Face flushing, Lola tidied the cards away. It was too fanciful a thought. She was almost forty, not fourteen. Whatever she’d been led to Polcarrow for was surely something greater than her own love life. Love was a risk, one Lola wasn’t sure she was willing to take again. Jared had gone from charming to toerag at record-breaking speed and had left deep scars. It still amazed Lola how long she’d stayed with him, how much she’d wanted to believe his empty promises. Especially as she would’ve advised anyone else in the same situation to dump him and move on.
She picked the cards up, restacked them and slipped them back into their case then set them aside. The next few bundles turned up a small box that contained theatre tickets, a pair of pearl earrings, and rather strangely, a single white satin glove. Why had Ruby kept one glove? Lola tried it on but Ruby had had slimmer fingers than her and a bit of a wrestle ensued to get it back off. Lola reached into the box but there were no bubble wrapped packages left. Instead, sitting at the bottom, nestled in brown paper, was a small stack of white envelopes tied together with a red ribbon.
Picking them up, Lola lifted them to her face and breathed in the scent of the past: old paper, slightly damp, love tied together and banished away. Holding them, Lola’s heart rate picked up. Here was a secret, the writing on the front was not the neat slant of her grandfather, Ernest, it was looser, as if penned by a dreamer. Lola’s fingers toyed with the bow before deciding to come back to the letters, for they weighed heavy in her hands with whatever secrets they would spill.
The final item left behind was a small cloth-bound notebook, red in colour. Lola picked it up and opened it. ‘No way,’ she exclaimed as she flicked through the pages. Written in neat, girlish writing on the front page was Ruby’s name and address. Lola turned the first page and read:
1st January, 1950
It’s a brand-new year and I have a lot of hope for the future. Thingshaveto start getting better and I think they will. Out dancing with Ida and Joan last night, feet a bit sore today but it was fun. Think Ernest might be sweet on me, but I’m only eighteen, too young to get married. I want some adventures first. I have therefore decided that 1950 is going to be my year of adventure.
Lola gasped with delight. She had no idea Ruby had ever kept a diary. She certainly hadn’t as an adult. Lola skipped through the first few entries, hungry for glimpses of a young Ruby. They were mostly complaining about the cold weather, her job as a typist, which was dull but gave her money for lipsticks and the dances she’d been to. There were notes about some of the tarot readings she had done as she set out on her life path of advice giving, although Lola wondered what advice an eighteen-year-old could truly impart, but Ruby had always had the air of someone who knew more than this life had shown her. As she flicked through descriptions of the spring, of galleries she’d been to, theatre shows she’d seen (and rated) a cream envelope fell out where it had been tucked in safely further along in the book.
It was unsealed. Untucking the flap, Lola pulled out an old black and white photo and studied it for a few moments as she tried to figure it out. It showed a group of young people sitting on a beach. Lola’s eye honed in on Ruby, standing in the middle of the shot looking glamorous in a floral summer dress, her head thrown back laughing. She was flanked by two young men who were lifting her off the ground, whilst one of her friends looked on in amusement. Peering closely at the people, the hairs on the back of Lola’s neck stood up and her mouth went dry. Did one of the men look familiar? No, it couldn’t be, could it? Turning the photo over she gasped to see written in Ruby’s neat handwriting:Polcarrow, September 1950.The same as next to the scone recipe.
‘Yes!’ Lola whooped to herself as she held proof in her hands that her hunch had been right. Ruby had been in Polcarrow. It had meant something!
Lola turned the photo back over. She never remembered seeing that sheer joy in any of the photos of Ruby and Ernest. Lola flicked through the book hoping for more photographs, but there was nothing. Suddenly the paintings her grandmother had had hanging in the hallway of her house depicting cavernous coves and fishing boats took on a whole new meaning, as did the wistful look Ruby got every time she spoke of her youth, her love for Cornwall but her fear of going in the sea. Lola didn’t need to tap into her sixth sense to know there was something more behind the laughter in that photo, behind the treasured postcard. Something carefree that spoke of summer abandonment and hopeful, young love.
Lifting up the letters, Lola squinted at the front of one of the envelopes. A Cornwall postmark was stamped in bold black. Lola glanced from the letters to the photo to the diary, as everything she had known about Ruby rearranged itself. Someone had written to Ruby, who had then tied the letters up with a red ribbon. Were they love letters? Lola wondered, but if they were, why had Ruby ended up back in London with sweet but slightly dull Ernest, with his smart suits and job in a bank and settled down far, far away from the sea?
Chapter Four
23rd August, 1950
Dear Diary,
I have the most wonderful news! Joan’s uncle has invited us to spend a week in his house in Cornwall. Apparently the house is large, built in the art deco style (whatever that means) and overlooks a small bay. I have no idea what we’ll do in some sleepy Cornish village but it’s been so long since I saw the sea. Probably not since the war ended and that was only on a day trip to Southend and it rained. I’ve already bought some new fabric to make two new frocks, my ones are so tired. I wish rationing would end, it’s very tiresome now. I’ve no idea what one needs to take with them to Cornwall. A bathing suit maybe, so it’s a good thing I finally learned to swim even if I hate getting my hair wet! Mum made a face when I told her about the trip, as if she doesn’t approve, but knows she can’t stop me. Wild horses couldn’t stop me. Or is it wild fire? Anyway, whatever the wild thing in the saying is, it won’t and can’t stop me. Apparently I can use the break to seriously consider Ernest. He’s sweet on me, but it’s only been a couple of dances and everyone is giving me the nudge, expecting us to walk down the aisle. There’s nothing wrong with Ernest, I’m wise enough to know what sort of catch he is, but, I don’t know, I want something more than just getting married, at least for now. Anyway, I’m sure my head is so full of the sea, of Cornwall and whatever goes on there to give Ernest much thought.
Give Ernest much thought?Lola repeated to herself the next morning, feeling perturbed on behalf of her gentle grandad, who’d adored his wife. She’d had an unsettled night and had woken early the next day to head to the café, where she was now dipping back into Ruby’s diary. She turned over a few pages, the writing becoming increasingly erratic as Ruby scribbled about her holiday, but something niggled, telling Lola she needed to proceed with caution. This was her grandmother’s life she was raking through. Judging by the photo, other people’s pasts were tied up in it. Lola settled back against the kitchen counter reasoning another entry wouldn’t hurt when the door being flung open made her jump so much that she almost dropped the book.
‘Freya! You gave me a fright!’ Lola exclaimed as she clutched the book to her chest.
‘Are you OK?’ Freya narrowed her eyes.
‘Yes, of course, why?’ Lola slid the book back into her pocket.
‘You’re being a bit weird, like jumpy weird,’ Freya said. ‘What’s in that book?’
‘Oh, nothing, just some notes I’ve been keeping about recipes,’ Lola bluffed, not ready to broadcast to everyone the story of her grandmother’s life in Polcarrow. Although, she had been hoping to catch Tristan that morning, show him the photo, see what he made of it all.
Freya gave Lola a long look before holding up two different types of bunting, having decided it was time to start getting the café looking festive. ‘I was just wondering where you wanted these to go. And I might need help while it’s quiet.’
‘Definitely the gingerbread one around the counter,’ Lola said, stepping forward. She picked up the second one, which had a robin motif. ‘Maybe this around the window?’
The door chimed and Freya, trailing bunting, headed back into the café to help the customer. Lola took the opportunity to fire a quick text to Tristan:
Hiya, any chance you can pop over a bit later? I have something I’d like to chat about.
He responded immediately:
I can come now?
Lola almost swooned at his dependability and peering through the kitchen door window to where Freya was busy serving a young couple, texted back:
It’s a bit of a private matter. Come at the end of the day, I’ll save you some cake.
Slipping her phone back into her apron pocket, Lola joined Freya and whilst the customers concentrated on their coffees, she set about trying to work out the best place to put the Christmas tree so that it wouldn’t be in anyone’s way.
