Cosmo walks by the estuary, Reggie a little way ahead, the late morning sun warm on his back. There have been two days of south-westerlies, bringing rain and shrouding the hills in clouds, but this morning the skies are clear and the countryside is sparkling in the autumn sunshine. With his camera slung around his neck, Cosmo is continually amazed by the jewellike colours in the landscape all around him: crimson new-ploughed earth, green meadows, dark blue seas, gold and orange beech leaves. As he walks, he studies angles and shapes, pausing to take photographs and mentally writing small headings to accompany them. His new blog isn’t attracting much attention yet – everyone is a photographer these days – but he still hopes that he will come across that once-in-a-lifetime picture that might set him on a different path.
As he walks, he thinks about Amy. She is like nobody he has ever known: so quick, so amusing, so ready to seize the moment. He loves the way she drives him around in her car, clearly enjoying herself: competent but always ready to stop, in a gateway or on a bridge, to say, ‘Look. Isn’t that amazing? Want to take a picture?’ He’s very attracted to her but he is in denial. After all, there is Becks. He still hasn’t mentioned her to Amy. He’s allowed her to believe he’s a free agent. He has mentioned his small pad in Hackney, bigging it up a tiny bit, but not much.
Cosmo stands for a moment, watching the passenger ferry chugging down the estuary from Kingsbridge. The point is, he tells himself, nobody is being hurt. There is no evidence that Amy is getting too serious. Despite the fact that she’s obviously attracted to him she has a casual way about her that indicates she can look after herself. Last night when they got home, she waited, engine running, while he got out of the car. Something made it difficult for him to kiss her, even lightly on the cheek, and though he invited her in for a coffee or a nightcap she shook her head.
‘Nothing more for me,’ she said, ‘or I shan’t sleep. See you around.’
She drove away, leaving him to stand staring after the car, and then he went in to check on Reggie feeling let down; disappointed. Yet there were moments earlier during that evening when they were almost intimate together. They leaned, heads close, laughing, and once he put his hand on hers on the table to emphasize something he was saying, and held it for a moment. She turned her fingers so that they were clasping his and he knows that they were both aware of that little jolt, like a pulse of electricity between them.
Cosmo gives a tiny shrug. Perhaps she’s used to men coming down on holiday, chatting her up, hoping for something more, going away again. And isn’t that exactly what he’s doing?
He walks on swiftly, feeling confused. He can’t get Amy out of his mind; she’s a part of all this magic that’s around him. London and Becks aren’t on his radar here and he doesn’t want to think about his life there. Just for now he wants to live in the moment: walking on the cliffs and in the lanes, looking forward to another evening at one of the local pubs, going into the Coffee Shop and waiting for Amy to come swinging in. He feels more alive than he can remember and when the text pings in he takes out his phone hopefully. Amy has his number now and has promised to tell him when she is free for another meeting. The text is from Becks.
Sounds good down there. Missing you. Thinking of coming for a weekend to recharge my batteries. xxx
As he stares at the text he feels as if he has had a blow to the solar plexus. It’s the last thing he’s been expecting: Becks here, critical, expectant, curious. It simply mustn’t happen – but how can he deflect her? He puts his phone in his pocket and walks on, his mind doubling and twisting and seeking for a solution. And after a while an idea occurs to him. He takes his phone out again and sends a text to Al.
Help. We need to speak.
Amy puts away her stencils and her paints and glances around the small bedroom. Storybook characters and cartoon creatures have been carefully worked into the wall spaces and cupboard doors, and the effect is good. But even as she looks critically at her handiwork, Amy is thinking about Cosmo. As she packs up for the morning she knows that she’s never felt like this before: not this madness, this fizzing in the blood when she’s close to him. She’s almost certain that he’s feeling the same way but she’s too afraid to test it. It’s been such a short time and he’s older, more sophisticated. She doesn’t want to seem a naïve, foolish girl.
On an impulse she takes her phone from her pocket and dials Charley’s number.
‘Hi, Ames,’ says Charley. ‘How are you doing?’
At the sound of her voice Amy takes a deep, relieved breath. She feels calmer already.
‘I’m OK,’ she says, ‘but it would be great to see you before next Thursday. I’m just finishing a job in Kingsbridge. Could we get a sandwich together? I can be in Totnes in about twenty minutes.’
‘Not a problem. I’m working at the Potting Shed this morning and I’m going to lunch in about fifteen minutes, so suppose we meet in the Terrace Coffee Shop? Take it carefully, hon.’
‘Thanks,’ says Amy. ‘Honestly, that’s just great. See you there.’
She puts her phone away, still feeling this weird kind of madness, as if the world is in a sharper relief, that she is more aware of everything and everyone around her. Charley is the one person Amy can talk to right now. Charley’s such a kind, happy, good person. She used to listen for hours when Amy talked about what it was like to lose her mum, what it was like never to have that kind of support and maternal love. Charley listened, made endless cups of coffee, and put the world into some kind of perspective for Amy. And the really good thing was that Charley was never pious or critical because she, in her turn, had problems of her own and was always ready to talk about them, so that Amy felt it really was a friendship and she didn’t have to feel grateful, or foolish because she was younger.
As she says goodbye, gets into the car and drives away towards Totnes she is wondering how she could manage a meeting between Cosmo and Charley, to see her reaction and hear what she thinks about him. It’s impossible to imagine introducing him to Dad; not yet, anyway. She needs to feel more confident. Perhaps, once she’s talked to Charley, she might be more ready to move forward.
Charley comes out of the Potting Shed and walks the few yards to the Terrace Coffee Shop. She enjoys her part-time job, likes chatting to the customers buying bulbs and plants, or garden equipment or bird food, likes sharing a joke with Matt and Jane. She’s also enjoying her two days a week as a classroom assistant at the local primary school. Since Simon’s been working in Gloucestershire she’s been lonely, confused as to where she should be directing her life, and it’s good to have work, to have a purpose.
She goes into the café, smiles at the owners, Rob and Andy, who always greet her so warmly, and glances around. Amy hasn’t arrived yet but this isn’t surprising. She tells the boys she’s waiting for someone and goes to sit at one of the window tables looking down on to the path that runs between the High Street and the car park. From this vantage point she’ll see Amy approaching. She wonders what is so urgent that it can’t wait until their Thursday meeting and hopes that it isn’t a serious problem. Amy’s voice sounded tense, excited. Thinking about it, Charley reflects that there was nothing that implied bad news in that voice. It was more that Amy was bubbling over with something that simply had to be shared, something exciting, extraordinary.
Charley hopes it’s something good. Perhaps Amy has fallen in love. There was a boy at Falmouth that she went around with but it was a pretty calm kind of romance, not the world-shattering, earth-moving kind of passion that makes you identify with all the love songs ever written. Charley gives a reminiscent sigh and looks out of the window.
Amy is hurrying into view, her bag clutched over her shoulder, curls escaping from their combs and, as Charley watches, she knows that her suspicions are confirmed. There is something indefinable in Amy’s expression, the upward curve of the lips, the glancing brightness of her eyes, that sets her apart. A man passing in the other direction turns to glance back appreciatively at her, and Charley begins to laugh.
‘Pheromones, darling,’ she says to herself. ‘Good old pheromones.’
And, as Amy hurries into the café, Charley gets to her feet and stretches out her arms to her. Amy hugs her tightly and then inexplicably begins to laugh.
‘This is so crazy,’ she says. ‘But I just needed to see you. Now. Before Thursday.’
Charley releases herself and sits down again. ‘I think I’d grasped that.’
Amy sits opposite, takes a deep breath as if she’s been running. She glances up at Rob, who gives her a menu, smiles at him and sits staring at it. Charley watches her for a moment and decides to take control of the situation.
‘Veggie lasagne,’ she says to Rob. ‘OK with you, Amy? You know you love that.’
‘Whatever,’ says Amy randomly. ‘Yes. Vegetable lasagne would be great.’
Charley smiles up at Rob. ‘And two elderflower pressés? Thanks.’
She sits back and studies Amy, who beams at her. ‘Is Jack OK? Work flowing in? All good in Salcombe?’
‘Yes,’ answers Amy, visibly pulling herself together. ‘Yes, everything’s fine. Dad’s in great form.’
Charley waits. The pressés and the cutlery arrive. Amy fiddles with a fork.
‘The thing is,’ she says slowly. ‘Well, the thing is, Charley, I’ve met this man …’