It’s late afternoon and the house is quiet. Alone in his study, Oliver checks the Holy Isle website.
‘Can I have a chat with you, Dad?’ His eldest son is at the door.
‘Of course. What’s up?’
Charlie walks across the room and sits in the leather armchair in front of the fire. He’s a good-looking lad, tall and sporty, with an easy-going nature and popular with both sexes. In fact, his social life astounds his parents.
Oliver waits for his son to speak. When he doesn’t, Oliver uses their affectionate childhood name for him. ‘Well, Charlie-Boy?’
Charlie glances up through thick brown eyelashes, a worried look clouding his eyes. He shifts uncomfortably but remains silent.
‘I hear you’ve got a science project to finish before Monday,’ Oliver says, diverting his son.
Charlie pulls a face. ‘It’s causing some problems, I can tell you, but Gary’s working on it. Hopefully we’ll have a solution by the end of the day.’
‘It’s a joint project, then?’
‘Yeah. Nathan’s also applying his humongous brain so, between us, we should be able to crack it.’
His son’s newly acquired deep voice makes Oliver smile. Only last summer he was a young lad. Now he’s almost a man.
‘So, if you don’t need your old man to apply his brain to your homework what do you want to talk to him about?’
Quickly Charlie looks away. It’s unlike him to be so awkward and Oliver frowns. When he was Charlie’s age he was in the grips of clinical depression with no one to talk to and nowhere to turn, but he knows this is not what afflicts his son.
‘It’s about...’ Charlie shifts again, his fingers picking at the leather trim of the arm rest. Taking a deep breath, he looks at Oliver, wide-eyed and vulnerable. ‘It’s Penny, Nathan’s sister.’
Ah! Fifteen and all those unharnessed hormones…
‘I remember her from your party. Very pretty.’
‘Yes, well…’ Charlie flushes with embarrassment and the ensuing words come out in a rush. ‘The thing is, she says she wants to go out with me but Karen’s pretty too and I’m kind of dating her.’
Charles Foxley dating! Oliver attempts to hold back the smile.
‘Can’t be too bad having two babes chasing after you?’
‘Dad, it’s awful!’ Charlie exclaims.
Oliver straightens up. How can that be awful?
‘I like them both, although Karen is getting a bit heavy...’ The sentence peters out.
There is so much time ahead for all this, thinks Oliver, but it’s crucial he advises wisely. He sees the worry etched upon Charlie’s usually carefree face, and his heart goes out to his eldest son. What would he do if he were in that situation? It’s not a problem he has ever had to face. Deanna has been there for most of his adult life.
‘Well, Charlie, you don’t have to tie yourself to either girl,’ Oliver says carefully. ‘You’re young and there will be many new experiences for you in the years to come. Just say you want to concentrate on getting good grades this year and then apportion your time between them.’
‘But Karen and I have sort of been together for a year.’
Now it’s Oliver’s turn to look wide-eyed. He had no idea, and his son lives under the same roof! What else has escaped his attention?
‘I really like Penny,’ Charlie continues, ‘but it will hurt Karen if I start seeing her best friend.’ The boy sighs in exasperation.
‘I don’t have much experience in that field,’ Oliver says honestly. ‘Before I met your mother I had a couple of girlfriends, though it was nothing serious. I was too preoccupied with sorting out my own gremlins. But, if I was in your position I would ask myself if I really wanted to commit to just one person at such a young age.’ Charlie listens intently. ‘And if that relationship isn’t all that it should be then I would remove myself from it and make myself more available to everybody. Not just Karen or Penny, but everybody. Enjoy your teenage years, experiment and experience things. Have some fun and don’t get too bogged down before your time.’ He smiles at his son. ‘I hope that’s of some help, Charlie.’
Deanna would have no problem dealing with this. She would know exactly how to handle it. Oddly, the thought depresses Oliver.
‘Thanks, Dad. You’ve given me quite a bit to consider,’ Charlie says, rising from the chair. ‘I’d better get back to my homework.’
‘Fancy joining me for a run later and getting some fresh air?’ Oliver suggests. ‘It’s amazing how clear things can become then.’
‘Yeah, catch you later.’
He watches his son walk from the room. The lad possesses an easy, athletic grace and Oliver wonders how many hearts Charlie will break before he finds his true path.
Turning his attention once again to the website, Oliver is immediately transported back to the island located off the west coast of Scotland where he spent a month the previous year. He was no stranger to the art of meditation; it was, however, the first time he encountered a special retreat devoted to Ngondro practice. His visit followed a particularly gruelling twenty months during which he worked back-to-back on two films – both box office hits – and it wasn’t over once they were in the can. A punishing schedule of press interviews, chat shows and associated red-carpet events led up to the launch of each film. His bank balance benefited enormously, but his health did not and he emerged exhausted and battling depression. Is this the reason he is reluctant to commit to the latest role?
Oliver massages his temples. Even now he can feel the powerful serenity and sense of direction he experienced during that period of personal time-out. He smiles at the memory of the gentle, wise man who gave talks and teachings on Buddhist topics, conducted personal interviews and led walks around the beautiful island. The daily meditation involved periods of silence; an almost impossible undertaking since returning to his world. Suddenly Oliver craves it again. He checks the details but the website states the course is full. Hesitating momentarily, he picks up the phone. Almost immediately, a serene voice answers. Explaining who he is, Oliver enquires whether a place can be found for him. He is put on hold.
Feeling guilty at playing on his public status, Oliver is considering retracting his request when the serene voice returns. ‘We wish you to know that you are held in the greatest respect, Oliver, and we are delighted you have chosen to further your studies with us.’
There and then, he books a two-week visit. Within a further ten minutes he has also booked a private helicopter to fly him to Holy Isle the following Saturday. For many years he has been unable to travel unrecognised in public and the pilots at the Hampshire-based flying company are used to landing their helicopters on the level paddocks behind Hunter’s Moon.
*
Cara is somewhere between sleep and waking. Feeling warm and comfortable, she basks in the glow of a dream from which she hopes never to wake. However, the wailing women have started up again and refuse to keep quiet. Groaning, she attempts to block out the world and hold onto her dream. This is the most difficult and longest day of the year to get through and she has no desire to face it just yet. But sleep’s sweet oblivion evades her and, reluctantly, she opens one eye. The room appears lighter than expected. Glancing at the alarm clock, she leaps out of bed and shouts to her children to get up. School starts within the next half-hour! As Cara runs from her bedroom into the hallway, the family’s Labrador appears at the threshold to Sky’s bedroom, excited by all the activity and noise.
‘Beth, Sky! Get up! We’re late!’
She peers into her son’s bedroom. The room is in its usual mess but he is not there. Her daughter’s room is also empty but, in contrast, tidy; the duvet straightened, clothes folded and toys neatly stacked.
‘Barnaby, get out from under my feet!’ Deftly sidestepping the dog, she bolts down the hallway into the living room.
Sitting at the dining table, dressed in their school uniforms, the children look up in surprise at her sudden entrance.
‘Sky was hungry so I made him some toast,’ Bethany explains, ‘and I’ve given the animals their breakfasts too.’
Cara’s heartbeat slows. Her daughter is so grown-up!
‘You were hungry too,’ says Sky indignantly, holding out a piece of toast to Barnaby.
Sitting obediently at the boy’s feet, the dog gently takes the offering and swallows it whole.
‘Sky, don’t give Barnaby buttered toast,’ Cara says. ‘It’s not good for him. I’m going to get dressed.’
She sprints to her bathroom, hurries through her ablutions and throws on the nearest clothes she can find. Running a brush through her hair, she glances in the mirror and then at her watch. It’ll have to do! Charging back to the kitchen, she finds Barnaby licking the cat’s bowl clean. Swishing his tail across the kitchen worktop, the cat directs a low, menacing growl at the large, yellow dog.
‘Must everything go wrong today, of all days?’ Cara groans.
‘It’s all right, Mum,’ says Bethany. ‘It’ll be OK.’
She turns to see her daughter looking at her with such kindness in her eyes that it’s almost her undoing. Cara swallows hard. When did that child become so adult? She rummages for car keys in the kitchen drawer and grabs her bag from the chair.
‘Sky, if you don’t get a move on we’re going without you,’ she calls in the direction of his bedroom.
‘I’m coming!’ The boy appears in the doorway, dragging a bulging school bag. Glancing at his sister, he rolls his eyes.
‘Come on, then. And leave Barnaby here.’
‘But he wants to come too,’ whines Sky.
‘Well, he can’t,’ snaps Cara, immediately overcome with remorse. ‘I’ve got shopping to do after dropping you off at school,’ she continues more softly.
Sky opens his mouth to speak but, catching Bethany’s warning look, he closes it again. His sister whispers in his ear.
‘OK, Mum, take us to school,’ he says in a jokey-bossy voice and promptly marches across the living room towards the hallway.
As Bethany follows, she glances at her mother and mouths, Boys!
Cara wants to laugh, or cry; she’s not sure which. Grabbing a jacket from the coat rack in the hall, she closes the porch door just in time to prevent Barnaby escaping through it.
‘Sorry, Barns, won’t be long. Then we’ll go for a W_A_L_K,’ she says, pressing the key fob and unlocking the doors to her car.
There’s a threat of rain in the air and a cold wind blows in from the ocean. The choppy sea foams at the water’s edge and the outgoing tide has left vast areas of shining, mirror-like sand, dull grey in colour, under a washed-out sky. All this Cara acknowledges as she follows her children to the car, and a modicum of peace comforts her stricken soul. She climbs in and quickly closes the door, shutting out the cold air, and glances in the rear-view mirror at her children already sitting in the back seat. Carefully reversing the car within the small turning space at the side of the bungalow, she heads up the dirt track and, ten minutes later, deposits her children at the gates of their primary school in Cury.
‘Don’t forget Janine’s picking you up this afternoon,’ she calls through the open window.
‘We haven’t forgotten,’ Bethany says. Shifting the strap of her school bag to a more comfortable position on her shoulder, she waves with her free hand.
Sky, distracted by a friend calling to him, rushes into the school grounds without a backward glance.
Cara blows her daughter a kiss. Putting the car into gear, she drives to the supermarket on the outskirts of Helston, hoping it will have everything she needs. Taut, her senses stretched, she cannot let anything push her over the edge today. The car park is nearly full and she has trouble finding an empty parking bay, and there’s only one trolley sitting forlornly at the entrance. Aware of another fast-approaching shopper, she quickens her pace and swiftly claims it. Methodically, Cara works the aisles. She’s deliberating over the meat counter when she bumps into one of the other mums whose daughter is in the same class as Bethany.
‘Hi, Barbara. How are things?’
‘Oh, hi, Cara. Good, thanks. Nick’s got a building contract with that new hotel in Penzance. It could be for up to a year.’
‘Good for him,’ says Cara, knowing only too well how challenging it can be to earn a living. ‘Beth tells me Diana has been picked for the netball team.’
Barbara beams. ‘Centre forward. She’s thrilled!’
Cara nods politely. And then there’s that familiar, uncomfortable pause. Will this ever pass?
‘How’s the gallery?’ Barbara eventually asks.
‘Oh, you know, Porthleven in January. But we’re open most days and I have a few sales from the Internet, so can’t grumble.’
Another awkward silence.
Barbara smiles nervously and stares at the contents of Cara’s trolley. ‘Looks like you’re having a celebration!’
‘Of sorts...’ Cara says quietly.
Barbara glances at Cara with a questioning look. Suddenly she flushes crimson. Mumbling an apology, with studied determination she hurriedly pushes her trolley away. Cara grits her teeth. She can just imagine the woman’s conversation later with her husband when she tells him that she bumped into Cara Penhaligon, today of all days...
Turning her attention to the meat counter again, Cara makes her selection before steering the rapidly filling trolley towards the drinks’ aisle. Half an hour later she heads home. The tide is almost out and she decides to give Barnaby a run on the beach. As her car pulls up in front of the bungalow, the Labrador watches her every move, his nose pressed against the heavily smeared porch window. Struggling with shopping bags, Cara opens the stable door and Barnaby rushes out to greet her, almost tripping her up as she makes her way to the kitchen.
‘Good plan, Basil,’ she says to the cat, positioned sensibly out of the way on the window sill amongst the pot plants.
Cara decants the contents of the bags into various cupboards and stacks the fresh food in the fridge. Finally, opening a drawer, she takes out a hairband and scoops her hair into a high ponytail.
‘OK, Barns, let’s go!’
As soon as the porch door is open the dog is out, rushing in circles and chasing his tail. Cara walks to the steps leading to the beach and the Labrador bolts past her. At the bottom he looks up and waits. As she steps onto the sand, he’s away, running towards a flock of seagulls and scattering them into the wind. Cara laughs. There’s an electric energy in the air and the sea roars in the distance. She feels her spirits lift. Walking to firmer sand, she turns towards Rick’s Beach Hut and breaks into a jog, her ponytail bouncing from side to side. It’s exhilarating being out here all alone on the empty beach with just her dog and the seagulls for company.
For the rest of the day she bakes and cooks. Although thankful to be busy preparing for the evening’s gathering, she does so with a heavy heart. Her parents phone, which eases her mood a little, but she knows it’s down to her to rise above the melancholy. Cara places an assortment of candles on the driftwood mantelpiece above the wood-burning stove and decorates the room with strings of lights. At around four o’clock a car pulls up. Instantly Barnaby rushes out to the porch, his tail wagging expectantly as the door flies open.
‘Hi, Mum! We’re just going to feed Bobkin.’ Placing her school bag on the floor, Bethany pats the Labrador’s soft, downy head.
‘Hello, Mrs Penhaligon,’ say the twins in unison.
‘Hi, you two,’ Cara says. Despite having known them since toddlers, it’s still difficult to tell Janine’s daughters apart. Barnaby bounces up at the girls. ‘Just push him out of the way if he’s bothering you.’
‘It’s OK,’ responds Milly, or is it Molly? ‘We know he’s only playing.’
‘Mum, I’m starving!’ Sky says, dumping his school bag next to his sister’s.
Cara laughs. ‘You’re always starving, Sky, but I’m sure I can find you something to eat before the others arrive.’ She hands her daughter a colander of carrot peel. ‘Beth, these are for Bobkin.’
‘Hi, Cara. Delivered your little sunbeams home safe and sound,’ announces her neighbour, a large woman with a big voice and a heart of pure twenty-four-carat gold. ‘See you’ve been busy.’ Janine moves aside as Bethany and the twins rush past.
‘I thought Christmas lights would cheer the place.’
Marching across the room, Janine gives Cara a huge hug. Taken by surprise, Cara struggles to breathe.
‘Darling, you and your little family cheer the place. It doesn’t need further embellishment.’ She releases Cara. ‘But, be prepared. Sky has something to show you.’
Cara’s heart lurches. What does she mean?
‘It’s a painting… for tonight.’
Sky and his paintings! Her son has inherited her talent.
‘Thanks for the heads up.’
A flurry at the door makes them both turn and Barnaby rushes in, closely followed by Bethany holding her rabbit. Walking on either side, the twins enthusiastically stroke the lop-eared bunny.
‘Come on, you two, time for tea. Let’s leave poor Bobkin in peace.’ Janine organises her children. Turning to Cara, she gives her a squeeze. ‘Hope it all goes well.’
‘Thanks, Janine, you’re a good friend.’
‘Anything, Cara. You know that. Now, come on, Mills and Molls, Mother says move!’ Janine ushers her girls towards the porch.
A while later, Cara’s guests start to arrive. It’s a gathering of her closest friends. Tristan and his sister, Morwenna, arrive first, roaring up the track on Tristan’s motorbike. As soon as Sky hears the throaty roar he is at the porch door.
‘Hi, Sky!’ Tristan says, removing his helmet.
‘Hi, Uncle Trist!’ He’s not officially their uncle but the children have known him since birth.
‘Hey, Sky, do you like the motorbike?’ Morwenna asks, as she dismounts. The boy nods. ‘In the summer Tristan will take you for a ride down the track if you like.’
‘Cool!’
‘Thanks, Morwenna!’ groans Cara, appearing in the hallway behind Sky. She pulls a face at her friend and then laughs. She knows Tristan cherishes her son and wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
‘Hello, gorgeous lady,’ Tristan says, greeting Cara with a warm hug. ‘A little something for the evening.’ Fishing inside his leather jacket, he produces two bottles of red wine.
‘These are for you too,’ Morwenna says, holding out a bag. ‘Tomato and olive loaves. Still warm, fresh from the oven, not from the bike’s exhaust!’
‘Thanks, guys.’ Walking through to the kitchen, Cara deposits their offerings on the worktop.
‘And who’s this young beauty?’ asks Tristan.
Cara turns. An animated Bethany has entered the living room. Her daughter smiles widely at Tristan. She’s always loved him, even as a baby. Whenever Cara had difficulty consoling her and was at her wits’ end, as soon as Tristan held Bethany she would settle and gaze up at him with big, brown eyes.
In one bound Tristan sweeps the young girl into his arms, lifting her high into the air.
‘Uncle Trist, you’re mad!’ Bethany says, giggling.
‘Mad for you, my darling girl.’
Bethany giggles louder. Whirling her around, Tristan plants a smacker of a kiss on her cheek before placing her safely back on the ground. Smiling with embarrassment, Bethany glances shyly at her mother. Excited by all the commotion, Barnaby starts to bark. At the sound of a car pulling up, Cara looks out of the window to see her remaining guests have arrived. Martha and her husband, Stephen, and Sarah and her boyfriend, Rob, decant in a heap from Martha’s old, beaten-up VW Beetle. Giggling, they dust themselves off before entering the bungalow. Instantly Barnaby is at the door again, getting caught up in everybody’s legs.
‘Welcome to the madhouse!’ Cara calls from the kitchen where she’s finding Tristan a corkscrew. ‘Let’s get some drinks on the go!’
The evening goes well. Although it’s raining and windy outside, the bungalow feels cosy and safe. The living room is bathed in a subtle glow from the candles and the Christmas lights adorning the walls. Despite her initial hesitation, Cara knows that marking the event again this year was the right thing to do. She looks around with satisfaction. It’s been a good evening spent in relaxed company with plenty of laughter, despite the occasion. Bethany and Sky, astounded that it is past ten and they have yet to be sent to bed, loll on the sofa with Morwenna and Martha, while Stephen plays the guitar that has lain dormant against the wall for so long. With a sudden shock Cara realises it’s that Coldplay song. Quickly, she rises. Crossing the room, she studies the photos her children have Blu-Tacked to the wall – a lifetime of events depicted in forty or so photographs – and propped on the ledge running above the wood panelling is Sky’s painting. It really is very good. In an instant both her children are at her side.
‘Do you like it, Mum?’ asks her son.
‘I love it, Sky,’ she answers softly.
His painting is of a tanned, blond man riding the clouds on a surfboard the same colour as her life-sized one displayed on the wall above them. Tears prick her eyes.
Don’t lose it… not now!
Suddenly Tristan stands. Pushing back his chair, he clears his throat. ‘Um, I just want to say a few words.’
As one, she and the children turn in his direction. Immediately a hush descends, the mood shifting down a gear. Cara tenses.
‘It’s been two long years to the day since we lost Christo and never a day goes by that I don’t think of my dear mate.’ Bethany’s fingers curl around her mother’s hand. ‘You left us way too soon.’ Tristan’s voice is oddly distorted and he swallows hard. ‘I hope you’re riding the biggest, never-ending, perfect wave. No wipe-outs, man, just dynamic barrels and getting tubed.’
A murmur of agreement fills the room.
Tristan clears his throat again. ‘Christo, you’re not to worry about anything down here, mate. Just look at this gorgeous, golden family of yours.’ He smiles at the little family standing stoically beneath the surfboard depicting Christo as a young, sun-kissed surfer without a care in the world.
Feeling Bethany grow rigid beside her, Cara gives her daughter’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Sky has backed into her and she places a comforting hand on his shoulder. Even Barnaby has joined them, sitting quietly at Sky’s feet. As her guests wipe away silent tears, Cara steels herself against an overwhelming urge to join in.
‘Nothing – and I mean nothing – will ever harm them.’ Tristan’s voice rises with emotion. ‘We are all looking out for your Gwyneth, Beth and Sky… for you, Christo. The best mate a man could ever have.’