Page 55 of A Cornish Love Story
‘This is the dreaming stage,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about technicalities. I’m thinking a beautiful office upstairs, just in case a writer lived there, you know?’
He looked up. ‘You deserve the best, Georgie.’
I brushed him off. ‘It’s got so much history. Do you think some of S. E. Artemis’s talent has been absorbed into the walls?’
‘Better that than the ghost of a bad-tempered chihuahua,’ he said, and as he sketched some ideas, he was chuckling again. I thought how perfect this was, how bright our futures looked. I wouldn’t listen to Mum’s warnings about Ethan disappearing, even though he still dropped everything whenever there was a hint of a problem with Sarah, or her reminders that we were teenagers, that everything seemed intense right now, but we had our whole lives ahead of us. I knew she was implying that we wouldn’t stay together, but I couldn’t imagine wanting anyone but Ethan. We were in it for the long haul; I knew that without a shadow of a doubt.
‘Banging around the kitchen is not going to make things better,’ Mum said as I slammed a saucepan onto the stove, then got a tin of baked beans out of the cupboard and flung the door shut.
‘It makes mefeelbetter,’ I said with a glare.
She was watching me from the table, where she was sorting through the bills. I had told her I would cook us something nice for dinner, then ran out of enthusiasm when Ethan messaged to tell me he couldn’t join us because Sarah had had a shit time at school, and he didn’t want to leave her in case she did something stupid. A few days ago we’d been sitting on mybed making plans about our future, and now this. So Mum and I were getting cheesy beans on toast, and I was fuming.
‘Have you talked to him about it?’ Mum asked.
‘I’ve tried, but I sound like a bitch whenever I say I’m cross with him because he’s prioritizing his sad, fucked-up sister over me.’
‘Georgie,’ Mum admonished, but without much heat.
‘And I love how loyal he is, how he takes care of people, and healwaysmakes it up to me. He takes me for chips, he reads my writing and shows a proper interest. He’s so apologetic, and when we’re in—’ I sucked in a breath, my rant about to go too far.
‘I know you’re sleeping together,’ Mum said. ‘You think I don’t know what goes on under my own roof?’
I slumped against the cooker. ‘You don’t mind?’
‘As long as you’re safe, you’re fully consenting – and I meanfully, to everything, every time – and you’re being kind to each other, then I don’t mind. Better with Ethan than someone you don’t care about.’ She fixed me with a cool stare. ‘But if he’s making you unhappy, it’s time to rethink.’
‘Ethan makes me happy.’ The thought of not being with him sent an uncomfortable shiver through me. ‘And no couple is perfect.’
‘You’re only eighteen. Don’t try to sound all sage and experienced. You need to go through a few heartbreaks before you find someone who’s for keeps.’
‘What if I want Ethan for keeps?’ Kira and Freddyhad been together for two years and they were stronger than ever, and Grace from theAlperwick Paperswas always going on about how she’d been married to her childhood sweetheart for thirty years. I had no interest in anyone else.
‘Let’s give up on the beans,’ Mum said. ‘How about we do homemade fish and chips? Helen gave me a new batter recipe, and the market had cod on offer today.’ My stomach twisted at the thought of Mum going to the market, but the doctor leading the clinical trial was quietly optimistic, and I hadn’t come home to a haze of incense covering the smell of weed for a while.
‘OK. You show me how to make this new batter, and I’ll peel the potatoes.’
‘You’re on.’ Mum bounced up from the table, kissing my forehead before she dug in the cupboard for the mixing bowl. I loved spending time with her when she was like this, upbeat and in charge.
As I peeled potatoes, my mind inevitably returned to Ethan, and the niggles that sat just beneath my skin. He had seemed flustered going into the last couple of exams, which was so unlike him. His dream of becoming an architect had never wavered, but it needed hard work and dedication, and I selfishly worried what would get squeezed out if he realized he wasn’t doing as much as he needed to.
‘You don’t keep a diary, do you?’ Mum asked, as she dipped the cod into her batter mix. ‘You write stories, but do you ever write your feelings down?’
‘Not really. But stories are like … they’re a way of getting feelings out, aren’t they?’
‘It’s not the same. I’ve kept a journal on and off, and it helps when I need to get things off my chest and don’t want to break the cupboard door off its hinges.’
‘Sorry.’ My guilt was instant.
‘Don’t be, Georgie,’ Mum said with a smile. ‘I remember what it was like, being in love for the first time. Your emotions are like an unruly herd of velociraptors, dangerous and impossible to bring to heel.’
I laughed. ‘That’s the most ridiculous analogy I’ve ever heard.’
‘Cheered you up, though. Just think about it. I’ll buy you a nice new notebook. We could go to that bistro in Truro, make a day of it and have lunch, if you fancy?’
‘I’d love that, Mum. Thank you.’ I hugged her, feeling lighter than I had done in a while. She smelled of her perfume, no tobacco or weed lingering underneath, and the tension left my shoulders as she returned my embrace.
‘Let’s get these in,’ she said. ‘We want to be done before Kira steals you away. The big house tonight, is it?’ She winked, and I laughed again because I couldn’t keep secrets from her. I wondered how I’d ever thought she was uninterested: she was just trying to be the best mum she could be.
