Chapter Twenty-Three
Tristan had sent her a text as she was locking up, inviting her over for dinner. Within seconds of her accepting he responded to tell her not to expect too much. Lola didn’t care. She’d been on her feet all day and the thought of someone else cooking for her, even if it was just a frozen pizza, was complete heaven. Remembering the delicious pineapple upside down cake, Lola suspected Tristan would have skills that far extended beyond sticking a pizza in the oven.
Back at the cottage, Lola sorted through the post, mostly circulars and bills plus a couple of Christmas cards, made herself a cup of tea and then headed up to the bathroom. She had a couple of hours until she was due at Tristan’s and decided to fill that time with a long, luxurious bath, full of bubbles. Lola sank beneath the bubbles, allowing the hot water to unwind all her muscles, and somehow managed to switch her brain off from her ever-growing Christmas to-do list. At least Alf’s Christmas jumper was almost finished. She just needed to work out what size to knit for Scruff by looking at him. Whipping out a tape measure in the café would likely give the surprise away.
Once the water had cooled, Lola got out of the bath and wrapped herself up in several towels and then slipped into her bathrobe before padding into her bedroom. Flicking on the lights, she meant to head straight for the wardrobe to figure out what to wear. Part of her wanted to knock Tristan’s socks off, but the other part knew that he fancied her having seen her wearing all sorts throughout the year. Not knowing how warm the vicarage would be at night, she pulled out a cream knitted jumper and a pair of dark green checked trousers. The outfit was cute, casual and Christmassy.
As she settled onto the bed, Lola’s eyes caught sight of Ruby’s box and her heart twinged for the passionate young woman who had been in love with Charlie. Lola couldn’t help but wonder what life would have been like if Ruby had run away to Cornwall and put down roots by the sea. It almost blew her mind to think that Alf would have been a sort of grand-uncle. Maybe this was why they felt so comfortable with each other? Why they’d been drawn together. It was as if their souls knew they were linked before their minds and hearts did.
Lola pulled the box over to her and flicked through the diary. It ended abruptly after a lot of agonizing about whether Ruby should move to Cornwall or if Charlie would come to London. Slowly, as time moved on, the pages became sparser and Ruby had written daily observations; a new dress she’d seen, how one of the girls at work had suddenly left, cinema trips and dances, usual daily life things. Until there was nothing. Just a date and written under it in blotchy black ink:
19th November, 1950
The most awful news today. I can’t even bear to write it down.
Lola didn’t need to be a super sleuth to figure out the date was very close to that of the fishing tragedy that had taken Charlie. Her heart lurched. Were those Ruby’s tears running the ink? It must have seemed as if Ruby’s whole life was over in that instant. Lola couldn’t imagine the loss, the heartache, the sheer gut-wrenching pain that news must have brought. On top of it all, Lola’s instincts, along with what Ruby had hinted at, told her that no one had known of her grandmother’s dreams and plans to elope with a Cornish fisherman.
Closing the diary, but hungry for more, Lola picked up the bundle of letters, flicking through them, noticing the Cornish postmark, the writing on the envelopes neat, as if the letter writer was trying very hard to make his writing look presentable. Lola untied the old red ribbon that bound them. A treasured stack of love letters, hopes and dreams parcelled up and put away. The letters fell loose across her lap as if to scatter their secrets. Picking the top one up, Lola lifted it to her face, breathing in its aroma, not quite knowing what she was expecting. The scent of the sea perhaps, but there was nothing, just old paper and ink, all that was left of a love story that had ended tragically, a life cut short.
Carefully, Lola extracted the first letter, it was brief but affectionate:
Dearest Ruby,
I’m hoping this letter makes it to London before you do. I’m imagining my words and you having a race across the country. You must let me know who wins! I think of you unlocking your door and finding this waiting for you, or you waking up in the morning to this piece of Cornwall.
I can hardly believe it’s only been a week. That I’ve known you for even less time than that, but everything is altered. I already miss you and you haven’t even gone yet. I know you want to come back and live in Cornwall, but there isn’t much future here. I want to come to the city, I want to study, better myself, so we can have a nice modern house. I don’t want to keep going out to sea. But I don’t want to start this letter with any disagreements. I just want to say I love you and I can’t wait for our lives to start properly, wherever that may be.
All my love
Charlie
‘How sweet,’ Lola said to herself, running her eyes back over the words, Charlie’s careful, looped writing, the way he so openly admitted his love for Ruby. Lola’s heart swelled as she placed the paper back into the envelope and reached for the next letter. The sentiments were similar, interspersed with chatter about their days. There were stacks of them.
Lola toyed with the final envelope, but found she couldn’t open it, knowing what had happened, how it had all ended. She didn’t want to read the neatly written words of a boy who was lost to the sea on her own. Retying the ribbon, Lola knew there was one person she wanted to share the letters with, the only person she felt was equipped enough to hold her hand through the family tragedies she was uncovering. The one person who’d provide her with the guidance and counsel for what to do next and help her weather the storm that was threatening to blow through an old man’s peace.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Lola, what’s up?’ Tristan’s brow furrowed with concern upon opening the door. ‘Come in, come in,’ he ushered, holding the door open. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Lola handed the box to Tristan. ‘I’ve not seen one, but I may have been reading letters from one,’ she said as she unbuttoned her coat and unwrapped her scarf.
Tristan looked from the box to Lola’s winter clothes.
‘Don’t worry, I can hang them myself,’ she said, looping the scarf over one of the coat hooks, then following it with her coat. ‘Something smells yummy.’
Tristan passed the box back to her. ‘It’s a shepherd’s pie.’
Lola’s face lit up. ‘One of my favourites, especially as the leftovers taste even better.’ She followed him through the lounge and into the kitchen. The radio was playing softly.
Tristan held up a bottle of red wine. ‘Would you like a glass?’
‘Yes please,’ she said, sitting down at the kitchen table, placing the box on the placemat in front of her. As Tristan poured the wine, she took in the rather cosy-looking kitchen. It was a lot more homely than she’d imagined with pale cream cupboards, a fridge freezer with various drawings, notices and reminders kept in place by a collection of magnets from holiday destinations.
Tristan caught her looking at them. ‘Ah, I sort of unofficially collect them. A practical token of wherever I’ve visited. I usually pick the most lurid, hence the bright pink flip-flop from Corfu.’
Lola laughed, they chinked glasses and she took a long sip of the rich, fruity wine.
‘Is this about the letters?’ He signalled to the box.
