Chapter One
SEREN
It’s still dark as I carefully pick my way down the sandy steps to the beach, the narrow beam from my torch the only guide for my feet. The rush of waves against rocks is deafening, and it’s cold – the kind of cold that sneaks in between all the layers of your clothing and seeps into your bones. My hands sting where they hold the torch and the small red tin bucket I’ve had ever since I was a kid. I should probably wear gloves this early in the year; the Cornish early spring wind is unforgiving against my skin. But I like the wildness, the rawness of it.
This is my special place and I adore it all year round.
Walking down to an empty beach before the sun is even up feels like the biggest adventure. And even though I make the journey almost every morning before work, I’m still thrilled by it. For a short time the beach belongs to me, before the surfers and dog-walkers and fellow beachcombers wake and venture down onto the clotted-cream sand. I am queen of all I survey – even if right now that mostly consists of shadow and silhouette, with the faintest line of paler blue at the horizon breaking over the ink-black waves.
But I haven’t just come here to admire the view. I’m hunting for magic.
There are three special beaches where the treasure I’m seeking can be found. Two of them are close to my home in St Ives, but this one – Gwithian Beach – lies at the opposite end of St Ives Bay. I can see it if I sit on the harbour wall, the tall tower of Godrevy Lighthouse marking its location at the end of the sweeping bay far in the distance. But the journey here – and the impossibly early start it requires – is absolutely worth it for what I find on this beach.
Seaglass.
Tiny pieces of multicoloured glass, worn smooth by waves and time, that are hidden among the shingle, seaweed and driftwood strewn across the beaches. Ethereal, like snowy-white, palest pinks, turquoise and mint; or striking – startling cyan, dragon-green and brown – they are impossible to resist picking up. When my dad first showed me these, almost a lifetime ago, I thought mermaids had scattered treasure between the rocks for us to find. I still think it’s spellbinding – and now I collect the pieces in my red tin bucket for the jewellery I make in my spare time. One day it will be my business, and I will conjour my own magic from the pieces of sea treasure I’ve found on the beach. But my dream is on hold for now, so this is the best I can do.
I think I’m alone on Gwithian Beach. But my torch beam catches something lying on the sand that challenges my assumption. At first I think I’ve found a particularly rich vein of seaglass, but as the light follows the line of glass pieces I see it’s forming a shape.
Behind me, far out on the horizon, the first rays of sunlight begin to shine, and in the strengthening pink-gold light that slowly washes up the beach, I see the whole shape.
It’s a star – almost complete. Its fifth point is missing. I look up to scan the brightening beach, to try to see if the person who left this shape is still around. But Gwithian Beach is deserted.
It’s beautiful. As I look closer I can see the care with which the starmaker has placed each tiny piece of seaglass. Why didn’t they finish it? It seems strange to go to so much trouble and then leave it incomplete. Maybe they ran out of time here, or were disturbed. Or maybe . . . I can hardly believe I’m even thinking this, but what if they left it unfinished for someone else to take up the challenge?
What if they left it for me?
I look down into my bucket at the handfuls of glinting, sea-smoothed gems I’ve collected this morning and feel a smile break across my skin. It’s too much of an invitation to ignore. I can’t thank the maker of this gorgeous star, but maybe I can show my appreciation with my own treasure.
In the earliest light of the dawn, I kneel in the damp sand and carefully place my own line of seaglass pieces to make the final point . . .
Doing this takes almost all the time I’d allowed myself to be here – my stolen hours before I have to return to the day and all the competing voices vying for my attention. It’s emptied my bucket too, the finds I’d intended for my bracelets all nestled in the sand, completing the star. But it’s worth it. When I stand to admire my handiwork, my heart feels close to exploding. I don’t even feel the bitter March cold any more. For a moment, here on the golden, light-kissed beach with the sparkling seaglass star, all is right in the world. Nothing can touch me and no fears darken my day. For the first time in weeks, I just breathe. And suddenly, I don’t feel so alone – as though the person who left the star for me to discover is a friend I haven’t met yet.
I take one last look at the star down on the beach as I walk back to my car, still amazed by the gift of finding it. And I smile all the way back to St Ives . . .