Lucia takes a deep breath, a powerful surge of excitement flooding her body at the thought of what’s to come.
‘So that’s decided,’ she says. ‘We’ll call and see Tommy and then …’ She pauses for effect and the others lean forward, all eyes fixed on her face. ‘Cornwall,’ she says decisively, reaching across the table for the three maps covering that part of the country.
Both Isaac and Polly whoop with excitement and Peter smiles at them all. He’s already taking on the air of a benevolent grandfather, Lucia notices happily, the sort anyone would be delighted to have as a relative.
‘I hoped you’d say that,’ Polly says. ‘We went there for a holiday when I was growing up a few years after my dad left. We stayed in a caravan near Padstow. It was a tatty old van on a run-down site but the holiday itself was great.’
There’s a wistful look on Polly’s face and Lucia thinks not for the first time that she knows nothing about the girl’s family background, other than the fact that she’s from Yorkshire and her father isn’t around.
‘Was it just you, Poll?’ she asks. ‘Have you got brothers and sisters or were you one on your own, like Isaac?’
‘I … I can’t remember much about it really,’ she mumbles.
‘But if there were more of you maybe it was too pricey to go away. Me and my mum and dad didn’t travel that much. They said it was too expensive. And afterwards … later on …’ Lu stops, feeling the treacherous lump back in her throat.
Polly doesn’t speak for a long, awkward minute and Lu begins to wish she hadn’t brought this up, but the urge to know more about their lodger is strong. She’s becoming one of the family and it’s strange to be so unaware of her life before this. Eventually, Polly breaks the silence: ‘I had a sister. She died.’
Isaac glares at Lu as she starts to apologise for prying. ‘You see, Mum, that’s why you shouldn’t try and make people tell you things. If anyone should know that, you ought to. You’re always doing it.’
‘No, I’m not! I was just being friendly, that’s all.’
Polly raises a hand to stop Isaac going any further in her defence. ‘It’s fine. I just don’t like talking about her, that’s all. It only happened towards the end of last summer. It’s still way too fresh in my mind.’
‘Poll, I’m so, so sorry. Isaac’s right, I shouldn’t have pried into your business, especially at the moment when I’m hating everyone doing it to me so much. I won’t ask again.’
‘I’ll tell you all about it sometime. Let’s talk about something cheerful now. Cornwall?’ she adds brightly, scrubbing at her eyes and sitting up straighter.
Isaac takes the three maps from Lucia. ‘Right, that’s the first stop settled. Where in Cornwall would you like to go?’
‘Does it have to be just one part? Or can I choose a couple of places if they’re close together?’
The others nod enthusiastically and Lucia reaches for Tommy’s photograph album labelled Cornwall and the South West of England.
Narrowing the choice down is easier said than done. There are countless snaps of surfing-type beaches and villages with narrow streets going down to rocky bays. All of them are places that look as if a diet of scones and clotted cream would be easy to follow.
As Lu looks at the array for what seems like the twentieth time, she spots a photograph showing a sandy beach in a deep rocky bay. In the background is some sort of building that looks like a hotel, with chalets flanking it. A steep path winds up the cliffside. Tommy, bizarrely, is wearing a tuxedo, and posing on the shore next to a smart woman in heels who looks as if she’s sinking into the sand. She feels a pang of envy for the location and the relaxed, familiar-with-each-other air of the two of them.
‘Hey, I think I know that cove,’ Polly says. ‘I reckon I was there a couple of years ago. If I’m right it’s a well-known wedding venue near that big surfing place. Newquay isn’t it? My friend Shelley invited me. It’s the only place in Cornwall where you can get married right on the beach, or so she said.’
She tells them the name of the resort and Isaac quickly finds it on his laptop. ‘Let’s go down to Newquay and find the wedding place then. We could maybe book in at a pub or a small hotel. I don’t mind sleeping in the van if you lot want to have proper beds and a cot for Reg. Mum?’
‘That sounds good to me. Here’s my second choice.’
Lucia holds up a photograph of a view of a steep, cobbled street with a sign on one of the cottages saying Memory Lane. At the bottom, blue as a periwinkle, glints the sea.
‘But how will we find this place?’ asks Polly. ‘It could be anywhere.’
‘Look on the back.’ Lucia turns the snapshot over and sees the word Pengelly scrawled in Tommy’s writing.
Isaac Googles the name and soon finds the village, which is not too far from Newquay. ‘That’s easy enough to combine with the first stop,’ he says. ‘What about you, Polly? Where would you like to go?’
‘Oh … I don’t know … do we have to decide now?’ Polly’s biting her lip and the frown line that sometimes appears between her eyes is deepening.
‘Why don’t we just play it by ear? We’ve got the beginnings of a plan,’ says Peter, stretching stiff shoulders. ‘I’m all for the idea of taking it a step at a time. What a delightful idea, Polly. One is so used to having life mapped out to the last degree. This is all very refreshing. And to share this adventure with such splendid new friends is more than I could ever have wished for.’
The others all raise their hands and cheer as quietly as possible so as not to wake Reggie. Peter wipes his eyes with one of his trademark spotless white handkerchiefs and Polly does a little dance in her seat, careful not to knock into anyone in her enthusiasm.
‘There’s a bottle of bubbly in the fridge that I was given when I left the school, I thought it was a shame to leave it at home. Shall we celebrate being decisive?’ Lucia says.
‘What a magnificent thought.’ Peter seems about to say something else then changes his mind. His eyes seem to be drawn to something happening outside the caravan.
‘Something the matter, Peter?’ Isaac says.
He looks out of the window as he asks the question and the others follow his gaze. It’s a warm evening now the rain has stopped, and it seems some campers are taking advantage of this. A very thin, elderly gentleman is just emerging from the next door van followed by a much more ample lady. Neither of them have any clothes on but they’re both wearing wellington boots. They’re carrying a boules set and as they begin to set up their game on the damp roadway outside, bending frequently to place the silver balls in readiness, Lucia is overcome at the sight of so much exposed and rather wrinkly flesh. Polly is giggling again and Peter covers his eyes.
‘I think I’ll chose the next site if you don’t mind, Isaac,’ says Lucia, getting up to draw the curtains. ‘I didn’t think I was a prude, but I think I’ve changed my mind today.’
It’s not long before everything is cleared away, the bunks are ready and Isaac and Peter go outside to settle into their own beds. A wave of exhaustion washes over Lucia as she wriggles into her sleeping bag, but her overwhelming emotion is hope. The future is looking a lot brighter. They’ve all made a new friend in Peter, Polly’s a step nearer to letting them into the secrets of her past, and Isaac has taken on board their various travel plans. Even better, tomorrow they’ll see Tommy again. That thought is immensely cheering.
All Lucia needs to do now is to rid herself of the nagging feeling that she and Des are still very much unfinished business. How on earth is she going to tackle that problem?