On Thursday, with only two days to go until the show, Ivy had ducked out of the art room to decompress after gluing countless newspaper barnacles on to the boat hull, a thankless, sticky job. She was just taking some gulps of biting afternoon air when Brooke appeared, perfectly composed as always, wearing an expensive-looking puffer coat with a beige cashmere turtleneck underneath, and carrying a travel mug in one hand.
‘Hey,’ she said briskly. ‘I was coming to find you. Trip said you’d be up here. Got a sec?’
Ivy tensed, feeling unaccountably nervous. ‘Kind of in the middle of—’
‘Because I’d still love to see that cove,’ Brooke said. ‘The one from theOcean Deeplaunch party that was all over Insta? I’ve got an hour to kill and I can’t find it on Google Maps.’
‘You won’t find it on Google Maps,’ said Ivy. ‘It’s hidden. Although it’s kind of an open secret to everyone around here.’
‘Cool. Another Fox Bay secret.’ Brooke bounced on her feet in a way that reminded Ivy of Trip. ‘Shall we go then?’
Ivy stared at her. ‘Wait.You mean, now?’
‘Sure. That is if I can tear you away from the play prep.’ She glanced at Ivy’s paint-stained hands. ‘I’d really appreciate it.’
Her expression was neutral, but again Ivy couldn’t quite readwhat was underneath. Still, curiosity won. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I need a break anyway. My car’s just down here.’
Brooke took a seat in the battered Fiat, gingerly moving the crisp packets and rolls of canvas aside so she could sit down. She buckled herself in, then sneezed several times in rapid succession.
‘Would you mind if I open the window for some air?’ she asked politely as Ivy pulled out. She began to pick fluff off her coat. ‘Only I think I’m allergic to … something in here.’
‘It’s quite old,’ said Ivy apologetically. ‘We think the previous owner was a smoker because the seats have always smelled a bit weird. Um—’ she went on, as Brooke’s window stubbornly refused to budge despite her efforts. ‘You have to sort of hit it with your elbow …’
‘You know what, it doesn’t matter,’ said Brooke. She opened her shoulder bag and drew out a clear plastic pouch full of various pills and vitamins. ‘I’ll just take an antihistamine.’
The drive to the cove was quiet, the kind of silence that wasn’t entirely comfortable. Ivy kept her eyes on the road while Brooke watched the sea as they curved round the bay, her legs crossed, perfectly still.
The car lurched down the lane and up on to the verge in the unofficial parking space that Ivy knew so well. When she was little and the main beach was busy, her mum would say they could visit the secret cove and take a picnic and swim. The cove was usually deserted, with only the occasional visitor. Even afterWildest Dreams had thrown a seriously aesthetic book launch forOcean Deephere, and it had become semi-famous with booktokers and travel instagrammers, its whereabouts seemed to have remained secret. As far as Ivy knew, no tourists had discovered it.
‘I haven’t been here for ages,’ said Ivy, turning off the ignition and still struggling to make conversation. ‘I hope it’s worth seeing.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ said Brooke, shoving the door open with difficulty and stepping outside, her hiking shoes sinking into the sand. ‘Down here?’
The cove was tucked into the coastline, hidden by cliffs on either side, the path so narrow and overgrown that walking down here almost felt like trespassing. Brooke and Ivy half walked, half skidded their way down until they emerged into the little clearing. The sea here was always quieter than anywhere else along the coast, curtailed by a crescent of white sand. The wind was hushed by the shelter of the cliffs and an old boat sat half-buried at one end of the beach, blue paint worn and faded, its name illegible. Over the years, local children had turned it into a pirate ship to play on or a fairy castle. Last summer, it had apparently become a makeshift bookshop for theOcean Deeplaunch party, strung with fairy lights and bunting.
Ivy found herself drawing a long breath as the memories came flooding back to her. Memories of scampering over this sand as a child, bucket and spade in hand. Her college deadline, her insecurities, the hurt look in Trip’s eyes – it all melted away. Ivy closed her eyes and took herself back to a time when allshe’d had to worry about was whether she would be allowed an ice cream before dinner.
When she opened them again, she saw that Brooke had whipped out her phone and was taking a series of rapid photos in the grey afternoon light. She scrolled through before nodding, satisfied. ‘Incredible,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘This isperfect.’
Ivy, meanwhile, was turning in a slow circle around the cove. She had known this quiet beach her whole life, yet, as with her trip to the lighthouse the other morning, she felt like she was seeing it afresh. The new and familiar combining. She thought of Trip’s words. ‘Sometimes a break from a place isn’t a bad thing. You come back, you see it differently.’
‘It’s so peaceful,’ remarked Brooke. ‘Even the birds are quiet. I could use a place like this from time to time.’ She glanced at Ivy and drew a deep breath. ‘Listen, Ivy,’ she said decisively. ‘I’ve got to admit to an ulterior motive in getting you to drive me here today. I wanted to talk to you. About Trip.’
Oh God, Ivy thought, panicking. Had Trip told his sister all the mean things she’d said? Was Brooke going to tell her off? ‘You really don’t have to—’
‘No, I think I do,’ said Brooke, lifting her chin. ‘I wanted to clear something up. You seem to think he’s had this charmed life, right? Idyllic, all-American childhood. Sailing lessons. Theatre camp. Trips to New York. A choice of any college, travelling round the world …’
‘Well, when you put it like that, it does sound pretty great,’ said Ivy, smiling nervously.
Brooke didn’t smile back. She walked towards the edge of the water, hugging herself against the soft breeze. Then, without looking back, she said, ‘Trip’s life hasn’t been all sunshine, you know. Our parents were never around. We get along fine, but they were always too busy working or socialising to spend that much time with us. Poor little rich kids, right? So we spent all our time with our gran in Santa Cruz. Gran wasamazing. Like, the definitive hippie, super cheerful and chilled and up for anything – she was like Trip and our mom in that way. A real “yes” person.’ Brooke smiled fondly. ‘Josie reminds me of her too, in fact. She had an incredible old house and her neighbours along the beach all shared a sailboat and she had loads of bohemian friends who would have us to stay. Art shows, trips to NYC. She was all aboutsilver liningsandglass-half-full. She always thought things would work out for the best. I never once saw her sad. If she was, she never let us see it.’
‘She sounds great,’ said Ivy. ‘I can see where Trip gets his optimism from.’
‘Yeah, Trip … he was this sunny little boy who always saw the best in people. Never really talked about our parents.’ Brooke sighed. ‘So, I had to be the realist. When our grandma got sick a few years back, I was the one who had to break it to Trip that she wasn’t going to get better. And then this spring, when she died … We knew it was coming, but still. It hit us both hard – and as usual Trip wouldn’t talk about it. Our parents offered to pay someone to clear out her house but Trip and I didn’t want that. So we spent months going through everything.’She gave a shaky laugh. ‘Which, when you’re dealing with the estate of an eighty-four-year-old hippie activist with hoarding tendencies, is intense. We were pretty exhausted. It’s part of the reason we decided to do this trip. We both needed a break.’
Ivy let out a breath. She’d had no idea that behind Trip’s cheerful façade lay this recent sadness. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘That must have been really hard. I just assumed—’
Brooke turned to face her. Her expression was open and for a moment she looked like her brother.
