“I have no idea,” Elizabeth said, smiling to herself. “I had never left Porthsennen.”
They were both quiet for a while, watching Tom as he slept. Elizabeth thought of their past, and the times they stole away together. Of later times when he was angry with her, and times after that when she feared she might never see him again. All those wishes he made, and the time they had wasted. There was one thing she could say about cancer, that it was a brilliant leveler. Nothing else seemed important right now.
Alice broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think I should call Brian?”
Elizabeth turned down the volume on the television. “I can’t answer that, my love. Only you can know what the right thing is. I’ve never even met him.”
“But what would you do, if you were in my shoes?”
Elizabeth paused, thinking back to when she was younger, and all the stupid decisions she’d made. All the times she was weaker than she should have been or let herself believe a lie because it was simpler than the truth. She supposed it was near impossible to get to sixty-seven and not have regrets, but by God did she wish she could go back and change a few things.
“All I know is that you really don’t want to get to our age and wish things had been different.”
“He still calls all the time, you know? But we used to fight so much, and wanted different things. How am I supposed to know what the right choice is?”
“You just have to try your best, love. The only way you can say that is if you’ve exhausted all possibilities. Same as going to Porthsennen. I know you’re worried about the trip, but we’ll never know if he can do it if we don’t try.”
Alice nodded. “He was very disappointed not to have gone there this year to deliver the flower to you in person.” Elizabeth must have looked shocked, because then Alice said, “I know all about it. All those wishes he made for you both.”
The thought of Tom telling Alice about his dreams with Elizabeth left her feeling a deep sense of loss for the life they could have lived. Yet without his marriage Alice would never have been born. Life was confusing, she realized. Even after all those years of experience.
“I’m sorry I was a bit off at first,” Alice said. “I’m not at my best just lately.”
“Please don’t apologize, love. I’m the one here in your house. A stranger. And it’s not exactly an easy time, is it?”
“No, it’s not, but you’re hardly a stranger. Dad used to talk about you, when I was old enough to understand. All those wishes and not one of them came true, eh?” Elizabeth smiled; all she could do. “Do you really think he can make the journey?”
It would be tough, Elizabeth knew that, and she had her own fears about whether the long trip would make Tom worse. But he had cancer, and she knew she had to do everything she could for him now. If going back to Porthsennen would make him happy, then they had to go.
“I think we could try,” Elizabeth said, just as Alice’s phone beeped.
“I’d best get going,” she said, standing up and reaching for her coat. “I’ve got a lot to do.”
“Okay, love. And think about what I said about Brian,” Elizabeth whispered as she followed her through to the hallway. “I appreciate you asking me about it, really I do.”
“And I appreciate the advice.” Alice opened the front door and stepped out into the fading light. “You know something, Elizabeth? I know we don’t really know each other, but I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Where else would I be?”
The cold was biting, so Alice braced against it, wrapped her scarf around her neck. “The garden is looking dreadful. You should let Jim from next door know. He always puts the mower around when Dad asks him to.”
Elizabeth looked at the overgrown grass. “I’ll speak to him in the morning.”
After watching Alice disappear around the leafy corner that Elizabeth had first walked around so many years before, filled with hope and love for a life with Tom, she closed the door to a quiet house. Alone again, Tom sleeping and unaware. Her eyes fluttered closed as she held on to the door handle, listening to the troubled sound of Tom’s labored breathing. Was there still time to put right the things she had done so wrong, and make his wishes come true? With her eyes closed for just a moment, she dreamed of a different life. But when she opened them again, she found that nothing had changed, and the cancer settled back over the present like a winter fog blanketing the coastline of Porthsennen, drenching everything in its path.
Then
True to his word, Tom was waiting for her when she arrived at the foot of Cove Hill, his feet dangling over the seawall. Trails of smoke drifted skyward as he puffed on a small hand-rolled cigarette, and when he sensed her behind him, he tossed it toward the shiny granite rocks beneath his feet.
“I thought you’d changed your mind,” he said. After stopping to speak with Margaret, who wanted all the details pertaining to the need for a cover story, her arrival had been delayed. Well, that, and because she had changed her clothes multiple times before deciding to stick to the same trousers she had been wearing that morning. They were most practical and were her only pair, but also, she didn’t want to overdo it. The slick berry glow of Francine’s lipstick had seemed like a good idea too, but it felt so strange that eventually she had wiped it off again. Still, it had left a subtle stain on her lips that suited her mood of adventure.
“Of course I didn’t change my mind.” His eyes wandered up and down the length of her body, lingered a little on her face. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
“What have you got there?” he asked, pointing to the roll under her arm.
“Paintbrushes and some watercolors.” The brushes rattled inside as she patted the satchel slung across her shoulder. The strap cut across her chest in a way that made her self-conscious of her own body, deeply aware of the shape of her bust. The material shifted as she adjusted the strap, but there was little to be done. “Hadn’t we best get a move on?” she said.
“You mean before somebody sees us?”
Stealing a glance over her shoulder, she got close to him, caught his scent, heat and tobacco as his body met hers. It would have been a lie to say she didn’t wonder about being seen when she planted a kiss on his cheek, but she did it anyway.
The smile that grew on his face made the risk worth it. “Let’s get this show on the road,” he said, before turning away and heading toward the path.
They gained in height quickly, the pace fast and eager as they crested Carn Olva and passed the old wartime pillboxes. Goose bumps rippled across her clammy skin as she reached for his hand, glad to be away from the scrutiny of her father’s wishes and the villagers’ prying eyes. His stature seemed larger somehow as she held him, or perhaps she just felt smaller, pressed up close with his fingers clasped around hers. The heat from his body warmed her as she realized that what had seemed like a fine day in the shelter of the cove was quite different up high on the peninsula.
Tom stopped, placed his hands on his hips to catch his breath. Setting his bag on the ground, he knelt, unclipped the buckles, and pulled out a sweater. “You’re shivering,” he said.
“Is it yours?” she asked as she took it.
“Who else’s would I bring?” The bag looked heavy as he slung it back over his shoulder, the pack landing against his hip. “It’s a bit big for you, but it’ll do.” It smelled of him, of the sea, and a little of tobacco as she slipped her arms through the sleeves. In the light of the weak afternoon sun she noticed the brilliance of fish scales like soft pearls of morning dew woven into the stitches. “But when those shoes start giving you trouble, I don’t have any suggestions.” They were her favorite pair, but she had to admit they weren’t the most practical choice. He brushed his hair from his eyes and winked. “I suppose I could always carry you. Come on,” he said, heading off without her. “Last one to the bottom’s a stinky old fish.” His arms flailed left and rig
ht as he stumbled forward. Her shoes pinched as she followed, and secretly she hoped she might begin to develop a blister so that being carried became a necessity.
* * *
The Brisons grew steadily in size and stature, as did Elizabeth’s anxieties as they arrived on the brow of Cape Cornwall. From the elevated vantage point she could see waves breaking at the foot of the mighty sea stacks. Up close they were perhaps smaller than she expected, but the terrain appeared rougher than it did from the safety and distance of Porthsennen. The thought of putting a small boat alongside the angular volcanic rocks and treading the irregular surface seemed fanciful if not complete folly. The rocks jutted out from the water like the fins of a giant sea creature, and as she stared at the distant landmass, she couldn’t help but wonder what lay beneath the surface.
Following Tom’s lead, she took his hand as they navigated the meadows of gorse and heather, past land cleaved by old mining works. After dropping down to Priest Cove, a small beach littered with dilapidated fishing huts and heavy black boulders, they arrived in the shadow of a giant chimney that still rose from the headland above. A small hut had been built into the rocks, and as they paced toward it a frail old man emerged. His clothes were too heavy for the weather, a bright yellow waterproof and waders up to the thigh. He seemed almost like Poseidon, with great lengths of wavy gray hair and a rich matted beard in which he could have been hiding any manner of things. Tom approached, but Elizabeth hung back, clutching her satchel close to her chest.
Thoughts of James came to her as she watched Tom organizing a boat, edging it down the slipway, and setting his bag inside. Tom was at ease in her presence, as if it didn’t really matter to him what she thought. Yet she had spent her whole life watching men trying to create an impression. Only today James had been telling her about his new car. Then there were his Savile Row suits, his promises to take her to London, organize her an exhibition and create an art room in their new house. There was always something for him to achieve on her behalf, whether she liked it or not. Tom was the only person that had so far in her short, charmed life done something for her just because she wanted it.
Gentle waves lapped the shore as Tom prepared the boat for their adventure. “Careful not to get those shoes wet,” he said as he coiled the rope into a loop, before placing it into the vessel. The ground chilled her feet as she reached down, pulled them off. They clattered against the hull as she tossed them into the boat, then leaned down and turned up her trousers. The surging seawater comforted her sore toes. One last look at the Brisons did little to calm her nerves before she took the offer of his hand and stepped in.
Watching him row raised a smile, and he looked at her with that silent questioning half smile of his, the one that asked, What? Knowing she would have been embarrassed by the answer, she crawled across the boat and sat so that she was sharing his little seat, her back pressed up against his chest, enclosed by his arms. His hands were tight and strong against the oars as she placed hers on top of his, following his movements, while her weight rested against his body. It was the closest she’d ever been to him, physically at least, watching as the shore shrank away. Just the two of them, exactly how she wanted it to be.
The boat came to rest against a rocky shelf that connected the masses of the Great and Little Brisons. In a fluid movement he tossed a rope onto the closest thing that resembled land and leaped from the boat. For a moment her heart pounded at being left in the boat alone, but the water was calm enough, their landing spot sheltered from the currents of the Atlantic. He soon had the small boat tethered to a sturdy-looking spur.
Reaching underneath her arms, he lifted her out. Her thoughts returned to James, and what he would say if he knew where she was. It was a moment laced with guilt, but still she knew she wouldn’t change it for all the Savile Row suits and exhibitions in the world.
“Climb up there a bit,” Tom ordered as he set her down on the rocks, and she did as she was told.
The ropes pulled tight as Tom put his weight behind them, tethering the small boat with a second line, gripping the rocks with both hands as he climbed to her. Glancing over the edge toward the open water, she saw the currents chopping back and forth, spray from the waves hitting her feet. But it didn’t scare her, and as Tom sat down in the small nook alongside her, both glancing out to sea, she had never felt freer in her life.
“If you follow my finger,” he said, leaning in close and pointing out to sea, “those silvery slivers on the horizon are the Scillies. You should just about be able to make out St. Martin’s.” The sun was bright, so she shaded her eyes. Her other arm looped through his without a second thought.
“I see it,” she confirmed.
“And there,” he said, angling his finger toward the south. “That’s Wolf Rock.”
“The lighthouse?”
“Yes.” It was the last outpost before the vast Atlantic Ocean stretched all the way to Nova Scotia. “One hundred and thirty feet tall for close to a century now. Three beacons were washed away before they built the lighthouse that stands there today.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“I wouldn’t want to go there, miles from land and other people.”
“Somebody’s got to do it.”
“Would you do it?” she asked.
“Maybe. It would be easy enough. The sea’s what us Cornish lads are good for, or so my ma says. Our grandfathers and their grandfathers before were all fishermen or smugglers. It’s passed down to us, like bones and blood; we’re nothing without it.”
“My great-grandfather worked on Wolf Rock. He was one of the first people to light the lamp.”
Tom’s eyebrows rose with surprise, and she liked the fact that he was impressed.
“I think the men who go there must be very brave,” she said.
“Or desperate.”
“Well, maybe that too, but being desperate doesn’t mean they’re not brave as well.” They were quiet for a moment. The sea fizzed and foamed at her feet, the rush of the tide. The support of his arm held her firm when a large wave wet her toes.
“Mr. Pommeroy offered me a job there, and I even did some training, but I think I’d rather stay in Porthsennen.” He turned to her and smiled. “Would you like that?”
“You know I would,” she said, letting her head rest against his shoulder. “So, you don’t really want to be a fisherman, and you don’t really want to be a lighthouse keeper. What do you want to be, Thomas Hale?”
The sun began to dip as he gazed toward the horizon. If only she understood that in that moment all he really wanted to be was hers. “I’ve told you before, Elizabeth. Dreams are for rich people, like you. Lads like me don’t get the choices you get. We don’t get to go off to London and come back as doctors.”
If it weren’t for fear of falling, she might have pulled away from him then, aggrieved as she was by his assumptions. “You think dreaming is for rich people, but I’d say it’s for men like you. You are the free one, able to do whatever you want. If you wanted to go to Wolf Rock, you could. Nobody would stop you, just like they didn’t when you left school. I can’t do that. My father wouldn’t let me.”
“And he’d be right too. Who wants to live on a lighthouse?” His laughter did nothing to raise a smile.
“At least you get to choose for yourself. Every day you do whatever you want, like take boats out and land on rocks like this.”
“Land? We didn’t fly here.”
“Don’t play the fool,” she said, wincing a little as her words reminded her of her father’s. Her mouth was dry, from either the salt or the surprise of her quick response. She wondered for a moment if she might have offended him. But he was enjoying himself, if she had judged his smile correctly, and she softened. “I don’t get to choose any more than you do.”
They were both quiet then, watching the sea with their arms linked. The urge to tell him everything she was feeling swelled in her chest. How could she keep to herself the fact that si
nce she’d met him, she felt something she never had before, and that the way he sailed and fished made him stronger to her than any London education ever could? That she liked the simplicity of his life, the lack of expectation, and the way he never tried to be anything he wasn’t in front of her? Fear over what he might say in response held her back, and instead she focused on the way his fingers brushed unconsciously at hers.
“Do you think we’d best get back?” she asked after a time.
“You haven’t even done any painting yet.”
The water continued to foam at her feet, the little boat rocking back and forth. “It’s not what I imagined. I didn’t think it would be this uncomfortable.” The rock was really starting to dig in. “And those waves look like they’re picking up to me. I don’t want to get stranded.”
“At least we’d be together,” he said, and she felt herself blush. “And even if the worst comes to us, everybody has to die sometime,” he said as he helped her into the boat. He was quiet for a moment, swallowed hard before his gaze met hers. “It might as well be alongside the one you love.”
* * *
The small boat chopped back and forth as they made the crossing. They thanked the old man as they left Priest Cove behind, then set out to cover some ground. Tom led her to a vantage point overlooking Gwynver Beach, a small grassy embankment surrounded by granite pinnacles that sheltered them from the wind.
“I had a wonderful afternoon,” she said after a while, a soft cushion of grass beneath her. It was only then that she noticed Tom hadn’t brought anything to eat, just a small flask of tea, so she reached into her bag, offered him a sandwich, and he took it without question. Then she picked up her sketchbook and found the drawing of him that he had liked at the beach. It flapped in the breeze as she tore it out. “Just so you know that I keep my promises.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly. His fingers brushed at the page, his face a mixture of both surprise and repletion. He carefully rolled the sheet of paper, making sure to protect the edges, before slipping it in his bag. “Honestly, I was a bit concerned for a while back there,” he admitted. Her eyes widened. “I was so lost in talking to you I forgot to keep an eye on the sea. Those waves had really grown.”
Little Wishes Page 9
