She looks across the table at Sam. ‘Maybe she felt that way because she grew up in England during the war, when everything was so chaotic. She and Aunt Ellie lost their mother in a car accident when they were young. That’s pretty destabilising. Maybe that’s why she pushed me to take control of my future from an early age. Then, one day, a plane got diverted and I found myself here. Something totally out of my control.’
‘And everything changed.’
‘It should have, shouldn’t it? But nothing really changed for me. I didn’t let it. Nothing changed until I came back.’
‘What’s changed this time?’
‘Me. I’ve changed.’
The screen door slams and Toby Molloy bolts into the room with Becca, her cheeks flushed as she chokes on sobs.
‘It’s Ellie! Mr Byrne, she’s dead!’
Chapter 79
Tippy’s Tickle – 24 September 2011
On the hill of St Stephen’s Cemetery, the crowd slowly files past the weather-beaten headstones on its way to Kittiwake. In the distance, the aluminium spire of St Stephen’s Church shines on its spit of land, pale grey against the blue September sky. Clouds scuttle like seed tufts across the vast blue, and, here and there, black-legged tickle-aces keen and dive for fish in the undulating ocean beyond the village. Sophie wanders over to the stone cross beside the newly dug grave and rubs her hand along the top as she reads the inscription.
Thomas Augustus Parsons
17th March 1915 – 19th June 1954
Always loved
‘I always knew they’d end up together in the end.’
Sophie looks over at Florie. ‘She loved you too, Florie.’
Florie adjusts the black felt fedora that Becca had decorated with purple ribbon and seashells for the funeral. ‘Oh, I knows it, maid.’ She looks out at the ocean, its water glistening a deep blue under the September sky. ‘She was the love of my life, just like Thomas here was hers.’ She shrugs. ‘It goes like that sometimes.’
‘You made her happy. Isn’t that what’s important, in the end?’
‘Well, Sophie duck, you’ve changed your tune. I thought you were all about work, work, work. Didn’t you once tell Ellie that relationships were a distraction? What’s happened to you?’
Sophie glances over to Sam, Becca and Toby at the far end of the cemetery.
Florie nods. ‘Ah, say no more. Sam Byrne.’
Sophie smiles. ‘I didn’t come back here to rekindle anything with Sam. It was all about my career, Florie. I tried to convince the consortium to find another spot along the coast, but they loved the pictures I’d taken of Tippy’s Tickle and Kittiwake the last time I was here. This was the place they wanted. I sold my soul to the devil, all because I wanted to be a partner in the firm.’
‘You’re not paintin’ yourself a good picture, duck.’
‘I know.’
‘So, what changed?’
‘Ellie got me drawing again. I loved that when I was a child, but my mother always considered it a waste of time.’ She nods towards Becca. ‘Becca changed me too. Her zest for life. Her boundless creativity. Her independent spirit.’ She shrugs. ‘I wish she liked me more. It’s better than it was, but …’
‘She just has to get used to the idea of sharin’ her dad with another woman. She’ll come around.’
‘I’ve got a lot to think about, Florie. Sam. And … and Ellie told me some things I need to get my head around. I’m going back to New York in a few days.’
Florie digs into the pocket of her black pea-jacket and takes out a small blue box.
‘What’s this?’
‘Ellie wanted you to have it, duck. Open it later, when you’re on your own.’ She nods towards Becca who is walking between the headstones towards them. ‘I think someone wants to have a natter with you.’ She turns to leave. ‘You haven’t seen Emmy, have you? Haven’t seen him since the service.’
‘No, afraid not.’
‘All right, then. I’ll sees you at the house. I’ve got bakeapple cheesecake at the house. I knows you likes it.’
‘Best kind, Florie.’
Florie laughs. ‘We’ll makes a Newfoundlander out of you yet, duck.’
Sophie watches Becca approach, a slender sprite in a 50s navy polka-dot dress that she’d obviously liberated from one of Ellie’s old trunks in the attic. She places a posy of wildflowers on Ellie’s grave.
‘Is everything okay with your father?’ Sophie asks, fumbling with the sign language.
Rising, Becca signs. ‘Dad’s going to take on Toby in the workshop. He’s going to teach him how to make furniture.’
‘That’s wonderful, Becca!’
Becca nods. ‘We’re moving in with Florie. I’m going to make clothes for the shop.’
‘That’s just brilliant, Becca. I’m so happy for you.’
Becca looks at Sophie, chewing her lip. ‘I’m sorry I was awful to you,’ she signs. ‘I didn’t want Dad to forget Mom.’
‘He won’t forget her.’ Sophie looks over at Sam, who’s in a deep discussion with Toby. ‘I have to go back to New York, anyway.’
‘Don’t do that,’ Becca signs, her hands flying. ‘This is your home. We’re your home.’
Sophie shakes her head. ‘Thank you, Becca,’ she signs. ‘I appreciate that, but I still have to go.’
***
Sophie takes the blue box out of her pocket and walks over to a window in Emmett’s store. She wiggles the lid off the box. Inside, a gold locket sits on a cushion of white satin, its fine chain curled around the gold heart. Setting the box on the worktable, she lifts out the locket and holds it up to the window. A fine filigree of tendrils decorates the dull gold. She opens the locket. There’s no mistaking the pretty girl on the left: Winny, her perfect oval face framed by hair the colour of wheat in golden morning light.
She squints at the face looking back at her from the right side of the locket. A little girl of about five, her face sweet but ordinary, her brown hair cut into a blunt Dutch-boy bob. She holds the locket up closer, her eyes widening. It’s her. On her fifth birthday.
Setting the locket on the table, she lifts the cushion out of the box. A small piece of paper is folded into a neat square. She opens it up and reads.
Dearest Sophie,
This was your grandmother Winnifred’s locket.
I can’t think of anyone to whom I’d rather give it than you.
All my love, always.
Your mother, Ellie
‘So this is where you escaped to, Princess Grace.’ Sam stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the sharp white light of the late September afternoon.
‘It was too noisy at the house. I thought I’d come look for Emmett. He’s missing Florie’s bakeapple cheesecake.’
Sam enters the room. For the second time that day, Sophie blinks at his transformation. The dark grey suit shows the skill of a tailor in its perfect fit, and Sam has shaved off the stubble. He smiles, and the Sam she knows is there in the warmth of his deep brown eyes and the teasing grin.
‘Looks like most of the peninsula came out for the service today. The Warriors are on their second run to Wesleyville for more supplies.’ Sam leans against the windowsill and folds his arms. ‘Becca told me you’re heading back to New York.’
‘I have to. I have an apartment to sort out.’
‘Sort out?’
Sophie shrugs. ‘I haven’t got a job anymore. I’ll have to move.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘You wouldn’t believe the rent on my place. I’ll run through my savings in no time if I’m not working.’
‘You’ll land on your feet. Just not in those awful shoes you were wearing the first time I met you.’
‘I’ll have you know they were very expensive Jimmy Choos. Totally ruined, just like my green velvet suit. I made scatter cushions out of it. Did I ever tell you that?’
Sam chuckles. ‘A fitting end.’
‘Sam, there’s something I need to tell you. Something Aunt Ellie told me before she died. I
’ve been trying to tell you, but it’s been so crazy around here this week.’
‘You don’t need to tell me.’
‘What?’
‘You’re Winny’s half-sister.’
‘How long have you known that?’
‘Emmett. He told me everything after the fire. I think he thought it’d put me off.’
‘Emmett knew? How could he possibly know that Ellie was my mother? She told me she’d never told anyone, not even Florie.’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Did he say anything else? About me? About my father?’
Sam shakes his head. ‘No. Why?’
So, Emmett doesn’t know everything, it seems. Doesn’t know that George was also his father. But how did he know about Ellie’s pregnancy? I’ll find out. I’ll talk to him and find out. I’m sorry, Ellie, but I’m not going to keep your secrets. It’s time everything was out in the open.
‘It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? You and me? Winny being my half-sister?’
‘Yes, maybe a bit. But, it’s not like we’re blood relatives.’ Sam opens out his hands. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s all fine by me. Ellie was a wonderful woman. I wish you’d known her longer. You shouldn’t have stayed away so long.’
Sophie sighs. ‘I know. I was wrapped up in my career. But, the last couple of years … I don’t know. I was starting to feel … unbalanced. I was never much good at relationships. My parents’ marriage wasn’t exactly a great example. I was good at choosing the wrong people. I guess because I expected things to end. It was easier if things ended with someone I didn’t really care about that much. It kept me from getting hurt.’
‘Love hurts, haven’t you heard that, Princess Grace?’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of, Sam.’
‘You know, Sophie, it’s been hard for me to move on—’ his voice catches ‘—to move on from Winny. I loved her. She was my wife. I thought we’d be together forever.’
Here it comes. The gentle let-down. ‘I know, Sam. I understand.’
‘When Becca took such a shine to you when you were here last time, that was hard too. I felt like her liking you was somehow betraying Winny.’ He sighs. ‘Sorry, it’s crazy, I know.’
We may as well get to the point. She leans against the desk. ‘And now? How do you feel about things now? How do you feel about me? About us?’
He reaches out and runs a fingertip along her cheek. ‘Ellie wasn’t only beautiful, she was wise. She told me it was time to appreciate everything I had with Winny, and give myself permission to move on. Winny’s a part of me and a part of Becca. She always will be. But, Ellie was right. It’s time to move on. And, Princess Grace. I’d like to move on with you.’
Sophie blinks. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘You sure you don’t just want to play cribbage instead?’
Sam laughs. ‘Oh, there’ll be plenty of cribbage, don’t you worry.’ He picks up the locket from the table. ‘What’s this?’
‘It was Ellie’s. She’s given it to me.’
‘Turn around.’
‘What?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Nothing’s ever easy with you, is it? Turn around, Princess Grace.’
Sophie turns her back to Sam. She feels his breath on her neck as he fastens the locket around her neck.
‘I’m not going to hurt you, Sophie.’
Then, she is in his arms, her hands pressing his head to hers, kissing him like it’s a gift she’s only now learnt how to give.
She steps back and puts her hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’
Sam smiles. ‘I’m not. Not one bit. I’ve got you a present, too. Something to remember me by in the Big Apple.’
‘You didn’t have to do that.’
‘I know.’
‘I mean you didn’t have to do that because I’ll be back in a few weeks. As soon as I can tie everything up in New York.’
‘You’ll be back? In a few weeks? Are you sure? I can always fly to see you in New York.’
‘Florie cornered me in the house over the cheesecake. She had it all figured out. I’m moving into Kittiwake with her and Becca and Toby, and the baby, when it comes. We’re going to be a proper commune. I’m going to become an artist, Sam. I’ll sell my work online and in Florie’s shop. I can help you design the art retreats, too, if you like.’
He slides his arms around Sophie’s waist. ‘It’s pretty quiet up here, Princess Grace. Not much to do here, except this.’ He nuzzles her neck. ‘And this.’ He slides his hand to the small of her back as he kisses her ear. ‘And this …’ He presses his forehead to hers. ‘You might hate it here. You haven’t been in Tippy’s Tickle in winter. Did anyone tell you we’ve got seven seasons?’
‘Seven seasons?’
He counts the seasons off his fingers. ‘Spring – that’s snow and icebergs; trap berth – fog and rains mostly and we call it mauzy; summer – a bit of sun, and fog, of course; berry – that’s berry-picking time to you and me; late fall – snow; winter – more snow; and pack ice – snow, fog, ice, rain. Party time.’
Sophie grimaces. ‘You’re not selling it to me, Sam. Have you ever thought about Florida?’
Laughing, Sam opens a drawer under the table and takes out a package of Jam Jams, wiggling them at Sophie. ‘Consider them a bribe to stay.’
Sophie’s smile dissolves into a frown.
‘What’s the matter? I had Ace bring these back from Wesleyville especially.’
Reaching into the drawer, Sophie removes a white envelope. Sophie is scrawled across the envelope in blue ink. ‘What’s this?’
‘I don’t know.’
Sophie turns over the envelope. Through the white paper she can feel something hard. She tears open the side and tips a key into her hand. ‘A key? What am I supposed to do with this?’
‘There must be a note.’
Sophie peers into the envelope. At the bottom, a piece of blue paper is folded in two. Taking it out, she reads. She looks at Sam. ‘It’s the key to a safety deposit box in St John’s. It’s from Emmett.’
Chapter 80
Seal Point Lighthouse – 24 September 2011
Emmett pulls in the oars and rubs the calluses at the base of each of his thumbs. He raises his face to the sky. It’d been a fine day. Another hour or so left before the chilly autumn night draws in. He’d thought summer was done for sure after the rain yesterday. It’d been right mauzy and cold enough to skin you. But, there you goes. Just when you thought things were what you expected, something came along to change everything. Something or someone.
He bobs on the waves, letting the rowboat drift. He squints up at the lighthouse on the cliff, the jab of white like a flag against the blue sky and grey cliff. Leaning over, he picks up an old leather satchel with a frayed strap held on by uneven stitches of green twine. He nods as he feels inside the bag. Still there.
He looks up at the clouds hovering in the sky like wads of cotton. Are you there, Mam? Up in Heaven? It’s where you belongs. I saved you, Mam. You knows that now, don’t you? I knows it was hard for you after you came back from England. After the baby. You didn’t think I knew, did you? I was away up in Fogo. You fixed that up for me, didn’t you, Mam? Got Jim Boyd’s brother-in-law to get me the job on the boat so I wouldn’t see the baby growing in you.
A spray of water shoots through the waves about fifty feet starboard. A grey-black hump curves through the water and disappears. Emmett scratches his nose. He pulls out the stack of papers from the satchel, sifting through them until he finds the one he’s searching for.
Alder Lodge
Newmarket Road
Norwich
5th May, 1963
My dearest Ellie,
I hope this finds you well, and that the trip back to Newfoundland wasn’t too onerous. The baby is a delight. We’ve named her Sophie Mary and she has your eyes. Dottie is delighted to have a little project to keep her busy. I must confess I
’m happy to have her divert her attention from me! I feel I’ve always come up short whenever she’s attempted to ‘improve’ me.
I’ve enclosed the first cheque of eight as promised. I’m sorry it’s taken a few weeks, but it’s a large amount, so the bank took some time to make the proper arrangements. All you need to do is countersign it and present it to your bank over there. I’ll send the subsequent cheques quarterly over the next two years, as we agreed.
There, that’s enough of all that, though I hope you find your situation eased with the additional funds. I hadn’t realised it had been so difficult since … Well, since the awkward business with Dottie a few years ago after Thomas’s passing.
You mentioned you’d buy a camera with some of the money and send me a picture of Emmett and Winny. I would love to see them. I will do the same with Sophie so you can see how she grows over the years. Dottie and I will do our very best for her, of course. You have no worries on that score.
Do take care of yourself, and please know how very much we appreciate what you’ve done for us.
With sincere fondness and gratitude,
George
He folds the letter and slides it back into the satchel with the others. Eight letters in all and eight cheques. Mam hadn’t needed to see those. Poison letters. Letters about her shame. It’d been one of his chores to collect the post from Jim Boyd’s store when it came in. It’d been easy to take the letters. As soon as he had all eight, he was back up to Fogo to fish on one of the new boats up there. Another government initiative. You could say what you wanted about that Smallwood fella over in St John’s, but he sure knew how to spread Ottawa’s money around.
He needed to put the letters in a safe place. He didn’t want her finding them, with her snooping around. It had to be the cave. No one would ever find them there.
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