‘I think it’ll be hard for you to settle until you’ve spoken to her. I also think it will be easier to talk to her now some time has passed and things are a bit more transparent, especially with Petra. I also know that in the heat of the moment, when people are backed into a corner, they say things they don’t necessarily mean and only time allows it all to flatten out.’
‘Okay.’ He took a deep breath and bit his lip.
She laid the hose on the ground and turned off the outside tap, before kissing her boy on the forehead. ‘It’ll all be okay, Bear. It’ll get better, easier. Your heart will heal. But I don’t need to tell you that, do I, Edgar Stratton? You’re a wonderful, strong man! You’ve got this. And any woman – Ms Tawrie Gunn or anyone else for that matter – will be very lucky to have you.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
She noticed how just the mention of Tawrie was enough to bring a lump to his throat and she hoped and prayed that taking him back to Corner Cottage was the right thing to do for them both.
‘When should we go, do you think?’
She shared a lingering, knowing look with Charles.
‘How about tonight after supper? What is it they say? No time like the present? We could drive in the dark and chat on the way, make it part of our adventure.’
‘As long as I can shower before we leave and freshen up. Oh, and I get to choose the music. I think a few hours of non-stop ABBA might finish me off!’ His smile, however, was faltering and she understood, aware as she was of the enormity of going back to face Tawrie.
‘I can’t promise.’ She winked, thinking about what she might need to pack for a couple of nights away and trying not to think about those first nights way back when the kids were little and she and Hugo had spent a week or so surrounded by boxes and chaos, under the misapprehension that once they had restored order in their new home, they would be able to do the same in their marriage. ‘But life’s not that simple.’ She had meant to think it, only aware she’d spoken out loud when both Charles and Bear looked from one another to her. ‘Right then, supper!’ She spoke with gusto, keen to distract from her embarrassment. ‘Pizza or chippy?’
‘Chippy!’
‘Pizza!’
Charles and Bear spoke in unison and she was thankful for the laughter that followed. It was a reminder of all that was good in her life right now and a picture she would carry in her mind as she made the journey to the south-west.
It was dark when Bear, yawning and flexing his aching back, parked his rusting old banger in Ropery Road car park. Harriet was glad of the darkness, a shield of sorts. It was odd to be back: comforting, familiar and wonderfully evocative, taking her instantly to the time when her children had been young and wanted nothing more thanto run on wet sand with a bucket and spade, and hold a drippy ice cream at the end of the day. Yet there was no denying the tremble to her limbs, a reminder that this was where her marriage had imploded and she had been set adrift.
Gripping her hastily packed holdall, she followed her son up the slight incline of Fore Street. The street was largely untouched, a few buildings in much better condition than she remembered, a couple worse, but the meandering shape of the pavements, the thick, whitewashed walls, towering town houses and squat cottages – the soul of the place – was exactly the same.
The darkness was softened by Victorian street lamps and the festoon lights that criss-crossed the buildings, meaning she walked under a canopy of warm light. Dilly had once marvelled at them, and as Hugo carried her home on his shoulders, she’d asked if they were fallen stars. The thought of her daughter made her smile; her beloved bookworm who in a few short weeks would have a child of her own – she was full of excitement at the prospect, but still wondered if she’d ever get used to the idea.
Inhaling now, she took in the scent of salt air, real fires, fish, beach life and the history of three hundred years. She thought about the footsteps of everyone who had trod Fore Street. Including her younger self, who had lugged suitcases and collapsing cardboard boxes stuffed with kettles, books, lamps and other items that had evaded capture by the removal men, which she’d hastily grabbed and shoved into the back of their roomy saloon on the day of the big move.
If, over the years, she’d envisaged a return, in her mind’s eye it had been very similar to the momentous journey she had taken over two decades ago, when the sun had been high in the sky, gull song heralded her arrival, and the pretty harbourside town nestled in its higgledy-piggledy formation from the top of the hill right down to the water’s edge. Arriving at Corner Cottage, she would, as before,throw the windows open and take a minute to appreciate the light that streamed in through the wide sash windows. Back then, amid the chaos of a new move, and with her mind heavily laden with all she wrestled with, she had still been quite overwhelmed by the beauty of her surroundings, while from the vibrant harbourside, ripples of laughter and the warm scents of holiday had wafted up to welcome her. This time it was quite different, though. She was a different person with a different life, a new family even! This trip was about rounding off the edges of an unfinished work – a reckoning of sorts.
Corner Cottage, on the junction of Mill Head and Fore Street, a house they had bought in haste and abandoned as quickly, looked just as she’d expected from the photographs sent by thankful families who had enjoyed a holiday there, or the newly snapped images from the rental agent.
It was meant to have been a new start for their little family, but with divorce looming, no intention of selling the house in Ledwick Green, and without the first clue as to how things might pan out, they’d figured it would provide an income, which they would divide equally, as well as being a wonderful nest egg for the kids when they grew up. The little house on the corner might look pretty much as she’d expected, but nothing could have prepared her for how being here felt, as the memory of her emotional turmoil came flooding back so powerfully, it almost knocked her off her feet.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Bear, oblivious, stood at the front of the cottage and looked down the street, which had an ethereal quality at this hour and in this light.
‘It really is.’ The slight quaver to her voice belied her steady response.
She watched as her son’s eyes wandered along the street and then rose, settling on the looming silhouette of Signal House. Itwas hard to imagine how it must feel, being this close to Tawrie and with so much left to say, but not being able to say it.
‘All good things, my love,’ she whispered.
‘God, I hope so, Mum.’
She caught the high emotion in his voice and it confirmed that being here was the right thing; he needed closure, one way or another.
As did she.
Watching now as Bear pulled the key from his pocket, she felt her stomach jump. A key that once held so many possibilities, entry into a new life, a new beginning ... Without further time to think, he was in and had flicked on the light in the small, square hallway, as she climbed the steps to the front door.
The interior was different, beautifully updated by Dilly and now in a soft palette of pale blues, creams and navy. It was very beachy and yet tasteful, she approved. A new oversized sofa looked inviting and bookshelves groaned under the weight of all the books her daughter had read while recharging here. Some things were familiar: her grandmother’s old card table, which still sported the vintage china lamp that had once been in the sitting room at Ledwick Green, and next to that, a little shabbier, a little softer, sat the old leather club chair where she had spent so much time.
‘Welcome home.’ Bear’s voice jolted her into the present and she smiled at him. ‘Do you want a hot drink or is it too late?’ He glanced at his watch.
