Page 61 of The Bookshop at the Cornish Cove

‘We’re going to be all right, you know, sis. Both of us. We’ll laugh about this one day.’ He kissed the top of my head.

‘You think so?’ I looked up, searching his face. I could see that tears were pooling in his eyes and I could feel myself holding back a lump in my throat.

‘I know so.’

We didn’t move for the next ten minutes, both deep in our own thoughts, snuggling in close to each other until the door flung open and Mum appeared.

‘God, are you two actually being nice to each other for a change?’

We both laughed, got up and stood either side of her, wedging her in the middle in what we’d always called a Mum sandwich as kids.

She kissed us in turn, squeezing us tightly, her turn to well up with tears.

‘I couldn’t love you two more if I tried. It’s OK, my babies. It’s all going to be OK. Life is hard sometimes. But we’ve got each other and together we can do hard things.’

A long walk in the woods for the three of us, kicking up the crisp crunchy leaves and splashing in muddy puddles, definitely soothed all of our souls, as we reminisced about our childhood holidays spent on this lodge park. Dan and I had definitely become so much closer since spending all this time together over the last few days. It was funny how families were so close, but you didn’t actually spend that much time together. Not quality time. It was more snatched time, while busy lives were being lived. Obviously, I’d always loved Dan, but over the last few years he’d changed beyond recognition and it had made me feel a little bit sad.

Getting to know him all over again, while we were both nursing our tender hearts, meant that a special bond had begun to form between us and I realised what a blooming fine young man he really was. He was way too good for Sabrina, and I knew it wouldn’t be on his radar now, but I hoped that in time, he would find someone who genuinely loved him and treated him the way he should be treated. He deserved the love of a good woman. He would make a wonderful father and I knew it was something he’d always wanted. I hoped he would find the person who would let him find joy in all that he did.

As Mum was leaving, she asked me to walk with her out to the car, and before she got in, she reached into her coat pocket and handed me an envelope.

‘He was there again this morning, darling. Sitting on your step. He looked so sad. Do you feel up to speaking to him yet?’

I shook my head.

‘OK.’ She kissed my cheek. ‘See you soon. Love you.’

36

Dan and I spent a lovely evening cooking together and drinking wine. I didn’t think I’d ever drunk as much as I did than in those few days. It really needed to stop. I managed to avoid the envelope until I went to bed and snuggled under the duvet before I was brave enough to open it.

Nancy,

I hope that being away is helping you to heal. I feel so responsible and still want to explain what happened. Apparently, I’m still a fuckwit, sometimes a cockwomble. Nan manages somehow to smack me round the head most days while calling me one of her new affectionate names and telling me that I have to fight for the things I want in life. I feel like I’ve been fighting for things I’ve wanted all my life. So once again, let a battle commence.

I wish you didn’t feel that you have to be away from the place that you love so much. Driftwood Bay suits you and you suit it. You are perfect for each other and I know how much you are part of this community – this community that I’ve grown to love more over the last couple of months than anywhere I’ve ever lived. I also think you are perfect for me,but I know that right now you don’t even want to think about that, and that you might not ever give me the chance to speak to you in person. But while I still think there’s a chance, I won’t stop trying to change your mind.

I never thought that missing you would be as hard as it is. I know that we’ve not known each other long, and I’m sorry if I’m repeating myself from another letter but I really, really miss you.

I miss the way you flick your hair out of your eyes when you are painting. I miss the way that you poke your tongue out when you are concentrating on something. I miss the way you soften your r’s (or is it rs – I’m no English teacher, you know) when you speak, the way you walk, the way you swing your hips, the way you lick your lips, the way you lick my lips. God, my lips miss you! My whole body misses you. I miss you like the trees miss the leaves, like the desert misses the rain (think that might be a line from a song, but it’s still true).

The thing I miss about you the most (have I mentioned your lips, by the way?) is that I can talk to you for hours about anything and also about nothing. And yes, the irony of that is quite unbelievable, considering what has happened and the fact that I didn’t tell you something really important that was going on in my life and the fact that we are now not talking.

I’m not someone who is used to opening up to people, I’ve put barriers up all my life. But you, Nancy, are so warm and lovely and make me feel so comfortable, and so safe, that I felt like those barriers were coming down. I do feel like I’ve changed a lot since we met. I feel like you’ve shown me a part of myself that I’d shut away for so long that I’d forgotten it was there. The part that used to be full of hope.

Please, please, please, give me the opportunity to explain. There’s still so much I’d like to say and I’m not sure I can capture it all in a letter. I’m not great with words (you may have noticed). Numbers, they’re more my thing. Numbers are my life. Well, they were until I walked through the doorof Books In The Bay. Also, writing by hand is really time consuming and makes my hand ache.

I miss you, Nancy. Please call me.

Dennie

X

In my mind’s eye, I could see him sitting on the step of the shop, waiting for me. Perhaps Ishouldcall him. But what would I say? The longer the silence went on, the worse it would feel to fill the void. I had no idea how to even start the conversation. I knew that I wasn’t quite ready. Maybe a text would be OK though, just to let him know that I’d read and received his letters and that I was thinking of him. But then would that give him the wrong idea? Would it matter?

He’d made the effort to write, so maybe I should be the one to text.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through the numbers, stopping when I got to his name. I took a deep breath then quickly typed the words.

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