The Path to the Sea

by Liz Fenwick

  I hate that Mummy has been so busy. She has had a lot to do to make people happy. She is very good at it. When I told her this she laughed. I love it when she does. She is so beautiful all the time but when she laughs, her eyes sparkle. I’m happy that I make her laugh.

  In Moscow we spend so much time looking at art and attending concerts. And not talking about things. She has told me I must never tell anyone where we’ve been or who we have seen. I can tell Daddy, but never anyone else. And never when we are in our apartment. Only when we are outside and alone. I have asked why and she told me it was a secret and she knows I’m good at keeping secrets, like when we surprised Daddy with a party. So I don’t tell anyone about the man I see her talking to when we take my dog, Salome, out for a walk. I haven’t even told Daddy, I don’t think. It’s hard to remember all the things I’m not supposed to say.

  I miss Salome and I wish we could bring her here on holidays but we can’t. I hope she is having a nice time at the ambassador’s residence. But she will have to behave so well. No barking in the beautiful rooms. I miss Moscow but I love being here at Boskenna. I wish we could be here always.

  Goodnight, diary. I’m feeling sleepy and tomorrow we are going sailing even if the sun doesn’t shine.

  Diana

  19

  Lottie

  3 August 2018, 10.20 p.m.

  All Gran’s stories of the bygone days filled the empty rooms as Lottie walked through the house shutting lights off. Thoughts of her mother’s diary hidden upstairs vied with her current situation. It was still a struggle to accept that she could go from being a solvent, mortgaged, flat-owner with a promising career, to debt so quickly. Paul was the easy answer. She’d loaned him money for materials for an exciting new contract with a hotel chain. They had wanted him to make exclusive designs for them to sell. God, they had been excited about this. She’d even worked on the designs with him, neglecting her own work for a while.

  She checked her phone. No new message from the private investigator. She shouldn’t hope. Paul was gone along with all her materials and finished pieces, and she couldn’t divorce him until they’d been married a year in April. Until then she was his wife thanks to UK divorce law. She shuddered then rubbed her neck to try to relieve the tension. Now was not a good time to let her thoughts tumble into a dreaded circular spiral. A walk would help.

  The last light from the evening sky was hidden under the cover of the trees and the large camellias lining the path. But she knew this route so well, she could walk it blindfolded. It held so many memories. She strolled on, picking up the scent of the eucryphia. She stopped. A few trees were missing, and through the gap she could just make out the funny angle of the Judas tree. It was here by this tree that she had met Alex for the first time. It had been knocked over in a storm twelve years ago but it kept on growing, thanks to Alex and Gramps who had pushed it as upright as they could. Gramps said it was the tree of love, but she knew otherwise. Two years later she and Alex had said their parting words there. Or more correctly she had said the most awful things she could think of, wanting to hurt him.

  Closing her eyes, she saw it all. Her friends from school were in the house. Alex had stormed out the back door. She’d chased him, grabbing his arm. ‘Look at me.’

  ‘Why should I? You’ve been all over John.’

  She frowned. She had been leading him on a bit, but it was because Alex was being so . . . so bloody stupid. She loved him, but he’d gone all weird and monosyllabic with her friends. She hoped that by encouraging John a bit, Alex would sit up and take notice.

  ‘It’s clear you’d rather be with him.’

  ‘If you act this way . . . then I might.’ She crossed her arms.

  ‘Well go right ahead.’

  She opened her eyes wide. ‘I thought you loved me.’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘If you did, you’d fight for me.’

  ‘Is that what you want? Local boy up against posh rugby boy.’ He huffed.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re just not man enough to deal with this.’

  He turned from her.

  ‘The way you’re acting, you’re just not good enough.’ She crossed her arms.

  He looked at the house, shook his head then walked away.

  She’d watched him disappear into the garden then she’d rejoined the others, still simmering with frustration. A few hours later when almost everyone had settled in the smoking room, she slipped back out into the garden for air. A few friends were playing croquet in the dark and John was one of them, which was a relief.

  Turning left, she went up the long path. There was enough of a breeze to stir the tops of the trees but close to the ground all was still, except her head. It was swirling slightly. She didn’t normally drink so much. However the fresh air was helping. But it didn’t take away what she had done. How could she have been so mean to Alex? He was more than good enough, he was everything she ever wanted. She’d just been vain – leading on John, wanting the attention.

  Tonight, so many years later, the feelings of the past seemed so close – like Lottie could reach out and touch her eighteen-year-old self. Yet right now the earth was dry though that night it hadn’t been. The smell was different, too. She couldn’t pinpoint it at the moment, but ten years ago the weather had been more variable and earlier that evening there had been a light shower, raining enough to dampen the topsoil. She hadn’t known then that her evening would become much worse. She’d been an innocent up until then. Yes, she’d been wrong to treat Alex that way she had, but she could have apologised to him. What happened next . . . could not be fixed.

  Looking back, it had the feel of a car crash: moving forward despite her foot pressed hard to the brake. Remembering, her skin went cold as she walked through the gate and turned to the watchtower. She paused on the path, unable to move forward or backward. It all felt too close. Closing her eyes, Lottie let herself recall what had happened.

  Standing out at the furthest place on the point she dared, she had scanned the horizon looking for a falling star so she could make another wish. This time she longed to make a stronger one than the last so she couldn’t mess it up. But the stars were dimmed because the moon was just rising and it was nearly full. It left a clear pathway on the sea. It looked like she could climb down the cliff and walk across the bay on the white road.

  A twig snapped. She froze.

  ‘There you are.’ John’s words slurred a bit. He had followed her. ‘This place is perfect.’

  She looked around. ‘It’s not bad.’ He stepped closer and she moved back.

  ‘I knew when I saw you leave that you wanted me to follow.’

  She shook her head. That was the last thing she wanted. She wanted Alex right now. She needed to say sorry because she’d been a right idiot. John walked straight up to her and leaned in for a kiss. She dodged it.

  ‘Sorry, John. I came out for fresh air and to be alone.’ She put heavy emphasis on the last word.

  ‘This will clear your head.’ He kissed her, and she pushed him away.

  ‘No.’ She turned around and was about to leave but stopped. ‘Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea.’ This was her fault. Everything was. She had to find Alex.

  ‘But you fancy me.’ He held out his hands.

  ‘No. You’re a friend.’

  His head dropped down.

  ‘Are you coming back to the house?’ she asked.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He turned from her to stare out to the bay.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said as she walked away, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Had Alex gone home or gone out? She had begun to type a text when she heard John swear. She stopped and headed back. He was probably lost, and as much as she wanted to find Alex, she couldn’t leave John on the point.

  ‘John?’ She called out. ‘John?’

  ‘Shit,’ he said.

  She heard fumbling.

  ‘John, where are
you?’

  He screamed and her heart stopped. She raced forward to where she had left him. He wasn’t there. Carefully she walked to the edge, her mouth dry, and peered over. The risen moon glowed off John’s white t-shirt. Even from this distance she could see the awkward way his body lay.

  ‘John!’ she shouted, but she knew there was no point. Her hand shook as she dialled 999 and prayed. Sinking to the ground, she was sick and couldn’t stop trembling. This was her fault. She never should have left him here alone. She rocked herself back and forth while she waited for the rescue services, but there was no comfort to be found.

  Now Lottie shivered despite the warm evening. A decade had passed, and it was as fresh in her mind as when it happened. That night had changed the course of her life. She hadn’t gone to Ruskin School of Art. Instead she had lived in her mother’s flat in London and gone to Central St Martins. All the while under the watchful eye of her mother’s housekeeper. All trust between her and her mother had gone, and not without good reason. She was to blame. Had she taken the internship her mother had arranged, then she would never have been in Boskenna that night, and John would still be alive. Lottie lived with that knowledge every day. No wonder things had gone wrong with Paul. She didn’t deserve love.

  Instinct took her through the darkness and back to the gate. It was possible that the last time this gate had been used was in February when she’d taken Paul to the pub in Charlestown. His reaction to Cornwall and his behaviour towards her grandparents should have warned her something was wrong. But she always looked for the best in people and that was a mistake. Unlocking the gate, she kicked the post to unstick it. From now on she would be alone like her mother. The other way didn’t work. She had tried, she had failed, and she had repeated the process, not learning. Now was the time for a new Lottie.

  Peering into the dark, she realized that she hadn’t taken a proper walk yet. And she still needed to clear her head. The evening was cool and she shivered as she retraced her steps. Part of her wanted to walk out to the point but doing it at night wasn’t a good idea. She wasn’t a fool, but many would not believe that if her latest problems came to light.

  Changing her mind, she turned around and went towards Porthpean beach. The tightness in her chest eased and her mood improved listening to the sound of the waves. That was where she’d first kissed Alex. She closed her eyes, remembering. It had been as good as she had dreamed it would be. For two years before that, she had trailed after him while he worked for Gramps in the garden. Quite possibly, she had been the most embarrassing version of herself – finding ways to follow him, to see him, to do anything to catch his attention. Even now she cringed at her blatant lovestruck actions.

  Gramps always used to sing the song, ‘A Kiss to Build a Dream On’, copying Louis Armstrong’s style. The summer of 2007, when she was seventeen, she’d had the song on repeat in her head every time she saw Alex. He never even acknowledged her existence. She was too young and therefore beneath his notice.

  Everything changed the following summer. She’d turned eighteen, A-levels were behind her and she was waiting for her results. The summer had begun with a two-week break with her grandparents, and that kiss on this beach had changed everything. She knew then that she wasn’t going to take the internship her mother had planned, she was going to spend the summer in Cornwall with Alex. A summer to pull pints and have a boyfriend who was sexy as hell. He was the only one she had ever wanted, and she’d thrown him away.

  Pulling her shoulders back, she set off slowly until she reached the steps down to the beach. Even now the longing she’d felt as a teenager, as she’d watched him as he mowed the lawn and trimmed the hedges, still stirred her. It shouldn’t. She’d moved on long ago.

  During those sun-drenched days, she would help Gran in the house then lie on the lawn in her bikini, pretending to read while watching him. He knew, of course he did. Then finally one night after a few pints, he’d walked her home and they had continued on past the gate and onto the beach. The moon had been full, and she’d been brave. After they had both skimmed stones for a bit, they stopped to watch a tanker in the distance. He was so close to her, she could smell the freshness of his aftershave. She’d leaned a bit closer and he turned his head towards her. Before she could stop herself, she tiptoed up and kissed him. In the light of the moon, she could see the smile hovering on his lips.

  ‘That took you long enough,’ he said, before he kissed her back.

  Lottie laughed as she paused on the last step before she reached the beach now. Young and foolish. At least now she could remember the fun parts. For a while she had thought the only thing she would remember was the summer’s end.

  ‘Lottie?’

  She stopped. ‘Alex?’

  ‘Yes.’ He held a fishing rod and a bucket.

  ‘Any luck?’

  He nodded. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘Good question.’

  ‘Travelling down memory lane?’

  She cleared her throat. ‘Might have been . . .’

  Treading with care, she continued down onto the sand.

  ‘You know the tide is on its way in?’ He placed the fishing gear down and walked towards her as she strolled further north on the beach.

  She didn’t. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  The sound of the waves became louder and she stopped. Sensing, rather than seeing, if she went much farther, she would have wet feet.

  She turned, and he was right behind her.

  ‘I appreciated the apology.’

  She breathed in the scent of the sea and the cool evening air. ‘Long time coming.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Looking up at the sky, she tried to let go and be here now and not to think back to the past. She was on a beach in Cornwall with a man she’d once loved. This was all good. It was different. Nothing ever stayed the same, not even the rocks they were standing on. She would enjoy the moment for what it was. Peaceful.

  They stood in silence. Lottie was reluctant to break it despite all the questions racing in her mind. Above she picked out the plough and Mars. Ten years ago they had been lying on this beach, looking at the stars and kissing. What would it be like if she kissed him now? Nothing could ever feel like first love’s kisses. Everything was heightened, new and bursting with excitement. She shouldn’t be standing here thinking about that. It would never happen again. ‘Alex?’

  ‘Yes.’ His voice sounded almost sleepy.

  She cleared her throat. ‘I’m not complaining, but why exactly are you at Boskenna?’

  ‘I wondered when you were going to ask.’ She heard amusement in his voice.

  She turned to him, but he was just shadow now and impossible to read. ‘Well?’

  ‘Do you want the long or short version?’

  ‘Full, please.’

  ‘In which case we had better head up the path, as the tide won’t be high for another hour and already we will need to make a leap.’

  ‘Oh.’ She had been too lost in her thoughts and the stars to notice. He leaped and landed, and pebbles skidded.

  ‘Here take my hand.’

  She reached for it before jumping and crashing up against him. His arms steadied her, and his breath tickled the skin along her neck. She couldn’t breathe, as though she’d been winded by the contact. Every cell in her came alive, reminding her of the past.

  ‘Thanks,’ she managed to say as she took a careful step away, conscious of the rising water behind her.

  ‘No problem.’ He let go of her. They would have to climb onto the wall as the way to the steps was covered in water. ‘I remember this as being easier.’ He levered himself up.

  ‘Just thinking the same thing.’ She took his hand again and scrambled to the top. Once she was stable, he released her hand.

  ‘You were going to tell me . . .’

  He fell into step beside her. ‘Well, back in December I lost a close friend.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She let the back of her fingers to
uch his.

  His fingers stilled, keeping the contact. ‘Thank you.’ He exhaled. ‘And it made me see how short life can be.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And the more I thought about that . . . the more I realized that although I enjoyed London, I wanted to be in Cornwall.’ He moved his hand and cool air took its place.

  ‘Your job?’ She had no idea what he did. He’d been studying computer science.

  ‘I was in IT and I had an idea that I’d build my own company based here.’

  She paused. ‘So, you’re building it in Boskenna’s stable block?’

  ‘Your grandparents offered it to me along with the use of the cottage.’ He looked at her. ‘I’m grateful.’

  ‘I should think your arrival was ideal timing to help them.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  They reached the gate behind the café. This all felt so familiar, yet odd. In the past, every thought revolved around spending as much time with each other as possible. It hadn’t mattered whether they were walking the coast, swimming, or sailing. As long as they were with each other. Now they stood stiff like strangers.

  She stifled a yawn.

  ‘Get some sleep. You’ve had a tough day.’

  ‘Yes.’ She closed the gate behind them and looked up to her grandparents’ room. The light was off, and she hoped they were both sleeping peacefully. She doubted she would.

  20

  Joan

  3 August 1962, 11.30 p.m.

  The bouillabaisse was a success, the summer pudding was delicious with just the right amount of bite, and now that the rain has stopped my guests are slipping outside into the fresh night air. I climb the front stairs to check on Diana. Unlike during most dinner parties, I haven’t seen her slip into the kitchen. Maybe the day’s sailing has tired her out, but that would be most unusual. She loves food and seems to be hungry all the time.