Wednesday, 6th September, 1950
Dear Diary,
What a wonderful day it’s been! Ida and Joan went into St Ives but I pretended to have a headache so I could meet with Charlie without them spoiling it with being all disapproving. Charlie rowed us out to a secret cove. Just the two of us, his brother wasn’t best pleased to have been left behind. The water was crystal clear and Charlie was patient enough with my attempts at swimming. I thought he’d laugh at my doggy paddle, but he didn’t, which made me like him even more. He even showed me how to swim properly and I did a few strokes, but I’m not a natural. Charlie is, but then again if you grow up by the sea you should be good at all sea-based things. He showed me how to row but I took us around in circles. We laughed so much. Anyway, I much preferred the view when he was rowing. He’s strong, tanned and very kind. We swapped all sorts of stories about our lives. He is only working as a fisherman because it’s what’s expected of him but he has such grand plans, he wants to study, better himself, fishing is the work of the past. He asked me so many questions about what it’s like to live near London, how we coped with the war. We were both too young to do our bit so we lamented this but agreed we can play our part in shaping the future. Charlie gets me, understands that I want more than to just become a housewife, although I did try to persuade him that Cornwall is a lot nicer than anywhere else I’ve ever seen, which to be truthful, isn’t many places. Charlie listened to me and I was secretly very pleased I didn’t have to share him with anyone else. Ida and Joan were not best pleased to find out I’d been out with Charlie, but I don’t give two figs about what they think!
Fizzing with excitement at her date with Tristan, Lola stood in front of her wardrobe wondering what on earth to wear, musing on whether or not Ruby faced the same dilemma when she met up with Charlie. Lola rummaged around looking for some things to layer up, pulling out an old striped jumper she’d not worn for ages and a cardigan that complemented it. Freya was up at Bayview again with Angelo, working on putting the newly delivered bed together, and most likely giving it a test run. So there was no chance of a proper pre-date panic. In fact, Lola hadn’t even told Freya she was going on a date with Tristan. She wanted to keep it to herself for a while longer, allow things to develop without anyone else sticking their oar in. The air of secrecy, of sneaking out on an adventure conjured up images of Ruby going out on Charlie’s boat. Ruby must have felt the same; giddy and nervous, balancing on the brink of change.
Tristan’s instruction for her not to bring anything had pushed Lola out of her comfort zone, her hands felt light and empty. Looking after people was how Lola felt in control and she rarely relinquished this to anyone, but . . . Tristan, she trusted him. The realisation stopped her in her tracks as she paced up and down the hallway. Lola tallied up all the men she had dated before and not a single one of them had made her feel as safe as Tristan did.
Tonight her nerves were like the bubbles in a glass of champagne, something celebratory and glorious, no twinge of anxiety, just anticipation at the night ahead. Even her longest relationship with Jared, who she had been so head over heels for that she’d allowed his glamour to blind her to his faults, hadn’t been like this. Lola suspected that she’d overcompensated in that relationship with her cocktail-making skills and flirty banter. Sometimes, looking back, she wondered how much of it had been love and how much of it had just been down to the potent gin cocktails she’d mixed them.
A knock on the door made her jump. Lola composed herself before reaching for the door handle. She had the strangest sensation that this was the moment before everything changed. A smile spread across her face when she saw Tristan standing there, bundled up against the cold, the keenest, sweetest look on his face. A look that told her he sought only to make her happy. Lola swallowed that notion back as they drank each other in. He was wearing an expensive-looking winter coat, the type that comes from a hiking shop, a black beanie hat pulled low over his ears, and he carried both a backpack and another bag.
‘Where are we going? Antarctica? You look like a pack horse, let me help with one of those.’ Lola held out a hand.
Tristan laughed. ‘Not quite, but you will need this,’ he said as he passed her a torch. ‘We’re going down to the cove; I’ve checked the tide times and the sea is out at the moment. It’s the least light polluted place I can think of so best for seeing the stars.’
‘And the most treacherous,’ Lola reminded him with a raised eyebrow.
‘Erm, yes, but we’ll be fine, I tried it out the other night and I’m still intact.’ He gave himself a satisfied pat on the stomach to prove the point.
‘Good, my first aid is a bit rusty.’ She took the torch and stuffed it into her pocket. ‘What’s in all the bags?’
‘Provisions. And stuff to keep us warm.’
Lola smiled at him as a thought about other ways they could keep each other warm raced unbidden through her mind. She quickly wiped it away. ‘Lead on!’
Tristan waited as she locked up, then handed her the bag containing the blanket and the whisky. ‘The most important part,’ he instructed, ‘look after them.’
They made their way along the harbour front like two fugitives, climbing up to the headland and stopping briefly to look back at the village, which twinkled with festive joy.
‘Doesn’t it look magical,’ Lola whispered. ‘Everyone tucked up in their houses while we’re off on an adventure.’
‘Yes, it’s all so peaceful. I like coming up here to clear my head. I look back, hoping I’m doing the right thing for everyone. It’s hard sometimes to know if I am. I thought a village would be easier to manage, but the challenges are just different. More petty grievances,’ he sighed.
Lola gave his arm a reassuring pat. ‘Well, I think you’re doing a splendid job.’
Tristan smiled at her. ‘That’s high praise from someone who’s never been to a service.’
Lola’s cheeks flushed. ‘I’m sorry I’ve not been, it’s not really my thing. Does that matter?’
Tristan considered this and shook his head. ‘Probably not. God can be found anywhere. If he’s supposed to have made the sea, the flowers, the beach, then why should people not worship in their own way or in the way that brings them comfort?’
‘That’s very progressive of you.’
‘I’ve had to be. I wanted to become a vicar so that I could help people, provide them with guidance and support, somewhere to go in their time of need. Need doesn’t just occur for an hour on a Sunday morning.’
Lola studied him. ‘No, it doesn’t. It comes in the night sometimes, or with the dawn. It can be resolved over a cup of tea and a slice of cake.’
Tristan laughed. ‘Of course. We’re really not so different, are we?’ he said gently.
Lola smiled at the tinge of hope in his voice. ‘No, no we’re not.’
They fished out their torches and Tristan led the way down some slightly rickety steps, his hand held out should Lola need it. The path would have been slightly treacherous in daylight but night-time added an extra frisson of danger. They lapsed into silence as they concentrated on getting down safely, Tristan occasionally warning Lola if the steps were worn out or steeper than the previous one. Lola picked her way down and was slightly relieved, but exhilarated, to land on the soft sand at the bottom, the sounds of the waves swooshing through the dark mysteriously.
‘I feel like a smuggler,’ she said, following Tristan over to the middle of the beach.
He laughed. ‘I do too a bit. I think here is fine.’ He dropped his bag and then began to remove some of the contents. ‘What’s next with Ruby and Charlie?’
