‘Surely you can’t have been stuck in the postbox for over fifty years?’ Verity said aloud before reading the words written on the card.
My Dearest Henrietta,
I know the secret must have been too much to bear but I can’t imagine my life without you.
Always and forever,
W x
Perplexed, Verity turned the postcard over, then turned it back and read the words again. She racked her brain trying to think of anyone in her grandmother’s life with the initial ‘W’. Then it suddenly struck her – she’d seen the picture on the front of the postcard before! She hurried down the hallway to the snug and opened the door. Even though this room had changed over the years, Verity always remembered the sight of her grandmother sitting in her armchair in front of the bay window – her favourite spot – usually knitting and watching the comings and goings of the street. The decor had changed when her mum had inherited the house, and again when Verity bought it, but after all these years her grandmother’s favourite picture was still hanging on the wall. Richard had never liked it, claiming it looked like something out of a junkshop, but Verity had refused to take it down. She loved it and it reminded her of her childhood.
Staring at the framed photo on the wall now, she saw that the image was exactly the same picture as the one on the postcard.
‘W, who is W?’ Rummaging through the drawer of the dresser underneath the photo, Verity found exactly what she was looking for: her granny’s old address book. Sitting down she quickly began to turn the pages, looking for any name beginning with W. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to find or what she was going to do about it.
When she reached the end of the address book, she sat back, a little disappointed. Sliding the address book back in the drawer, she stood again in front of the framed picture hanging on the wall.
Who was W and what secret was too much to bear? Were they friends, lovers? Taking the photograph off the wall she laid it on the carpet. Carefully bending back the pins, Verity removed the back of the frame, surprised to find a message written on the back of the photograph…in the same writing as the postcard.
The summer of 1972.
W x
Quickly doing the maths, she realised her grandmother would have been twenty-two years old in the summer of 1972. More importantly, her daughter, Verity’s mother, was born in 1973. Verity immediately thought of her grandfather, Alf. She was almost sure her grandparents were married just before her mother was born but she couldn’t be certain. Both of them had passed away – her grandfather twenty years ago from lung cancer, which was not surprising as Verity had never seen him without a cigarette in his mouth, and her grandmother unexpectedly in her sleep twelve years ago. She remembered them as very much in love and inseparable.
So how did W fit into the equation? ‘You’re overthinking it,’ she said out loud, trying to stop her spiralling thoughts. W could be anyone, but the use of the word ‘secret’ on the postcard intrigued her, as did the fact that both the postcard and the picture that had been hanging on the wall in the snug for decades belonged to the summer of 1972. Taking a photo of the inscription, Verity reassembled the picture and hung it back in its place.
‘Puffin Island,’ she murmured, taking the postcard into the sitting room and grabbing her iPad from her rucksack. She typed ‘Puffin Island’ into Google.
‘No way.’ Verity was astonished. According to Google, Puffin Island was a real place!
Puffin Island gives a distinct and spectacular character to the north Northumberland coastline just off the town of Sea’s End. The island is approximately 2.5 miles long and 9 miles around.
Still not believing that this island really existed, Verity clicked on the images and immediately felt the familiar comforting warmth that the childhood stories told by her beloved granny had always conjured. Independent shops lined the charismatic old high street, and charming restaurants and bespoke shops were dotted along the picture-postcard harbour beside a pretty lighthouse. Verity had always been fascinated by the famous rainbow cottages her granny had described, and insisted that when she grew up, she would live at Cosy Nook Cottage on Lighthouse Lane, which was a stone’s throw from Blue Water Bay. With its dramatic coastline, soft stretches of caramel sand and a puffinry of puffins, Verity was inordinately pleased to find that the island was real and not just a figment of her granny’s imagination.
‘You’re actually a place. I can’t quite believe it,’ she whispered, trying to digest the information.
Puffin Island is a tidal island linked to the tiny hamlet of Sea’s End by a long causeway. Twice a day the tide sweeps in from the North Sea to cover the road, affected by the phases of the moon. The causeway crossing times are forecasted as safe, but all travellers should remain vigilant.
Again, exactly what her granny had told her.
Looking back at the postcard, Verity suddenly realised that there was a huge possibility thatallthe bedtime stories that Granny had told her were true. She racked her brain trying to remember if Granny had ever mentioned any names beginning with W, but no one sprung to mind.
ChapterTwo
Verity was woken at the crack of dawn by the sound of her alarm. She took a moment to rally herself, then realised she had no time to stay in bed. It was today her adventures started. Arriving in Amsterdam was hopefully going to be all flowers and museums, food and coffee shops. Organised as ever, she’d laid out all her clothes the night before, opting for a simple pair of denim shorts, a white T-shirt and her faithful, comfy, worn-out trainers. Already packed in her rucksack were a raincoat and jumper as she didn’t know how chilly it would be on the ferry.
Within seconds she’d jumped out of bed and straight into the shower. Welcoming the warm jets of water that cascaded over her body, she stayed in longer than necessary, knowing that tomorrow morning she would probably be washing with a portable pet shower.
Fifteen minutes later she blasted her hair with the hairdryer, tied it up in a messy bun and applied minimal makeup. Just as she was about to slip her feet into her trainers she heard rain start to patter against the windowpane. Late last night, dark clouds had rolled in, torrential rain had given the town a drenching, and it seemed the storm wasn’t quite done yet. Verity checked the weather app on her phone, finding that a thunderstorm was currently raging in Newcastle upon Tyne. Hopefully, by the time she arrived, it would have passed. Pulling back the curtains for the last time, she stood for a moment, breathing deeply and taking in the view she wouldn’t see again for at least six months. The last few months of her life had been full of turmoil, but since she’d made the decision to take off in her travelling van, it had felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was relieved that it was almost time to hit the road. She couldn’t wait to catch up with Ava.
After making a flask of tea, Verity did a final check of the house, switching off the fridge and all the electrical sockets. She laid all the appliance instructions out for the new tenants and picked up her rucksack.
Just as she was about to go through the door, she hesitated, remembering that the postcard from Puffin Island was still lying on her bedside table. She quickly ran up the stairs to fetch it and slipped it into her rucksack. She couldn’t wait to share with Ava the story of the old postbox and see what she made of the message written on the postcard.
Locking the front door behind her, she gave a quick glance around to confirm that there wasn’t a soul in sight and she would be able to slip away quietly, just as she’d planned. She deposited the keys in the lockbox, threw her rucksack onto the passenger seat and slipped the flask of tea into the door pocket.
Then she punched a text to Ava.
