‘Ivy—’ Josie’s tone was sharp.
‘What?’
She followed Josie’s gaze towards the doorway and froze.
Trip stood there in the open door, weekend bag slung over his shoulder, expression unreadable except for the slighttightening round his mouth and an unmistakable flicker of hurt in his eyes.
‘Morning, guys,’ he said politely.
There was a horrible extended silence.
‘What are you doing here?’ Ivy managed at last in a strangled voice. ‘You’re meant to be back this afternoon at the very earliest.’
‘We thought we’d get a late train yesterday instead,’ he said. ‘But it broke down last night outside of Truro. We ended up staying the night in a Premier Inn and getting a taxi back first thing. Brooke’s gone for coffee and I thought I’d come along here and see if anyone was up.’ He hesitated. ‘Anyway, I think I’ll go up and shower. It was a long night.’ He headed for the door to the stairs. ‘See you guys.’
Then he walked out without another word.
Silence crashed over the room. Ivy sank her head into her hands, cheeks burning. ‘Oh God,’ she whispered. ‘How much do you think he heard?’
‘Er,’ said Josie. ‘Maybe not much.’
There was another long silence and then Ivy lifted her head. ‘Do you think he hates me now?’ she asked weakly.
‘Of course not, darling,’ Josie said stoutly. ‘I don’t think Trip is the hating type. And besides, you can always apologise, can’t you?’
Ivy groaned. She had, yet again, made a huge mess of things.
After a long, miserable day in the shop, Ivy would have much preferred to avoid the Fox Bay pre-winter solstice bonfire in favour of going home to stare at the ceiling, fuming over Tripand Madison. But Josie had insisted on dragging her down to the beach, marching Ivy between her and Fin like a prisoner in a sparkly flower crown. ‘I will simply not have you brooding, darling,’ she had said firmly. ‘My prescription for heartache is a cold winter night on the beach, a blazing fire and some good music to get the blood going.’
Fin had patted her arm. ‘Josie might be right about this one,’ he had said gently. ‘Sometimes holing up and fretting doesn’t do any good.’
Ivy had been too crushed to protest. She had been coming to this bonfire since she was five, when the tradition had started. It was just as she remembered it, the fire roaring in the centre of the sands, blooming bright and golden and sending up sparks that disappeared into the velvet sky. Lanterns bobbed on strings between lamp posts, casting a soft glow. It was as ramshackle and enchanting as Ivy remembered it.
The Seafoam Serenaders were already in full swing by the time they arrived, their fiddles whirling through sea shanties and jigs with cheerful abandon. Kids darted past with sparklers, scrawling neon shapes in the air, and Lou handed her a paper cup of mulled apple juice before she could protest. The scent of woodsmoke and winter spices hung thick in the air.
Everyone was there: her mum and Liv, Bethie and her mum Lydia, Simi and Lou, Old Bill and Kate, Mr Hargreaves. Even Ynez the postie was dancing near the chip van as Josie started distributing flower crowns to the crowd. And there too, of course, was Trip, nodding enthusiastically at Callum as he seemed tobe explaining something. She turned away before he could catch her looking.
Erin appeared at her side with a cider. ‘Ivy, we’re all over here. Come and hang.’
Ivy gave her a weak smile. ‘Maybe in a sec.’
Erin rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t need to be tortured thewholetime, you know.’ Her voice was slightly slurred. ‘It’s a party. You could loosen up, hang with us, dance …’
‘I’m okay here for now.’
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the flames twist and crackle, before Erin nudged her gently.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘I’m studying psychology at Bristol. And I aced my end-of-term exams.’
‘Right, I know,’ said Ivy, confused, and then remembered her own average marks. ‘Good for you.’
‘And if you’ll allow me to psychoanalyseyou, Ivy, I’d say that I think sometimes you’re scared.’
Ivy stared. ‘Scared? Me?’
‘Sure. At school for instance. You barely spoke to us. Or toanyoneexcept Raye and the art teachers. You always acted like everyone else was beneath your notice. We’d try – we’d ask you for coffee or study sessions or to go to the cinema – but you’d always make up some excuse and scuttle off. I remember asking you to my twelfth birthday. You told me, if I remember correctly, that you wereallergic to bowling.’
‘I think it’s the varnish they use,’ said Ivy weakly. ‘It gives me a headache.’
