Page 79 of A Cornish Love Story
‘Spence!’
‘I’m serious. You can’t walk out of my life now.’
‘OK.’ I turned properly to face her, folding my arms. ‘I won’t walk out, but you can’t doanythingelse to me. You can’t manipulate me or trick me or plan anything behind my back, and you have to leave me to do what I need to do.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘With Ethan?’
Warmth rushed over me. ‘With everything.’
‘Sarah says he’s distr—’
‘Stop!’ I held my hand up. ‘This is what I’m talking about. No tricks or hints or … anything. If you’re still in touch with Sarah, that’s none of my business.’ But it was so hard not asking her to finish that sentence.Whatwas Ethan? Distraught? Distressed? Distracted?
‘Understood.’ Spence nodded, all business. ‘No more funny stuff. And if you support me with my book, then I’ll support you with yours. Whatever you need, though I promise not to interfere.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course.’ She sounded surprised. ‘You mean a lotto me. I might not always show it in the best way, but it’s true. I want you to succeed, but I selfishly want you to do it while still spending time with me.’
I nodded, my nose prickling unexpectedly. ‘Course. You are my favourite author, after all. That counts for a lot. Now, do you want another coffee? How many more of these letters are there to do today?’
‘We’re about quarter of the way through,’ she said, then tutted when my mouth fell open. ‘I’m lots of other people’s favourite author, too. Think yourself lucky you get more access to me than most. It’s not something you should be taking for granted. Now, don’t forget, I want cream in my coffee because it’s Friday. Not plain old milk like you gave me last time.’
I hid my smile as I went into the kitchen. Order was restored, but I felt better equipped to deal with Spence now, my slowly growing confidence like heavy metal beams supporting a splintering wooden foundation, shoring me up and making me stronger.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Now
On Saturday, a week since I’d walked home in the blissful dawn after one of the strangest nights of my life, I woke up before the alarm, immediately alert. I rolled over and saw that it was a little after five a.m., and told myself it was just because I’d moved into Mum’s old room at the front of the house – my new mattress would arrive in the next few days – and that I’d taken the heavy green curtains down, so the sun was streaming in. But it was also the day my piece about Sterenlenn was being published in theStar, and I was anxious about how it would be received.
I kept myself busy, carrying on with the purging of Old Life I’d started earlier in the week. I got crockery out of cupboards, burrowed through drawers where Mum seemed to have kept every tea towel she’d everbought, however threadbare. The day was bright with pearly sunshine, and it picked out the dust motes all my reorganizing had kicked up. As I worked, I kept my phone on silent on the other side of the room.
It wasn’t until I was wiping the sweat out of my eyes, a whole chest of drawers empty and bags ready for the charity shop and textiles recycling, that I let myself look at it. I had a message from Wynn telling me they were getting good engagement online, and another from Kira saying it was excellent, and that she could read between the lines to the moments whenshenaniganshad gone on. She ended by telling me, again, that I should call Ethan. I even had a separate message from Freddy, promising that this was the start of something big for me. I wondered if Kira had put him up to it.
I hauled the bags into the village, deposited them in their assigned places and then treated myself to an ice cream, scoops of clotted cream and pistachio, and sat on the low wall that separated the bay’s car park from the sand. The sky was clear of clouds and the beach was a riot of people, walking and swimming, surfing and sunbathing. Someone walked past holding a copy of theNorth Cornwall Star,rolled up like a makeshift rounders bat. I could hear the waves, a constant in the background, overlayed with the thrum of talking and excited shrieks, and I enjoyed the feeling of being anonymous in such a busy place.
I went through the afternoon on autopilot, and only thought of Ethan about once every two minutes.Would he see my article as a betrayal, or would he be amused by it? I could find out if I used the number he’d left me, but I didn’t.
My life settled into a new kind of normal. I was actively living in the house I’d grown up in, brightening the rooms with pictures I loved and getting rid of clutter I’d only held onto because I thought Mum would want me to keep it. I bought some paint samples and tested them out on the living-room walls. I was thinking of feature walls – of the way Ethan had brought the landscape into Sterenlenn – and tried shades called Boat Shed Blue and Sea Spume Green (actually a nice colour, despite the name).
Wynn asked me to come up with new ideas for the paper, saying that as long as I stuck to the facts where news stories were concerned, I could write more imaginative pieces too. I was flattered, until she told me she was prepared to try anything to get circulation figures up. I decided that she was at least partly joking, and set about making a list of the subjects I wanted to write about.
I was walking back from the local eight-’til-late one July evening when I saw Grace, who had presented me with my quill trophy all those years ago, and who still ran theAlperwick Papers.
‘Georgie!’ She stepped swiftly off the kerb, crossing the road to join me. ‘How are you?’ She was still slender and statuesque, only the lines fanning out from her eyes and bracketing her mouth giving her age away.
‘I’m good, thanks, Grace.’ I put my bag on the floor. It had a bottle of wine in it, and the handle was biting into my palm. ‘What about you?’
‘Oh, chugging on as usual. I read your piece in the paper.’ She paused, as if she was waiting for a thank you. I just nodded. ‘Did you really get to go inside Alperwick House after all this time?’
‘I did.’ I didn’t add that I’d been inside when I was a teenager, too. ‘It was magnificent.’
‘It sounds it. And I loved the way you wrote about being trapped. It felt so real.’ She laughed.
‘It was a bit of whimsy,’ I said with a smile, then wondered what Ethan would think if I described our night together like that.
‘Well, if you’d like to direct any of your whimsy my way, theAlperwick Papersis always looking for stories.’
