Page 41 of A Cornish Love Story
‘Fuck.’ I slid my leg down to the floor. What were we doing? This whole scenario was beyond ridiculous.
Ethan took a step back, the fire in his eyes blinking out. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said roughly. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Somewhere along the way I’d un-popped a couple ofhis buttons, and his hair had turned into a sexy disaster.
‘It’s not your fault,’ I said. ‘It’s mine. I should never … I’m sorry, Ethan.’
I couldn’t run a hundred miles in any direction, but I could get myself to the other side of this huge house, give myself a few minutes to try and work out why I had thought that was a good idea, and what on earth we were supposed to do now.
‘Sorry,’ I said again, then I left Ethan behind with the Jacuzzi bath and the disco shower, and ran down the stairs. As I did, from outside, even though the view was still hidden and we were in our dim, locked box of a house, I heard the first rumble of what sounded like a very enthusiastic summer storm.
Dear Connor,
We don’t talk about the house enough– orI don’t, anyway. It has always been such a big part of my life, always been right there, but without anyone to talk to about it, it’s losing its significance.
I know it’s pointless, but I can’t stop wondering what would have happened if things hadn’t worked out the way they did, and we’d turned our pie-in-the-sky dreams into reality. The two of us living there together. Can you imagine? It was always impossible – even back then – but that didn’t stop us making up scenarios as if it was within our reach.
Sometimes I walk through the rooms and remember us being there together – those few snatched times when it was possible – and I imagine that the house is ours, and we can do what we want with it.
And so, to amuse myself, I’ve been inventing my perfect room. I’ve picked one on the first floor, at the back of the house, so it looks directly over the cliffs and the churning Atlantic. The window would be bigger, so light could pour in all the time: sun, moon and starlight. I’ve always thought that the windows are too small: what’s the point of it being right there, if you only get a peek at the magnificent view?
In my imagined room there’s a desk that runs all the way along the window, so I can smooth myhands over the wood when I’m thinking. I’d keep the surface mostly clear, so I was surrounded by space and the Cornish coastline. I’d have an art deco lamp with a shade of pink and green glass, and bookshelves against the walls, and there’s this wallpaper I’ve seen – it’s mad but so beautiful. It’s a mermaid print, and she looks just how I’ve imagined the Alperwick Mermaid for all these years. Her tail is made up of mauve scales, and her hair is flowing gold, and there are starfish and minnows picked out in silver against a blue and green background. It’s ridiculously expensive because of the foil, and I’d only want one wall – a feature wall. That’s what it’s called isn’t it? You would know.
I’d have a thick rug in the same blues and greens as the wallpaper, but furry like the coat of a daft, long-haired sheep, and one of those elegant armchairs where I could curl up and read.
What do you think? If I told you all of this face to face, you’d laugh, but then you’d see that, actually, it’s perfect. For the house and the space it takes up, on the edge of the sea as if it could fall in at any moment. I’ve been building this in my head for a while now, new details coming to me at random moments. I write it all down and a picture emerges. Is that how it happens for you, too?
I wonder what you’re doing now, what amazing thing you’re creating. I wish I could be as focused as you always were, and put my heart into something besides these letters. But my heart is stuckwith you, and I can’t imagine it looking for a new home anytime soon.
I love you and I miss you.
Yours always, Amelie xx
Chapter Seventeen
April 2012
We made it back to my room whenever we could, which wasn’t often because Mum didn’t go out much, and when she did it was usually when I was at school. And, while Ethan’s dad worked long hours, his mum was usually at home in the evenings, and Sarah was often there too. We tried to be creative, but the beach was popular all year round and I didn’t relish the thought of sand gettingeverywhere, and while we continued to go to the house on the hill, Ethan and I had never been there without the others, and I didn’t want rodents having a ringside seat for our intimate moments.
‘How long until your mum’s back?’ Ethan asked one spring afternoon, my bedroom window open a crack to let in a snake of cool air while we stayed snug under the covers.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘but not long, so we should—’ He moved on top of me, kissed me thoroughly, deftly rolled the condom on.
Being able to do it so infrequently made these moments precious. We were learning more about each other, and I felt grown-up, having such an intense and – I thought – adult relationship. Except right then, when I started to lose myself to the sensations rushing up to meet me, and something landed,plonk,on my face.
‘Argh!’ I rubbed my nose and fumbled for the weapon. It was Connor, my cuddly turtle.
Ethan’s mouth was open in surprise, then he dissolved into laughter, burying his head in my neck. ‘OK?’ He leaned up on an elbow and ran his finger gently down my nose. My eyes were watering, but with surprise more than anything else.
‘Feeling stupid,’ I admitted. ‘I should have moved Connor ages ago.’
‘Maybe he’s jealous,’ Ethan said in a low rumble.
‘Shush.’
‘I’ll take your mind off it.’
‘You’d better.’ He did until, a few minutes later, I heard the front door bang and Mum call up the stairs, ‘I’m home, Georgie! I’ll put the kettle on.’
Ethan and I exchanged panicked looks. ‘OK! Be down in a sec!’ Ethan glanced towards the window and I grinned. ‘You don’t need to sneak out like a burglar.’
