Thank you for the present, for the past, and for every moment we still have left together. I have loved you greatly.
Tom
Now
Alice chose not to travel with Elizabeth. Elizabeth invited her, of course, and would have been glad to share a train carriage with her for the eight-hour return journey to Porthsennen. Elizabeth would have liked her company, would have welcomed Alice into her cottage, given her a chance to share her father’s past. But Porthsennen and the memories Elizabeth had created there with Tom belonged to them, and it seemed that Alice was happy to let them rest along with her father, now that the funeral was over. The memories that had kept Elizabeth in Porthsennen for all these years were from a different life that belonged to Elizabeth and Tom. It was a life that never really began, yet had never really ended either.
They did travel together to the funeral home, a small Georgian building with strange Gothic lights on the wall and an atmosphere of library quiet inside. They knew Tom’s wishes, and so Alice asked permission from Elizabeth to keep a small measure of the ashes, all that now remained of the man they had once loved so much. Elizabeth had no idea whether Tom would have thought it a pleasant or a macabre idea that a small part of him would end up on a mantelpiece, and she herself couldn’t think of anything worse than keeping him there, watching over her like that. Even the knowledge that he was in the green pot sitting on the table before her was almost too much. But she gave Alice the permissions she sought, and then helped her choose a small wooden heart, engraved with the word dad on the front. For her that was enough, just a small piece of him left, to take home to Brian’s house when she moved in next week.
“I can’t believe it took this to get us to realize how we felt,” she said to Elizabeth while the funeral director was off organizing the paperwork.
“Sometimes it takes a tragedy to make us appreciate the treasures in our own lives,” Elizabeth said. Alice agreed, nodding. The shuffle of paperwork continued from the other side of the table as the funeral director filled out the necessary documents. They were nearly done, could almost see the line being drawn under this latest chapter. Not quite the last, but near enough.
* * *
Brian drove them the short distance to Paddington Station, and Alice insisted on escorting Elizabeth inside while he waited on the side of the road. Kate had already returned to her life in Truro a few days before, a husband and two children who needed her there. Elizabeth was going to visit next week; how she had missed her grandchildren and their noisy brand of company. This time the ticket machine posed no problem for her, and with the ticket in her hand, she walked with Alice toward the gates. The travel bag, now heavy with Tom’s ashes, cut deep into her fingers.
“You will keep in touch, won’t you?” Alice asked as they watched the train pull in. Everywhere around them people rushed about; Elizabeth wouldn’t miss that at all. But she would miss Alice. They had spent close to three months together. It had been Alice who had hand-delivered Tom’s final letter in the hours following his death, just as he had instructed.
“That would be nice,” Elizabeth said, trying to conceal her surprise. Elizabeth had expected that perhaps Alice would have liked to move on, not have a constant reminder of this small slice of life they had shared. “You’ll be welcome in Cornwall anytime.”
“And you with us. You’re going to have to come back anyway, in about eight months’ time. Without Mum and Dad around, somebody is going to have to be a grandparent to this baby.” Elizabeth didn’t know what to say, and when she tried to speak, the lump in her throat trapped all the words she could think of, her eyes shooting to Alice’s tummy.
“You’re pregnant?”
“I only found out a few days ago and couldn’t wait to tell you. We’re family now. I guess in some way we always were.” Alice reached forward and hugged her.
“That’s such wonderful news.”
“Well, I’m forty-two, so let’s not count our chickens. But I want this. Always did, I think.” The announcement for the 10:03 for Penzance boomed over the loudspeaker; it would be departing in two minutes, right on time. “Will you be all right with him?” Alice asked, looking down at the bag containing the pot of ashes. Elizabeth nodded. “Try not to lose him this time, eh?”
Elizabeth pushed through the gate and lugged the bag onto the train, taking her place in the window seat. Waving to Alice as the train pulled away, she was comforted by a smile that confirmed for Elizabeth that it wouldn’t be the last time she saw her.
Alice’s words lingered with her throughout the journey, the uneasy responsibility of seeing a final wish come to fruition. Would there be anything worse than failing him now, losing him on the train? Elizabeth traveled with the pot on her lap, cursed the weight of his ashes for giving her sore knees as they coursed through the southern countryside. After her arrival in Penzance, a taxi delivered her to Porthsennen. It felt like a lifetime that she had been away, the village changed during her absence. And as she approached her quiet cottage, the sound of the waves a welcome chorus, she noticed that all the roses in pots on the steps were dead.
“I hold you responsible for those,” she said as she heaved the bag into the cottage, kicking the deadheads that had fallen from the steps. “And Francine. Last time I’ll ask her to water anything.” All was quiet as she closed the door behind her. And in the dark of her living room she was hit by a smell, something she hadn’t noted in a long time: the sea, tobacco, and heat. Tom. He must have been there with her all along, she had just never realized.
She set the bag down on the table with a thump. Cookie chirruped from the settee, but didn’t bother to get up, although she was glad to see that Francine had managed to keep him alive. Next to her she saw her mail, with it a small box with her name and address on it, a London postmark. Tom’s handwriting, if she wasn’t mistaken. Taking a knife from the kitchen, she opened the edge and popped open the top. Inside was a small terra-cotta pot, and the remains of a dead crocus.
“You didn’t forget,” she said as she lifted it out. Attached to the side was the wish.
2018: I wish this year that you would come back to me. That is all I want now.
Even though the flower was dead, she set the pot in the center of the table and made a cup of tea. Unsure what to do, uncomfortable in her own life, she sat on the settee to drink it with her eyes on the ashes, stroking Cookie’s head. “I don’t suppose there’s any reason to put this off, is there?” she asked of herself. So after taking a thick wool coat from the stand, and placing Tom in a satchel that she had found in the cottage when she first moved in, she opened the door. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”
Forced to walk against the breeze, she strode up the path that would deliver her to the old Mayon Lookout. With careful footing she stepped out onto the rocks, the path even more precarious than she remembered it to be. It was farther than she usually went nowadays, but it didn’t take her long to find the small hollow in the rock that had been formed over thousands of years, and in which she had shared her first kiss with Tom. Her body still fit the mold as she slipped inside, and as she lay down she said to herself, “Close your eyes. Make a wish,” imagining that she was still able to feel his warm hand on the back of her head.
As she gazed skyward, she saw the most lucent smudge streaking through the sky, just as it had before. In places it was silver, in others purple with lights coming from within. She thought of Tom, and how she hoped he was in heaven, if such a place existed, and that if it did there was no place closer to him in the world than right there on that rock. Gazing briefly at her tattooed wrist, she smiled. Her breath caught in her throat as tears pricked her eyes. She could almost sense him looking at her. She brought a fingertip to the corner of her eye, brushed the tear away as she rose to her feet.
“Don’t go anywhere, eh?” she told Tom as she set the satchel down. Until then the only light was that of the automated lighthouses flickering in the distance, but from her pocket she pu
lled a small flashlight. The beam shone bright, and she set off for the nearby rocks, hoping she could find what she’d come here for. And sure enough, without too much effort, she did. The space was tighter than she remembered, but her fingers soon felt the quilt just where she had left it all those years ago, along with the book that had once belonged to Tom. The quilt was damp, but in the low light it didn’t seem especially damaged. The book had taken a battering. The paper was wrinkled, soft and brown about the edges. Parts looked barely readable.
“I was wrong about one thing,” she said aloud. “It was never really over, was it? Not for either of us.” The quilt was almost too big to fit in the satchel, even once she’d taken Tom’s ashes out, yet she managed to stuff it in along with the book and slung the bag over her shoulder. She hoped both would dry so that she might hand them down to Alice. It seemed only right that they go to her. Kate had another family, linked to the man who raised her. “We have loved each other for a lifetime, Thomas Hale, just as you promised we would. You did keep your promises, after all. Now I will keep those I made to you.”
The green pot was heavy as she picked it up, fiddling a fingernail at the seal. It took a while and required her to hold the flashlight with her teeth, but soon enough she had it open. It took only a moment for the wind to pick up the uppermost ashes, licking them upward into the night sky. It was a struggle to hold the pot above her head, yet as she did, she watched the contents gradually escape, creating a silver arc that traveled up toward the stars. And just a moment later that was it. Done. She waited there a while, watching the light from Wolf Rock flicker across the sea. Then she turned to walk away, glancing back at the water only at the last moment. “I’ll be home soon,” she said, her voice breaking as she took the first steps in the direction of the cottage. For the first time in her life she felt ready for whatever came next, because finally, after fifty years of waiting, all her wishes had come true.
Author’s Note
Thank you so much for choosing this book, and giving me the chance to share Tom and Elizabeth’s story with you. I really hope that you have enjoyed it, and that it left you feeling as if it’s never too late for love to find a voice. Of all the books I have written to date, this is by far the one that means the most to me personally, and I’d love to take a moment to tell you why.
The initial idea for this book first came to me during a seven-hour airport layover, stuck in a café watching the snow settle on the runway. I wrote a few thousand words that evening, beginning with the scene where Tom and Elizabeth first visit the hospital together. I was trying to return to the UK from Cyprus on a last-minute flight, and the only one I could get included a substantial wait in Lithuania. I had no choice but to take it; my dad was dying of stage four lung cancer, and I knew I couldn’t wait if I wanted to be there in time.
The eve of that final trip came only four weeks after his diagnosis. I had been with him for that, then had returned home to Cyprus briefly, trying to manage a life that stretched across two countries on opposite sides of Europe. But he got sick very quickly. The shock of his diagnosis hit me hard, and sitting in the airport during that wait, I knew it was going to be the last time I could go there to be with him. Coming home the week before had been a hard decision to make, but possible because I knew I had been leaving him in the capable hands of his partner, Chris.
From the moment my father became sick she barely left his side. When I had no choice but to return to Cyprus, she was there to care for him. Her presence made all the difference, the only constant in an otherwise uncertain world. Undoubtedly there were terrible moments during that period of our lives, some of which have been recounted in this novel. One such moment was his prognosis, when we found out that his problem wasn’t something we could fix. But there were also wonderful moments. Jokes and movies. Music and memories. Support from places we didn’t expect. And through it all, Chris was there. I witnessed so much love shared between my father and his partner during those difficult moments. Love given when there was no hope for the future, but when the present had never mattered more. I wanted desperately to capture that connection in a story, and that’s how Tom and Elizabeth and all their little wishes were born.
I loved my father dearly, and although this story is not based on his life, he runs through this book like a stamp through rock. For example, he loved lifeboats, Elvis Presley, and toasted tea cakes. He had a lighthouse photograph hanging on his wall, my inspiration for putting that element in this story. And, sadly, like many people he was a smoker, and he paid the heaviest price for that choice. He also, and perhaps most importantly, died with his loved ones around him, just as Tom did in this story. For that too, I remain grateful.
After I wrote that first chapter in the airport, it took me another two years to finish the earliest manuscript for my agent to read. The original story has changed a lot since then. It brings me great pleasure to have written this tribute to my dad, John, and his partner, Chris. I hope in reading it, just like them, you might remember that it’s never too late to chase a love you lost.
Acknowledgments
Four years ago, riding in a taxi with my agent before I’d even had a single book published, I told her that I wanted to write a love story. We were on our way to meet with my editor for my psychological thrillers, and the timing for a genre switch could not have been worse. I hazard a guess that not all agents would have reacted with such enthusiasm and encouragement, and so my first thank-you must, as always, go to Madeleine Milburn and her incredible team. You keep on making dreams come true. I couldn’t wish for a better team to represent me.
Thanks also go to Phoebe Morgan from Trapeze, who helped me craft the original book into something better still. I am indebted to you for your help and tireless effort in making this book what it is today. Also, to Lucia Macro at William Morrow for HarperCollins U.S., your enthusiasm for this novel blew me away. It is a joy to collaborate with you. And to all the other international editors who have shown faith in my work, I thank you for making me part of your journey. There are so many other people who play an important role in the publication of a novel, from assistants to typesetters to designers and publishers who all work to make it possible. Thank you to every one of you for the part you play in all this.
A very special thanks goes to friends and family who have encouraged and supported me along the way, especially to my people Stasinos, Theo, Themis, and Lelia; sometimes there are just no words. I’m grateful for you every day, and so proud of you all too.
But the biggest thanks this time must go to my father, who is no longer here to see this book achieve publication. However, he inspired this story in every possible way. Without him, and without the love he showed me throughout my life, it undoubtedly would never have been written. I wrote the first chapter during a seven-hour layover in Lithuania as the snow settled on the runway, waiting for a connecting flight that would take me to his bedside for the last time in his life. Perhaps this book was my way of keeping him here for just a little while longer, because I surely wasn’t ready to say goodbye when the time came. He would have found it particularly strange, I think, to imagine that he is behind the story in the pages of this book. He would have bloody loved the fact that I managed to get an Elvis Presley reference in there. That was one of his favorite things, along with lifeboats, toasted tea cakes, and a shiny grille on a classic car. He might be gone, but his memory lives on, and for that I am grateful every day.
About the Author
MICHELLE ADAMS grew up in the UK and now lives in Cyprus with her husband, young daughter, and stepchildren. She is the author of two psychological suspense novels, If You Knew My Sister and Between the Lies.
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Also by Michelle Adams
Between the Lies
If You Knew My Sister
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
little wishes. Copyright © 2020 by Michelle Theodorou. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Originally published as Little Wishes in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Trapeze.
First William Morrow hardcover published November 2020
first edition
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
Digital Edition November 2020 ISBN 978-0-06-301958-4
Print ISBN 978-0-06-301956-0
About the Publisher
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