Page 9 of Wishes & Waves at the Cornish Bakery
‘Ooh, let’s take a look.’ Brooke carefully picked one up, holding it at the very edge of the image.
Stepping back, Tilly bit down on her bottom lip, her stomach churning. If they could point her in the right direction, she might actually make some progress. She might be in with a chance of discovering who her dad was. Growing up, she’d never really hada desire to find out about his life. She’d just taken it for what it was. Her aunt had given her a great life, and Tilly had been happy, but now, with her passing she suddenly felt a need to find out a little more about who she was, where she’d come from, and with each passing day, she could feel that need growing.
‘This one! That’s one of the cottages on the farm just outside the bay. I’m sure of it.’ Teresa held up the image of Tilly’s parents standing in front of a small cottage, their arms wrapped around each other, huge grins plastered to their faces. ‘One of the ones on the land of Grove Farm. Pippa had a school trip to the farm, and I’m almost certain we walked past this one.’
‘Grove Farm?’ Tilly gripped her mug tightly in her hands.
‘Yep. Which way did you drive into the bay?’ Teresa carefully laid the photo back down.
Glancing out of the large window onto the street, Tilly tried to get her bearings before pointing to the left. ‘That way, I think.’
‘Fab. Then you’d have driven past a small dirt track leading off the main road. Go up there, and you’ll spot the cottages.’
Tilly nodded. It all sounded so easy. Although she supposed it would only lead her to where the photo had been taken. She still had no idea if the cottage in the background was anything to do with her dad at all. They might have literally just been going for a walk and taken the picture on a whim, but it was a start. She only had the photos, so she’d take them as the first clues. They were better than nothing. ‘Thanks.’
‘Ooh, this is so exciting.’ Stepping forward, Brooke picked up the picture Teresa had just put down. ‘Are you going to go there today?’
Glancing at the clock on the wall behind the counter, Tilly nodded. It was only just past closing time, and the sun would still be up for hours. Even if she happened to get lost, she had plenty of time. There was nothing stopping her, so why did she suddenly feel a flutter of nerves in the pit of her stomach? Itwasn’t as though she was about to find anyone related to her or anyone who had anything to do with her dad. It was so long ago now that anyone who had known him would have likely moved on by now. ‘Yes, I think I will.’
‘That’s super exciting. Just imagine what you might find out. Hopefully, you’ll get some answers which might lead you to your next clue.’ Brooke peered closer at the old photograph. ‘Do you think he lived here? Is that your mum? Did she live here too?’
‘Yes, it’s my mum, but no, she and my aunt were just visiting. They were working down here for the holidays, I believe.’ Of all the times her aunt had spoken of Penworth Bay, Tilly was quickly realising she hadn’t given her many actual details. Nothing usable to help her trace anything about her dad. Yes, she’d told her stories of the bay, of what it was like here, but now Tilly was here, now she’d decided to take up the impossible task of searching for answers, she was quickly realising her aunt had left out so many details. ‘I don’t actually know much about my dad. At all really.’
Lynsey frowned. ‘Well, hopefully you’ll get some answers soon enough.’
‘I hope so.’ She wasn’t even sure why it mattered so much to her now. She was under no illusion that she’d find any loving relatives, or if she did, that she’d be welcomed into their world as though she’d always been a part of it. Fairytales were just that, tales. Imagination. And this was reality. Her reality. The best she could hope for was to meet somebody who had known him all those years ago and could tell her a little about him. Anything about him, just something so he became a tangible person in her mind rather than the shrouded mystery he’d been all her life. But even then, she knew she was probably asking for too much, and the last thing she wanted to do was to get her hopes up. Life wasn’t like that for her. Good things didn’t come easily.
A loud ringtone erupted from Teresa’s pocket, and she quickly pulled out her mobile, mouthing sorry as she answered it. ‘Hey, Gavin.’
As Teresa walked away, talking intently on the phone, Tilly slipped her photos back into the paper wallet as Lynsey and Brooke finished their coffees.
‘Sorry, that was Gavin. Rueben has just thrown up in the back of the car on the way home from holiday club. I’d better run.’ Teresa glanced at the tray of now-empty mugs.
‘I’ll put them in the dishwasher. You go.’ Brooke shooed her away with her hand. ‘I hope Rueben’s okay.’
‘Thanks. I just hope he’s not picked up some bug.’ Teresa grimaced as she grabbed her bag and pulled out her car keys. ‘Good luck, Tilly. I hope you get some answers.’
‘Thanks. I hope your son gets better soon.’ Tilly waved the photo wallet as Teresa flew out of the bakery door, the small bell tinkling ferociously above the door. Slipping the wallet back into her bag, Tilly was suddenly unsure if she had the strength to go exploring this evening. But she guessed it would be nothing more than a walk. She wouldn’t get any answers, but hopefully she’d be able to get a little sense of who he was. Who both her parents were. Of course, her aunt had always spoken about her sister, so even though Tilly didn’t remember her, she felt as though she knew her on some level.
Chapter Eight
Tilly paused at the end of the dirt track and pulled her water bottle from her bag. If she’d understood Teresa’s directions, then this track would lead up past the cottages in the photo to the farm beyond. Unscrewing the cap, Tilly tilted her head back and drank. Was she ready for this? Or should she shelve the whole idea of trying to find out anything about her dad?
After all, if she did go and take a look, what would it tell her? She still wouldn’t know whether he had actually lived there, but at least she might just get a feel of the place.
Yep, she needed to go now before she lost her nerve. Placing the cap back on her bottle, she tucked it into her bag again and began walking, careful to avoid the large dips and rises in the dirt underfoot, which looked as though a tractor had churned it up during the wetter months and had now dried and preserved the tracks until the next downpour.
The further she walked down the track, the more it felt as though she were walking into a completely different world. She’d left the tourists behind in the bay, and out here, the low rumble of cars driving along the road at the bottom of the track faded, hitting her senses with the noise of scurrying wildlife in the hedgerows and the flutter and chirping of birds from the branches overhead.
Turning the slight corner at the bottom of the track, she halted in front of a large rusty gate, with a sign readingPrivate Propertyhanging by a string from the top rung. Gripping the top of the gate in her hands, the metal, heated all day from thesun, warmed her hands. The track continued into an expanse of a field, but along the edge she could just make out the cottages. A row of three, all whitewashed and thatched. A lone car was parked in front of one of the cottages at the end of the row, the boarded-up windows and the deep grooves in the thatch of the other two looking very much as though they might have been abandoned years ago.
Unclasping her handbag, Tilly drew out the photo of her parents standing in front of the cottage. She glanced from the photo to the cottage and back again. It looked as though they were standing next to a small magnolia tree. Shielding her eyes with her free hand, she squinted. If she wasn’t mistaken, the magnolia tree, now a considerable few feet taller and bushier, was actually inside the front garden of the first cottage, not on the other side of the now overgrown hedge which fenced off the cottage garden from the dirt track out the front.
If that was the case, her dad may well have lived there. At the very least, it suggested they’d known someone who had. People didn’t just walk into a stranger’s garden and have a photograph taken. She needed to get in there and take a closer look, make sure she wasn’t mistaken, make sure there wasn’t a different angle the photo could have been taken from which would have given the illusion that they’d been standing in the garden.
Slipping the photo away again, she took hold of the latch of the gate and went to open it, her shoulders slumping when she realised it was padlocked in place and not budging. She quickly glanced down the track behind her to check no one was coming before clamping her trainer on the bottom rung of the gate and testing its strength.
Yep, it’d hold her weight. She knew she shouldn’t. She knew it was trespassing. Even if the gate had been left unlocked, thePrivate Propertysign hanging from it was pretty clear and to the point. Still, she was here now, and with the cottage so close- and the small possibility that her dad may have lived there and whoever was inside might just have known him - she wasn’t ready to turn away and slink back to the bakery.
