‘See you tomorrow!’ trilled Erin, waving vigorously as Ivy hurried out. ‘Can’t wait!’
The following evening, the shop was quiet in the last half hour before closing. Dusk had fallen outside and the streetlights were coming on slowly. Ivy was restocking the window display with winter-themed books. She was positioningThe Wolves of Willoughby Chasejust so, when Josie appeared in the doorway, clutching a calculator, a pencil stuck into her grey curls, clucking disapprovingly.
‘What on earth are you still doing here, darling?’ she said. ‘It’s gone half six. Well after closing time. I thought you’d lefthoursago.’
‘I don’t mind working a bit late,’ said Ivy, glancing furtively at the clock. She’d been thinking that if she workedreallylate, she could legitimately miss the pub.
‘What are you doing tonight?’ Josie asked innocently. ‘Didn’t you have some plans? With your old school friends who invited you to the pub?’
‘Um, yeah, sort of,’ mumbled Ivy.
‘I see.’ Josie’s eyes narrowed. ‘For a moment I thought you might be using work as an excuse not to go. But that’s silly of me. Whywouldn’tyou want to get outthere and have some fun with people your own age?’ The wordsfor a changehung unspoken in the air.
Ivy sighed. Josie acted vague ninety per cent of the time but she occasionally had moments of terrifying perception. ‘Fine, you’ve got me,’ Ivy admitted. ‘The thing is, I don’t want to go. They’ll all have had an amazing first term, whereas I’m in a rut.’ She flung a piece of crepe paper seaweed crossly overThe Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
‘Darling, being in a rut is just the universe telling you it’s time to expand. Think of it as an invitation.’ Josie snapped her fingers. ‘I know what you should do. You should take Trip.’
‘Erin did want me to ask him,’ said Ivy. ‘But I’m sure he’s busy—’
‘It’s perfect. The poor boy must be bored rigid. One can only do so much yoga. And the pub is a British rite of passage,’ Josie said, already reaching for her phone. ‘I’ll text him now. Besides,’ she winked at Ivy, ‘he’ll create quite a stir at the Mariner’s Arms.’
‘I don’t think he’ll want to go and hang out with a load of strangers,’ Ivy said, as the bell above the door jingled and Trip strolled in as if on cue, cheeks pink from the cold, hands stuffed into the pockets of his navy pea coat.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Is Brooke back?’
‘She’s upstairs. But Ivy’s going to the pub tonight,’ Josie said hastily. ‘And we were just saying that you should go too. Experience some British culture. A pub night – it’s an institution.’
Trip’s face lit up. ‘A pub night?’
‘I don’t think the Mariner’s counts as culture,’ Ivy said, but Josie was already shoving her coat at her.
‘Go. Be young. Be fun. Be free. Don’t let Lou give you her new Cornish pasty pizza, it was really quite strange. Maybe chopped carrots don’t work with melted cheese …’
Trip gave Ivy a hopeful grin, eyes wide and earnest. ‘Would you mind if I tagged along?’
Ivy hesitated. It wasn’t that she minded, exactly. After all, she was only planning on paying a flying visit to forestall any future invitations. But Trip was so …happy. Golden and sunny, with his great hair and his constant good mood. Whereas she already felt like a flat, grey smudge next to most people, let alone him.
Still, she didn’t have much choice, not now Josie had forced her hand. And Erin and Mei had seemed ultra-keen that Trip should come along. Ivy would be doing a good deed by bringing him. And at least she would be walking in with the hot boy who everyone was curious about …
‘Fine,’ she said at last, grabbing her scarf. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Have fun, darlings!’ trilled Josie as the door shut behind them. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do – and that rules outnothing.’
The walk to the Mariner’s Arms was long enough to be awkward with someone you barely knew.Notthat Trip seemed to feel a trace of it.
‘The light’s different here,’ he said. ‘And the sea smells different too.’ He breathed in. ‘Sharper somehow than California.’ He nudged Ivy gently. ‘Can you smell that?’
Ivy found herself breathing deeply. The wind picked up as they turned on to the narrow street that led down to the harbour, the scent of salt and woodsmoke hanging in the air. A smell she knew in her very bones. For good or bad, it was the smell of home, she thought.
‘What part of California are you from again?’ she asked, curious in spite of herself. She had always wanted to visit California, where so many great artists had come from. ‘Was it Santa Cruz?’
‘My parents live outside of San Francisco in this fancy suburb.’ Trip had a smattering of freckles on his cheekbones that she hadn’t noticed until now. ‘My grandma’s house is right on the coast though. She grew up in England actually, near London, but then she became the queen of the Santa Cruz hippies.’
‘What’s Santa Cruz like? What are the vibes?’
‘Constant sunshine, surf, tacos, yoga studios.’
Ivy sighed, thinking of how far away it sounded from her own upbringing – windswept days shivering on the beach, school trips to the local farm and fish fingers for tea. ‘I’m beginning to understand you.’
