“Of course, Bab.”
He kissed her on the head, and she managed a little smile.
* * *
When Elizabeth walked back in from seeing Alice out, Tom was just finishing his cup of tea. A new ease about things comforted her this morning after waking up with Tom for the first time in a long while, and so she positioned herself alongside him on the settee, wanting to be as close as she could get.
“She tries so hard to be strong, poor thing.”
“I know.” His hand brushed against Elizabeth’s knee, his fingers moving through the dappled light streaming through the trees in the front garden.
“Has she always been like that?”
“Ever since her mother left.” Elizabeth wanted to ask more about that but wasn’t sure it was her place, and the conversation was already moving on. “But sometimes being strong gets you nowhere, though. I’ve been strong for years on the subject of Porthsennen.” He pointed to the picture of Wolf Rock on the wall. “What happened between us, and the way I took off . . . it’s never left me, you know. I thought it was for the best, but looking back, I’m not so sure it was.”
For a while neither of them said anything, both remembering the past and what they had left behind. Silenced by things that remained unsaid. “Do you think Alice will work it out with Brian?” Elizabeth eventually asked.
He shrugged a little. “I don’t know. I do hope so.” He reached for the basket of wishes. “Now, what do you say about trying to see if we can do a few of these today? I can think of one or two I’d quite like to bring to reality.”
Her cheeks flushed bright red to think of the ones he was referring to. Embarrassment hit her as hard as it had when she was young, before she knew anything of the world or what her life would hold in store. “You’re a cheeky old bugger,” she whispered, his laughter breaking her awkwardness. But when she looked up his expression was deadly serious. “Do you think you still can?” she whispered.
“Well, I’m not dead yet”—he giggled—“and I seem to remember having a few good ideas back in 1980,” he said, waving the slip of blue paper at her. What he had written in 1980 had made her blush then, and it seemed little had changed. And with that he reached over, took her in his arms, and kissed her again.
“I don’t look like I used to,” she said, breaking away.
“Neither of us do.”
“When I found that wish, I thought you must be having a midlife crisis,” she said, laughing again. He began stroking her hair, his fingers fiddling at the way it curled underneath at the ends. How she had missed that touch.
“Maybe I’m having an end-of-life crisis now.” He tried another laugh, but neither of them really found it that amusing. She struggled to hold back a tear. “Come on, what do you say we go upstairs, spend the day in bed together like we should have done back then?”
And just a moment later she followed, Tom leading the way with her hand in his, like the young woman she once was who fell so endlessly in love.
Then
The warm water came as such a relief that she felt like spending hours in the bath that night, soaking her sore feet and blistered heels. Thoughts of Tom came and went while she lay there, his arms and all that rowing he had done. How tired he must have been. The memory of the waves, and his confession that he hadn’t been keeping watch. The water chopped against her pale skin as she swished her hands back and forth.
Standing in her bedroom, dressed in the fluffy comfort of her robe, she could hear her father downstairs, turning the pages of a book. Light shone from her mother’s open bedroom door, and as she approached, Elizabeth could see her sitting up in bed with a reading light casting a subtle golden glow. The pink damask sheets of childhood. When she saw Elizabeth in the doorway, she beckoned her forward.
“Where is your father?” she whispered as Elizabeth sat down on the bed. It was a good sign; she understood the people who linked them together. Was there a moment of mental clarity to be enjoyed here?
“He’s reading downstairs,” Elizabeth said. “Do you need something?”
“No, dear. It was you that I wanted—to show you this.” She picked up a book from her knees and offered it to her.
Elizabeth took it, sitting on the edge of the soft bed. As she opened the cover, she saw that it was a photo album; the first image was of her mother as a child. They bore a striking resemblance: The same slanted nose, the heavy brows. The same plump lips and deep cupid’s bow.
“It’s you,” she said to her mother.
“Yes. It’s an album that my own mother gave me on the day I married your father. It’s a strange day, leaving home that morning as a child, leaving the church as a married woman. Two totally different lives. Even the best mother in the world cannot adequately prepare a child for such an event.” Elizabeth clung to her every word. “She created this album as a guide, something to show me what I was supposed to do. Here, you see. Look at this.”
Together they leafed through the pages, images of them at various stages of Elizabeth’s mother’s life; a changed diaper, playing in the garden, her grandmother alone. Cooking dinner in clothes that appeared more suitable for a Sunday trip to church.
“It’s an instruction manual, Elizabeth, for a life I never asked for. Of course,” she said, holding on to her daughter’s hand tightly, “I love both you and your father a great deal, and would never change a moment of the life we have built together. But at the time when your father was presented to me, I didn’t want what he was offering.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what to say for a moment. The idea of her father being presented didn’t sit well with her, as if her mother had been given little choice. Yet despite the many thoughts running through her mind she could think of only one question to ask.
“What did you want instead?”
Her mother held open the sheets, and warmth diffused from the bed. Elizabeth slipped in alongside her mother, the two facing each other like they did when Elizabeth was small and had woken from a nightmare. They held the covers close under their chins.
“Everything. I wanted to cruise on a ship to America, see the Statue of Liberty, and eat a proper Italian pizza in Naples. I wanted to see the ballet in London. Pick at French bread while sitting on the grass of the Jardin du Luxembourg.” Elizabeth had never even heard of it.
“Did you ever do any of those things?”
“No.” Elizabeth saw it in the flicker of her eyes, the regrets that she had stifled over the course of her life. Pity for her father surfaced too. “But what I did do is something so much more wonderful than all of those things, and that was that I had you,” she said, reaching out, stroking Elizabeth’s cheek. “Without your father that would never have been possible. Sometimes our biggest dreams are the things we don’t even know we want. Life is not really about the fun and adventure, or the moments of excitement, but the people you love and the family you create; that’s what I’ll miss when I can no longer remember who you are.”
Elizabeth could feel the tears coming, but her mother’s stoicism forced her to fight them back. “Don’t say that, Mum.”
“But I must, because already you are slipping away from me. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it. Last week I struggled to place your name, and there are times when I think you are still a small child and then I see you and I realize how wrong I am. I can’t stand it, Elizabeth. And now, here you are, faced with a predicament that troubles you, and which I understand all too well. I know you are struggling with the decision to marry James.” A tear escaped, streaking hot across her cheek. “Life is short, too short to take chances on what may make you happy.”
“I don’t understand. Do you think I should marry him anyway, even if I’m not sure?”
“I’m trying to tell you that if you choose to marry him, you will be just fine. But if you have other dreams and you know what they are, you must chase them over a marriage to James.”
This was her moment to tell her mother. “What if my dream was to be with some
body else?”
“If he made you happy, then I see no reason not to approve.”
“What if I made a choice that I knew you wouldn’t like? That Daddy wouldn’t like.”
The saddest smile crossed her lips. “Your father might understand more than you realize. We’ve all had to make difficult decisions at some point, Elizabeth. And sometimes the decisions we must make are beyond the comprehension of other people. So, try to remember those words when I’m not around, darling, and always remember to be brave.”
* * *
Tom stood in the shadow of the gable end of the house, the spot where the light didn’t catch his face. His fingers sifted through the stones in his pocket, the small gray pebbles he had taken from the beach. Moonlight bounced from the windows above in silvery halos. He counted the windows again. If he got the wrong one, it would be a disaster.
“Here goes,” he told himself, and with a breath in for luck he launched the first pebble. It hit the wall and clattered all the way back to the ground, coming to rest in a small gully by the side of the road. Nobody stirred.
After giving a second pebble a kiss for luck, he launched it. This time it hit the pane of glass. Finding his courage along with his aim, he quickly launched two more in close succession until he saw a light illuminate the bedroom beyond. The surf roared in the distance, his constant companion, carried by a rough sea breeze. Retreating into the shadows, he saw somebody draw the curtains.
The creak of a hinge cut through the night air and he dared a look skyward. Elizabeth was standing at her window, looking to the street for the source of the disturbance. Relief flooded him. Tom knew that he wasn’t good enough in so many ways for a girl like her. But the way he felt around her, and the way he made her feel, if he had read it correctly, was impossible to ignore. His mother had warned him not to get involved with the likes of the Davenports; after all, she should know. But Elizabeth was worth the risk, worth betraying his family for. She was worth everything, so he had to be prepared to risk everything for her.
Her mouth hung wide as he stepped into the light. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice half a whisper, half a shout. Her lips twisted into a slight smile. That gave him hope, and he clung to it.
“Well, right now I’m praying that nobody sees me here talking to you. Go and get your coat. I’ve got something to show you.”
“I can’t,” she said, incredulous. But out of view she was already using her big toe to pull her feet from her slippers. “It’s almost midnight.”
“Which is why you need to come now.”
“But my parents are at home. My mother’s in bed, and my father’s awake. If he catches me . . .”
“Didn’t you tell me that you wanted an adventure?” He left only a moment’s pause for thought. During it, she remembered her mother’s words, the reminder that she needed to be brave. “I’ll be waiting at the bottom of the steps. Don’t take too long about it.” Seconds later he was gone.
* * *
When he saw her hanging from her window, the subtle smile, her hair undone and draped about her shoulders, it was as if he were seeing his own future before him. Thoughts came to him as if they were already memories—early mornings as she rose from bed; the days when she was unwell and how he would care for her. He hadn’t witnessed any good example of what to do as a husband, but he sure as hell knew what he shouldn’t do, and he prayed that was enough. He wouldn’t be out late drinking. There wouldn’t be other women. He wouldn’t use his fists when a gentle word would suffice. Damn it, he wouldn’t use his fists at all. If his best financially wasn’t enough, he’d compensate for his failings with gifts more valuable than any possessions: his time, love, consistency. They were his riches, and he would give them gladly. Her wish was his command.
And then he saw her hurrying along the path, wrapped in her coat, looking around to see if anybody was watching them. Her shoes were the same ones from that afternoon, the same ones she had been wearing on the night when he’d pulled her mother from the water. Laced and dainty with a little heel. He liked them. And those legs. He liked those too, although he did his best to keep his eyes off them. Porthsennen was a small place. Girls had been tarnished with a label before; poor Edith Ball was the latest, had given birth to a little girl only a couple of years ago when she was just sixteen. Poor Edith. How some people talked about her now. And she wasn’t the first. He felt a sense of guilt in that moment, but despite it he stayed. He didn’t have a choice. Not when it came to Elizabeth.
“You must be mad, throwing stones up at my window. Can you imagine what my father would have done if he’d caught you?”
“But he didn’t, did he?” When that didn’t settle her, he relented. “I knew it was your window.” He heard the call of a voice then, and it was a reminder to him that they were still out on show. Reaching for her cold hand, he led her into the shadow of the Old Success Inn. With the weight of his body he pushed her against the wall, covered her as if they were kissing, and he felt something shift in his belly, his body tighten.
Elizabeth’s heart was pounding too, a sensation of being both trapped and excited all at once. Then they heard a man stumbling from the pub. He staggered across the road and vomited over the seawall, before slowly meandering away.
“Who was that?” she whispered. The cool air chilled her as his body pulled away from hers, and she had to stop herself from pulling him back.
“Don’t know,” Tom said, his attention on the road. “Probably a tourist from one of the holiday rentals.”
“What a disgusting thing to do,” she said, motioning to the seawall. “I can smell it.”
“Then we’d better get out of here,” he said. The cool wind hit him as he nosed out from behind the wall, looking left and right. “Come on. Let’s make a dash for it before anybody else comes along.”
* * *
“I don’t think anybody saw us,” he said when they were away from the village, his hands resting on his knees, his tongue loose on his lips. They were soft and red, his hair messy. Heat flared from her face as she mirrored his stance.
“Well, if they did, we’ll soon know about it.”
“Do you care?” he asked, hopefully.
“No,” she said. “I don’t think I do.”
He pointed past the fence toward the rocks where the sound of the waves echoed beneath them. The old Mayon Lookout was farther up the same path. “Let’s cut through there. Nobody will be down by the rocks at this time of night. It’ll just be you and me.”
* * *
From the moment they left the path, the land was uneven and difficult to negotiate. Rocks, sharp and shaded, jutted from the ground, and she stumbled more than once. He held on to her tightly, and she liked the way he touched her, the certainty of his hands on her body. He didn’t wait for an invitation, and that self-assurance made her feel completely safe.
“Just over here,” he said. “I want to show you something.” They found a small hollow in the rock, and she slipped her body in. He sat down beside her, guided her head back with his hand softly placed at the back of her neck. “I want you to close your eyes, and make a wish,” he said, just before she was flat. “Are you ready?”
“For what?” she asked. She wondered if he was still watching her. He was.
“Just trust me. On the count of three, open your eyes. One. Two,” he said, resting his head back to gaze at the sky. “Three.”
The dark this far away from the village was as thick as oil, the only light the moon, which itself was off hiding somewhere else. In its place before her she saw a lucent smudge streaking through the sky. In places it was silver, in others purple with brilliant light coming from within it. It was as if the sky had revealed a view to another world beyond. She thought of her grandparents then, how they were in heaven, and thought that perhaps in this place just moments from home she had found a way to be closer to them. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt a tear prick from her eye. A cool fingertip brushed the tear a
way. For a moment her muscles stiffened with self-consciousness, lying there on the rocks like that, letting him wipe her tears. But then she relaxed again, aware that it felt as if he were returning to her, as if somehow, he had until then been missing.
“There’s no light from the village this close to the sea,” he told her. “At least not when the lighthouses go quiet.” Both Wolf Rock and Longships winked from a distance. Every time the light faded, she had the clearest view of the sky above.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “What is it?”
“It’s called the Milky Way.” He might not be able to give her a car, but he could give her the stars. “It’s our galaxy. And there are constellations too. Look, over there is the Plough. Cassiopeia just below. Next month you’ll be able to see Orion. Just look for the three bright stars in the south sky near the horizon.” He spread his hands wide like an offering. “Now it’s all yours.”
“How do you know about things like this?” she asked softly.
“My grandfather,” he said, resting a hand on her stomach. His fingertip trailed absently along the lace edge of her blouse where her coat had fallen open. “He taught himself to read because he said clever folk didn’t get taken advantage of.” He frowned. “Sliced off half of his hand when a wave struck his boat one day. Not too clever, was it?”
Despite her trying to hold them, her giggles erupted. “Sorry,” she said, calming herself. “Do you read a lot too?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” He paused. “For a fisherman.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a fisherman,” she said.
“Maybe not, but it’s hardly my dream to catch fish forever.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have any dreams,” she said, nudging his arm. “You’re not a liar, are you?”
“Everybody has dreams, Elizabeth. I just meant that only certain people’s dreams get the chance to come true.” As he turned, their noses were only inches apart. “But I’m starting to believe that maybe I’m luckier than I thought I was.”
Little Wishes Page 12
