He looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The constant good cheer. The yoga even when it’s freezing out. The optimism. The green juice …’
Trip laughed. ‘Hey, I’m getting used to all the caffeine and lack of vitamins. But maybe Fox Bay needs a little spirulina. Old Bill could certainly use it I reckon, from his description of his bowel movements.’ He winced.
‘I don’t want to know about Old Bill’s bowel movements, thanks very much. That’s another thing,’ Ivy said accusingly. ‘Giving Fin recipe tips. Helping out Simi. You’ve only known these people for about five minutes but you talk about them like you’re best friends.’
Trip shrugged. ‘They’re nice,’ he said simply. ‘I like talking to them.’
‘They’reweird, like everyone here.’ Ivy kicked a pebble and it scudded across the cobbles. She could feel Trip looking at her. ‘What?’ she said accusingly.
‘Oh, nothing.’ He gave her a sidelong smile. ‘It’s just … weird is good. Isn’t it? I think so anyway. The best artists must have been pretty weird, right?’
‘Hm,’ Ivy grunted, thinking that the inhabitants of Fox Bay were weird because they’d never experienced life outside Fox Bay, rather than because they were secretly artistic. They turned the corner by the old post office, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. The glow from a streetlamp caught in the tousled waves of Trip’s chestnut hair.
‘So are you still deciding on colleges?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. I have a place at Stanford,’ he said. ‘And another at NYU and another at BU in Boston. And some others outside of the States.’
‘Whoa,’ said Ivy, startled. ‘That’s … a lot of universities in a lot of different places.’ And she’d thought Fox Bay to Truro was a big move.
‘Right. It’s weird because usually I know exactly what I wantto do but with this, I just can’t decide. It feels too big, you know? So I took this year off. Deferred my place.’
‘Seriously?’ asked Ivy bluntly. The idea of deferring college, the place she had dreamed about for so long, seemed incomprehensible.
Trip hesitated for a second too long, a contrast to his usual ready answers.
‘I just needed a break,’ he said eventually. ‘My sister and I had a busy year. So we decided we’d do something new. Travel a bit.’
Ivy glanced up at him. Trip was usually an open book, but now it felt like there was something he didn’t want to tell her. She remembered the air of mystery she’d felt around Brooke. ‘Remind me what your sister does again?’ she asked.
‘Um. Sales. Logistics.’
Ivy frowned. ‘Salesandlogistics?’ She was sure that Brooke had said she did consulting.
‘Something like that. Look, we’re here.’
They had indeed reached the pub and its warm light spilled across the street. Ivy stopped, eyeing the front door warily. Laughter was filtering out, along with the smell of spiced cider and fried food.
‘You sure you’re ready for this?’ she asked.
Trip looked up at the creaking old sign swinging above them, then back at Ivy. His expression was unusually serious as he said, ‘Areyouready for this?’
Ivy gave a short laugh. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
Still, she didn’t move. On the other side of the door, amidst the comforting chaos of the Mariner’s Arms, her past was waiting. She had imagined returning to Fox Bay one day a completely different person, preferably a hugely successful artist. And now here she was, back again within a matter of months, even more insignificant than before.
This is ridiculous, she told herself. She would know half of the people in the pub. One drink and then she’d leave. She just had to be brave and—
Get it over with, she thought. She took a deep breath and put her hand on the door handle. Waited.
‘Should we … go inside?’ Trip asked gently, after a minute.
‘Oh. Yeah, sure,’ Ivy said, flushing, and pushed the door open.
Standing on the threshold, she was met with the warm and cosy pub she remembered. But she’d never seen it this busy in winter. More tourists than usual, presumably chasing the cosy season vibes they had read about on Instagram. The fire was roaring and there was a low hum of chatter.
Looking more closely, Ivy could see that the Mariner’s Arms had also had something of a glow-up while she had been away. New cushions on the mismatched benches. The drinks menu scrawled on chalkboard included a handful of cocktails – Fox on the Beach, the Cornwallpolitan – when before it had been pints or soft drinks only, or occasionally some mulled cider. But the bones of the place were the same. Twinkly fairy lights looped along the low ceiling beams, the scent of rosemary in the air.And she could see the familiar figures of Simi behind the bar and Lou gathering up glasses.
