Page 62 of The Bookshop at the Cornish Cove

Dennie. I’m not ready to talk to you yet. You see, I’m still quite furious with you and I think that needs to die down before I’m ready or I don’t think our conversation would be a very constructive one. Please let me take some more time and hopefully soon I might feel like talking. I do, however, want you to know that I miss you too. More than I ever thought possible to miss another person. Who knew that I could feel like this over someone who I hardly know? I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’m thinking of you. A lot.

When I read it back, it sounded snatched and stilted and didn’t make any sense and I was the one who wrote it. I hastily deleted everything and turned my phone over, not wanting to look at the wallpaper photograph on the home page. It was a selfie of me and Dennie on the beach, blue sky and sea behind us, both in woolly hats and grinning madly at the camera. We’d been litter picking a week ago and I’d only changed it to that photo on the morning after the night he’d stayed over. When everything seemed to be perfect. Before a fabulous day and an end to it when my world imploded.

Sadness seemed to seep through my every pore. It wasn’t insurmountable. Everyone suffers heartbreak at some time in their life, whether it be a pet, a relative, a lover, a spouse. Love was what apparently made the world go round. But right then I wanted to wallow in my sadness and feel really flipping sorry for myself. I’d get over it, but I was going to be a martyr and let my pity party go on for a little bit longer.

37

When Dan and I arrived at the shop that evening as the church clock struck midnight, I could picture Dennie sat on the steps of the shop passing the time of day with Mum. I knew that she would be kind to him. Would probably have told him to shuffle over and then sat beside him. Listened to him. She probably knew much more than I did at this stage, but I just wasn’t able to hear what he had to say right now. Once more, I pottered around the shop, painted a few more shells, processed the orders that had been left to one side for me and then before we left, popped my head out of the back door, looking in the box to see if any parcels had been left. Another small, wrapped box with a big blue bow on the top this time. When I opened it up, once more there was a gold envelope and underneath it a stunning large shell. This time I couldn’t wait until I got back to the lodge before I devoured the letter.

Nancy,

Today when I walked on the beach, I stumbled across this shell. Obviously, it had been sent by the universe for me tosend on to you. (Maybe I’m getting this whole universe vibe after all. What on earth have you done to me?!)

The message that you don’t want to speak to me is getting through loud and clear but I still have things that I want you to know. I don’t want us to leave things this way. You are far too important a person in my life for that to happen. I never, ever meant to hurt you. I would never intentionally hurt you. I do want you to know that. By omitting something, which I didn’t feel you needed to know, I have made things worse and I can’t even forgive myself for that, so I certainly don’t expect you to.

Driftwood Bay isn’t the same without you. It’s like the heart and soul has not only gone from my life, but from the village too. I’m not the only one who misses you. Lots of people are stopping me in the street to ask when you will be back. I keep saying soon, but I honestly don’t know the answer. I hope and pray that my words have been the truth.

I hope you’ll indulge me and allow me to tell you a story. I know you love a good tale. This one is based upon on a true story. My words are not as eloquent as Charles Dickens or Charlotte Brontë but apparently God loves a trier.

Here goes!

Once upon a time there was a young boy called Dennis. He was a quiet child, good as gold. He knew that if he was a good boy, then he wouldn’t get shouted at by his mummy and daddy who always seemed annoyed with him.

Dennis did well at school, studied hard, wanting to be the student that his mum and dad would be proud of. But he was also the boy whose Mum and Dad never had time to come to parents’ evenings. They never had time to come to the Christmas nativity play. Not even the year that Dennis got to be Joseph. And not the time that he played the part of Romeo in the school play. That time, he was so sure they’d come he’d told the headteacher to leave two seats in the frontrow for them, but they never showed. He was heartbroken. Luckily for Dennis, he had a wonderful grandmother called Violet who even though she swore like a trooper, loved him to his very bones, and when his parents didn’t step up, she did. She loved Dennis like he should have been loved. She spoilt him rotten and she did all that she could to turn him into a wonderful young man.

Despite this, Dennis still felt the need to prove himself, so he stayed on at school and worked hard to achieve his results so that he could impress his parents further with the next stage of his life which would be at university. He’d hope that while he’d been away from them, they would have missed him terribly and looked forward to the times that he returned. So he researched a university close by so he could live at home and commute. He couldn’t wait to tell them his plan.

Sadly, on Dennis’s eighteenth birthday, the present he got was not the one he had been expecting. His mother and father’s present to him was independence and instead of giving him something wonderful, they showed him their plane tickets and told him that they’d put some money into an account and that it was time he went on to fend for himself. This was their time to finally do the thing they’d wanted to do before they found out they were expecting him, and they would therefore be moving to Spain. When Dennis had a little time to think about this, he plucked up some courage and asked if he could go with them. They said that sadly that wouldn’t be possible, they wanted a different life and that he had to make his own life now. (I know that you already knew this part, but it felt strange not going over this and it seems important to say again where it all started.)

Dennis’s heart was smashed into smithereens but he didn’t want to let them know how much his heart was broken, so he waved them off and wished them well.

Weeks of worry and depression followed. Dennis had no clue of what to do. He had to find himself somewhere tolive, somewhere to work, his dream of going to university not possible without the financial backing of his parents. His lovely nan, Vi, offered for him to come and live with her in Driftwood Bay, but he knew it wasn’t a place he could earn big money. Big money was what he thought he’d have to earn to prove to his parents that he didn’t need them. To prove to the world that he didn’t need anyone. He told his nan that he would be fine, that he loved her very much and would be in touch and he headed off to London.

After weeks of applying for every job he could, his money was dwindling fast and the job market felt like it was getting smaller every day. But luck was on his side when Dennis was offered a job in a hotel as a porter. It wasn’t what he’d envisaged doing. His dream was to work in finance, but no one would hire him without any experience. How people were meant to get that experience was something he needed to figure out. He always offered to do both the late shift and the early shift. It was the only way he could find a bed for the night and somewhere to shower. His only possessions, he carried around in a rucksack which he clung on to, as if it were a bag of diamonds. But one day he returned to his locker at work, and the lock had been smashed and his bag had been stolen, all his worldly possessions gone. Even his most prized item – a photo of him, his mother and father, which had been taken when he was a young boy. Even though neither of his parents were smiling in it, he had kept it with him to help him through his dark days. Dennis had never felt so low in his life.

To be continued…

Nancy, I know that this doesn’t excuse my behaviour and I’m coming to that. It’s just a little about my background. Also, by writing to you, I feel like I’m really talking to you, even though you’re not answering me back. It feels soothing in a way. Perhaps I’m going a little insane. Forgive me for that.

I miss you.

Dennie

xxx

I didn’t realise that I’d been clutching my hand to my heart and tears were streaming down my cheeks. Dennis had put his story into words, for me, more eloquently than he could ever have envisaged. He’d made me feel so emotional and sorry for him. For everything he’d gone through. It must have been a really awful time. He was just a young man on a roller-coaster ride that he never asked for.

I wanted to reach out and hug him. To pull him tightly to my chest and never let him go. To show him that he was worthy of love. Christ, it was no wonder the man was totally and utterly messed up. But did it excuse him treating me the way he had? I honestly didn’t know. I needed some time to process.

Whilst it wasn’t time to go back to Driftwood Bay properly, I was wavering. Softening towards him maybe. But there was still a bloody good explanation needed for why he’d taken a bet on me and my shop.

That night, my dreams were so vivid; full of Dennie and Craig laughing at me, as they agreed a bet on me. Whether he could bed me. Whether I’d fall under his charms. Whether because he’d made me fall in love with him, I’d hang on his every word and do everything he said. Just so that he could win a bet. When I woke, I was having palpitations and the last thing I remembered was them sitting laughing and clinking their beer bottles together. It took me ages to get back to sleep.

38

I was in a foul mood when I got up the next day. Tired, cranky and even another of Dan’s bacon butties wasn’t hitting the mark. Our walk through the woods was more of a stomp, me trying to get the rage out, and answering Dan’s questions in one-word sentences, while Dan was chattering away totally oblivious to my mood. The unusual hours we were keeping were clearly taking their toll on me though I did feel slightly better after my afternoon nap, which followed our three-mile hike – longer than usual due to me refusing to go back every time Dan suggested we should.

Yet my brother was more understanding and lovelier than ever, sensing what I needed and just going along with it. He sympathised with me when I walked back in the lodge lounge, rubbing my eyes and still trying to wake my body up fully.

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