Page 7 of A Cornish Love Story
His words put another possibility in my head, and I wasn’t sure if I liked the idea of Ethan working with his partner more or less than his sister. ‘You haven’t been hired for the night?’
‘I have, but I’m a mate of theirs. Aldo.’ He held out his hand and I shook it, his skin warm and dry. ‘They wanted me to provide a bit ofgravitas, if you know what I mean?’ He winked, and I could see how Aldo could charm burglars into not carrying out their crimes – probably by talking their ears off until the police turned up.
‘Ethan wanted you to play security guard to up the exclusivity of the event?’ I couldn’t imagine it, and Aldo frowned, confirming my scepticism was warranted.
‘That was actually Sarah’s idea. She’s got more of a business mind. Ethan’s probably in there stroking the marble worktops, checking them for cracks.’
I laughed, because I could picture that easily.
Aldo’s gaze narrowed. ‘You know them, then?’
‘Oh, no. Not for a long time. Do I need to sign in or anything?’
‘Nah.’ Aldo waved a hand, his attention drawn to a car crawling slowly towards the gates. ‘Go on through.’ He stepped aside, and I realized his bulk had been blocking the view of the house, and that I had a straight line of sight to it now. It was like a blinding flash of lightning, the big reveal at the end of a film, because the magazine photographs hadn’t done it justice.
It looked unreal, the wide pathway a straight line up to the front door, the slabs a creamy beige and so clean they shimmered. The lawns on either side looked like they had been trimmed with nail clippers, and a gravel driveway snaked off to the left, the space for cars set away from the house and the views of the coastline, so they wouldn’t ruin the aesthetic. The porch was luxurious, spotlights and gleaming chrome around the sage green front door, a deep enough recess to shelter a whole family from the rain. I felt a glimmer of familiarity at the gabled roof and soft grey stone, but the house was so much lighter, with so many reflective surfaces, that I wondered if thiswasa reinvention, or if they’d knocked down the old building and started again from scratch, creating a modern echo.
Through the window to the right of the door I could see fragments of a spacious kitchen and then, in the next room along, large, pale sofas and a wall the blue of the sky before dusk. They were teasers, tantalizing me, and suddenly I couldn’t wait to get inside.
But then the front door slid open, and my fingers began to tingle, a buzz working its way up my arm. If I was going to have a panic attack, now would absolutely be the right moment.
‘You can go on up, darlin’,’ Aldo called from behind me, but I was rooted to the spot.
Two figures had come out to stand on the porch, and I was glad that I couldn’t see their expressions clearly from where I stood. The woman was slightly shorter than the man, her slender frame poured into a burnt orange dress that straddled the line between business and cocktail party, with a cinched-in waist, tight skirt and swooping neckline. Her patent heels were gleaming, her dark hair pulled up in a high ponytail. I had known her as a chaotic, sullen teenager, but it was undoubtedly Ethan’s sister. She looked as if she’d had as much of a transformation as the house.
The man was wearing a slim-fitting, cobalt blue suit, the jacket done up over a crisp white shirt despite the weather, and a tie in a shade of sage that matched the door and gates. He had always looked good in green, because it brought out the autumn tones in his hair, the conker and amber, the gold flecks in his brown irises.
His arms were motionless at his sides, everythingabout him immaculate, but then he took a small step forward, and faltered. I saw the moment he realized who I was, because he lifted his hand, rubbed his forehead and then slid his fingers through that chaos of hair, the one thing about him that was never tamed because he treated it as his personal stress toy.
Ethan Sparks was standing on the porch of his beautiful house, the culmination of all his dreams, and I was about to bring disorder back into his world. ‘Sorry, Ethan,’ I murmured, and, remembering Spence’s words, straightened my spine and walked towards him and his sister.
Dear Connor,
The house feels so empty without you.
When I came back to the village the last time and discovered you had gone, it was as if someone was playing a cruel joke on me, someone who had decided we were too good together, that something so bright and sparkling couldn’t be allowed. Everything was better when I was with you–whether we were with other people, our hands brushing, linking our fingers at our sides, or when we were in our own little bubble, walking on the beach and planning our future.
Now I’ve returned and you’re still not here, and so I have to face these stretching, endless days without you. The pen sounds loud, scratching across the paper in this room where only the clock is ticking. But if I listen carefully, if I close my eyes, I can hear the waves breaking against the sand. It’s a different rhythm to the clock, and the two of them overlapping make me dizzy, as if I’m not solid enough to stay tethered to the ground.
I’m starting to realize how many things I took for granted. Every time you smiled at me; all the times I made you laugh that felt like a victory. Whenever you touched me, and all those hours I spent wrapped up in you. I was such an idiot, because I thought that, whatever happened, we would make it. But now, all I can see are the places where you’re missing; on the beach and the cliffpath, the wind chilling my neck where you used to shelter me from it. There’s a dent in the sofa cushion beside me, the mug you used to use left dusty in the cupboard when I make tea. Our hands should be linked, your fingers locking perfectly into the spaces between mine, but they’re not.
I hope you’re well, and that you’re happy. I wish you were here, but I never want you to be anything other than happy. Tyller Klos is a shell, all those big rooms empty, and that’s how I feel too. This notepaper isn’t giving me a whole lot of answers, any ways to escape how I’m feeling, but at least I can get it all out of my head, and maybe things will start to feel easier.
I love you and I miss you.
Yours always, Amelie xx
Chapter Four
February 2012
‘Have you seen this new guy, Georgie?’ Kira slid her tanned arms along the table in front of me, lounging like a jellyfish, and I looked up from the lame notes I’d been scribbling for my Media Studies class. My teacher, Mr Carson, never checked the homework, because he always got distracted and launched into a discussion about some moral or ethical dilemma at the beginning of each lesson, which was useful for my critical thinking, but not so much for the approaching exams.
‘This new guy.’ I smiled at Kira. ‘I have no idea who you’re talking about.’
‘He got introduced by Mrs Couch today in Maths. Ethan something. Smart or Spartacus or Spunk.’
‘His name is EthanSpunk?’ I laughed. ‘Oh dear.’
