He didn’t feel uncomfortable like he had in the past, like when he was with Francine in his bedroom and wanted her to leave. God, he hadn’t known what to do afterward. This time it felt easy. Her silence didn’t fill him with fear, and he felt no rush to fill it.
“So, what is your dream?” she asked after a while.
Shyness kept him from speaking. “You first.”
“My dream? You know it already. I want to paint. I want people to hang what I create in their homes, let it be a part of their lives.” The night air was cold, yet she sucked it in, remembering how much her father thought it a folly. “It’s not that easy, though. My father doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”
“He also thinks you should get married to James.”
A certain resignation lingered in his voice, the same she had felt since the engagement was arranged. “Yeah,” she said, wondering. But she didn’t want to think or talk about James. “Now you go.”
Shadows from her eyelashes stretched across her cheek as he moved to look at her from above, long and curled and beautiful. It was possible to imagine her old in that moment, the lines of shadow as wrinkles. Any kind of life would be good enough for him, dreams fulfilled or not, if that was the face waiting for him at the other end of it.
Placing a large flat pebble on her tummy, followed by a second so that it was perfectly balanced on top, he began. “I want to build,” he told her, placing a third. “Modern buildings, nothing like what we’ve got here in Porthsennen. I want to be an architect.”
“So why don’t you do it?”
He shook his head and removed the stones from her body. “Can’t do it here, can I? I’d have to leave Porthsennen. That’s not easy for me.” She realized he was lost in the thoughts of a dream that seemed unattainable. How easily she understood. “Maybe you can hold one of your exhibitions in a building that I design.”
The idea of that future seemed comforting to Elizabeth. That version of their lives, away from Porthsennen, together and pursuing what they loved; it felt right in a way that nothing ever had before. Even the simple things, like cleaning and cooking dinner for when he returned home from work, felt like a treat to savor; doing the same for James felt like a sentence for a crime she wasn’t sure she had committed. Looking at Tom, she wondered if she was on the cusp of committing it.
“Why is this so easy?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Being with you. Talking to you.” The wind struck her as she edged forward, their faces realigned. “Why do you make me feel like anything is possible?”
“Is that how I make you feel?”
“Yes,” she said.
He wanted to kiss her so much then as she licked her lips, wetting what the salty air had dried. But he didn’t get a chance to, because she reached forward and kissed him instead. It was an inexpert effort, but he didn’t mind, and he didn’t want it to stop when moments later she pulled away.
“I didn’t expect that,” he said.
“Neither did I,” she replied. Her body shook. “But I’ve wanted to do it all day.”
“Me too,” he said, leaning in to kiss her again. Her hair tickled his face as she moved, her lips falling into rhythm with his. They stayed like that for some time, but even when she pulled away it was as if she were still on him, her touch imprinted on his face.
“So that’s how you do it,” she said coyly, her voice soft and apologetic. He could barely hear her over the sound of the water striking the rocks below. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have done that after all.”
“Why not?”
“It wasn’t right.”
“It felt right to me.”
The stars twinkled as she gazed up, then the dark was broken by a flash of bright light guiding ships to safe passage. Her eyes met his, then she looked away. In truth she didn’t know where to look. “What are we going to do?”
“That depends, Elizabeth.”
“On what?”
“On whether you love James or not.” He paused, faltered just a little. “And also, maybe whether or not you think you could love me.”
“I barely even know you, Thomas Hale.” Her words were soft, fearful, but she knew the answer. “But I know I love you.”
“You know me better than anybody else knows me.” In that moment when she felt so vulnerable, she couldn’t have imagined a better answer, and she welcomed it when he kissed her again. “Tell James that you don’t want to marry him and marry me instead.”
Be brave, she thought. Please be brave.
“How are you supposed to tell somebody that you no longer want to marry them?”
“It’s like what you are looking at,” he said, pointing to the inky sky and the streak of luminance bleeding through it. “You can’t see what’s up there most of the time. Even just a short walk back to the village would make this part of the sky look totally different. But a subtle change, just a short distance from what you know, and look what you find. All that, just waiting to be found.”
“That all sounds simple enough now, but what about in real life? You’re full of nice words, but do you think my father is going to let me gad about with you?”
The untimeliest smile crossed his lips. “‘Gad about’?”
“Oh, would you stop it. You might know all sorts of fancy things with your books and facts about the sky, but don’t tell me you know my father better than I do. He’s going to be angrier than I’ve ever known him.”
She was up on her feet, moving ever closer to the edge. Tom jumped up, followed her. “What are you getting upset about?” he asked.
Fat, hot tears streamed down her cheeks, filled with her worries as she pulled away from Tom’s touch. It was foolish to think of her father accepting this. He could barely accept her wearing trousers and had been so mad when he knew that she had seen Tom in a companionable fashion. What was he going to say when she told him that she loved Tom? Loved him? Oh, God, she really did. She could feel it all through her body, from her racing heart to the throbbing of her feet.
“We don’t need his permission, Elizabeth.” Despite the fact that Tom was right, and the anger her father’s ideas and insistences often raised, she wanted his approval. As his daughter she wanted him to be proud. “And if you’re so worried about it, then I’ll speak to him myself. I’ll ask his permission to marry you.”
Water washed beneath her in foamy sprays as she sat down on the edge of a rock, her feet dangling toward the sea. “And what do you think he’ll say?” she asked as Tom sat alongside her. Gulls called in the distance.
“I don’t care if he doesn’t approve. We’ll leave, go where he can’t find us.”
“How can I, when my mother’s not well? And there’s your family too, remember. What would you say to—” she began, but she didn’t get a chance to finish. They heard the crack first, but it all happened too quickly. Her balance was lost as the shard of rock shifted beneath her, and moments later she fell forward onto the ledge below.
“Elizabeth!” he shouted into the dark, swinging himself around to look down over the edge. Dark stared back at him, her body just visible, half in the water, half out, all splayed out. Her fingers clung to the edge of a wet, slippery rock. All it would take was one large swell and it could sweep her into the sea. His muscles pulled tight as he reached toward her, but the drop was too far for him to pull her to safety.
“I’m coming,” he shouted as he snaked left and right for a path down. He tested each step as he weaved closer, the sea growing louder as he descended, almost growling by the time he reached the ledge. His first step proved too slippery to cross by foot, so instead he laid his body down onto the stone, wedging his feet behind a rock to secure himself.
“Can you reach me?” he called to her, stretching across. A wave broke the surface of the rocks, cold water rushing in through his clothes. Elizabeth yelped as her body surged forward, stumbling as the sea washed around her. It brought her closer to him, and he saw she had lost a shoe. “Can yo
u reach?” he called again, more desperate this time.
Her fingers were splayed out as far as they could go as another wave breached the rocks. A dribble of blood ran from her forehead down the edge of her nose. The sound of the water was deafening, but the wave brought her just close enough that he could clasp her hand in his.
“Hold on,” he called, and he felt her fingers tighten against his. His arms were strong, but still he doubted himself as another wave rushed toward them. Memories of his brother surfaced; he had hated the water ever since the day Daniel drowned, hated it even more in this moment, when it threatened to take Elizabeth from him. The heavy burden of his father’s blame weighed him down, but fighting against it, he pulled as hard as he could and with a gasp and cough Elizabeth emerged from the water. Doubts continued to bother him, but he had little choice other than to do his best.
As Elizabeth held on, praying to be saved, she didn’t doubt him for a second.
Now
The first thing Elizabeth did the following morning was collect the basket from the settee and set it down on the table. All was quiet besides the gentle lull of Tom’s breathing, so with a smile over the thought of what they had done the night before, she made a cup of tea and sat with the wishes. It was like being seventeen again. Somehow her fingers felt flexible this morning, so she leafed through the wishes with ease, beginning to sort them into three piles: those that could only be done in Porthsennen, those she could manage to re-create in London, and those they had already achieved. Placing the wishes in that pile brought a smile to her face, and she was glad there was nobody there to see her blush.
Putting the wishes in order, she found that they had already done more in the last few days than she realized. But the more difficult wishes, including one very important one that would require a considerable degree of soul searching of her own, weighed heavily on her. It was best not to think too much about those, she thought, so she placed them back in the basket along with those she and Tom had already achieved, folded so he would think they were complete. Then she added those that could only be achieved in Porthsennen, like flying kites at Whitesand Bay. She was left with a handful of wishes that were possible in London, but with very little idea of how best to achieve them. Cool air drifted into the house as she stood at the French doors overlooking the garden, and the sight of the croci brought a smile to her face. Help was what she needed, from that Internet thing Kate and her grandkids were always using. Knowing she couldn’t ask her daughter for help, she picked up the phone and called Alice, and explained what she was trying to do.
* * *
It was just the next day when Alice knocked on the door to begin their grand plan. Elizabeth hadn’t been able to sleep much the night before, but her adrenaline was working overtime, and she hoped that would be enough to see her through. Tom was too tired to notice her anxiety and had spent most of the day asleep. That night they had lain alongside each other in the bed, spooned up close, and she had mused how right everything felt with the world. For a moment she had even forgotten about the cancer. At least he was well rested; he was going to need all the energy he could muster for today.
“Come on, Dad,” Alice said as she blustered into the living room. “Get your coat on.”
Tom looked to Alice, then Elizabeth. “What for?”
“We’ve got things to do today,” Elizabeth said, unable to control her smile. Alice reached forward and helped herself to a mug from the table, poured herself a tea from the pot. Tom watched her every move as if he’d found himself in a strange house and was trying to work out what the hell was going on.
“What’s she talking about?” he asked Alice.
“Got nothing to do with me, Dad. I’m just the facilitator. You two have more unfinished business together than anybody realized.” She winked at him. “But you’ll have a bit less by the end of the day.
Tom turned to Elizabeth. “What have you gone and done now?”
Her heart was racing, as if she’d been running like one of those crazy types she’d seen in the streets. It felt too hot as she slipped her arms into her coat, the adrenaline of excitement on double-time. Apprehension too. “You’ll see,” she said. “You’ll see.”
* * *
Alice dropped them off at a corner restaurant on Drury Lane. “In 1972,” she said to Tom as they were seated at their table, “you wished we were eating eggs Benedict in a fancy restaurant.” His eyes widened as she pulled out the small slip of blue paper from that year. He took it with a smile, and after reading his words he propped it up against the saltshaker.
“My writing was a bit neater back then,” he said, eyes still on the paper. “I used to eat it at a small café near the Barbican. I was sure you’d love it. I think that place is a Costa now.”
“And you were right, I do, so let’s place our order. We’ve got a fair bit to get through today.”
* * *
Breakfast was better than anything Elizabeth had ever cooked for herself: two perfectly poached eggs with bacon on toasted muffins, and the smell of it made her mouth water. Nearing the end of her meal, she realized Tom had barely touched his.
“Don’t you like it?” she asked.
“It’s not that,” he said, taking another small morsel. “It’s just that too much makes me feel queasy.”
Despite her disappointment regarding the implications of food-induced nausea for the rest of her planned day, she managed a smile before setting her knife and fork down. “I’m not that hungry anyway. Why don’t you say we head off? We have plenty of other things to do.” She pulled the wishes from her pocket and waved them at him. “Just a few special moments to share together. We missed out on so much. We can at least try to recapture some of the things you wished for over the years.”
“What about what you wished for? I never stopped to ask, did I?”
“No, you didn’t,” she said, slipping her arms into her coat. He was grateful for her help with his own coat. “But never mind that now. I’d say you didn’t do a bad job of knowing what I’d like over the course of the years. You just wait until we get to Porthsennen.”
“Have you still got that robe I sent you?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
“I’d like to see you in it, that’s for sure.”
“Steady on. It’s not even ten o’clock.” The waiter arrived at their table and she paid the bill. “Now come on, your chariot awaits.”
They stepped outside the restaurant to find a black limousine pulled up alongside the curb. The chauffeur was standing at the passenger door, waiting, as if they were royalty or celebrities, and stunned into silence, Tom stepped inside. When the door was closed and it was just the two of them, he said, “How did you manage to organize all this?”
Bubbles tickled her nose as she raised a flute of champagne to her lips, poured by the driver moments before. “I didn’t do it on my own. Alice helped.” The arthritis made everything heavy, the bottle included as she reached down to turn it so that he could see the label. “Recognize this?”
“Is that the one I bought you all those years ago?”
“It sure is. If you manage to have a sip of this, I’d say that’s 1999 and 1978 just about taken care of.”
He sipped, then quickly spat the champagne back into the glass. Some of it sprayed over their knees.
“What year did you say I got you this?”
“1978. Why?”
“Just taste it.”
She did, and her taste buds flinched, like sucking on a lemon.
“I thought wine was supposed to get better with age.” Her shoulders dropped with disappointment at the thought of all the years she’d been keeping it.
“Apparently not all of them,” he said, brushing his wet trousers. But he liked the sentiment. “Let’s say it still counts.”
* * *
The city rose around them as they pulled into the traffic. Buildings towered above them. Elizabeth couldn’t hear what was said as Tom leaned forward and
spoke to the driver, but when he sat back, he turned to her.
“Are we on a time limit?”
“Sort of. Why?”
“Can we spare thirty minutes? I’ve got something I’d love to show you.” He watched as she checked her watch. “It would take care of 2004.”
The earliest wishes were imprinted on her memory, but some of the later ones were harder to recall. What was 2004?
“I suppose half an hour is fine,” she said.
“Great. Driver,” he called through to the front. “We are a go with the history tour. Fasten your seat belts,” he said, as if there were a car full of people. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
* * *
They started with an office building, then a bridge, followed by part of a school. All places he had in some way helped build. That year, along with the flower and the wish, he had left her a little model of a house. They finished up parked in a narrow lane in the shadow of the Barbican Estate, and had been driving around the city for much longer than half an hour.
“And you built all that?” she asked as they peered up at the towering apartment blocks.
“Well, not really. But I worked on the central tower.”
It was so tall she couldn’t see the top from her position in the car. Everywhere felt so different from their village, but somehow with Tom there with her it didn’t feel strange. It was, perhaps, how she had once imagined her life would be. “You came a long way, Thomas Hale.”
“Not bad for a fisherman, eh?” he asked.
“You finally got to live your dream.”
“Well, one of them.”
“And we still have a lot of little notes to get through.”
“Yes,” he said, and she wondered for a moment what was wrong. Was he sad? Tired by it all? Fearful of his own mortality? She couldn’t read him. “But some of those wishes might be harder to fulfill than others, wouldn’t you say?”
Her aged hands shook in her lap. “Yes, Tom. Some of them will be almost impossible.”
* * *
That afternoon he found himself in a private cinema screening—Armageddon, the movie, and his wish, from 1998. At the time he had thought it was wonderful, and although he was fighting back a tear as the credits rolled, Elizabeth seemed distinctly unmoved. “It was totally unbelievable,” she said, and left the building shaking her head, hurrying as best she could to get to their next stop. But even though they hadn’t done all that much to expend energy, he didn’t have much to spare. The limousine pulled up on Fleet Street, and moments later the driver’s door opened.
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