* * *
We’re meeting Sophie at the Kings Arms in Strete, which is only a few miles from Torcross. George knows it well, but it was Sophie who suggested it because she loves its amazing clifftop location and pub garden overlooking the sea. Her parents are coming too.
George is a bundle of nerves. I came downstairs with Emilie after what turned out to be a bit of a lie-in for us both to find him already showered and dressed and sitting in an armchair by the window. He seemed lost in thought, but he jumped to his feet at the sight of us.
He was jumpy at breakfast too. Eventually I suggested we go for a walk to blow off some steam.
The view from his place is astonishing. There’s only a narrow road and a low wall separating the cottage from the shingle beach, and beyond that is the sea, silvery grey in the morning light. It’s a hazy September day, which promises to be warm later, but right now, at ten thirty, it’s still relatively cool.
There are some huge blue-grey rocks on our right at the end of the beach and beyond it the land climbs up to a clifftop. George points out the location of the Start Point Lighthouse.
We turn left, trudging across the thick bed of smooth multi-coloured pebbles. A road runs adjacent to the beach, and as we come out from behind the cottages, restaurants and cafés lining the shore, I realise that there’s a stretch of water parallel to the other side of the road too: a freshwater lake, according to George. Birds dance in the air above it and beyond are green hills, flowing upwards to a pale-blue sky.
‘This place is absolutely breathtaking.’ I’m not trying to talk him into staying, but why would he ever want to leave?
‘Yeah, I was lucky to get the cottage when I did. It belonged to a friend of Ernie’s who passed away. Ernie put me in touch with the solicitor handling the sale. It was a bit of a steal, but it needed a lot of work.’
Ernie is the groundskeeper who helped George train to be a forester. George wants me to meet him later today.
‘Do you miss living here?’ Turns out I’m a glutton for punishment.
‘I mean, I liked it while I was here, but if you gave me a choice between living by the sea or in the middle of a forest, I’d choose trees every time.’
‘Right, that’s it, we’re selling the alpacas and planting trees.’ I’m trying to sound light-hearted.
He smiles sideways at me. ‘I wouldn’t change a thing about your place.’
‘No?’ Convince me.
‘No. I love spending time there. Coming back…’
‘Yes?’ I prompt when his voice trails off.
He shrugs. ‘Coming back felt a bit like coming home. I know that’s mad. I barely spent any time there.’
‘It’s not mad.’ Actually, his confession floors me. I make a snap decision. ‘Mum said you’re looking for somewhere else to live.’
He nods. ‘I don’t mind working at the pub, but I need to get away from it after my shifts.’
‘She suggested you take the spare room at ours.’
‘Oh.’ He shoots me a look.
Is that a positive reaction?
‘She loves having you around,’ I continue. ‘And she thought it would be a good way of offsetting some of the work you’ve been doing.’
‘I’d still pay rent,’ he says gruffly.
‘You’ll never get her to agree, but… does that mean you’re keen?’
His brow furrows. ‘What do you think about the idea?’
‘I love it,’ I admit.
‘Mummy, look!’ Emilie interrupts us. She’s been running on ahead, oblivious to the conversation we’re having. Now she’s bending over something on the ground. I step up my pace and go to see what she’s found.
‘A jellyfish! Don’t touch it in case it still has a bit of sting left in it.’
‘That’s a moon jellyfish,’ George says, joining us.
He crouches down and turns the creature over with the end of a long stalk of seaweed so Emilie can have a closer look. He talks her through the jelly’s anatomy in that deep measured voice of his, and my heart is full as I watch them.
But then I come down to earth with a bump.
George doesn’t want to be a father.
Even if he decided to stay in North Yorkshire and move away from this place and, now, the sister he’s spent years searching for… Even if he and I ever manage to move our strange, charged friendship into romantic territory… How could I even contemplate forging a future with a man who doesn’t want children in his life?
* * *
The pub is enchanting from the outside, painted cream with a slate roof and wrought-iron detailing. We arrive first – George was so on edge that we set off early – and find a table outside in the garden. The view is out of this world, stretching across the sea for miles. It’s sunny and warm so I’m glad I remembered to plaster Emilie with sunscreen.
After setting my daughter up with crayons and a colouring book and helping her to get started on her choice of picture, I look across the table at George. He’s gazing out at the water, his brow pulled together in a slight frown. His brown hair is glinting under the sun, his curls taking on an almost golden hue. My attention drifts from his perfectly straight nose to his full lips and I have a surreal moment when I remember that we almost kissed. He chooses that second to look at me.
We stare at each other in silence. His eyes have become treacle-like in the sunshine.
He is so gorgeous.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asks in a low murmur.
I shake my head quickly and take a sip of my Diet Coke.
And then George’s head turns towards the pub and he goes rigid. His sister – his sister! – is making her way between the wooden bench tables, closely followed by Jude and Roy, her parents.
She’s so tall! She’s taller than her parents by several inches and is strong and healthy-looking. George is already on his feet so I stand up too, my heart in my throat as Sophie beams and runs the last few metres. She embraces George and I feel a rush of emotion as his arms come around her. They hug each other tightly and then she pulls away and stares up at him, beaming from ear to ear. He’s knocked for six as he gazes down at her.
She must be around six foot tall, but he’s taller still, of course: six foot four and a half inches, going by the new marking on the larder wall.
I make my way around to the other side of the table to say hello.
There’s something desperate about Sophie’s hug with me. It’s as though she can’t believe what’s happening and wants to hang on tightly until she knows it’s real.
George goes to shake Sophie’s father’s hand, but Roy pulls him in for a hug instead, as does Jude. They both embrace me in turn before saying friendly hellos to Emilie, who’s still very much focused on colouring in her bunny.
‘I feel as though I already know you,’ Sophie says to George once we’re settled around the table.
George has moved to sit beside me so he and Sophie can speak face to face.
‘I mean, obviously I did know you once, but my memories of that time are few and far between. It was all those letters that you wrote to me. Mum and Dad gave them to me along with my Life Story book when I was fifteen and going through a bit of an identity crisis.’ She casts her parents an apologetic smile. ‘I read them over and over. I wanted to try to find you back then, but I was scared. I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to know me after all this time, or if you’d be the person I’d built you up to be inside my head.’ She grins. ‘I can tell that you are.’