A beat passed.
Then Ivy’s shoulders relaxed a little. ‘Really?’
Their eyes met. ‘Really,’ Trip said.
Ivy found herself grinning, a huge grin that hurt her cheeks. Trip would rather have been talking to her than that girl, and suddenly that was all she needed to hear. And okay, the secrecy around the trip to London was pretty weird – but he seemed genuine and besides, hehadbrought her fish and chips …
‘Okay,’ she said, feeling like a weight had been lifted off her chest. ‘I guess I’ll find out what you were doing in London one day, right?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, nodding vigorously. ‘Definitely. One day really soon. And you’ll like it. I think.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not great at keeping secrets,’ he admitted ruefully.
‘That is not a surprise.’ Ivy dunked a chip in her ketchup and glanced around at the stacks of origami paper, the piles of cardboard. ‘I forgot how much fun this can be,’ she said suddenly.
‘This?’
‘Yeah. This last-minute, putting-on-a-show stuff. All the rushing and the mess and the weird creative decisions that don’t make any sense until suddenly theydo.It reminds me of my A-level art show. It reminds me why I loved it so much. Especially when stuff doesn’t go to plan. You end up with something even more spectacular.’ She giggled. ‘Like acid-green fish.’
Trip smiled. ‘Don’t tell me the Fox Bay show has inspired you artistically?’
Ivy didn’t answer for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘Maybe.’ She thought of her sketchbook of hasty drawings and wondered.
For a moment, the two of them just sat there, legs touching slightly, fingers salty, surrounded by greasy paper and cold chips. Trip leaned his head back against a beanbag. ‘Oh, man. Tomorrow’s going to be completely ridiculous, isn’t it?’
‘Completely,’ Ivy said. She groaned and wiped her hands on a napkin. ‘Speaking of which, I had better get back to these fish. It’s going to take all night.’ She flexed her fingers. ‘Time to get folding.’
‘I can help, if you want,’ he said.
She glanced at him. ‘Was origami one of your Boy Scouts’ badges?’
‘I have literally no idea how to fold an origami fish. But I learn fast.’ He stood and held out his hand. ‘Come on.’
And so, perched at the counter on stools, they folded to the sound of a George Michael marathon on the radio. Slowly, awkwardly at first, then with growing rhythm. Coloured paperpiled between them, Trip’s hands working steadily. Ivy kept sneaking glances at his face, soft in the low light, intent on his work.
The hours passed. They made jokes about tomorrow’s show and took bets on which of the twins would forget their lines first and whether the lightning blast that heralded King Arthur’s entrance would ever land on cue and if they should put a warning at the start in case of nervous dogs.
At last, as the hands on Josie’s ancient clock turned two in the morning (which actually meant it was twenty past), Ivy reverently laid down her last fish.
‘Done,’ she whispered, cradling one exhausted hand in the other. ‘Three-hundred-and-fifty paper fish.’
Trip laughed and pushed back his hair. ‘Phew. I’m going to see these fish in my dreams later.’ He clambered off his stool. ‘I’m going to pack them up. In awaterproofbox.’
When the fish were safely sealed up and by the front door ready to go in the morning, Ivy and Trip looked at each other.
‘Can I walk you to your car?’ he asked.
‘I left it back at the town hall,’ Ivy realised.
‘We could walk along the beach at this time, right?’
‘At two-thirty in the morning? Sure, why not?’
Fox Bay was asleep, so they talked in hushed whispers until they reached the beach. The tide was out, and the sand stretched pale-grey under the sky. The moon cast silver light on the ripples of the sea. They could see harbour lights twinkling alongside the stars.
Trip and Ivy walked side by side, shoes in hand, toes curling into the cold sand. Her coat flapped lightly in the sea breeze.
‘Ivy,’ he said, ‘what you said the other day. Do you really think I’m like a – a golden retriever?’
Ivy groaned, pressing her mittened hands to her face. ‘Oh myGod.No.Trip, I really am so sorry—’
