – wow. How many bedrooms are up here? Do they have this view?”

She was talking about bedrooms, which wasn’t good. Not for my sanity anyway.

“Three bedrooms and a lounge. Let me show you the lounge.”

She followed me along the hallway to the west of the house into the lounge. It had a double aspect, with windows looking over the sea and then over the gardens on the side. There was no TV in this room. Instead there were sofas and bookcases, the décor light and airy, throw blankets and cushions dotted around, artfully placed by my housekeeper who came in twice a week. Fleur had created cosy corners to read a book or just to watch the sea. There were speakers so I could play music, which I often did when I was writing and sometimes I would write in here.

“This is just something else.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started snapping away. “I could offer this up to a décor magazine.”

“That would help Fleur with her business. I don’t mind if you do.” I was serious about that. “My publicist has mentioned getting more personal photos on my social media as well.”

“We should plan that while I’m here. What about your bedroom?”

That was when the lightning struck.

My eyes met hers across the room, a whitewashed coffee table in between us. The air was thick and heavy, like it had been in New Orleans, but we weren’t in New Orleans anymore. We were in Wales in January and this wasn’t a week’s jaunt.

“It’s the other side of the hallway. I’ll show you.” I followed her out, watching her take stock of the view over the Menai Strait. The hallway was balconied, looking over at the entrance hall. A few paintings were dotted on the walls, but for the most part I’d left it uncluttered.

“The door in front of you now. The one next to it is the main bathroom, and the one next to that is my study.” My study should’ve been the room downstairs, but the view was better up here.

Iris opened the door and walked into my bedroom. Another floor to ceiling window looked over the water.

“Is that privacy glass?” She pointed at it.

“All of it is. No one can see in.” I looked around my bedroom, trying to see it through her eyes. “I’m not an exhibitionist.” I managed a smile, trying not to look at her. The room wasn’t spectacularly tidy. My bed was crumpled, the throw straightened up although the duvet was pulled up to the pillows. I slept on the right, nearest the window, which was obvious with the dented pillows, the other side still pristine. A chair still had folded clothes on it which needed putting away, but there was no laundry. Next to the bed was my wallet and the book I was reading currently.

It was simple – light wood and white walls, the furnishings basic, the material heavy duty with thick stripes in light taupe and cream.

“This is so not what I was expecting.” She looked around the room and then focused on me. “You had a big input into everything – it wasn’t just Fleur?”

I nodded. “I knew what I wanted. What did you expect? I’m curious.”

“Bachelor pad. Not this. I don’t know, but not this. It’s gorgeous.” She sat down on the bed, bouncing slightly. “This is comfy. Is the spare bed the same?”

I stifled a groan. “Let me show you and you can see for yourself.”

I needed a few hard words with myself. Iris wasn’t asking for a relationship. She was asking for my sperm and involvement as a father. A co-parent. Not some romance where we headed off on horseback into the distance.

The having a baby part wouldn’t involve the fun bit in making it. My part would be donating my sperm, it being washed and scientists and doctors doing the rest. Iris had the hard part. Injections, mood swings, worry, anticipation, fear. Then if it was successful – which it may not be – there was the whole pregnancy and labour. Not much I could do about that apart from be supportive.

Which probably didn’t involve thinking about exactly how good the mattress was in my bedroom or the spare bedrooms.

I showed her the other rooms, letting her choose which of the two spare bedrooms that were set up she wanted. She swooned over the views and the peace, which was one of the reasons this place had felt right.

It was quiet here. There was a lack of voices, other than the ones in my head and the occasions when I had visitors. The sounds of the sea and the wind and the seagulls were enough to compete with the voices of characters that continually echoed around my head when I chose to give them time.

I knew that if Iris and I decided to go ahead with the baby, my life here would change and I already knew I wanted that. It wouldn’t destroy my peace, it would add everything.

“This house is amazing.” Iris stood in the lounge, looking out over the Strait, her arms folded. The sky and the sea blended into a myriad of grey, a thin mist clouding over the water so the view across to the mainland was shrouded. “This view is amazing. I can totally understand why you’re staying here and this is your place.”

“I can’t imagine being anywhere else,” I said, standing slightly behind her and looking at the same view. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like travelling to places and visiting people, but this is where I want to come home to. I find it interesting how my brothers chose the same.”

“Genetics. Something in your core makes you gravitate to the same things.” She turned around to look at me. “I think Ivy and me were similar.”

“Similar. But you’re very different too. Ivy was mysterious, or she made herself seem that way. I never felt like I got the whole story from her but with you I do.” I’d spent time thinking about the sisters and how they were very similar. I’d known Iris longer now than I’d known Ivy, so there was a clear reason why I’d know her better, but I knew Iris better than her sister after only a few months.

“I know what you mean. She very much chose what she said to each person and what she wanted them to know. I think she liked being seen as enigmatic, which she was. She definitely wasn’t an open book. Not like you.”

Panic rose. Was I giving away any of those thoughts I’d had about Iris and the mattresses? “I’m not that obvious, am I?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No. Not quite, but you give more of yourself. I feel I know you, I’ve seen some vulnerability, which you never got from Ivy.”

I let go of the breath I’d been holding. “You didn’t.” I decided I needed to change the subject. “What do you want to do tonight? We can head into town and get something to eat at the Puffin Inn, or we can eat here. I can make a fish pie and the wine’s all stocked up. If we want to walk into town we need to leave now before the rain starts.” I wasn’t as accurate as Finn or Roe at predicting the weather, but even I could tell that we had heavy rain incoming.

“How about we stay in tonight and head out tomorrow? I can help you cook. I’m goosed from the journey and everything too, and I’d like to be firing on all cylinders when I meet your brothers and friends.” She headed to the sofa and sat down on it, sinking in like she was on a cloud.

It was pretty good. I’d slept on it more than a few times.

“That suits me. If the weather’s good we can walk down to Ivy’s Arch and the beach there.” I wanted to show Iris the place I remembered her sister. It wasn’t maudlin or morose, even though it had been at first. Now it was a place where we gathered to play music or talk or take photos, or just be. But it was known as Ivy’s Arch, the wooden archway and unusual gate covered with ivy at the peak of summer and for me and my brothers and our friends, it had become synonymous with the woman who’d lived here for a short time, but had such an impact, even if she’d never intended too.

Iris nodded, her expression curious. “I’ll take my camera and get some shots.”

We talked about the weather, the light, the likelihood of seeing Aurora Borealis. I told her stories about the place, some of which I’d learned from Mavis, some of which were legends accrued from people who told tales in pubs by a fire on a winter’s night.

We didn’t talk about why she was here. We didn’t acknowledge the decision we were going to make.

The conversation while I cooked and she helped, then while we ate, was about Puffin Bay and the people who lived there.

It was as if we weren’t considering having a child together. Iris was just here, visiting an old friend with whom she shared a history.

We didn’t discuss that we might be sharing a future too.