“We had other lives, other responsibilities,” he said sadly. “But I always regretted it, Elizabeth. I always wished that it had been different.”
A sensation of fear and foreboding hit her, and she recognized it as the same fear she’d had on the night he left Porthsennen. When she watched him walk away that night, she had never believed it would have been forever. Had she known then what she knew now, how differently might she have done things?
“Are you going to tell me what happened? Why you didn’t come this year?”
It was hard to watch him as he walked away, his shoulders hunched and frame slight, like seeing a man she had never known. Time, she saw, had betrayed them. Her hand shook as she took an envelope from his outstretched hand, already able to see the letterhead was from a hospital. By the time she reached the end of the letter her throat was sore with emotion, as if there were a lump of pain that she could neither swallow nor bring up.
“An oncologist?”
He nodded.
“But isn’t that . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to verbalize her thoughts. Her mouth was painfully dry, unable to articulate anything she wanted to say.
“Cancer? Yes. They tell me I’ve got it in the lung.”
“Oh, Tom, no. Don’t tell me any more.”
To his credit he was quiet for a moment. The sun was setting, and the kind light of late afternoon, which softened skin and muted age, dappled through the window. After a while he dared join her, resting his hand on her shoulder, and this time she didn’t flinch.
“I have to go on Monday to see the specialist.”
“Maybe they’re wrong,” Elizabeth offered. “It’s possible. Doctors are wrong all the time.”
“I don’t think so, Elizabeth. Not this time, at least.”
“I can’t believe it,” she said, turning once again to look outside. A man walked by, talking on his phone, smiling and laughing. Life, she thought, was cruel, and shorter than anybody realized.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I wish the news was different. I hope you see now why I couldn’t come. I would never have managed the trip on my own this year.”
“I do.” A look crossed his face, one she thought she recognized. “What is it?”
“I was going to ask you something, but I don’t know whether it would be right.”
“Well, that never stopped you before.” Things had eased a little then, a good feeling from the past edging its way forward, a memory of how close they had once become. “What did you want to know?”
“Whether you might consider coming with me to see the specialist. It’s a lot to ask, especially after so long, but I’d love to have you there.”
Instinct told her to say yes, but sense held her back. “I don’t know, Tom. What would your family think? Your daughter didn’t look too pleased to see me here, and I doubt your wife will want me hanging around either.”
“My wife?” The wrinkles of his face deepened with confusion. “She passed away twenty years ago now, and we weren’t together for a long time before that.”
“Oh, I thought . . .” She held back, unsure what she really thought. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
His hand felt heavy on her shoulder, reassuring and grounding. “There’s a lot I suppose we don’t know about each other by now.” The idea that they had both been alone for years made her want to ask for details, like why he and his wife had separated and how she had died. But now wasn’t the time. “And Alice was just taken by surprise, that’s all. She’ll come round.”
“You told her about me, didn’t you?”
The smile that passed his lips was a curious mix of pleasure and sadness. “Of course I did.” It amazed Elizabeth that they could find something to smile about then. “How could I have kept you a secret? So,” he said, reaching for her hand. She didn’t pull away this time, and as his fingers slipped between hers, she felt her body relax. “Will you stay?”
“Well, it’s not like I can go back to Porthsennen tonight, is it. But I’ll need to find a hotel.”
“Why would you need a hotel? I’ve got plenty of spare rooms.”
“What would Alice say?”
“Leave Alice to me. I’ve spent years rattling around in this great big house. It’s been pretty lonely, Elizabeth,” he said as she felt his grip tighten, “but none of that matters now if you say you’ll stay.”
* * *
Not long after that, he showed her to one of the spare rooms. It was a pleasant space that overlooked his back garden, along with about twenty others. It made her feel as if she would be sleeping in a dormitory, all those people in such proximity. After he left her alone to unpack, she pulled the curtains shut, leaving the room in a subtle darkness. Soft light trickled from the lamp at the side of the bed as she lifted her suitcase and opened the lid. After taking out a couple of items, she couldn’t face doing the rest. Tears flowed but she kept it quiet, didn’t want to upset him. And then, nesting in among her clothes she saw the little basket that she had grabbed at the last minute, filled with every wish he had ever written. Why had she brought it with her? Perhaps because for years she had been existing in Tom’s wishes, always searching for the reality where their lives and dreams met. Right then she would have done anything to go back to the dream but knew that was no longer possible; the dream was over. This was their new reality now, and she was devastatingly awake.
Then
That evening Tom and Elizabeth sat in the old lookout with the small gas stove lit against the cold, the sound of birds singing the melody of a passing summer. Tom browsed her sketchbook with much greater care than he did the two canvases she had brought with her, which she had to admit was a disappointing response when she had chosen them so carefully. After a time, he placed the book down and turned to Elizabeth.
“I think you are quite good.” He pointed to the canvases stacked against the wall. “But I’m not so sure about those.”
It was unfortunate, but she gave herself a mental reminder of how much she hated it when her father gave her unburnished praise. “What’s wrong with my paintings?”
“Nothing,” he said, shrugging.
“Then why don’t you like them?”
Hope rose within her as he viewed them again, as if he was giving them a second chance, but was quickly dashed when he shook his head. “It’s just . . .” he said, closing his eyes to think. “They’re not very adventurous.”
Elizabeth was more than a bit put out. “Not adventurous? They took me hours to complete.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
How could that be? Everything needed time and effort, that’s what her father had taught her. Like getting ready for tonight, trying on nearly everything she owned before she settled on the pale-yellow dress. “You will have to explain what you mean, Thomas Hale.”
“It’s like when I left school. If I’d taken ages over the decision, the choice would have felt harder than it was, because I knew leaving wasn’t what I really wanted. But I had to leave; my brother was dead, my father was a mess, and I was the only one left who could do something to help.” The space created as he stood up felt like a void, and she missed his presence as he moved to pick up the smaller canvas, a painting of the local church. “When have you ever seen a wall that straight?” he asked, pointing to the bell tower. “It looks as if you used a ruler.” Admitting that indeed she had was not an option. “You’ve painted what you thought you saw, not what was there. The painting doesn’t tell the true story at all.” He set it aside and sat once again alongside her.