Tom remained quiet, his fingers fussing at a fray in the sweater. “This is Thomas, Daddy,” Elizabeth said, stepping in. “We actually used to go to school together.”
“Well, we are very grateful to you, Thomas,” her father said. “But I’m surprised to hear you were at school with Elizabeth. You look older.”
“A little bit, sir.”
“So, are you working now?”
“When I can. Mainly pollack and mackerel, plus a bit of netting for crayfish.” Fishermen populated both Tom’s and Elizabeth’s family trees as far back as anybody knew. “I have been working for Mr. Cressa for the last three years, and where I can during the winter.”
“Three years?” Her father shared a glance with James. “How old are you? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?”
“Eighteen, sir.”
Elizabeth’s father appeared puzzled. “You didn’t choose to continue your education?”
Tom couldn’t maintain his gaze then. “I learned what I had to, sir. Now I help my family.”
“Well,” said Dr. Davenport, “that is very admirable. You must tell me your father’s name so that I can congratulate him on having such a fine young man as a son.”
“It’s Pat Hale,” said Tom.
Her father took a moment, a heavy breath in. “Pat Hale, eh? You’re his eldest son.”
“His only son, sir.”
“Yes, of course. I remember the unfortunate incident with your brother. I’m afraid I didn’t recognize you.” Elizabeth watched her father, his mind elsewhere. “Well, I do hope that in some of your father’s sober moments he finds the time to be proud of you.” Elizabeth noticed Tom’s cheeks flush, and just for a moment she wondered what had transpired, and why her father had said something so cruel. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Thomas.” He patted him on the shoulder, guided him toward the door. “We’d best get ourselves off to bed. Thank you once again.” James followed Tom from the house, kissing Elizabeth on the cheek just before he left. It came as a relief when her father closed the door.
* * *
When the house was empty of visitors, Dr. Davenport directed Elizabeth back into the drawing room, guiding her to sit in one of the chairs. They remained in silence until her father spoke. “I think it’s very important we address what happened tonight, Elizabeth.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Yes, unfortunately it is. But we don’t want to fuel the rumor mill, do we?” People were already starting to talk. Even in the shop last week she had felt the hush of a whispered conversation and knew somehow without hearing a word that it had been about her family. “Sleepwalking would be a much kinder story than the truth, for all involved.”
“Of course, Daddy. But . . .” she began, and then thought better of it.
“What is it, Elizabeth?”
“It’s just . . .” She hesitated, licking her salty lips. The ocean was still loud in the distance, sounding now to her like a threat. “This is as good as she is ever going to be from now on, isn’t it?”
He sighed heavily, all his breath leaving him, and for a moment Elizabeth wished she could take her question back. The burden of it weighed heavily on her, but she had to know what to expect.
“Alzheimer’s comes and goes in waves, Elizabeth. She will have good days, and there will be bad days. But when you are with the people you love there is nothing that one cannot find the strength for. One can always find the light through the dark when there is love, no matter what is expected of you.” His hand stroked heavily across her shoulders. “Now go on, Elizabeth. Get yourself off to bed. It’s been a long night.”
Moonlight illuminated the staircase as she climbed, her skin pale and cold in the gray light. She found herself not only feeling pleased about the absence of an engagement ring on her finger, but also thinking of Tom. Tonight, she realized that she had never been more grateful for anybody in the whole world. The image of him lingered in her mind, stumbling from the water with her mother under his arm, saving one of the people she loved most. She was still thinking about him when she slipped into her sheets, when she closed her eyes and eventually succumbed to sleep. That night she dreamed that she was the one who was struggling out at sea, fighting for breath, and that Tom was the one who came to rescue her.
Now
For a while Elizabeth sat at the table, staring at the basket of past wishes. For forty-nine years he had kept his promise, had always delivered. For the second time in as many minutes she got up to check that she hadn’t made a mistake, telling herself that perhaps it had been windy overnight and that the pot had blown away. It was impossible to ignore the fact that Tom had always known how to account for that in the past, tucking his gift alongside the front step, just behind the rose planters. Never once had his gifts gone missing. Never once had he forgotten.
Could she have it wrong? The calendar hung above her from a pin tacked into the old plaster wall, so she ran a gnarled fingertip along the row until she came across the right date. September 7. There it was, the little blue crocus she had painted in anticipation. Had she gotten the date itself wrong? Things like that happened lately, at her age more than she would have liked. Only last week she’d wandered down to the Roundhouse, the gallery in Porthsennen, to inquire whether any of her latest watercolors had sold. After she’d waited outside for the best part of an hour, watching as the surfers moved back and forth in the water, Old Man Cressa’s grandson had walked past.
“Out for the last of the weather?” he’d called as his little spaniel scurried along a trail of scent on the ground.
“Waiting for them to open,” she’d said, pointing to the gallery, then tapping her watch. “Am I running fast or are they running late? My watch says it’s almost ten.”
“I’d say you’re running about twenty-three hours too fast,” he’d said, laughing to himself. “It’s Sunday.”
Stupidity had swamped her at the realization, and even more so over the thought of him laughing. If she’d been a youngster it would have been a simple mistake, but when you’re sixty-seven years old, she thought, it’s a mistake of old age. And now, sitting in that robe and clinging on to a love that had passed her by, she couldn’t have felt more foolish. What on earth was wrong with her? Who was she trying to kid?
The sight of the champagne felt like an insult, so she tipped what was left down the sink and put the dirty plates in the dishwasher. The basket of wishes was just as unfortunate, so that went back into the cupboard alongside the old bottle of champagne, his diary, and a few other gifts that he had left throughout the years.
“What are you looking at?” she asked Cookie when she saw him watching her. “A silly old fool,” she offered quietly to herself. A single fat tear dripped onto the robe, the silk blushing as dark as her mood. “What a senseless old woman you’ve become, Elizabeth.”
Pictures of Kate stared back at her accusingly from around the room. One in particular stood out. In the photograph, Kate was just twenty years old, wearing a harness with her feet strapped together and her arms spread wide, standing on the edge of a cliff surrounded by jungle greenery. Moments after that photograph had been taken, she had thrown herself over the edge, her life secured by nothing more than the bungee cord and a large dash of hope. “Born courageous” was what Elizabeth always said of her. Even as a child she never feared having a go at things. Nothing like Elizabeth, not in appearance or character, instead following her father in both. Kate would never have sat around waiting for gifts from a man who’d left her. When she thought things were over, that was it, done. That’s why Kate wouldn’t speak to her anymore, not since last November. Best part of a year without so much as a hello. Elizabeth missed her so much, and her two boys. They would have grown so much in the time she hadn’t seen them. Elizabeth wished she could take back the things they had said, but that wasn’t how life worked. It didn’t seem to matter how many messages she left or phone calls she made, how many times she begged for forgiveness. You couldn’t turn back the clock.