I look over to where my brother and his best friend are pogoing around with about five of their mates. ‘Come On Eileen’ is blasting out of the speakers and loads of people are dancing.
‘That looks like too much fun to pass up,’ Finn says, letting me go.
He scoots his chair out from under the table and grabs my hand, leading me into the throng.
I laugh until I cry that night, but I can’t ignore the niggling feeling in my gut that everything’s about to change.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
On the fourth anniversary of my parents’ deaths, Finn and I walk out to the spot on the cliffs west of St Agnes.
‘You seem to be in a much better place this year,’ he says as we sit side by side on the bench, his arm draped lazily around my shoulders.
There’s no view to speak of. A sea mist is rolling in off the ocean and we’re shrouded in white fog. But there’s nowhere else I want to be.
‘I am,’ I agree.
Grief still pulls the rug out from under me, and it’s there right now, a heavy stone in my gut, but most of the time I can think about Mum and Dad without getting upset, especially since finishing their sculptures.
‘What are your plans for the foreseeable future?’
I remember that it’s exactly the same question he asked me during our first summer together, but his tone is even and straightforward, less dry and sardonic-sounding than it was back then.
It occurs to me that our relationship has levelled out and matured.
‘I’ve got to get this summer out of the way first,’ I reply with a smile.
I’ve been working harder than ever over the last week,covering for Chas, but Bill, our head chef, has helped me with stocktaking and ordering and between us we seem to be running Seaglass relatively smoothly.
Chas has wanted to be kept in the loop. He’s out of hospital and doing well. He expects to be back at work the week after next, which seems far too soon to me, but he’s promised us all that he’ll take it easy.
‘But I think I’ll say yes to the rental properties,’ I say.
A couple of days ago, one of my neighbours who lives in the terrace of old fishermen’s cottages down the hill stopped me on my way to work and asked if I’d be interested in taking over three of the properties she manages. She’s getting older and thinking about cutting back on work – she said she could put in a good word for me with the owners if I was keen. I asked for a little time to think about it.
‘I think I could manage the extra workload, especially over the winter. It’ll probably do me good to get out of the house occasionally once Seaglass closes, otherwise I run the risk of becoming a mad artist, squirrelled away in her studio.’
He smiles. ‘And sculpture? What’s next on the cards?’
‘I’ve got oneGonepiece to get cracking with from a lady who came to my exhibition. She’s asked me to do her late husband. And then I’m hoping to be commissioned by a couple of Arabella’s friends.’
‘To do what?’
‘They’d like a life-size statue of one of their ancestors for their sculpture garden. They have a country house over near Bodmin. Apparently, their family has links to royalty,’ I add with a smile.
‘Wow,’ he says. ‘That sounds like it could be a big deal.’
‘It should open more doors for me if it happens.’
‘Why haven’t you told me about this before?’
‘I didn’t want to jinx it.’ I repeat his words about Brit back to him.
We haven’t spoken of her since that night at the social club, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about her.
‘When will you know?’ Finn asks.
‘They’ve asked me to make a scale model,’ I reply. ‘If they like it, hopefully they’ll commission me to make a full-size replica.’
