Darcy waves him away. ‘She’ll get it, if I’m right. If I’m wrong, no one’s got anything to lose, have they?’
‘Ah …’ Ally still isn’t following. Another person glares at them as they wheel past a small suitcase – bottom of an escalator not the ideal place to stand, apparently.
‘Just,’ Darcy insists, ‘don’t choose love until you’re definitely ready to.’
That is pretty much the opposite of the usual rhetoric, but Ally gives a nod-shrug, wanting Darcy to stop the alarmingly intense stuff. ‘Sure. Okay.’
‘Are you trying to tell me something here?’ Aaron pipes up. Then he turns to Ally. ‘Sorry, she’s not usually like this. Or actually, maybe sometimes, but only with people we know.’
‘Ally doesn’t mind, do you, Ally?’ Darcy says breezily. Ally doesn’t really feel she can say no to this, so stays silent. ‘Right,’ Darcy starts to walk again, ‘I think we should get a drink. Ally, you like gin and tonic, don’t you?’
‘I do,’ Ally agrees – then realises, too late, that this looks like she’s agreeing to said drink.
Darcy gives Aaron a pointed look. Aaron huffs. ‘That doesn’t prove anything. Most of the bloody country likes gin.’
‘You don’t,’ Darcy says. She steers them towards a bar in a way that leaves little room for argument.
Ally tries to think of a reason not to join them. But her flight isn’t for an hour, and she knows that if left to her own devices, the nerves will mount. Besides, she weirdly quite likes this woman. Like she reminds her of a childhood friend. So she doesn’t argue as Darcy finds them a table, orders a round of drinks.
And she has this feeling, just for a moment. A rush of certainty, punching through her gut. Like right now this is exactly where she’s supposed to be.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Fifteen years later
Out on the cliffs, a safe distance away from the edge, Ally wraps her arms around little Harry, who has launched himself at her in a goodbye. She feels her eyes spark and her throat tighten. You’d think it would become easier after years of doing this, but some of the kids just get to her.
The parents are saying thank you, his mum looking a little less tired than when she dropped him off. Harry promises to come back next year, and Ally promises she’ll be right here.
She waves them off as they get into their car, the sea breeze tugging at her hair. She loves it out here on the Cornish coastline, with the sound of the waves a constant backdrop, and the feeling like you’re on the edge of the world. It’s why she decided to set up her camps here. She spent years learning what worked and what didn’t, getting the right qualifications, continuing with her own therapy so that she felt she was a safe pair of hands for the parents to put their trust in. And it’s hard sometimes. Really bloody hard. To see the way grief and loss can tear families apart – to see some of these kids come through the doors, dull behind the eyes. But it is the best possible job you could hope for, and at the end of every camp, she feels this brilliant sense of achievement, ofrightness.
Her one and only full-time employee comes out from the house at Ally’s back, the rest of the camp workers already heading to the nearest pub. Mostly the kids stay outdoors, in tents, but the house is useful for evening activities and for any kids who are nervous.
‘You did great, as always,’ Elsie says, patting Ally’s shoulder. Ally turns to her, smiles. Elsie’s curly silver hair ripples slightly in the wind. She’s a good fifteen years or so older than Ally. When Ally advertised for a second-incommand, she thought it would attract someone younger, someone who would only stick around temporarily, a step on the career ladder. But Elsie saw the job advertised while she was living in Bath, and decided it was time for a late career change. And she’s stuck.
‘You heading for a swim?’ Ally asks. It’s late in the day, the sun already starting its descent, but Elsie is a keen cold-water swimmer, having taken it up since moving to Cornwall.
‘Not tonight. Better first thing. And I’m beat,’ Elsie says, stretching. ‘Worth it, though,’ she adds with a smile.
Ally smiles back. ‘They always are.’ And Elsie gets it, because she lost a sister herself. ‘Your kids still coming down tomorrow?’
Elsie snorts. ‘Hardly call them kids any more. But yes. You’ll come for dinner?’
‘I will,’ Ally promises. She’s never had kids of her own. She’s had a handful of relationships over the years, one that lasted more than a decade. But none of them ever quite felt like the real thing. She supposes the timing was never right, and she feels okay about that. Some things just aren’t meant to be.
‘I know I say it every time,’ Elsie says, ‘but they’d be proud, you know.’ They. Her sister. Her mother. It started because of her sister, but really, it’s been more for Ally herself. In order to help the people she runs the camps for, she’s had to accept that it wasn’t her fault. That some things you can’t ever change, no matter how much you wish you could. That you might be able to learn and grow from the past, but you can never alter it. That is part of what she tries to help the kids with – to let go of guilt and blame. She doesn’t want it to define other people the way it defined her for so long.
Her mum, though, could never fully accept the past. She tried, but there was a part of her that always felt guilty, and that still blamed them both. And Ally has learnt to accept that, too. Because you can try to process your own feelings, control your own actions, but you can’t control other people’s. In the end, though, before she died, Ally thinks that despite all that, her mother was proud.
‘See you tomorrow then?’ Elsie says, squeezing her shoulder.
‘You will. Bye, Else.’ Ally gives the older woman a hug, breathing in the scent that has always felt comforting to her – like coming home.
She locks up the house, even though there’s little need, given that their nearest neighbour is the cottage that is almost falling into the ocean, one that hasn’t been inhabited in years as far she knows. With her swimming costume on under her clothes, just in case, she heads for a walk over the cliffs. She’s got in the habit of doing this at the end of every camp, walking along the shoreline, getting to know the ocean’s moods while she takes some time for herself. Today it’s warm and sunny, sweat pricking her neck beneath her hair. She loved it here the first time she saw it. It had been raining, sky grey, with a storm brewing above the sea on the horizon. But she still loved it. Still knew it was where she needed to be.
Up ahead there’s a man walking towards her, close to the edge. It’s rare, but not super unusual, to see someone out here – mostly the tourists stick to the more well-known spots.
She lifts her hand in friendly greeting as she gets closer. He’s about the same age as her, she thinks, early forties maybe. His arms and face are tanned, and when he smiles, it’s the type of smile that makes you want to return it. He walks with the ease of someone used to hiking for miles – or maybe someone used to pounding the treadmill. From the tan, she’d guess the former.
