The next few days are a scurry of getting ready for the wedding, which will happen at half past eleven this coming Saturday. The choir are organising everything for the reception which is a huge weight off our minds and they won’t let us get involved. But there’s still a house to clean and a garden to tidy up and lots of last-minute things to sort out.

I’ve taken the week off work and Josh and I are scrubbing kitchen tiles together – aw, so romantic – when we hear a car pull up and there’s a knock on the front door.

Leaving Josh scrubbing, I dodge past the bits and pieces piled in the hall that need to go upstairs before Saturday and pull the door open. Immediately, Freya charges at me and clamps her chubby arms around my thighs. She’s wearing yellow shorts and a pink T-shirt and her jet-black hair which reminds me of Josh is tumbling down her back.

‘Hello, sweetheart. What on earth are you doing here?’

‘Toby’s taking me to the beach,’ she mumbles into my legs, scuffing at the doorstep in her pretty sandals.

‘Where is Toby?’

‘I’m here.’ My cousin steps into view from behind the rampant honeysuckle that’s growing up the front of the house like a Triffid. His arms are wrapped around a picnic basket – one of those posh wicker ones with leather straps that’s large enough to hold three courses for a dozen people. ‘Sorry to spring it on you but we thought you might like to come to the beach with us.’

Really? We’ve only communicated by text and email since I agreed to sell the house and now he’s here expecting me to play happy families and go off on a jolly. Two days before my wedding.

‘I’m afraid I’m rather busy at the moment.’

‘Just for a couple of hours.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Please,’ says Toby quietly. ‘I’d really appreciate it.’

Freya giggles when I stroke her soft cheek. ‘Why don’t you see if you can find Uncle Josh. He might be in the kitchen.’

‘Uncle Josh!’ yells Freya, unfastening herself from my thighs and hurtling through the hallway.

When she’s disappeared through the kitchen door, I step blinking into the garden. The sun is blazing from a flawless blue sky and everything seems extra bright.

‘What’s going on, Toby? You don’t need to come round schmoozing up to me any more because you’ve won and you’re getting the house.’

‘It wasn’t a competition and I’m paying you good money for it. Better than anyone else would with a rubbish roof.’ Toby stops, tightens his grip on the picnic hamper and exhales slowly. ‘Look, I could just do with your company and your advice. Oh, here we go.’

I recognise the sound of Josh’s long stride on the hall tiles before he steps into the garden with Freya following behind

‘What’s going on?’

‘Good morning to you too, Pasco. I’m hoping Annie will come with Freya and me to the beach. What do you say, Annie?’

I’m about to say no because there’s a wedding to be organised and a morning on the beach with Toby isn’t my idea of fun. But Freya slips her hand into mine and stares up at me with eyes as dark as coal. ‘Please come with us, Auntie Annie. I’d ’preciate it.’

‘I don’t know, Toby. Perrigan Bay will be packed with tourists at this time of year.’

‘Which is why we’re not going there, because the last thing I want to do is mix with emmets. We’re going to Salt Bay beach instead.’

‘You’re going down the cliff path with a six-year-old and a… is that a hamper?’ snorts Josh. ‘That’s not a good idea, Toby.’

Hell’s bells, it’s a terrible idea and Toby will totally wet himself if he’s scared of heights. I almost did the first and only time I scrambled down the Path of Doom. Cut into the cliff, the path is utterly terrifying and hardly used these days because it’s become even more treacherous over the last few months. It’s certainly not suitable for a child.

‘I have no intention of taking the cliff path, Pasco. I’m not a complete idiot. I’ve paid a local fisherman to take us round to the beach in his rowing boat.’

‘We’re going in a boat!’ squeals Freya, jumping up and down on my toes.

‘Is Lucy aware that you’re taking Freya out in a boat?’ asks Josh.

‘Does your sister know where Freya’s father is taking his own daughter? Yes, she does, thanks very much.’

‘And she’s OK with it?’

‘She is as long as Annie comes too.’

Cheers, Lucy. There’s nothing I’d enjoy more than being stuck in a tiny rowing boat with my tricky cousin, a boisterous six-year-old and a hamper the size of a small car.

When I hesitate, Toby leans forward. ‘You said I should spend more quality time with Freya which is why I’m taking her to the beach I played on as a child. I’m just following your advice.’

Josh’s arm snakes round my waist and he pulls me into the hall where Toby can’t overhear us.

‘Why doesn’t he just keep out of our lives? That man is such a pain in the neck.’

‘I know. But he’s our pain in the neck because he’s related to me and to Freya and soon he’ll own this house. So what are we going to do about this beach trip?’

‘This ridiculous beach trip.’

‘It sounds like he’s got it all planned and I guess it’s quite sweet that he wants Freya to enjoy the beach he went to as a child.’

Ugh, I so wish I would stop standing up for Toby. It’s becoming a habit – an embarrassing tic that just won’t go away.

‘I just don’t trust him to take care of Freya near deep water and, I know it’s a pain, but I’d feel easier if you were with them.’

‘I don’t suppose you fancy coming along too?’

Josh grimaces. ‘I’m not sure that me and Toby marooned on the same patch of wet sand for a couple of hours would be a good idea. There’s only so long I can resist the urge to punch him in the face.’

He’s right. Freya doesn’t need to witness her father and uncle having a ruckus round the rock pools. But the thought of being stuck with Toby for hours is grim.

‘Pleeeze Auntie Annie,’ calls Freya. She pops her head around the open front door and gives me a gorgeous grin. ‘My bucket’s got princesses on it.’ Toby appears behind her, waving the bright green bucket and a matching spade.

‘All right, Toby. I can spare a couple of hours but that’s all.’

‘The beach! The beach!’ yells Freya, whirling round in a circle with her arms spread out wide. Toby’s been feeding her sweets if the open packet stuffed into his trouser pocket is anything to go by and she’s high on sugar and E-numbers. Wowzers, this boat trip is going to be fun.

---

As it turns out, the boat trip is fabulous. Peter Seegrass rows us in his blue boat with a burgundy stripe around the harbour wall that juts into the ocean. The water is smooth as glass near the shore but there’s a swell beyond the sheltering wall and Freya chuckles with delight as the boat bobs up and down. Rowing looks like hard work but Peter whistles in time with the strokes of the oars, completely at ease after a lifetime working on the sea.

He manoeuvres round the headland, keeping his distance from the waves crashing onto rocks and rows towards the bay. Ahead of us lies a perfect semi-circle of golden sand littered with granite boulders and rock pools. Towering cliffs rise up from the back of the beach and at the side there’s the opening to a deep cave. The beach is totally deserted.

‘Here you go, me ’andsomes,’ says Peter in his soft Cornish burr, drawing close to the sand. ‘Hop out here and I’ll be back to collect you before the tide turns and the beach disappears.’

‘Make sure that you are.’

Toby struggles out of the boat with the hamper and carries it further up the sand while Freya and I stand hand in hand waving to Peter as his boat disappears out of sight.

‘He’ll be back before long, Freya, so start having fun now,’ barks Toby, who really doesn’t have a clue about being a dad. His trousers are still rolled up to his knees and he made a right old fuss about having to wade the last few metres to shore.

‘Whee!’ yells Freya, running full pelt towards a rock pool that’s dripping with brown seaweed. ‘I want to find a mermaid.’

I join Toby at the back of the beach and we settle down on a thick picnic rug he pulls from the hamper. Then he takes out a red gingham tablecloth which he spreads across the sand and lays out two wine glasses and three china plates.

The hamper is bulging with packets and boxes and tins and some of them have ‘Fortnum & Mason’ on the side.

‘Blimey, Toby, how much food did you bring?’

‘There’s no point in starving and I wanted to make it special.’ He spoons out a tub of pâté into a silver-rimmed bowl. ‘Do you like Gorgonzola?’

‘I do but it’ll be too strong for Freya. Have you brought anything along that she might like?’

‘There’s guacamole and foie gras and shrimps,’ says Toby, holding his glass of wine up to the sun to inspect it. ‘I was hardly going to pack chicken nuggets. She’ll eat hummus, won’t she?’

‘Maybe.’ I ferret about in my handbag for a flapjack because Freya is a fussy eater. Sometimes it’s all we can do to get a jam sandwich down her.

Toby sighs when I pull the flapjack from my bag. ‘Is that what she eats? See, I’m rubbish at this parenting stuff and don’t know why I put myself through it. I’ve been trying for ages and I still get it wrong every time. I’m not parent material.’

He slams the hamper lid shut and pouts. And in spite of his tidy goatee beard and the furrows on his forehead, he reminds me of an upset child. His lack of parenting skills are really bothering him.

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Toby. You’re doing the best you can and I’m a sort of stand-in mum for Storm so I know how tricky it can be.’

‘Your sister? She’s practically feral. But my efforts with Freya aren’t much better. You insinuated I was trying to buy my way into Freya’s affections and you were right. At work I clinch deals worth hundreds of thousands of pounds without breaking a sweat, but I have no idea how to deal with a six-year-old. It’s rather pathetic.’

‘A trip to the beach isn’t pathetic. Sharing with Freya what you did as a child is a lovely way of making joint memories. Look, she’s having a wonderful time.’

Freya is paddling in a rock pool, happy as Larry, and scooping tiny fish into her bucket.

‘But if I can’t even get her food right perhaps I’ve left this whole fatherhood thing too late.’

I’m tempted to point out it’s entirely his fault that he only got to know Freya a few months ago but that would be mean. And I’m still finding it hard to be mean to Toby even though he’s a git. It’s very annoying.

‘Don’t worry, Toby, it’s just food and I’m sure Freya will eat those, um, what are they?’

‘Organic oat cakes from the Highlands embedded with salmon flakes,’ he mutters, grabbing one of the cakes and sinking his teeth into it.

‘You never know, she might love them. But why is being a good dad so important to you all of a sudden?’

Toby carefully places the remainder of his oatcake on the gingham cloth. ‘She’s family and I don’t have much family left.’

‘So why, if family means so much to you, did you want to bulldoze Tregavara House, which holds so much of our family’s history? Turning it into flats is one thing but destroying it? How could you even contemplate doing that? Alice cared about you and always stood up for you, but she’d be so disappointed in you for this.’

‘Oh, lighten up. It was just a passing thought and never likely to get past ridiculous planning regulations, but holiday flats will be a nice little earner if I market them to the right audience. And there’s no need to give me the evil eye. You can sell the house to someone else if you’re so against my plans.’

‘Who’s going to agree to a quick sale on a house that needs a whole new roof before the winter? You know you’ve got us over a barrel. Freya’s waving at us.’

Toby gives his daughter a stiff wave in return and she goes back to searching out mermaids.

‘Look, Annie, I do like the house. It holds lots of happy memories for me and I’m well aware of the fact that it’s been in our family for generations. But the fact is I love a good business proposition more and, at the end of the day, it’s just bricks and mortar. I don’t have the same connection to the place as you which is ironic really – I’ve been visiting that house my whole life and you’ve only been there, what, eighteen months or so? Yet you can feel it – that pull to past generations whereas I just don’t get it. I wish I did but I don’t.’

‘You feel a connection to the painting Alice left you or you’d have sold it by now.’

Toby shrugs. ‘Sorry to disappoint you but that’s a business decision too. Some idiot in Scarborough found an undiscovered stash of Van Teels in an attic – dozens of the buggers – so the market’s flooded at the moment. I’m waiting until they’re more scarce and prices go up again. Where’s Freya gone, by the way?’

He jumps up and scans the beach with his hands on his hips but Freya’s nowhere to be seen. Tiny waves are breaking on the sand but, only a few metres out into deeper water, the current is swirling around two rock-stacks and forming mini whirlpools. Surely Freya wouldn’t have gone into the sea.

I rush to the water’s edge, panic rising in my throat. Seagulls are white flecks bobbing on the waves but there’s no sign of Freya’s dark head or her pink T-shirt.

‘Is she in the cave?’ yells Toby, sprinting for its gaping black mouth.

I turn and desperately scan the empty beach. We were in charge of a six-year-old girl and we’ve lost her. Our lives are beginning to shift and change course. There will be a ‘before Freya went to the beach’ and an ‘after’.

Suddenly my attention’s caught by a flash of colour on the narrow path that winds up the cliff face. It’s Freya! Icy cold relief zaps through me until I realise how high up she is.

‘Toby!’ I shout, and his eyes follow my pointing finger.

‘Thank God!’ Toby rushes over, his face ashen and his jaw stretched tight. ‘How the hell did she get up there? It’s almost vertical.’

‘She must have scrambled up the path behind us when we weren’t looking.’

‘Freya!’ shouts Toby. ‘Come down here now.’

‘No, stay there!’ I yell when Freya moves and stones cascade down the cliff-face and bounce off the rocks below. ‘She’s halfway up the cliff already so coming down will be dangerous. I think she’s stuck anyway.’

High above us, Freya is huddled down on the treacherous path and whimpering.

‘Christ, I’m going to have to go up there or she’ll fall off.’ Toby is pacing up and down and sweating. Full-on, shiny-faced, leaky armpits sweating. He’s terrified, poor bloke.

‘I can do it. I know you hate heights so I’ll get her.’

What am I saying? I hate the Path of Doom. In my nightmares I slide down the bumpy track and fall to my death on the hard, jagged rocks. But what the hell – life without Freya wouldn’t be worth living anyway.

‘Right, I’m going up.’

I’m checking that the laces on my trainers are properly fastened when Toby hurtles past me and starts scrabbling up the cliff path on all fours. Stones shower out in all directions as he pulls himself higher.

‘Toby, what the hell are you doing?’

‘Saving my daughter,’ he yells, backside bobbing up and down in time with his frantic scrabbles. ‘Don’t worry, Freya. Daddy’s coming.’

Toby might be a whizz at selling art, making money from property and putting all sentiment to one side, but his climbing technique leaves a lot to be desired. He favours fast and frantic rather than slow and steady which means he’s in far more danger of falling right now than Freya. There’s nothing for it; I’m going to have to climb up too.

Taking a deep breath, I push fear from my mind and start making my way up what will hereafter be known as the Track of Terror because Path of Doom doesn’t do it justice. Warm weather has dried out the rock, loosening stones that slide under my feet and scuff the palms of my hands. And Toby’s scrambling has dislodged half the cliff which is raining down on my head.

But at last I reach Freya, who’s crouched down against Toby. He gives her a cuddle.

‘I’ve told Freya there’s nothing to worry about and we’re going to get her down. Or up,’ says Toby, glancing at the rest of the cliff towering above us and blanching. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a phone signal, have you?’

Very carefully I pull my phone from my jeans pocket and wave it around my head. ‘No signal as usual. How long until Peter comes back for us?’

‘A couple of hours.’

We both look at Freya, whose head is buried in Toby’s chest. She’s shaking with fear and needs to get off this cliff as quickly as possible. If she starts panicking and moving, she’ll fall and it’s a long way down. For the first time since I started climbing, I take a peek at the beach far below and the rocks which are dark shapes in the yellow sand.

‘I’d better keep climbing, Toby, and get help. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘No, I’ll go. She’s my daughter and I should have been keeping an eye on her.’

Toby’s face is white with fear and anguish.

‘So should I and you’re not the best climber.’

‘I know but Freya will be calmer with you and your wedding’s on Saturday. Pasco will kill me slowly if anything happens to you. So I insist.’

He gives a wobbly grin and slowly unpeels Freya’s arms. She whimpers and grabs hold of my legs until I slide down beside her.

‘We have to be really brave.’ I say softly in her ear. ‘Your dad’s going to get help so all we have to do is sit here and be really still. Can you manage that?’

Freya’s button nose, all snotty from crying, slides across my T-shirt when she nods. ‘Sorry, Auntie Annie. I wanted to get high but I got stuck,’ she mumbles.

I put my arms around her and pull her face into my chest. She really doesn’t need to see her father scrabbling terrified up the cliff or – I can hardly bear think about it – hurtling past her if he loses his footing. I’m not that keen on witnessing it either but looking up is better than looking down.

Toby starts climbing, more slowly and measured this time but with lots of huffing and puffing and the occasional half-scream when his feet slide. My heart’s in my mouth as he gets higher and higher but, give him his due, for a man who’s terrified of heights, Toby’s doing a bang-on job.

After what seems an age, he reaches the top and manoeuvres the last tricky bit over the lip of land that pokes out beyond the rock face. All I can see are his legs sticking out when he collapses on the grass. Then he scrambles to his feet, yells ‘I’ll be back with help’, and disappears.

Seagulls wheel above and below us while Freya and I wait for the Salt Bay cavalry to arrive. She’s stopped shaking but is sucking her thumb for comfort. I’m quite tempted to shove my thumb into my mouth, but a strange thing happens while we’re sitting with our backs to the hard rock.

A deep sense of peace descends and I’m able to appreciate the vista in front of me – the grassy headland jutting out into deep-blue water, white-crested waves rolling into shore and tiny red flowers growing out of the cliff-face. If this is my last ever view, at least it’s a magnificent one in gorgeous Cornwall and so much better than dropping dead one day in a grimy London backstreet.

I’ve lost all track of time when Josh’s worried face appears over the edge of the cliff.

‘Are you both OK? Peter and Toby are going to hold the rope and I’m coming down.’

‘OK but please be careful.’

Stones tumble past us when Josh walks backwards off the cliff edge with nothing but a thick rope tied around his waist. And all calm deserts me as the man I love – the man I’m supposed to be marrying in forty-eight hours’ time – hangs suspended in thin air. I’ve stopped breathing and Freya’s tiny fingers are digging into my arm.

Bit by bit, Josh abseils down the cliff, his long legs banging against rock when he scrabbles for a foothold. And at last he arrives on the ledge where Freya and I are sheltering.

‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’

He might mean me. He might mean his niece. But we both nod.

‘Now, Freya,’ he says, stooping down beside her. ‘I need you to be really brave and put your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist so I can get you up the cliff. Can you do that?’

Freya nods again and throws her arms around his neck, making him wobble alarmingly.

‘Whoah!’ shout Peter and Toby way above us, pulling on the rope to make it taut.

Josh secures Freya to him by tying another piece of rope around his waist and hers. Then my gorgeous brave fiancé loops his arm around my shoulder.

‘I’ll come back for you. I promise. So don’t move,’ he says, kissing me hard on the lips. He feels so solid and reassuring and I don’t want him to go but he pushes his feet against the rock, steadies himself against the taut rope and starts climbing. Freya clings to him like a limpet all the way up, her head on his shoulder and her eyes firmly closed.

When they reach the top, Josh hands Freya into Toby’s outstretched arms before starting to descend again towards me. Great, it’s my turn.

I don’t like being stuck halfway up a cliff. It’s pants, to be honest, even with a view to die for – though I’d rather not. But it’s got to be better than climbing the cliff and I’m too heavy to be carried.

‘Are you ready?’ Josh is back on the ledge and unfastening the rope around his waist. He loops it around mine and ties it tight. ‘You need to take it slowly ’cos the path is so slippery. Heaven knows how Toby made it without breaking his neck. But the rope will stop you from falling so you’ll be fine.’

He pulls me so close my thighs are tight against his. ‘Don’t look down and just keep thinking of the wedding. On Saturday you’ll be walking up the aisle and looking beautiful.’

‘Yeah, it’s amazing how attractive a p-p-plaster cast can look these days.’

My teeth are chattering with fear even though I never knew that could actually properly happen.

Josh cups my face in his warm hands and smiles. ‘Listen to me, sweetheart, it’ll be fine. But you need to go now. Thinking about it will just make it worse.’

So I signal to Toby and Peter that I’m coming up and I step into space.

It isn’t fine. It’s utterly terrifying but the rope keeps me from tumbling to my death while I’m scrambling my way to the top. At last, I climb over the lip of land and collapse face-first on the grass.

‘Auntie Annie!’ Freya launches on top of me, knocking all the air from my lungs.

‘Give her a minute, lass,’ says Peter, lifting Freya off me and untying the rope around my waist with hands gnarled by years of salt water. He throws it down to Josh before helping me to my feet and stands back when Toby pulls me into an awkward hug.

Toby isn’t soft and warm like Josh. He’s rigid and embarrassed and smells of stale sweat but he sounds like he means it when he says quietly: ‘Thank goodness you’re all right.’

‘Come on, Toby,’ calls Peter, poised at the cliff’s edge. ‘There’s still Josh to come up yet so grab the rope and brace yourself.’

I’ve never been so pleased to see Josh in my whole life when his lanky frame appears at the cliff edge. He hoists himself feet-first onto the grass and I throw my arms around his waist from behind and snuggle into his back while he shakes Peter’s hand. Then he and Toby hesitate slightly before brushing hands for the briefest handshake ever.

Peter saunters off back to his boat while Toby starts coiling up the thick rope that came from our shed. He keeps stealing glances at Josh and finally blurts out: ‘This would never have happened if I’d kept a better eye on Freya. So go on, Pasco, let me know what you think about my appalling parenting skills. You know you want to.’

Josh hesitates and a range of emotions flit across his face – anger, dislike, years-long enmity. Then he shrugs his broad shoulders. ‘Kids wander off, these things happen and climbing that cliff to get help for Freya and Annie was pretty brave when you’re petrified of heights.’

‘Hardly petrified,’ bristles Toby, who presumably considers the word un-manly, ‘but I was apprehensive, to be honest.’

‘Apprehensive? I’d have been terrified without a rope to keep me from falling.’

‘Would you?’ Toby puffs out his chest, manliness restored. ‘I didn’t have any choice because Annie’s the only Trebarwith family I’ve got left and I’m Freya’s father. I couldn’t let my fear put my daughter’s life at risk.’

‘And that, Toby, is why you are a good parent when it really matters,’ I say, stroking Freya’s hair. ‘Don’t you think so, Josh?’

Oops, this might be an affirmation too far, but Josh gives a grudging nod. ‘You did all right this afternoon.’

‘Thanks, I appreciate that.’ Toby hands the coiled rope to Josh and holds out his hand to his daughter. ‘I’d better get her back home to her mum, who I don’t suppose will be as understanding about our little adventure. Though we don’t necessarily have to tell her what happened, do we, Freya.’

‘I got stuck on a cliff higher than the birds and Uncle Josh came down on a big rope and saved me,’ squeals his daughter, pushing her tiny hand into Toby’s.

‘I see. I’d better take her home and face the music then. This parenting thing takes a lot of practise.’ Father and daughter amble off together but Toby stops and turns when they reach the low white wall of the cemetery. ‘By the way, I’d be grateful if you don’t gossip about what happened this afternoon. The locals will only blame me for not keeping a better eye on Freya and my reputation around here is already shot to pieces. Have a good wedding on Saturday.’

‘Why don’t you come?’ I ask him without properly thinking it through.

‘I wasn’t invited.’

‘I never thought you’d want to be there with all the fuss going on about the house.’

Toby shrugs. ‘You don’t want me at your nuptials, do you, Pasco?’

Josh and Toby’s eyes lock together and they stare at one another in silence. Above them, midges swarm and seagulls swoop but neither man moves. It’s like the climax of a Western where the sheriff and outlaw are seeing who’ll draw a gun first and blast the other one to death.

Josh is the first to speak. ‘You might as well come. Freya’s being a flower girl and I expect you’d like to see her.’

‘I would.’ Toby swallows and ruffles the top of his daughter’s hair. ‘Thanks. I’ll be there.’