Page 56 of The Path to the Last House Before the Sea

‘I don’t think so. But why does it matter? Have you found out something about him?’

‘Maybe.’ Alyssa shook her head. ‘Probably not, actually.’ Stan looked far too done in to cope with her suppositions and imaginings. ‘Just ignore me. I think I’m a little obsessed with Charity and Josiah, which can’t be good.’ She laughed, but Stan didn’t react. He’d closed his eyes and his mouth was falling open as he headed for sleep. The poor man was obviously exhausted.

Alyssa tiptoed to the door and was about to leave when Stan suddenly murmured, ‘John had red hair.’

‘John, your son?’

‘And my great-grandfather’s beard was the colour of strawberries.’

Stan’s breathing deepened as he slipped into slumber.

Lots of people had red hair, Alyssa told herself as she made her way back to her caravan, so the fact that red hair ran in Josiah’s family didn’t mean the lock found in the box at Driftwood House was his – the evidence was circumstantial, at best. Jack would immediately pooh-pooh it, and she wouldn’t blame him.

But what if her suppositions and imaginings were right and the lock of red hair did belong to Josiah? And what if it had been lovingly hidden away by Charity? That might be a step towards the young man’s redemption. It might indicate that he and Charity were in love, and had perhaps run away together.

Alyssa sighed. She’d first become interested in Josiah and Charity’s story as part of her myths and legends tour. Her interest had snowballed alongside her research for a smuggling tour and now… now, as she’d confessed to Stan, she probably was obsessed with the young couple.

Why did the redemption of a man long gone matter so much to her? Alyssa wondered. Was she hoping for redemption herself? If so, it would take more than a happy ending for two people almost three centuries ago to achieve that present-day feat.

TWENTY-SEVEN

MAGDA

Magda opened the dishwasher and closed it again. It was jam-packed but she couldn’t face unloading it. She couldn’t face anything this morning. Especially not Stan. She couldn’t face Stan again, not ever.

Yesterday, when she had stood at that crossroads, she had gone the wrong way and now everything was ruined beyond repair.

Magda sank onto a kitchen chair, set her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands. The words she’d said to Stan on the clifftop were running through her head in a loop.

They’d begun looping first thing that morning, when she opened bleary eyes as dawn light crept across her bedroom carpet. Seagulls were calling outside, and a salty breeze was ruffling the curtains. It was going to be another beautiful day in Heaven’s Cove. But her head was filled to bursting with what she’d said to Stan: I know that I love you. I love you, Stan, I do. I love you. I’m in love with you.

Four declarations of love! Magda had never been one to do things by halves. Things were either done to excess or not done at all.

If only she’d plumped for the ‘not done at all’ option yesterday and had never opened her mouth.I love you were words she’d avoided saying for decades. Words that should never have been said out loud.

Dragging herself to her feet, Magda made a coffee so strong it would give her palpitations. Then she stood leaning against the sink, lost in thought.

Stan wasn’t madly in love with her. She’d never been deluded enough to think he might be, but there had been a sliver of hope that she might mean enough to him. She didn’t want to take Penny’s place. She knew she could never measure up to the love of Stan’s life. But she’d hoped she might be an acceptable second best.

Magda swallowed a sob and set her shoulders back. All hope was now extinguished. She would never forget the look in Stan’s eyes which had delivered the devastating news: he didn’t love her; he pitied her. Which somehow felt worse than his indifference.

‘Hey, Magda.’ Alyssa poked her head around the back door. ‘I saw you were up. Is it all right if I come in?’

Heavy with misery, Magda said nothing but Alyssa came in anyway, shutting the door behind her. She’d walked across the garden with wellies on and a large knitted cardigan slung over her pyjamas.

Magda was usually pleased to see her. Alyssa brought life and laughter into her quiet cottage. But today, when she looked at the young woman who lived at the bottom of her garden, she felt stirrings of anger.

It was speaking to Alyssa, after all, which had prompted her to tell Stan about her secret devotion. Who did Alyssa think she was, giving advice when she kept her own secrets so close to her chest?

‘Is your head OK now?’ Alyssa asked, wrapping the cardi tightly around her. ‘I’m sorry you had a migraine. That must have been a nightmare with the loud music and everyone whooping and cheering.’

‘My head’s fine today,’ said Magda stiffly.

‘That’s good to hear. All of the crockery and glasses from the reception are back in their crates. Claude brought some back in his van yesterday, but there are still a few things left in the marquee. I can help you collect them later, if you like, and Claude’s offered to pitch in again, once his van’s unloaded.’

‘Thank you but I’m sure I can manage.’

It might take half a dozen trips on her own but it would keep her busy, and she didn’t want Alyssa’s company.

---