*
Lottie took Matt’s hand and stepped aboard The Jenny Wren, both of them longing to be out on the water, away from prying eyes and gossip. It was weeks since they’d seen each other because of Lottie’s end of year exams. If she did well, she would be offered a place in the college class from September, and she wanted it with all her heart, knowing she had the support of her father and Nan. Jenny was less enthusiastic, but Lottie understood it was an attitude rooted in her by her upbringing.
‘How did you get on?’ Matt asked her. ‘In your exams?’
‘I don’t know yet. We get told by a letter in a few weeks’ time. But I think I did okay. I found the questions easy and I wrote lots – and I enjoyed the Shakespeare. We did Romeo and Juliet.’
Matt grinned. ‘That’s a love story, isn’t it?’
‘Yes – star-crossed lovers, like us.’
‘What do you mean, star-crossed?’
‘Everyone was against them. Their families were at war with each other and they tried to keep them apart.’
Lottie gazed up at Matt. His tanned skin had a glaze of salt and his hair stuck out in sun-bleached tufts from under the rim of his navy fisherman’s cap. His dark eyes glowed, his gaze never leaving her face. ‘And Romeo was just like you,’ Lottie added.
Standing close to him had lit the flame between them as if it had a flickering life of its own. ‘Let’s get away from St Ives. Out on the water.’
Matt started the engine and turned The Jenny Wren to the west, into the blaze of sunlight on the water, leaving an arrow of foam as he pushed her faster and faster. To Matt, speed was an expression of an emotion too big for words. Joy, fury, rebellion, and now love. Only speed came close to the intensity of those feelings.
Lottie sat beside him, adoringly, her hair streaming, her lips parted, giving little squeals of excitement. As they sailed west into the balmy evening, Lottie felt her worries flying away, detaching themselves from her one by one, leaving her alive and free. The resolutions she’d made after the talk with Morwenna unravelled and let go of her like ribbons in the wind.
She’d resolved to talk to Matt about how babies were made.
She’d planned to warn him about the consequences of their lovemaking.
She’d tried to tell herself to say no. No, we can’t do it anymore. No, we can’t. We mustn’t. It has to stop.
And now her mind was cutting those ribbons, leaving them fluttering far away.
She felt the love, even as they sat together, fully clothed on the speeding boat. They were one bird. One bird of paradise.
She couldn’t say no. It was too beautiful.
Chapter 13
A Crack of Sunlight
Jenny felt she couldn’t take any more. Losing Warren was bad enough, but now Lottie hadn’t come home. It was nine o’clock, twilight on a summer evening, a lone star shining over the sea, not a breath of wind. Nan went to bed, exhausted, and so did Tom. Jenny was left alone, sitting on the doorstep, stunned by the emptiness of the night. Was she the only one who cared about Warren? She felt abandoned, even by the cats. Bessie slept on Tom’s bed and Bartholomew always followed Nan upstairs. A barn owl circled, turning its black eyes to look at Jenny each time it floated by on silent wings.
When the phone rang, Jenny nearly fell off the doorstep. She scrambled up and hobbled into the hall to answer it, her heart pounding with hope and fear. ‘Hello. This is Jenny.’
‘Hello, Jenny dear.’ John’s calm voice was very welcome.
‘Oh – John. What is it?’
‘It’s Lottie. She’s quite all right, don’t worry. But she won’t be back tonight. You know she’s with Matt on the boat – don’t you?’
‘Yes, Nan told me.’
‘I was having a pint in The Sloop,’ John said, ‘and Ken came looking for me. Matt sent a message with one of the fishermen to say they have decided to stay out there on the boat. It’s a lovely calm night.’
Jenny battled with relief and anger. She didn’t want to vent her feelings on John. ‘Lottie did ask me, weeks ago, if she could have a little holiday and stay on the boat with Matt. Nan and I both said no and she didn’t mention it again – but she’s a strong-willed girl, isn’t she?’
‘She certainly is. I had a taste of it on the ship,’ John said. ‘But is it such a bad thing? She’s young and she’s been studying so diligently, and it will do her good, a little adventure – and spending time with Matt. He seems very capable to me.’
Jenny managed to stop herself from snorting.
‘You’ve gone quiet,’ John said, his voice kind. ‘Are you not happy about it?’
Breathe, Jenny thought. Pull yourself together and breathe. You are not going to rant down the phone at John.
‘Jenny?’
‘Yes, I’m still here.’
‘You’re upset, my dear, I can tell. Shall I come over?’
‘No, John, it’s nice of you, but it’s late. Nan’s gone to bed and so has Tom. I was sitting on the doorstep, worrying.’
‘Jenny, I’ve got a bicycle, with a light, believe it or not. I can be with you in ten minutes,’ John said firmly. ‘Put the phone down and make some cocoa. I’m on my way. No argument.’ There was a click and Jenny was left looking at a silent phone.
Don’t panic. Make cocoa.
At least she knew where Lottie was. She went inside to the kitchen where the gas light was still burning. She tried to make cocoa. Overwhelming, powerful feelings streamed through her mind as if trying to funnel through a bottleneck. A voice echoed in her head. She’d lost Matt, now Warren was missing, and Lottie had finally rebelled and taken charge of her life, today of all days.
She stood in the window, stirring the earthenware cocoa teapot, the steam chocolatey and mildly comforting. John arrived just as a giant moon was rising over the sea. Sitting bolt upright and pedalling vigorously, he swept into the yard, the yellowy shaft of the bicycle’s light attracting a flurry of summer moths. He skidded to a halt and dismounted expertly, propping the bicycle against the porch and pausing to remove the ankle clips from his trousers.
‘Come in, John. The door’s open.’
He came into the kitchen, his face glowing boyishly from the exercise, his eyes attentive and serious.
Jenny felt better immediately. ‘It’s nice of you to come, John.’ She smiled, determined to be cheerful and pretend she was coping when she wasn’t. ‘I expect you’ve had a busy day, have you?’
‘Moderately,’ he said. ‘Is that cocoa in the brown teapot? Mmm, lovely – and biscuits!’
‘Homemade this morning by me and Tom.’ Jenny offered him the plate. ‘Nan sold the lot from Mufty’s cart – but we saved the broken ones for ourselves. Mind you, I think Tom might have broken a few accidentally-on-purpose!’
‘They’re delicious.’ He crunched one, silent for a moment as he enjoyed the taste. ‘Melt in the mouth, don’t they? Well done, my dear, you’re such an accomplished woman.’
Jenny’s eyes rounded. She wasn’t used to being complimented on such a basic skill as making biscuits. John’s steady gaze was encouraging and calming. She actually began to feel human again in his presence. Human and in control.
‘Tell me about Warren,’ he said. ‘Tom said he’d gone missing. Could he have gone back to his family?’
‘I doubt that,’ Jenny replied. ‘He’s never told me anything, partly because his speech is so bad, but he told Tom he hated his father. I think he’s had a hard time, to put it mildly. It isn’t that he can’t talk – he’s never been allowed to. He’s a bundle of nerves. But when he plays the piano-accordion he comes alive. He’s really astonishing. It made Nan cry when she heard him.’
‘Really?’
‘Morwenna’s mother, Cora Bartle, told Nan she saw Warren busking outside the station. The truth is, John, Warren is deeply sensitive, not tough like he appears to be. This morning Nan told us how difficult it is getting enough money to live. She was fine on her own, but she took us lot in, and Warren. It w
as good of her. She’s used up all her savings and the only money she gets, for the five of us, comes from what she earns from selling herbs and hats and stuff from Mufty’s cart. By rights, Matt should be here now he’s left school – he should be in a job and contributing to the family. That’s partly why she’s so angry with him.’
Jenny paused, moved by the concern in John’s eyes. His cocoa lay untouched on the table and he sat listening to her with the whole of his being, his hands clasped under his chin. ‘I think Warren took it all to heart,’ Jenny continued. ‘I think he was busking to make some money for Nan. I mean, what a brave thing for a ten-year-old to do – and he had to lug the heavy piano-accordion all the way to the station on this hot day. I worry that . . . maybe he just couldn’t make it home, poor little scrap.’
John nodded in silent empathy.
‘I’ve told the police. The constable came up here and wrote down everything I said. He asked if we’d searched the barns and the waysides nearby, but of course we have. Anyway, if Warren was nearby he’d come home.’
‘There are a few policemen around, more than usual,’ John said. ‘They were searching the island with a dog.’
‘The trouble is, John, even if they find him, the Welfare will be up here in the morning asking questions, and . . . and . . . accusing me of neglect. Then they’ll look at me iron leg and tell me I’m not fit to foster a child.’
‘Surely not!’ John looked shocked.
‘Oh yes. They could take Warren away, even if he didn’t want to go.’
‘But you’ve been wonderful to him, Jen. Anyone can see that. Warren doesn’t say much, but he loves you. It’s in his eyes. He gazes at you all the time.’
‘And I love him too. We’ve tried so hard to accept him the way he is – like, he won’t go to school. He just won’t. And if he did, they wouldn’t cope with him. So we’re teaching him at home, me and Tom – Tom’s been good to him, and so has Lottie. She’s an angel, John. She reads to him and explains things so beautifully. And recently Nan has got involved, helping him with music and ordinary life skills like gardening and caring for animals.’ Jenny sighed bitterly. ‘But Welfare don’t seem to care about any of that. They’ll blame me for not sending him to school. They’ll blame me for everything, even for not having a husband.’
John reached out and took her hands. ‘I shall speak for you, Jenny. All you have to do is ring me when they arrive and I shall drop everything and come up here.’
‘They won’t listen.’
‘Oh, I think they will. I’ve dealt with a lot of awkward, upset people in my life, Jenny. And I believe in you. You’re a gem, a real gem.’
Jenny felt tears welling.
‘You know Lottie adores you,’ John said passionately. ‘You’ve been a real rock in her life.’
‘I’ve told her I love her no matter what,’ Jenny said, and in her heart she wondered whether she could possibly keep that promise if it came to the test.
‘It’s a beautiful summer night,’ John said. ‘Why don’t we take our cocoa outside and look at the moonlight on the sea? Moonlight is so calming.’
Jenny let him steer her outside and they sat close, side by side. ‘Let’s just be quiet together,’ John said, ‘and be peaceful.’
*
The reflection of the moon in the water stretched for miles across the bay, the dark hills beyond studded with clusters of light from cottages and villages far away, the lights dim and sallow compared to the intense white silverness of the moon.
Like John and Jenny, Matt and Lottie sat close, the boat hardly moving on the phosphorescence of a calm night sea. Nearby, a flock of Manx shearwaters burbled and piped as they dived and fished, and when the beam from Godrevy Lighthouse swept the sea, their smooth bellies gleamed like pearls. The western sky retained a blush of rose and overhead the colour of night was blueberry, the summer stars twinkling, some bold and bright, others infinitesimal like dust.
‘I can see Cygnus,’ Matt said. ‘See it? Like a gurt cross in the sky. It’s supposed to be a swan.’
‘Arnie taught us about the stars, didn’t he?’ Lottie leaned against him, her face upturned to the night. ‘And Nan told me the legend – it’s a great swan flying across the heavens that has come from the Cosmic Egg, the brightest star in its tail. It represents the birth of a new world, and when a baby is born you must hold it up to the stars and sing out its name to the heavens.’
‘You don’t believe all that stuff do you, Lottie?’
Lottie pondered how to answer. Matt stared up at the universe, the moonlight sketching him like a charcoal drawing, the light through his beard and the texture of his skin, the curl of an eyelash and the sun-bleached tips of his hair. She remembered how adamantly Jenny had denied the truth of Nan’s folklore tales, pouncing on the boys if they dared mention it.
‘I don’t think believing is the right word,’ she said eventually. ‘I think folklore and legends are to be enjoyed – and wondered about. But it’s like a secret code, Matt. Truth is in there somewhere, in disguise, if you can find it.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s a good way of looking at it.’ Matt’s voice sounded wistful. ‘I was never allowed to even think about it. Mum terrorised Tom and me.’ He launched into a comical falsetto imitation of Jenny’s ferocious attacks on folklore, making Lottie giggle. ‘But now, since I’ve been drawing, I’m discovering parts of my mind I never knew I had. Now I’m away from home I can dream, and sometimes I come close to painting my dreams. Haven’t done it yet, but it will come. Your father’s an interesting person, Lottie. D’you know what he said to me after he’d looked at my pictures?’
‘What?’
‘He said something I’ll never forget. He said when you begin to dream, and paint your dreams, it will be a key moment in your life, a breakthrough. He said don’t work too hard or try too hard because your dreams need time and space. Don’t brick them up.’ Matt clicked his fingers and looked at her with bright, excited eyes. ‘That’s what he said. Don’t spend your life bricking up your dreams.’
‘He hasn’t always been like that,’ Lottie said. ‘He told me how hard he worked at being an engineer when in his heart he wanted to be an artist.’
‘You’re lucky to have him, Lottie, aren’t you? I think he’s inspiring, and . . . different.’
Lottie smiled. She was happy, out on the water with Matt, with The Jenny Wren keeping them afloat, dry and warm on the cold salty sea. She listened for a few minutes to the Manx shearwaters, their sleek bodies making little plops and splashes as they dived. She kept looking at the stars of Cygnus and thinking about the legend. It would be so beautiful to hold a baby up to the stars. She was waiting for the right moment to talk to Matt, tentatively, about babies. It was so fragile. Matt was fragile. She didn’t want to test his reaction and get it wrong. She knew only too well that she could lose everything.
Enjoy it, while you can. Love your life, she told herself. Don’t waste a single moment of this enchanted night.
She felt Matt’s fingers in her hair, combing it, his touch going deeper, finding the back of her neck, her scalp, burrowing into her thick hair with his sensitive hands until he cradled her head, pulling her closer, into their magic circle where their eyes gazed deeply into each other and, long before the velvet fire began to burn, they had already made love; spiritual love in the looking, and the knowing, and the brave new world of finding the point of infinity where twin souls meet.
*
It was midnight when John left Hendravean, pedalling along the lane under the stars, the moon now a tiny disc high in the sky. Spending time with Jenny had warmed his heart and made him feel young again. He sensed Jenny was wary and still committed to Arnie. She wasn’t ready for a relationship. But she liked him and he allowed himself to believe she needed him.
John was glad Olivia had decided not to come to St Ives again. She seemed to have settled in London. He’d given her the use of his apartment – temporarily, he hoped. He never wanted to return to ci
ty life after living in St Ives and finding his beautiful, clever daughter. What a joy it would be to guide and nurture Lottie as she worked through college and into a career. He glowed with pride as he imagined her future.
The lane was in shadow with ghostly silhouettes of fern and foxglove against the stars, and the soporific fragrance of meadowsweet. The moon was no longer reflected in the sea but on the slate rooftops of St Ives. John wanted to gaze at it, but he needed to focus on the road ahead in the limited yellowy light on the front of his bicycle.
Something caught his eye. A coin lying at the side of the road. A shilling.
He stopped and picked it up. Hmm – lucky! Then he noticed another, and another, and yet more coins deep down in the long grass of a gateway.
How odd, he thought.
John propped the bicycle against the hedge, unclipped the lamp from the handlebars and shone it around, gathering the money quickly, finding some of it by touch. The more he found, the more puzzled he became.
Something had happened here. It spooked him a little.
‘Hello,’ he called, and shone the light around. ‘Is anyone there?’ He ventured through the gap in the hedge, noticing some fresh wheel ruts in the turf. No one was there. A crumpled mound of fabric lay at the base of the hedge. It looked like a sack.
Goosebumps prickled along John’s arms. He touched the fabric, then picked it up gingerly. A jacket. A little boy’s jacket. And it was oddly heavy as if the pockets were full of pebbles, or marbles – or money. John slid his hand inside one of them and felt the cold coins. Then it struck him. Warren’s jacket. Stuffed with the money from his busking.
With only the fading bicycle lamp to search with, John felt overwhelmed. Moved by the little jacket, he wanted Jenny to see it before the police got involved. He looked up at Hendravean. The downstairs light was still on. Leaving his bicycle in the lane he jogged back there, holding the jacket against him, wishing it were Warren he’d found, not just his jacket.
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