The Cornish Escape: The perfect summer romance full of sunshine and secrets

by Lily Graham

  When Mrs Price found out that I was the one stealing from the kitchen she began leaving out small packages, neatly wrapped up for me to take outdoors as my afternoon tea. I think she was that glad to find someone who appreciated her food.

  I was full of questions for Fen about his house, his father and how he was getting on at the farm. Fen seemed to know the countryside so well; it surprised me to know that he hadn’t lived there his whole life.

  ‘Da’s from Cornwall originally. Mum’s from Yorkshire. We lived here when I was little, then when Da got sick we moved in with me gran – until she died. That was a few months ago. Then we moved here.’

  To the house. I still longed to visit it. I’d only got as far as the wall, and hadn’t had the courage to ask to see more.

  ‘So it’s just you and your parents then?’ I asked.

  He nodded. ‘Had two older brothers and a sister when I was little. Consumption,’ he explained. One word that said so much.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said.

  His eyes grew sad. ‘It was a while ago. But I still hear Tommy’s voice now and again.’

  ‘Tommy? Your brother?’

  He nodded. ‘The eldest. He took care of us when Da – well, when Da was away. Still miss him.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Why did you move back here? If you’ve still got family up in Yorkshire, I mean?’

  Fen shrugged. ‘Me da, he wanted to come home. Missed the sea. Never thought we’d have a place like this, though. It’s all thanks to the kindness of yer da.’

  I blinked. ‘My father?’ I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard anyone speak about him in that way. He’d been called hardworking, tenacious, formidable, but kind? There was a loyalty to his family and to those he cared about but I’d never heard him described that way.

  I looked at Fen. ‘He said they were friends, your father and mine, in the war.’

  Fen didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘Something like that. He’s a good man though, yer da. Not what I would have expected from a lord, if you know what I mean. Not that I’ve met that many, or any, really, mind.’

  I looked at him in surprise. ‘Have you met him?’

  He nodded. ‘Sure. On our first night. He came round, asked if everything was okay. Like it wouldn’t be. Seemed real concerned that it was comfortable. To tell you the truth, till we lived here, I didn’t even know people had their own rooms. Couldn’t believe this was all for us.’

  I blinked. Up until then, I hadn’t realised that people really shared before. It was a moment when I understood, perhaps for the first time, how blind I was to my own privilege. It was the first time I felt a stirring of shame for it.

  He looked at me, and then coloured slightly. ‘You probably have a big room—’

  ‘No, not at all,’ I lied. ‘I know what you mean. Rose and I shared the nursery for years, and she drove me insane. She used to take away my books and tell on me to our governess, Celine. She still does, actually,’ I sighed.

  ‘Tell on you? Why?’

  ‘They weren’t always the best books…’

  ‘How can a book be bad?’

  ‘Well, when there’s pirates and loose morals…’

  He looked rather impressed. ‘Really? How did you get them, then, if no one wanted you to read them?’

  ‘My cousin, Tim. He can always be relied upon.’

  ‘He sounds fun,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘He is. I’ll bring you one but you’ll have to read it at night. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your parents.’

  Fen laughed. ‘I think me mam would be that impressed to see me reading a book!’

  I grinned. ‘Not this kind.’

  While the new title of Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, which had been officially recognised by a Royal Warrant from the King, filled up the leading spaces in newspapers and discussions that March, Celine was growing increasingly suspicious of what I got up to in the afternoons, and I was finding it harder to come up with excuses for the leaves in my hair and the grass stains on my hands and knees.

  She’d warned me that if there were any further transgressions, I would have an audience with my father.

  The trouble was that it was hard to remember to worry about such things when your best friend said things like, ‘Don’t be a goose.’

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘Suppose you’re worrying about your dress and what that foreign woman will say if it gets all dirty again? Anyway, why can’t you just wear some normal clothes, if you’re worried?’

  We were looking up at Old Tom, the wild pear tree that bordered the river. It was over twelve feet high and had a trunk about as wide as two carriages sat side by side. Over two hundred years old, it still bore the tastiest fruit to be had. The only trouble was that, to get there, you needed to climb like your life depended on it.

  I huffed. ‘I am not worrying about my dress,’ I said, though of course I was. I’d already gotten a severe scolding from Celine. ‘My governess is French,’ I pointed out. ‘And these are normal.’ I peered down at my ankle boots, stockings and knee-length dress in doubt.

  He shrugged; there was a dare in his eyes. ‘Fine, she’s fancy foreign. And o-kay, if you say so. Though I could just lend you some of my things for the tree climbing. I have a spare.’

  I folded my lips; I wouldn’t smile. ‘A spare what?’

  ‘Pair of trousers.’

  I laughed. ‘I think I’ll pass, thank you…’

  He grinned. ‘Well, alright, but you won’t fall, I’ll go up after you. Here,’ he said, folding his hands together and making a little step for me to climb.

  I stepped around him and made a leap for an overhanging branch, catching it with my arms, then pulled myself up, my legs kicking beneath me. Fen followed, and we climbed higher and higher, coming to rest in a deep branch, where he clambered across to get to the ripe, juicy fruit. He sat down next to me and we ate our stolen pears, grinning as the clouded juice ran down our chins.

  We were leaning against the trunk when he picked up my hand and laughed. ‘Yep,’ he said, looking at my new collection of scratches, ‘should have just used my boost.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I said, laughing. My hand tingled from his touch, and I felt my cheeks reddening slightly as a result. ‘Rather have that than be a goose.’

  ‘I like geese. You don’t want to be around one that decides it’s out for blood. You know, actually, they look just like you do when you’re cross.’

  I scrambled after him as he slipped down the tree. ‘Yes, you’d better run!’

  Later, Celine sighed over the scratches on my hands and knees. ‘Haven’t you been wearing gloves?’ she asked, appalled. I shrugged. She picked up my dress, which though free of grass stains from the scrub I’d given it when I came in, was puckered and torn.

  ‘When did you become so rough?’

  I shrugged. ‘We do live in the countryside,’ I pointed out. ‘Surrounded by trees, fields, rocks…’

  ‘Yes, but is it absolutely necessary to catch all of it upon yourself?’

  I held my hands palm up.

  Her face changed. ‘William said that he saw you down at the river the other day, talking to a boy. He thought it was strange.’

  ‘Strange?’ I said, but I didn’t meet her eyes.

  She nodded, and I felt a prickle of trepidation.

  ‘Yes. He thought it was rather odd for a girl like you to be speaking with a boy like that…’

  ‘A boy like what?’ I asked. ‘And what’s the harm in speaking?’

  She gave me a stern look. ‘Tilly, of all people, you should be aware of the differences between the two of you – the class distinctions.’

  ‘That doesn’t bother me!’

  She raised a brow. ‘No, class never does bother the ones it privileges, does it?’

  I looked away. Her eyes softened. ‘I know that it doesn’t make a difference to you – but you must realise that it does to everyone else.’

  Why did that ma
tter, when we weren’t hurting anyone?

  ‘I hope that’s not what you’ve been doing with all your time in the afternoons.’

  ‘And if I am?’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘Consider this a warning then. It’s not you who will suffer the most. If you continue, I will have no choice but to speak to your mother.’

  My eyes met hers. I was often threatened with being reported to my father, which I knew to be an idle threat, but being reported to my mother was not.

  I looked away, the challenge dying on my lips, her words echoing in my head that it wasn’t me who would pay the price. Why did anyone have to suffer, simply because Fen and I were friends? What harm was there in it? What did it matter if he was born into a world where no one ever had a room of their own and I had been born into one where hardly anyone ever shared theirs? Why was the world divided over material things? And couldn’t I, for once, just have a friend?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Present day

  The water was colder than I’d expected, the sound of the waves amplified against the rocks. In the sand, like so many jewels, pebbles of sea glass were scattered along the beach. I marvelled at them, picking up ones that were aquamarine in colour, others like emeralds and sapphires.

  Sea glass has always fascinated me. There’s poetry in nature, but poetic justice too. Glass is made from sand, yet the ocean claims the glass from boats, shipwrecks and things left on shore; it takes it into its embrace and over time transforms it into something wild once more.

  ‘They’re beautiful, aren’t they?’ I said to Adam as he came over, his dark blond hair tousled by the wind, trousers rolled up. In the sun, his eyes were an almost electric blue.

  He nodded. ‘I’m sure this is what was used in your staircase.’ He was speaking about the beautiful spiral staircase in Seafall Cottage, which was currently being restored.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I said, marvelling that I might be on the very beach that had inspired my seashell-like staircase.

  Adam had popped into the cottage after work to see the progress the builders had made after I’d last shown him around. We’d decided to take a walk down the steps from the cottage to see if we could find the cove.

  ‘Do you think the Aspreys really made their money as pirates?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know – but it was common back then. There were even plundering rights for locals, as Cornish seas were so treacherous to ships because of all the rocks. If they had made their money that way, I’m sure they weren’t the only ones.’

  Since we’d begun decoding Tilly’s diary, Adam and I were spending a lot of time together. Most days he’d come past with a coffee or pop into the bookshop, where I would be having a chat with Angie. Before long we’d be discussing the diary, going off for a walk or deciding to grab something to eat.

  I had tried not to overanalyse it. Everyone needs a friend, even if that friend is six foot something, has a smile that should come with a health warning and is also utterly gorgeous to look at.

  Angie, of course, was having none of that. The day before, she’d flat out asked me, ‘So you and McAmerican – have you jumped his bones yet?’

  ‘Angie!’ I’d exclaimed, looking around The Floating Bookstore in case anyone had overheard her, though I knew we were alone.

  ‘Yes?’ she’d said, looking amused. She was using her finger to keep her place in her novel – currently Lemony Snicket’s The Bad Beginning. She’d made me sit down with my lemon drizzle slice while she read some of the funny bits aloud, until she interrupted herself and asked about Adam.

  Her feet had been propped up on a beanbag and she was the picture of a relaxed hippie, her long grey hair falling behind her. In the background, Creedence Clearwater Revival were singing ‘Green River’.

  ‘You can’t go around asking people things like that!’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I had this accident that affected part of my brain so now I’m never sure if what I say is rude or not,’ she’d said, her face serious, green eyes repentant.

  ‘Really?’ I’d asked, sitting forward in my beanbag. This would explain a lot.

  ‘No,’ she’d laughed, chucking the book at me. ‘Stop being so bloody prim.’

  I’d straightened up primly, stifling a smile. ‘Angie, I did not grow up in the sixties.’

  ‘More’s the pity,’ she had said. ‘You poor eighties kids… Punk, like that made the world go round.’

  I snorted now, thinking of her phrase ‘McAmerican’.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ asked Adam.

  ‘I was just thinking of something Angie said—’

  ‘Oh wait, you’ve got something on your face,’ he said, gently trailing a hand across my cheek.

  I blinked. My heart began to race. Up close I could smell his cologne. ‘W-what was it?’ I asked.

  ‘Just sand,’ he said, smiling that lazy smile.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, feeling suddenly as if something had shifted, beyond the sand beneath my feet. When he started walking back, my hand crept up to the place where his fingers had been. Like it had been gently burnt, I could still feel his touch.

  ‘Have you ever watched the movie Waterworld?’ I heard Angie call outside my window later that evening.

  I peered out the window. ‘Um, no?’

  Her long grey hair was loose, and she had on stripy purple and pink bellbottoms and a mustard-coloured T-shirt. There were silver swallows dangling from her ears.

  She held up a DVD. ‘Got it at Oxfam for less than a pound,’ she said with an air of surprise. ‘Can you believe it?’

  ‘Um?’ I said, stifling a laugh.

  Movie night had become our thing. Neither of us owned a TV but we made do with my laptop. The week before, she’d come past with Fried Green Tomatoes, and we’d cried like idiots, shouting ‘Towanda!’ as we downed our drinks.

  The week before that, she’d appeared with a plate of suspicious-looking brownies and we’d laughed most of the night. She was the bad friend I’d never had, only she was a good thirty years my senior.

  Over the past few years I hadn’t had the pleasure of this – friends dropping by unannounced. To be fair, in London, if it’s not booked into your calendar, it doesn’t happen at all.

  The truth was that most of my friends were at very different stages of their lives. Meg, my dear friend from uni, had three children and could barely find the time to brush her own hair, let alone meet up for lunch. And with my busy schedule over the past few years, I’d lost touch with most of my other friends, apart from the occasional, obligatory lunch or supper. Now that Mark and I had split up, there would be even fewer of those.

  Sue, Angie and Adam were the first real friends I’d made in years.

  Angie was like that naughty aunt who gave you your first fake ID, or snuck in the booze – you know, the best one?

  She looked at me from the gangway. ‘The woman said it should still play, but if not…’ She held up her other hand, in which there was a bottle of wine. ‘There’s this?’

  I laughed. ‘Hopefully not also from Oxfam?’

  For someone who lived on a very cramped houseboat, Angie had a bit of a problem with trawling charity shops. When things got too much she just took a load back though she admitted there had been a few times she’d bought something she’d donated by mistake – ‘That’s when I know I should have kept it, you know.’

  ‘Bargain bin,’ she said now, referring to the wine. ‘But looks, you know, what’s the word?’

  ‘Potable?’ I tried.

  ‘That,’ she said with a grin.

  ‘Come on in.’

  I poured us each a glass of wine and we watched a young Kevin Costner tackle the seas and swim like a merman.

  ‘You know, this is alright,’ I said, taking another sip.

  ‘Not bad,’ she agreed.

  ‘I’d forgotten how good-looking Costner was.’

  ‘Vintage,’ she agreed. ‘Brownie?’

  ‘Angie, you’re a bad
influence, you know that?’

  She laughed. ‘Yeah, I mean, look what I just made you do there,’ she said as I rewound to the part where Costner takes his shirt off, which, to be fair, had been my idea.

  ‘You know,’ she said, giving me a sly look. ‘McAdam has a bit of that going on…’

  ‘What?’ I said, spilling wine on my shirt. I had been trying and failing to forget our walk on the beach earlier.

  She grinned. ‘You know, that dark blond, blue-eyed sort of thing…’

  ‘Has he?’ I said, all too innocently.

  She laughed when my face started to colour. ‘You’re blushing,’ she said in delight.

  ‘It’s the wine,’ I said, shaking my head at her.

  ‘Oh yes, the wine,’ she said, rewinding the film again. ‘So when are you seeing him again? Breakfast, is it?’

  ‘It’s not like that. Anyway, it’s only lunch.’

  Her mouth fell open and she started to laugh. ‘Oh yes, only lunch.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I said, stifling a laugh.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cornwall, 190

  Tilly

  I convinced Fen that it would be best if we met away from the farms, and our meeting place became the little river where I’d first seen him and Arthur all those months ago. Fen didn’t argue. I think he knew, perhaps even more than me, our friendship was something we had to safeguard.

  As winter gave way to spring, Fen and I began work on the abandoned fishing boat that he’d found. Using tar that he’d bought down at the village tackle and boat shop, we repaired the hole, and then waited for it to dry before we took it for its maiden voyage. We had one paddle and one large branch, and our agreement was that we’d take turns with each. Arthur came with us for our maiden trip, though he preferred to stay on Fen’s shoulder rather than in the somewhat damp hull.

  Water seeped into the toes of my boots and filled my stockings. There were slick patches of mildew and nowhere to sit that didn’t result in a wet bottom, but I’m not sure that I’d ever smiled quite as much as I did on that day when we took the boat out.