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They trundled over to Kynance Cove, the sky oscillating between bleached yellow sunshine and hail showers. Helen kept reflexively checking her phone, just in case Brody cancelled. Not that he was going to. She really shouldn’t manifest that.
‘Here, okay?’ Henry asked, slowing his battered maroon Land Rover (or as you would say in Cornwall ‘Landy’) down into the car park.
‘Yes, looks good.’ Helen was already distracted scouring for any signs of Brody, somewhere in her mind it was embarrassing if your younger brother was dropping you off.
‘So, I’ll see you around three?’
‘Thanks Henry –yes three is good …’ Helen leaned distractedly against the cool car window.
‘Okay well … have fun.’
Helen hopped out of the car: why was she so nervous? It would probably be awkward. He may look nothing like his picture, like that last guy she met from Connex in London who she didn’t recognise in the pub and then had to make two hours of polite conversation with. But then again, she could walk through that café door and into the rest of her life. In a few short moments, single life could be behind her, and she would be swept into something new and different.
‘I need to chill,’ thought Helen. She really had to try and not have any expectations. Especially about falling in love. She rolled her eyes at herself, and straightened up, trying to squash the nerves that she was sure would make her say or do something stupid later on.
Helen also recognised that stepping outside of her comfort zone wasn’t exactly a strong point for her. Whilst most other children loved being picked up and swung around by adults, Helen had always preferred her two feet safely on the ground. As she grew older, her natural trepidation turned into a fear of heights, then rollercoasters, and finally surfing. If you grew up in Cornwall, a surfboard, a wardrobe full of Rip Curl, and bleached blonde surfer waves was your passport to popularity, but, unsurprisingly, Helen’s fear of waves had definitively outweighed her desire to be cool. So, rather than hanging with the ‘in’ crowd at school, Helen had kept her few good friends, and had watched the surf break from the safety of the sand dunes with a copy ofSweet Valley Highinstead.She did that a lot even then: standing back, observing, dreaming up a thousand ways that she would be recognised or chosen. Like a princess in a fairy tale. None of which actually happened, probably because most of the time people didn’t even realise she was there.
Kynance Cove was a small sandy beach ensconced by rocks jutting out at odd angles from the headland. The sunlight made the shingle beach silvery luminescent, receiving the heavy waves thumping onto the beach at low tide. The rain had cleared and left a fresh spring day, shrunken patches of clover and gorse were emerging misshapen on the cliffs, and for the first time in months the sun felt warm.
There was one ramshackle café on the beach: The Boat Shed. Instead of housing fishing boats, the wooden hut had been transformed into a trendy wood-framed café. The walls were painted a soft yellow with teal awnings, plant tubs were dotted around the entrance, but whatever inhabited them had failed to grow back since the winter storms. Inside were five small, mismatched tables that had clearly been thrown together from neighbours’ clear outs and car boot sales. Only one was occupied by a mother and her two small children: a tot dressed in blue dungarees was stabbing the table top with a blue crayon, and a baby started to emit a low grumble, until its mother produced a bottle of milk from her backpack.
Helen made a beeline to the loo for a nervous pee: no sign of Brody yet.
Maybe she was going to get stood up after all?
If so, she wasn’t going to own up to it: she would get on the Wi-Fi, eat a large piece of cake, and when Henry picked her up, she would make up some shaggy dog story about how Brody was perfectly nice but just not her type … then cry in peace and quiet at home over yet another failure. Maybe she would be honest about it with Sophie, but would have to hush it up from Elle; she was sick of her dating ‘advice’.
Helen ordered an iced latte with almond milk (was that sustainable??) and opened Instagram. Jonathan and Katy stared back at her, surrounded by Maasai tribesmen in an open and shut case of cultural misappropriation. Urgh. She put her phone down on the table: must appear serene when Brody arrives, she thought drumming her fingers on the table.IfBrody arrives: he was five minutes late.
‘Should have been fashionably late,’ Helen cursed inwardly. ‘Elle would have never turned up on time …’
Staring out the window there was no one else in sight, just a mile of shingle beach and foam coming off the sea. Helen tried to imagine what the beach would have been like that night, when The Boat Shed was still just a boat shed. She could imagine Nanny G striding across the beach, her shawl wrapped around her, hair pinned close to her head in tight curls, a splash of cerise lipstick on her lips that were still full and youthful, her drawn-on stockings smudging in the mist …
Vernon, who would have looked a little like Aidan Turner, with brooding eyes, and his shirt … No, his shirt would be done up. He was a real gentleman. They would have strolled along the sand, and as they sat down, he would have draped his jacket over Nanny G’s slender shoulders. They would have had one of those conversations that engulfs you for hours, as they sat under the clear night’s sky, the air unnaturally warm. Lit just by moonlight, Nanny G was more beautiful than ever with perfect translucent 1940s skin. Then, when they kissed, it would have looked like a scene from an old-fashioned movie, pressed against one another before she had to break free …
‘Helen?’
‘Brody!’
Brody lifted up his hands in a ‘guess so’ gesture. He was tall, with day two stubble and fine wrinkles around smiling eyes. He had a fading tan, and a firm, lean body made from long days sat ‘out back’ in the sea on his board.
‘You looked like you were daydreaming so I almost didn’t want to interrupt you …’
‘I know – I was just thinking …’
‘Thinking …’
‘My nan told me that she once went on a date on this beach – so I guess I was thinking about that …’
‘Your nan is making quite the impression on me: you’ll have to tell me the story. But first I’ve got to say sorry for being late …’
‘You’re late?’ Helen feigned ‘as if I even noticed’ nonchalance.
‘Yep. I had an important call and didn’t want to lose signal by driving down here. Anyway, I’m glad to see you are still sitting there and that I haven’t totally lost my chance,’ Brody smiled radiating warmth and sincerity. ‘So, to say sorry I’d really like to get you some …’ he flicked through the menu, ‘… no banana bread, how about some avo toast, or whatever you want?’
Helen tried to think of what she could order that would demonstrate how healthy and eco-conscious she was.
Brody touched her lightly on her forearm, sending a shiver of possibility running through her body. ‘You’re also going to need to swap seats.’
