I smile softly. ‘And the forest?’
He chuckles. ‘I can tell you now, hopefully without it weirding you out, butyougave me the idea for the forest.’
‘So youdidsee my post on Instagram!’ I exclaim.
‘No! I really was offline for a few days.’ He hesitates. ‘I saw you on the beach that second day. You walked the whole length of the cypress tree and then stood there on the sand,staring at the ocean, and for some reason it made me think of a beautiful girl walking through a forest.’ He lets out a self-conscious laugh while my insides fizz at his use of the word ‘beautiful’. ‘I wanted to give you a path to wander along.’
‘And then I did exactly that,’ I say with amazement.
We stare at each other for a few seconds.
‘I couldn’t believe it when, a few days later, I read what you’d written on Instagram,’ he admits, his gaze returning to the horizon.
‘That was such a weird coincidence,’ I agree.
But inside, I’m thinking it felt a lot like fate.
‘Did you come to Cornwall much when you were a kid?’ I ask on our descent towards the road.
We’re walking single file now, along the narrow track.
‘On and off. I spent my whole summer holidays here once when I was eleven. That’s the trip I really remember, when it was just my grandad and me. My parents were going through a tough time,’ he confides over his shoulder. ‘My dad had an affair and they were trying to patch things up, so they sent me off to stay with my grandad for six weeks to give themselves some space. And me, I guess. The arguments were messing with my mind.’
‘I’m sorry, that must have been really unsettling.’
He doesn’t disagree. ‘It was, but it was also the best thing they could have done for me.’
‘Are you an only child?’
I’m not sure he’s heard my question because he doesn’t answer at first, but then he replies.
‘Yeah. And it was lonely at times, but I loved that summer. Hanging out with my grandad, building sandcastles, painting pictures … He was retired, so he had all the time in the world for me. Except he didn’t have all the time in the world, as it turns out,’ he says sombrely. ‘He passed away soon afterwards.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘You sound as though you were close to your grandmother too.’
‘I was. I was distraught when we lost her. She lived until she was ninety, but it was still hard to see her go.’
‘My grandad was only sixty-one.’
‘That’s so young. What happened?’
‘His heart went.’ He looks towards the ocean and I see him swallow. ‘I’d just started secondary school. In a weird way, I think his loss helped bring my parents back together. He was my dad’s dad.’
‘Are your parents still married?’
‘Yep. Thirty years now.’
‘That’s heart-warming to know.’
‘Yeah.’ He agrees so quietly his words are almost carried off by the wind.
We come out by the Driftwood Spars Inn. Smoke is spiralling from the chimney and the lights are on inside. It hasn’t long been open.
‘That looks very cosy,’ Tom comments, glancing through the window.
‘Fancy a pint by the fire?’ I suggest.
