‘It’s okay.’ Trip bit his lip. ‘Like I said, I’m too enthusiastic. It’s a problem. I need to learn to be a bit cooler.’
‘It’snota problem,’ said Ivy, through a lump in her throat. ‘It’s agoodthing to be enthusiastic and cheerful and nice to everyone you meet, even when they don’t deserve it like Mr Trenwith.’And me, she thought. ‘You don’t want to be a massive pessimist like – well, like me. I can’t even make it through a term of art school without having a crisis and thinking about quitting.’
‘I don’t think you’re a pessimist,’ he said. ‘Not really. A pessimist wouldn’t have believed they could make three-hundred-and-fifty rainbow-coloured fish for a kids’ show in the space of a few hours.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Look, what you were saying – that I’m on this endless holiday, doing whatever I want, swanning all over Europe – the thing is …’
‘I know, Brooke told me,’ said Ivy, jumping in. ‘About losing your gran and why she was so special to you. I’m really sorry about that too. I should have asked you more questions, instead of jumping to the conclusion you were just some spoiled rich kid. To be honest, it says a lot more about me than you. I was mega resentful.’
They walked on in silence for a moment, the sea breeze whipping their hair about. ‘When Gran died—’ Trip said, then broke off. ‘It still feels weird to say that, you know? Like she’s about to show up any second and tell me off for thinking she’s gone. Tell me not to be silly. It feelsimpossiblethat someone that loud and cheerful and stubborn isn’t here.’
‘She sounds awesome,’ Ivy said tentatively.
‘She is – was – my favourite person. Always laughing. Loads of friends who adored her. She saw the beauty in everyday things – a fresh peach, a fat peony, a good meal. I don’t think I ever heard her say, “not now” or “maybe later”. There were no rules or bedtimes or homework when we stayed with her, not if there was something more fun to be doing. She used to say, “You can have a lifetime of adventures, just by saying yes.”’ He laughed. ‘Which I loved, of course. Brooke … I don’t know. I think it stressed her out a bit. She had to be the sensible one.’
Ivy didn’t say anything, just walked alongside, listening.
‘Gran came to Cornwall once,’ Trip continued, ‘when she was a kid. She spent Christmas here and it snowed on the beach. She said it was magic –impossible magic. She never forgot it. She was talking about it when she was in the hospice. And I know it sounds silly, but I wanted to come here and see it too. Snow on the beach.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘So, when Brooke suggested we finish up our trip in Fox Bay, it seemed … fate. I guess this year has been me trying to do what Gran did. Say yes.Find magic.’ He grinned wryly. ‘Even if it’s directing the Fox Bay show. Like I said, silly.’
‘That’s not silly,’ Ivy said. ‘Saying yes, finding magic. It’s … kind of amazing.’
Trip shrugged. ‘You said it never snows in Fox Bay, though. So it sounds like it was a waste of time anyway.’
‘But it wasn’t a complete waste of time, was it?’ Ivy asked in a small voice. When he didn’t reply, she hurried on. ‘I mean, you did the show. Taught Old Bill yoga and helped him to stop smoking. Helped Melissa get a grant for the library.’
Trip laughed. ‘How could I forget Old Bill’s yoga? You’re right. Itwasn’ta waste of time.’ He glanced at her and his expression grew serious. ‘Not at all.’
‘Well, that’s good to know,’ said Ivy.
‘She’d have liked you, I think,’ Trip said. ‘Gran, I mean. You’d have gotten along.’
‘Really?’ said Ivy. ‘Because you make her sound like human sunshine. And I’m … what? Human cloud cover? Mild drizzle? A bit overcast?’
‘She was good at reading people. Saw through all their defences to what they’re really like. Kind, funny, clever.’ He flushed. ‘For instance.’
‘You don’t think she’d tell you to run a mile from the moody artist with a chip on her shoulder?’ Ivy asked, thinking of Brooke’s words at the cove.I need to look out for my little brother, okay?
‘I think,’ said Trip quietly, ‘you’re exactly the kind of person she’d tell me to keep close.’
There was a silence in which Ivy could hear her heart thudding.
‘I meant what I said earlier, by the way,’ said Trip. ‘Your drawings are really good. And what you’ve done with the set is unreal. So don’t give up on the art just yet, will you?’
‘Okay,’ said Ivy. She stopped and stuck out her hand. ‘If you don’t give up on that snow.’
He laughed and shook it. ‘Deal.’
This time, he didn’t keep her hand in his, but the silence felt different now – easier and lighter. They turned down a street and reached Ivy’s car. She hesitated, not quite wanting the night to end, but Trip was already jamming his hands into his pockets and turning to go. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Ready for action. Don’t forget the fish.’
‘See you tomorrow,’ Ivy said. ‘Goodnight, Trip.’
When she reached the flat, she tiptoed into her bedroom, where she could hear the quiet, even breathing of two exhausted eight-year-olds, squished into Liv’s single bed. She leaned against the door for a second, thinking about her and Trip and their conversation in the dark. She understood Trip better now, she thought – the boy who wanted to say yes to everything. Who wanted to see snow on the beach, find impossible magic. Who saw her, not as moody and difficult, but as a good person having a tough time. Who believed in her.
So don’t give up on the art just yet, will you?
An idea had formed in her head on the drive home, and now she felt sure it was the right thing to do. Ivy went to her desk and, quietly so as not to disturb the girls, she opened her laptop. She sat down, took a deep breath, started a fresh email, andbegan to write. It took her another hour to draft what she wanted to send and review the attachments. Then, when her eyes were swimming with tiredness, she stood and stretched. She’d check that over in the morning.
She brushed her teeth, tugged off her jeans and rolled into bed. She was beyond exhausted. Still, even as sleep reached out for her, she couldn’t help thinking of Trip’s expression as they had walked along the moonlit beach – eager, a little shy as he had talked about his grandma. That serious look on his face.Snow on the beach. Impossible magic.
Ivy knew she had to be realistic about this. Brooke had made it very clear – there was no future for her and Trip. He would leave soon, go to college in the States, and Ivy would stay here in Cornwall. They were polar opposites. All the same, Ivy thought of his grandmother and their shared dream. If only she could do something for Trip before he left to make that dream real.
