When I discovered that Finn’s grandfather’s name was Leonard, I begged him to let us use the name for our son, born to us four and a half years ago.
He wasn’t sure about it at first, but he came around to my way of thinking.
Maggie – Margaret – is named after my grandmother, and I love that her name sounds a little like Aggie, where we live.
Lennie is going to be starting school next month so we needed to choose where to base ourselves for the foreseeable future. Cornwall is where three of our children’s uncles live – Liam moved back from LA a couple of years ago, missing his home town, Tyler’s still in Newquay and Michael is only up the road. Even Finn has found himself missing St Agnes when we’re not here. He says it’s different now that we have kids. We’re creating our own memories and almost all of them are happy ones.
A few years ago, we returned the house to its original configuration and moved ourselves into the master bedroom at the end of the corridor, overlooking the garden.
We still have a home in LA, although not the verticalhouse I stayed in when I first started going there. After having Lennie, we moved further out to a larger plot with a more child-friendly garden. We love spending time there too, with Finn’s American family, and we will continue to do so in school holidays. Buthomehome is St Agnes.
So we have Lennie and Maggie, and the little guy in the bassinet who has just been woken up by his older brother is called Eddie. He’s named after no one but his sweet little self.
Tom remains in my heart. I still think of him often. Sometimes, I desperately miss hearing his low laugh or seeing his golden-brown eyes staring across a table at me. Sometimes, I miss the way it felt to be held in his arms. I will always love him.
I haven’t sculpted him and I don’t think I ever will. When Arabella passed away a few years ago at the grand old age of ninety-nine, I didn’t feel inclined to sculpt her either. I feel I’ve left my ‘Gone’ pieces behind and have moved on to creating works of art that come from a place of joy and awe. I pour my heart and soul into everything I do – I don’t want to spend months working on something that doesn’t inspire me, so I try only to take on commissions that I care about.
I thought it would hurt too much to keep my investment in Seaglass once I’d lost Tom. When Chas decided it was well and truly time to retire at the age of eighty-three, Finn offered to buy him out.
I thought twice about letting him. I’d been thinking about selling up and moving away for years, but somehow all this time had passed and I was still here.
So I gave Finn the nod and now he and I own Seaglass jointly, although we have staff who run it for us most of the time.
Beach Cottage and Seaglass and St Agnes will always remind me of Tom. And I’m glad. I feel close to him here and Iwantto feel close to him.
But they remind me of Finn too. They are part ofourstory.
I’ve had two great love stories in my life. I don’t feel like a tragic widow.
I feel lucky.
‘Come on, let’s go for a walk on the beach,’ I say suddenly, collecting Eddie from his bassinet.
After God only knows how long, the five of us burst out of the front door and set off down the hill towards Trevaunance Cove. The road carves down through the vibrant green hills and the sea seems lit from within as the early-morning sunlight filters through the water.
We arrive at the cove to see that last night’s storm has washed more sand up onto the beach and the stream has carved out a tree in its wake.
Once more, Tom is here with me.
But I no longer see an apple tree in its last stages of life.
I see a tree.
In early spring.
And summer will come around again.
