Coming Home (58 page)

Judith wrinkled her nose. ‘No, not really.’

‘Make you homesick, would it?’

‘I don't know. I just don't want to risk it.’ She thought of the little railway station and Riverview and perhaps going to call on Mr Willis. But those were the happy memories, and there were others which were better left buried. ‘Perhaps it's better just to remember it the way it was.’

At Treen, they parked the car by the pub and walked across the fields, bathing-things and picnics in haversacks on their backs. Another cloudless day with bees humming in the bell-heather, and the sunlight diffused by heat, shimmering on a lazy sea the colour of jade. The cliffs were tremendously high, and the sickle of the cove lay far beneath them, but they made the long, slightly hair-raising descent down the precipitous path, and when they finally reached the sands, it was like being abandoned on a desert island, for there was not another person to be seen.

‘We don't even need to wear bathing-suits,’ Heather pointed out, and so they stripped and ran naked into the gentle breakers, and the water was icy and smooth as silk, and they swam until too cold to stay in the water any longer, and then emerged, and walked up the baking sand to reach for towels and dry themselves and lie, sun-bathing, on the rocks.

They talked. Heather confessed that she now had a proper boy-friend, one Charlie Lanyon, the son of a prosperous timber merchant out at Marazion. She had met him at a Cricket Dinner, but was keeping Charlie something of a secret from her family because she could not stand the inevitable brotherly teasing should Joe discover their friendship.

‘Charlie's really nice. Not really
good-looking
, but
nice
-looking. Nice eyes, and a lovely smile.’

‘What do you do with him?’

‘Go to the Palais de Danse, go to the pub, have a glass of beer. He's got a car, and we usually meet up by the bus stop.’

‘You'll have to take him home sometime.’

‘I know, but he's a bit shy. We're leaving it for the time being.’

‘Does he work with his father?’

‘No, he's at technical college in Camborne. He's nineteen. But he's meant to be going into the business.’

‘He sounds really nice.’

Heather smiled. ‘He is,’ she said.

Judith, lying on her back, shaded her eyes with her hand, and fell silent. For a bit, she deliberated as to whether she should tell Heather about Edward. As Heather had confided, she felt that she should too, but then decided against it. For some reason, what she felt for Edward was too precious, too tenuous to share with any person, even Heather. Heather, she knew, would never betray a trust, but secrets once spoken were gone forever.

The sun was too bright; her shoulders and thighs were beginning to burn. Painfully, she rolled over onto her stomach and made herself as comfortable as she could on the shelf of relentlessly hard rock. She said, ‘Are you going to get engaged?’

‘No. What's the point in getting engaged? If there's a war, he'll be called up, I suppose, and we shan't see each other for years. Besides, I don't want to get married, and be lumbered with kids. Not yet. You can do that any time.’ Suddenly she began to giggle.

‘What's so funny?’

‘I just remembered. That Norah Elliot and what she told us behind the bicycle shed. About how babies start…’

Judith, remembering only too well, was consumed by mirth.‘…and we thought she was disgusting, and that she'd made it all up, and only someone as horrible as Norah Elliot could think up something so awful.’

‘And of course she was right after all…’

When they had finally controlled their laughter, and wiped the tears from their eyes, Heather said, ‘Who told
you?
’

‘What? About sex?’

‘Yes. I mean, Mum told me, but your mum wasn't there.’

‘Miss Catto told me. She told all my class. It was called Physical Education.’

‘Golly, that must have been embarrassing.’

‘Funnily enough, it wasn't. And we'd all been doing biology, so it didn't come as too much of a surprise.’

‘Mum was sweet. She said it didn't
sound
too nice, but loving someone made it really special. You know. Emotions and all that.’

‘Do you feel like that about Charlie?’

‘I don't want to go to bed with him, if that's what you mean…’

‘No. I mean…do you love him?’

‘Not that way.’ Heather thought about this. ‘It's not like that. I don't want to be tied down.’

‘So what do you want? Still a job in London?’

‘Eventually. Have my own little flat, a proper salary…’

‘I can see you in a black dress with a white collar, sitting on the boss's knee and taking dictation.’

‘I'm not sitting on no boss's knee, I can tell you that.’

‘Won't you miss Porthkerris?’

‘Yes, but I'm not going to stay here for the rest of my life. I know too many girls with a string of babies and they've scarcely ever been out of the town. I want to see the world. I'd like to go abroad. Like Australia.’

‘Forever?’

‘No. Not forever. I'd always come back eventually.’ Heather sat up and yawned. ‘It's some hot, isn't it? I'm hungry. Let's have something to eat.’

They spent all that day in the sunshine, on the rocks and the sands, and in the sea. During the afternoon the tide moved in, over the sizzling beach, and the shallow breakers did not feel so cold, and they were able to float, staring up at the sky and rocked by the gentle swell of the summer waves. By half past four, some of the heat had gone from the sun, and they decided to call it a day and tackle the long climb up to the top of the cliffs.

‘Seems a shame to go,’ said Heather as they pulled on cotton frocks and stuffed their haversacks with wet bathing-things and the detritus of their picnic. She turned to look at the sea which, in the altering light, had miraculously taken on a different hue, for now it was no longer jade but a deep aquamarine blue. She said, ‘You know, it won't ever be like this again. Not ever. Just you and me, and this place and this time. Things only happen once. Do you ever think that, Judith? It can be a bit the same, of course, but never
quite
the same.’

Judith understood. ‘I know.’

Heather stopped and slung her haversack onto her back, shoving her bare arms through the straps. ‘Come on then, off we go. Mountaineering.’

And indeed it was a long and demanding climb, if not quite so hair-raising as the journey down. Reaching the summit without mishap was something of a relief, and they paused for a moment to catch their breath, standing on the thick turfy grass, and looking down into the deserted cove, seeing the unchanging cliffs and the empty, tranquil sea.

Things only happen once.

Heather was right.
It can never be quite the same.
Judith wondered how long it would be before they came to Treen again.

They were back in Porthkerris by six, sunburnt, salty, and exhausted. The shop already had its
CLOSED
sign up, but the door was open and they went in and found Mr Warren, shirt-sleeved, in his little office, tidying up the books for the day. As they appeared, he raised his head from his column of figures.

‘Well, look who's turned up here. Have a good day, did you?’

‘Perfect…we've been to Treen.’

‘I know. Mum told me.’ His eyes moved to Judith. ‘You had a phone call, about an hour ago.’

‘
I
did?’

‘Yes. He wants you to ring him.’ He laid down his pen and searched about on his desk. ‘…here it is. I wrote it down.’ He handed the scrap of paper over. On it were written two words. ‘Ring Edward.’ ‘He said you'd know the number.’

Edward. Judith felt herself suffused with joy, like a dry Turkish sponge soaking up water. It rose from the soles of her feet to the top of her head, and she could feel the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Edward.

‘Where did he ring from?’

‘Didn't say. Just said he was home.’

Heather was agog. ‘Who is it, Judith?’

‘Only Edward Carey-Lewis. I thought he was still in France.’

‘You'd better ring him now then.’ Judith hesitated. The telephone which stood on Mr Warren's desk was the only one in the house. Heather caught her hesitation. ‘Dad won't mind, will you, Dad?’

‘I don't mind. Make yourself free, Judith.’ And he pulled himself to his feet.

Judith felt deeply embarrassed. ‘Oh, please don't feel you have to go. It's nothing private. Only Edward.’

‘I've finished in here for the moment. I can do the rest of it later. I'm going up to have a beer…’

Heather, with her black eyes sparkling, said, ‘I'll come and pour it for you. Give me your haversack, Judith, and I'll get our wet things out on the line…’

With consummate tact, they left her on her own. She watched them go, companionably, up the stairs, and then took Mr Warren's seat behind his desk, lifted the receiver of the old-fashioned telephone and gave the operator the Nancherrow number.

‘Hello.’ It was Edward.

She said, ‘It's me.’

‘Judith.’

‘I just got back. Mr Warren gave me your message. I thought you were still in France.’

‘No, I got home last Thursday, to a practically empty house. No Ma, no Judith, and no Loveday. Pops and I have been leading a bachelor existence.’

‘But Loveday's back.’

‘Sure, but I've hardly seen her. She's been down at the stables all afternoon, schooling the new pony.’

‘Did you have a good time in France?’

‘Amazing. I want to tell you about it. When are you coming back?’

‘Not for another week.’

‘I can't wait. How about this evening? I thought I might drive over to Porthkerris and take you out for a drink or something. Would the Warrens mind?’

‘No, of course they wouldn't mind.’

‘Well, say eight o'clock. How do I find you?’

‘You come down the hill and head for the harbour. It's just behind the old Market Place, Warren's Grocery. The shop door will be locked but there's a side door that's always open and you can get in that way. It's a bright-blue door with a brass handle.’

‘Unmissable.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Eight o'clock. I'll see you.’ And he rang off.

She sat for a little, dreamy and smiling, going over everything he had said and every nuance of his voice. He was coming. He wanted to tell her about France.
I can't wait.
He wanted to see her. He was coming.

She must change, bath, wash the salt out of her hair. No time to lose. Galvanised into action, she sprang from the chair and ran up the stairs, taking the steep treads effortlessly, two at a time.

She was in her bedroom applying lipstick, when she heard the car come around the corner of the street and draw to a halt outside the shuttered windows of the grocery. She laid down the lipstick and went to the open window and hung out, and saw, far below her, the dark-blue Triumph and Edward clambering, long-legged, out of it. He shut the door behind him with a soft clunk.

‘Edward!’

At her voice, he paused and then stared upwards, a figure foreshortened by her angle of vision.

‘You look like Rapunzel,’ he told her. ‘Come down.’