‘Tea?’ she asks, withdrawing.
‘Yes, please.’ I take in my surroundings with amazement. ‘I can’t get over how much natural light there is in here now.’
Our home is an old fisherman’s cottage and the original part of the building has lots of character, with thick, uneven walls and deep window sills. Last autumn, my parents had the 1970s kitchen extension knocked down and replaced with a modern structure that’s about three times the size. It comprises a stylish kitchen, complete with an island and bar stools, and a large dining area with an eight-seater wooden bench table. This is the section of the room that I’m most drawn to as it has floor-to-ceiling glass doors opening on to a patio area, plus a giant corner window that faces the lush, leafy garden with its tree ferns and succulents. The climate in Cornwall is mild and here we’re sheltered in a valley, so it often feels subtropical.
The garden is what sold me on this house when we first came to look at it. I was thirteen at the time and felt torn about leaving London and all my friends – I was only just finding my feet at secondary school and I was very nervous at the thought of being thrown headlong into another. But my parents thought a move out of the city was long overdue for my brother Michael and me, and Mum wanted to live nearer to Gran in her old age.
I was on board with the plan because I wanted to live closer to her too. But only two years after we’d uprooted our lives, she was gone.
My grandmother was ‘my’ person, the one soul who understood my artistic hopes and dreams. Before we moved here, I would spend one week every summer in Cornwall with her while Michael remained in London with Mum and Dad. She taught me how to play the piano and read me stories and took me on excursions to theatres and museums and art galleries. Our time alone together meant the world to me.
I sit down on one of the bench seats, facing outwards towards the patio. The sun will come streaming through these windows later. What I wouldn’t give to be able to sculpt in here.
Mum takes a seat beside me and hands over my first parent-made cup of tea in over six months. I didn’t make it home at Easter as I had too much work to do for my degree show.
‘Thanks.’ I lean in to her momentarily, filled with a sudden warmth at being home again, safe in the family enclave.
‘It’s so good to have you back at last,’ she says tenderly, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. ‘It feels like you’ve been gone forever.’
Her words prompt a pang of guilt. I’ll be gone again before long, but we don’t need to have that conversation yet.
‘How was last night?’ she asks, oblivious to my worries.
She’s quite a bit older than my friends’ mums – she was forty-two when she had me – and she’s still very attractive: moderately tall and slim, with just-below-shoulder-length honey-blonde hair that these days mostly comes courtesy of a bottle.
My brother Michael and I have our father’s darker colouring, although I did inherit Mum’s blue eyes. Mine are more stormy seas than summer skies, though.
‘Fun,’ I reply to Mum’s question. ‘I’m surprised I don’t feel more hungover. Then again, I was home by eleven thirty.’
‘Closer to midnight.’
I smile at her. ‘Were you waiting up?’
She shrugs. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’
When I was a teenager and out for the night, she was always on high alert until I arrived home safely. I thought she’d have a more restful time of it now that I’m twenty-two.
‘How are Amy and Rach?’ she asks fondly.
‘They’re good.’ I smile into my mug as I take a sip. ‘Oh, hey!’ My head springs up. ‘I got a job!’
‘Where?’ she asks with a frown.
‘At Seaglass, behind the bar. I start this afternoon.’
‘Oh.’ She sounds disappointed. ‘At least avoid Sundays,’ she begs. ‘It’s been a long time since we’ve had family lunch together.’
I frown. ‘But Sundays are one of Seaglass’s busiest days in the summer …’
She gives me a look.
‘I’ll try,’ I concede.
She sighs. ‘I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve walked straight into a job. You take after your grandmother. She couldn’t sit still either.’
‘You can talk. You’re exactly the same.’
My mum has been juggling work and motherhood all my life. She’s employed at the A&E department at the Royal Cornwall Hospital near Truro now, but she used to be a GP like Dad. They’re both sixty-four and havediscussedretirement, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they continued working for a few more years.
