Page 56 of The Diary at the Last House Before the Sea

Even lots of the people were the same, as he’d discovered on nipping into the mini-supermarket to buy himself a cold drink. Stan, the man who’d run the shop for decades, was still there, though now he had silver hair and was in a wheelchair. His son and young grandson were serving customers while he gave them advice and greeted customers from the sidelines.

To River’s surprise, Stan had recognised him which made him feel warm inside. As if he belonged in this picturesque village that he’d rarely allowed himself to think about for years. Heaven’s Cove still felt a little bit like home.

He walked on, past the quayside with its familiar smell of fish and sun cream, and along the lane that led towards the cove that gave the village its name. A steady stream of tourists accompanied him, past the old farmhouse whose fields almost reached the sand, and the high hedges that lined the road.

On arriving at the beach, he stopped and shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun. The cove was heaving with people on such a beautiful day, some of them locals, he supposed, but most of them sun-reddened visitors from out of the area.

They flocked to this village because it lived up to its name. River had thought it was heavenly, too, growing up in this picturesque part of Devon – until it wasn’t. Until the fights between his parents had reached a crescendo and his mother had decided they should leave. Audrey had decided to leave Brellasham Manor as well, but her departure had been very different.

River sat down on a patch of empty beach and pushed his hands into the warm sand. Memories were coming at him thick and fast, tumbling through his brain and stirring up his emotions.

He remembered his mother leaving in a flurry of recrimination and driving too fast across the gravel while his father watched from the front steps. He would never forget the maelstrom of fear, excitement, sadness and longing that had hit him as Brellasham Manor disappeared from the back window.

Whereas, Audrey had left furtively while her violent husband was elsewhere. But her young stepson had witnessed her desperate break for freedom from behind a window and was unable to do anything to help her.

River felt a pang of sadness for his poor, repressed father, who had never dealt with the trauma. Maybe Clara was right to try to find out what had happened to Audrey, and the truth would set him free. Or maybe not.

River slipped off his trainers and socks and dug his toes into the sand. Did Audrey survive? he wondered, watching children running in and out of the gentle waves surging onto shore. Did she, like River and his mother, make a new life for herself far from Devon? Or did she perish in the sea, her body sinking unseen and for ever undiscovered into deep, dark water?

River ducked to avoid a stray frisbee thrown by a young boy who’d come to the beach with his family.

‘Sorry about that,’ said the boy’s father, jumping to his feet and shaking sand from his shorts before wandering over to retrieve the frisbee.

‘No worries. There’s no harm done.’

River smiled as the man carried the frisbee back to his son and affectionately ruffled the lad’s hair. Then, together, they walked to the sea and began to paddle, hand in hand.

It was such a tender scene, River’s eyes began to prickle with tears, and he blinked hard. He had no memories of his father ever coming to this beach with him as a child, and if he had almost wounded a stranger with an errant frisbee, that would have elicited a furious lecture on being more aware of his surroundings.

But he’d been all right because he’d had his mother to cushion him with her love and affection. And he’d had Clara, who accepted him as he was and listened when life felt out of control.

They were firm friends from an early age: the housekeeper’s daughter and the manor owner’s son. Their friendship survived him being sent away to boarding school and, as they grew older, their friendship changed from climbing trees and swimming in the sea to talking about their feelings while swigging illicit cans of lager on the quayside.

They’d been sitting on the sea wall, at the age of fifteen, when he’d first realised that he really wanted to kiss her. But he hadn’t summoned up the courage until weeks later, when they were sitting by the manor house stream under an inky sky. Then, the next morning his mother had told him they were leaving immediately and they’d driven away to a new life. A new life that didn’t include Clara.

River closed his eyes and turned his face up to the sun, enjoying the warmth of its rays on his face. He should have kept in touch. He should have had the maturity to ignore that embarrassing kiss, that she’d obviously hated, and get their friendship back on an even keel. But she was more interested in Bartie, even back then, and he knew that she wouldn’t miss him for long.

He opened his eyes, startled by the screeching of a seagull nearby. He’d upset Clara sixteen years ago, and he’d upset her this morning, too – by telling her to stop chasing Audrey, and by his clumsy attempt to warn her off Bartie.

Was he jealous of his cousin, as Clara had alleged? Of course not, was the answer that popped into his head. But he knew that he was lying to himself.

The truth was he’d been jealous of handsome Bartie for as long as he could remember. Not only because Clara had a teenage crush on him, but because he was the son that Geoffrey never had. With his suave good looks, charming manners and confidence, he was far more suited to life at Brellasham Manor than River ever was.

River couldn’t dislike him for that. It was just the way that lucky, popular Bartie was. But he did dislike his cousin’s attitude to women, and to Clara in particular. If Bartie broke her heart…He could never forgive him for hurting the woman he’d once thought of as his best friend in the world.

River rubbed a hand across his damp forehead and slowly got to his feet. The sun was hot and he was overdressed on the beach, in his jeans and T-shirt.

He would walk back to the house and see if he could help his father to decide where he might go after the manor was sold. He couldn’t fully repair their relationship – that would involve him becoming a different type of person entirely in his father’s eyes. Someone rather more like Bartie. But he could, perhaps, be the bigger person and mend a few bridges.

25

CLARA

Clara moved her head from side to side. She was sitting on the floor of the ballroom, staring at her laptop screen, and her neck was beginning to ache. She should move but she liked being tucked around a corner, where no one could see her if they came into the room.

She wasn’t hiding. Not exactly. But she needed some time on her own after her run-in with River earlier. Their whole encounter had been upsetting – from his distress at his grandfather’s actions to his assertion that Clara was hideously unfanciable.

Clara raised her eyebrows. OK, he hadn’t exactly said that but he had implied, heavily, that Bartie was an amoral chancer who was only interested in her because she was available.

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