Christmas at Conwenna Cove

by Darcie Boleyn

  They’d spent twenty-two years living in fear and in the end the result had been the same. Sam was gone. They couldn’t save him. But he’d lived and was loved.

  The dull ache in Grace’s heart picked up again, for her parents and for her brother and for all that they been through and all that they had lost. Life could be so cruel. Yet it could also be so wonderful, because Sam had been her brother and she’d adored him.

  ‘Are you all right, Grace?’

  The question startled Grace and she turned to find Maxine stood just a few feet away, her face bright in the moonlight.

  ‘Oh… yes. Thank you.’

  Grace sniffed and realized that her cheeks were wet. She pulled off a glove and rubbed at her skin.

  ‘The cold air making your eyes water?’

  Grace nodded.

  ‘Happens to me all the time.’

  Maxine’s face was so kind and her voice so soothing that Grace suddenly realized she might break down completely. She bit her lip hard and took a few steadying breaths.

  Maxine startled her by whistling long and loud, which was soon followed by the pounding of feet heading towards them from out of the darkness. She tensed, wondering what on earth was headed their way, then burst into laughter as she saw two greyhounds circling across the sand. She could just make out their long tongues dangling from their mouths and their powerful leg muscles propelling them at high speed. Just when she thought that one would collide with her, it darted sideways then turned back in the direction it had just come from, before turning again and jogging towards Maxine, its companion doing the same.

  ‘You have two greyhounds?’

  Maxine nodded. ‘The best thing I ever did was adopt these two. Brother and sister they are… Most beautiful siblings I’ve ever come across.’

  She hooked leads to their harnesses, then gently rubbed their chins before kissing them both on the top of their narrow heads.

  ‘There you go, you two, I promised I’d let you have a run tonight, didn’t I?’

  The dogs panted in reply, both seeming to smile as they fixed their eyes on their mistress.

  ‘I’m a good listener if you’d like to talk about anything, Grace.’

  She smiled at the older woman.

  ‘Thank you. I’m okay though. I was just thinking about someone I lost a long time ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss, but Conwenna will do that to you. Help you work out your feelings, so to speak.’

  ‘I’m beginning to realize that.’

  ‘Sometimes you need to let it all go, lovely. Allow yourself to feel the pain in all its glorious technicolour then release it.’

  ‘I’ll try. But it’s difficult.’

  Maxine nodded.

  ‘On another note, did you enjoy the party?’

  ‘Yes, very much. Oli’s children are lovely and it was nice to meet more of the locals.’

  They started to walk automatically, taking a slow pace across the sand towards the cliffs and rock pools. Grace inhaled the cold air, filling her lungs with it as if it could cleanse her from the inside out.

  ‘Have you always lived here?’ Grace asked.

  ‘I grew up here, but moved away in my twenties. I was convinced I wanted to travel the world and escape my loving but rather domineering parents. So I did for a while, I lived in France, Belgium, Italy… I had some elicit love affairs.’ She laughed. ‘They were wonderfully exciting at the time, but all came to nothing. Then I moved back to Cornwall and rented a small cottage in Porthleven. Close enough to visit Mum and Dad but not on their doorstep. It was a beautiful village but, after a few years, the landlord wanted to sell and I didn’t have the funds to buy the place. Then my parents died within months of each other, and left me their cottage in Conwenna and the job at the surgery came up. I’d had some training assisting a vet nurse during my travels, so I applied for the job. I didn’t expect to get it, but Oli said I could study for my level three diploma in veterinary nursing apprenticeship-style while working at the practice. With his help and support, I qualified. He’s a lovely man, he’d do anything for anyone.’

  ‘He would?’

  ‘And he’s had such an awful time of it.’

  ‘With losing his wife?’

  ‘Yes. For a while there I thought we’d lose him too, but then he picked himself up and soldiered on.’

  ‘What was his wife like?’

  ‘Linda was… bohemian. She was a very pretty girl with fine blonde hair and gentle brown eyes. She ran her own online bespoke clothing business and could make a dress out of a tea towel. Very talented, she was.’

  ‘Impressive.’

  ‘Yes. They complimented each other as a couple and always seemed to be laughing.’

  ‘The perfect marriage.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  The breeze picked up and Grace swayed, almost losing her boot as the sand sucked it down while the wind pushed her to the side. She wobbled then regained her balance.

  ‘You guess so?’

  ‘What I mean is that they went through a terrible time. I don’t want to share too much because it’s Oli’s business, but I see that he likes you and I want him to be happy.’

  ‘He likes me?’

  Maxine stopped walking and turned to Grace. The moonlight lit up her cheeks and forehead and made dark hollows of her eyes.

  ‘It was obvious when I saw you together this evening. The way he looked at you was just… well I haven’t seen him look at anyone like that in the two years since Linda died.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Look, I might seem out of turn saying this but… please be gentle with him. Linda was diagnosed with breast cancer towards the end of her pregnancy with Tom. She was given the option to terminate the pregnancy and have treatment, or to have treatment and risk the baby, or to wait until after she delivered. She insisted on waiting. They induced her a few weeks before her due date so they could start treatment right away. She had chemo and radiotherapy and the cancer went into remission for three years, but after that… it returned with a vengeance.’

  ‘That’s so sad.’

  ‘And it’s why I worry about Oli. He’s been like a closed book ever since. The only things that get close to him are the children and the animals he treats. When he’s cuddling Amy or Tom, or treating a dog, I see a flicker of the man he was before Linda got sick. But it doesn’t last long. I think it’s why he sometimes comes across as cold and aloof, it’s kind of a protective layer he assumes. But today, I saw that flicker when he danced with you.’

  ‘I really don’t think it was anything other than his friendly nature emerging.’

  Grace’s stomach rolled uncomfortably. She liked Oli, but he’d been through so much. Could Maxine be telling her the truth or just what she wanted to hear? Or, of course, what Maxine wanted to believe because she obviously cared about the single father.

  ‘I know Oli quite well. Not only have I worked with him for five years, but I’m also involved with his father. I see him on a daily basis and therefore see the ups and downs. Take my word for it, you have permeated his protective veneer. So if you have no interest in him, then please back off right now so he doesn’t fall for you. However, if you genuinely like him, then make him happy.’ Maxine reached out and squeezed Grace’s shoulder. ‘I know that Paul would be as delighted as me to see Oli with a new life ahead of him and those children with a mother. They’re so young, you know?’

  Grace swallowed hard. Yes, she was attracted to Oli and she knew that could probably develop into something more – but the children? Adorable, sweet, and Tom had definitely squeezed his way into her heart already, but to become a mother figure to them? That would be a huge responsibility. It sounded like Linda was beautiful, talented and gentle. And she was dead. Forever perfect in everyone’s memories. So to attempt to take her place would be madness and something Grace would never do. Yet was there a way to fit into Oli’s life and into his children’s lives that would suit them all?

  She sigh
ed.

  ‘Look, Maxine… please don’t take this the wrong way but I think you’ve read far more into the situation. I like Oli, and his children, but I barely know them. With what they’ve all been through, it sounds like they just need some time and space. I mean… you know them better than me, but you don’t know me or what I want from life.’

  ‘Sorry, love, it’s a lot to consider. And perhaps I am being an interfering old so and so.’ Maxine took her arm. ‘Take your time. Be sure before you decide yay or nay. Life is short. Love is wonderful and it’s the only thing worth fighting for.’

  They made their way towards the steep path, then Maxine gestured for Grace to go first. As she walked, she tried to empty her mind. It was the best way for her to process information. She would spend a few hours writing when she got back to Rosehip, then hopefully have a decent night’s sleep.

  Tomorrow would be another day at Conwenna Cove and she would see where it took her; right now, she had no idea where that would be.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Daddy can we put the Christmas decorations up now, please?’

  Tom looked up from his bowl of porridge and smiled, exposing his small white milk teeth. He had a speck of porridge on his chin, so Oli used a tissue to wipe it off.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Yay!’ Tom wiggled on his chair.

  The previous year, Oli had suggested that they wait until Amy’s birthday had passed before they decorated. It was, in part, a way of not stealing her thunder, because he’d hung birthday banners around the cottage and stuck balloons outside the house, but it was also because he just found the whole process so damned hard. However, now it was Saturday morning, the day after Amy’s party, and Oli really had no excuse to delay any further.

  ‘Are they in the attic?’ Amy asked.

  Oli nodded and his stomach lurched. It was another reason why he was reluctant, because he’d have to go up there where Linda’s things sat in their boxes: silent reminders that he was about to spend another Christmas with his children – alone. After she’d died not long before Christmas, he’d left everything as it was until the new year. Then suddenly, he’d woken up one morning in February, burning with rage at the unfairness of it all and after taking the children to school, gone into the surgery and grabbed a load of old boxes, then marched into the cottage and packed everything of hers up. He’d stuffed clothes and shoes, jewellery, brushes, perfumes and body lotions, her sewing machine, her notebooks and even the books she’d been reading – that had sat on the bedside table for months – into boxes then taped them shut. He’d carried them up the ladder to the small attic and pushed them to the back, behind everything else, ending up sweaty and dusty from his efforts. He’d known, even in his deepest grief, that he had to keep Linda’s things for the children, but he couldn’t bear to look at them for a moment longer.

  Now he would have to venture near them to get the two plastic containers of Christmas trimmings.

  ‘Can I come up in the attic and help you?’ Tom asked.

  Oli shook his head. ‘Better not. There’s all sorts up there. Big fat spiders, ancient cobwebs, woodlice and lots of dust. I’ll go up and hand the boxes down, then you and Amy can unpack things.’

  ‘Okay, Daddy.’

  Amy nodded. ‘That’s a good plan, Daddy.’ Her face had paled and he knew it was the talk of spiders. She had had a phobia of them ever since someone at school had told her that now she was in the ground her mummy would be eaten by spiders. It had given Amy nightmares for weeks and taken a visit to the school from Oli to get the issue dealt with. Amy hadn’t been troubled by such bullying again, but Oli knew that children could be blunt and cruel; he hoped his children wouldn’t have to deal with more as it made their grief all the more difficult to handle, especially as he was still trying to navigate his way through his own.

  As Amy lowered her eyes and stared into her bowl, Oli realized that there was something different about her appearance. Her eyelashes looked longer and darker. As if she was wearing…

  ‘Amy?’

  ‘Yes, Daddy?’

  As she met his eyes again, he saw that she did, in fact, have longer lashes this morning.

  ‘Are you wearing mascara?’

  She rolled her eyes and he stifled a laugh.

  ‘Yes, Daddy. Brogan bought it for my birthday.’

  ‘Your eleven-year-old friend bought you make-up for your eleventh birthday?’

  ‘Well, yeah…’ She bridled as if he’d just said the most ridiculous thing he could think of.

  ‘Oh. I see. Don’t you think you’re a bit… young for all that? I mean, it wasn’t so long ago that you were playing with Barbie and Sylvanians.’

  ‘Daddy, you’re so behind the times.’ She flicked her blonde hair.

  ‘And you’ve made your hair all wavy. I knew there was something else different about you.’

  ‘It’s fashionable, Daddy. I did it with my new straighteners from Lauren.’

  ‘So it would seem.’

  ‘I am eleven now, Daddy and that’s almost a teenager.’

  ‘Almost.’

  Oli drained his mug then carried the breakfast things over to the sink. He turned on the tap and waited for the water to get hot, using the time to get his head around his daughter’s comment. She was right, of course, she was growing up and quickly. But was it too quickly?

  As he had so many times before, he wished he had someone to talk to about it, someone who understood how it felt to look at his daughter and see the serious, precocious pre-teen who had taken the place of his sweet, happy little girl.

  But there was no one to discuss it with.

  Because Oli was all alone.

  * * *

  ‘Shall we get a hot chocolate first?’ Louise asked her daughter as they strolled through the town.

  They’d driven into Truro to spend Saturday morning soaking up some of the pre-Christmas build up, and because Louise wanted to buy some festive decorations for her new home.

  Grace yawned. ‘I don’t know about hot chocolate, think I need coffee.’

  ‘Well, if you will write until the early hours, what do you expect?’

  Grace knew that her mother understood her writing processes and that once she was on a roll she had to keep going, no matter what the time. She became so involved in her plots, so engrossed in her characters, that they took precedence over everything else. If she’d had a husband and family to worry about, then she suspected it would have been different but for Grace, her writing was her life.

  ‘I know, I know. But I had to get the ending just right.’

  ‘So that’s another book finished then?’

  ‘Well, the first draft yes, but I’ll need to revise it and edit it before sending it to my agent.’

  ‘Of course. And you want me to read it before you send it?’

  ‘As always, Mum, you know it can’t go anywhere until you’ve done a critique for me.’

  Grace was really grateful for her mother’s no-nonsense feedback; she knew her mum would want her books to be as good as they could be before anyone else saw them. On a few occasions, they’d debated about the best way for a plot to go, or for the most exciting way to end a scene, but they always ended up laughing and agreeing, and Grace appreciated her mother’s honesty. It was just one of many things that made them so close; she didn’t know what she’d do without her mother.

  Which was another reason why she should consider moving to Cornwall. The thought of being so far away from her parents, even though she could drive it in a few hours, was getting more worrisome by the day. Instead of looking forward to returning to her quiet flat and locking herself away to write, Grace found that she was starting to dread the day she had to leave.

  ‘Oli mentioned a place called Espresso Yourself. He said it’s really nice.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Louise smiled. ‘Well, let’s see if we can find it.’

  The small café was nestled between a bookshop and a shoe shop. The interior was warm
and cosy, the window steamy as the warm air met the cold of the glass. The aromas of freshly ground coffee and baking met Grace’s nostrils and her mouth watered instantly.

  ‘There’s a table.’ Grace pointed at the far corner, so they headed over to it.

  ‘I’ll get the drinks in. So do you want a cappuccino?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Anything to eat?’

  ‘I shouldn’t really.’

  Louise smiled. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh, go on then. Surprise me.’

  As her mother went over to the counter, Grace removed her warm duck-feather gilet and the thick black fleece she wore underneath. She knew her mother would have told her to do as much, just so she’d ‘feel the benefit of them’ when they went back out into the cold air. Grace had grown up hearing those words and it was instinctive now to act on them. A mother’s wisdom. Amy and Tom popped into her mind. Those poor children didn’t have what Grace was still enjoying in her thirties. They didn’t have a mum to advise them, to comfort them or to take shopping trips with. It was so incredibly sad and her heart went out to them.

  She gazed around the café. There were random words painted on the dark orange walls in swirly black ink: coffee, cake, tea-break, biscuit, muffin, shortbread… Certainly some not so subtle subliminal messaging going on there, she thought, as her stomach growled. She’d only had breakfast an hour ago, so shouldn’t really be hungry, but she found she suddenly was.

  The tables were low and round, and the seating consisted of large, squishy fake leather armchairs that swallowed you when you sat down. It was sort of comforting, although Grace suspected that a few coffees had probably been spilt as patrons sat down, not realizing how much bodily control they’d lose once within the grasp of the chairs. In fact, they were like chair-beanbag hybrids.

  As it wasn’t yet ten o’clock, the café was still relatively quiet, with a few spare tables, but Grace suspected that as there were only three Saturdays left before Christmas, that the café would fill up fairly soon. Better to get her caffeine fix now before the queues got too long.