get to most places, but I can’t do that climb down just now. The only way I’ll get there is if they swing me over the cliff in a basket. I’m on these crutches for the time being.”
She smiles, a quick, warm smile that I can’t help responding to, even though I had no intention of liking the person who’s living in our cottage.
“Do you live here on your own?” I ask her.
“No. My husband works up in Exeter with the Met Office.
He stays there during the week.”
“It must be lonely,” I say, testing, probing. But she shakes her head.
“Lonely’s in your head. I don’t find it so,” she says. “The neighbors are good. I wasn’t sure, coming down here.”
“What’s the Met Office?”
“Meteorology. Weather forecasting. Rob doesn’t do the day-to-day stuff, though. Long-term climate change is his thing, and the role of extreme weather occurrences.”
“So he looks into the future,” I say, without knowing I’m going to say it.
“Yeah, in a way he does. You interested in climate change?”
I think of the sea horses and sunfish that come into Cornish waters now, where they never used to come. The changes Faro has talked about and the dangers they bring.
“Yes.”
“You must meet Rob. D’you live around here?”
“Yes—I mean no, um, not very near.” The words stumble over one another just when I want them to be smooth.
Suddenly she’s looking at me closely. Her face changes.
Something comes into it that shouldn’t be there: recognition.
“I know who you are. You’re the girl with the seaweed hair.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s what I call you. Rob calls you the little mermaid.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’ve really messed this up, haven’t I? You didn’t want me to know who you were.
It’s that picture of you, the one that’s set into the cabinet.”
“Oh. Oh. ”
“You know the one.”
I know the one. Dad took it about three years ago. It’s a color photo, and I’m wearing a sea green dress that I wore to a New Year’s party. My hair is loose and very long. I’m not smiling. Dad always loved that photo. He said I looked as if I came from another world. He had the photo made into a tile and set it into the kitchen cabinet. We couldn’t take the cabinet with us to St. Pirans because it was built into the wall .
I look down. I feel so stupid. She’ll think I came here spying on her. But her voice doesn’t sound angry. “It’s a beautiful picture; you should be proud of it,” she says. “Rob says you look like you came from another world.”
“Oh! That’s exactly what Dad used to say.”
“He took the picture?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. The real estate agent told me about the…accident.”
She has found the kindest word she could, but I still have to clench my hands and dig my nails into my palms.
“We should introduce ourselves. I’m Gloria Fortune.”
“I’m Sapphire
Trewhella
.”
“Of course. I should have remembered. Mary Thomas told me your name.”
I’m not sure I like this. Mary is our neighbor.
“It must have been tough, leaving this place. Every day I wake up and look out of the window, I have to pinch myself, it’s so beautiful.”
“It’s my home.” I’m not angry anymore. I don’t even want Gloria Fortune to leave our cottage. It’s just that coming back here has made me know for sure that no matter how long I live in St. Pirans, it will never be home.
“Then you’ll come back,” says Gloria, looking into my face.
“Do you see into the future?”
“No.” She smiles. “But I know a single-minded person because I’m one myself.”
“I must go.”
“You going down to the cove now?”
I glance down at Sadie and gently stroke her head. No, Sadie doesn’t deserve that. As soon as my feet touch that hard white
She smiles, a quick, warm smile that I can’t help responding to, even though I had no intention of liking the person who’s living in our cottage.
“Do you live here on your own?” I ask her.
“No. My husband works up in Exeter with the Met Office.
He stays there during the week.”
“It must be lonely,” I say, testing, probing. But she shakes her head.
“Lonely’s in your head. I don’t find it so,” she says. “The neighbors are good. I wasn’t sure, coming down here.”
“What’s the Met Office?”
“Meteorology. Weather forecasting. Rob doesn’t do the day-to-day stuff, though. Long-term climate change is his thing, and the role of extreme weather occurrences.”
“So he looks into the future,” I say, without knowing I’m going to say it.
“Yeah, in a way he does. You interested in climate change?”
I think of the sea horses and sunfish that come into Cornish waters now, where they never used to come. The changes Faro has talked about and the dangers they bring.
“Yes.”
“You must meet Rob. D’you live around here?”
“Yes—I mean no, um, not very near.” The words stumble over one another just when I want them to be smooth.
Suddenly she’s looking at me closely. Her face changes.
Something comes into it that shouldn’t be there: recognition.
“I know who you are. You’re the girl with the seaweed hair.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s what I call you. Rob calls you the little mermaid.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’ve really messed this up, haven’t I? You didn’t want me to know who you were.
It’s that picture of you, the one that’s set into the cabinet.”
“Oh. Oh. ”
“You know the one.”
I know the one. Dad took it about three years ago. It’s a color photo, and I’m wearing a sea green dress that I wore to a New Year’s party. My hair is loose and very long. I’m not smiling. Dad always loved that photo. He said I looked as if I came from another world. He had the photo made into a tile and set it into the kitchen cabinet. We couldn’t take the cabinet with us to St. Pirans because it was built into the wall .
I look down. I feel so stupid. She’ll think I came here spying on her. But her voice doesn’t sound angry. “It’s a beautiful picture; you should be proud of it,” she says. “Rob says you look like you came from another world.”
“Oh! That’s exactly what Dad used to say.”
“He took the picture?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. The real estate agent told me about the…accident.”
She has found the kindest word she could, but I still have to clench my hands and dig my nails into my palms.
“We should introduce ourselves. I’m Gloria Fortune.”
“I’m Sapphire
Trewhella
.”
“Of course. I should have remembered. Mary Thomas told me your name.”
I’m not sure I like this. Mary is our neighbor.
“It must have been tough, leaving this place. Every day I wake up and look out of the window, I have to pinch myself, it’s so beautiful.”
“It’s my home.” I’m not angry anymore. I don’t even want Gloria Fortune to leave our cottage. It’s just that coming back here has made me know for sure that no matter how long I live in St. Pirans, it will never be home.
“Then you’ll come back,” says Gloria, looking into my face.
“Do you see into the future?”
“No.” She smiles. “But I know a single-minded person because I’m one myself.”
“I must go.”
“You going down to the cove now?”
I glance down at Sadie and gently stroke her head. No, Sadie doesn’t deserve that. As soon as my feet touch that hard white
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