Page 123 of A Secret Cornish Wish
I have to pull my hands away to wipe the tears from my own eyes. I scrabble about in my bag for the pack of tissues I know is always in there. I pull two from the pack, pass Rob one, and then I dab my eyes on the second, while Rob wipes his own eyes.
‘When you say you want me to be the only one who knows,’ I say when I’ve composed myself. ‘I can tell Claire though, can’t I?’
Rob shakes his head. ‘No, only you.’
‘I can’t keep this a secret from Claire! We live together for goodness’ sake.’
‘Claire mustn’t know, Frankie. No one must. I don’t want people treating me differently. The time I’ve spent back here in St Felix has been like a breath of fresh air. Yes, I get the occasional request for a photo or an autograph, but in between that I’m able to be myself. I haven’t been able to do that for a very long time. It’s meant the world.’
I nod. ‘But still . . . people will begin to notice, won’t they? I don’t know much about . . . ’ I can’t even say it. ‘What you’re going through. But surely there will be signs as you . . . well, as you progress.’
‘Stop beating about the bush, Frankie. Just say it. “As I die.” ’
‘I don’t want to! Because if I say it, then it’s real. And it can’t be real, Rob. It just can’t.’
I take hold of his hands this time.
‘You can’t die,’ I say as the tears begin to flow again. ‘You’ve always been here. Not here as in St Felix. But here.’ I place his hand over my heart, with my hand covering it. ‘You’ve been here since I was fifteen, Rob, and as we both know that’s a very long time.’
Rob smiles and blinks back his tears.
‘And you’ve been here all that time too, Frankie.’ Rob does the same as I did, and places my other hand over his heart, so we’re both now touching each other’s chests. ‘And you always will be.’
We both let go then, desperate to wrap the other in the tightest embrace possible.
‘I never stopped loving you, Frankie,’ Rob whispers into my hair. ‘And I never will.’
‘Oh, Rob.’ Sobbing, I pull him as close as I possibly can to me. ‘I’ll always love you and whatever happens I’ll never ever forget you.’
Thirty-Five
Spring turns to summer and life continues in St Felix.
The town becomes busier as we enter the first months of summer. Claire’s school reunion moves ever closer, and Rob still won’t let me tell anyone what’s happening to him.
I became so quiet and withdrawn for a while after Rob’s shock confession, that Claire began to wonder if my depression was rearing its ugly head again. But when she questioned me about it, I lied – well, partly lied. I said I wasn’t depressed, just feeling a little low lately. Which was the truth. Rob’s news knocked me for six.
But luckily Claire was knee-deep in both her work and organising the reunion, so, for the time being at least, I was managing to hide my true feelings from her.
One Wednesday afternoon in mid-June, I’m sitting at the back of my shop finishing off the painting I’ve been commissioned to do by Muriel, the lovely old lady who got in touch with me before the terrible afternoon that Rob told me his news.
I’ve got behind with my painting over the last few weeks, and I’d had to telephone Muriel to apologise for the delay. But she was perfectly lovely, and said there was no hurry, she wasn’t due down in Cornwall until early July anyway, so I had plenty of time before she needed to collect it.
The shop bell rings, so I look up expecting to see a customer, but I almost drop my paintbrush when I see the person standing there looking a little lost among all the paintings.
It’s Mack.
I haven’t seen Mack in person since 2019. After I moved back here to St Felix with Rosie, it took me a year or two before I got fully back on my feet again, both financially and mentally. Claire was great, helping us out, and as soon as I could start paying her rent, I did. As time went by, not only was I able to pay Claire money to help out with the monthly bills, and provide for myself and Rosie, but I was able to save some money as well. And in 2019, for Rosie’s fifteenth birthday, I surprised her with a trip to New York in the autumn, or as it’s called in America – the fall.
The gallery needed someone to go over and sweet talk a local Cornish artist who lived over there, and persuade her into allowing us to display her work. This, if I could pull it off, would be huge kudos for both the gallery and for me. Not only did I manage to do just that, I swung an extended holiday out of it for both myself and Rosie, and of course while we were there, we spent some time with Mack.
We didn’t stay with him, as Mack suggested we might way back in 2014. We stayed in a hotel on the Upper West Side, partly funded by my employer and partly by me. But we did manage to spend quite a lot of time with Mack while we were there, which Rosie and I both enjoyed immensely.
After we did all the touristy things like the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty, Mack showed us around other places like parks and galleries, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which I absolutely adored, just as Mack knew I would.
One evening after dinner – a takeout from a Chinese restaurant a few blocks away from Mack’s apartment in Brooklyn – white boxes sat empty on Mack’s coffee table with disposable chopsticks still resting inside. Rosie was asleep on one of Mack’s two sofas, overcome by a day spent walking the Brooklyn Bridge and shopping in Bloomingdale’s and Macy’s.
Mack quietly re-entered the sitting room carrying two cups of coffee, which he placed down among the takeaway boxes on the coffee table, before sitting next to me on the other sofa.
