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‘First of all,’ she says calmly, ‘this has nothing to do with you. You are an outsider. You don’t, and will never, belong here.’
I stare at her, unable to speak for a few beats, but then I find my voice.
‘D’you know what I find funny, Grandmother? That a perfect stranger, my former future mother-in-law, albeit for her own reasons, was willing to be associated with me. Just because her son loved me. While you, my own flesh and blood, for some crazy reason, refuse me.
‘I’ve racked my brains as to why that is and you know what? I’ve finally come up with an explanation. You’re so wrapped up in yourself and your estate and your memories and your narrow-minded ways that you can’t for one single minute actually think about someone else besides yourself.
‘You think that people are always after your money. Is that really all you have to offer? And you don’t for one minute think that Jago Moon might be interested in me for me. He, as opposed to you and Stephen, sees something more in me. He respects me. He’s put me before himself. He always has. And you – you should be ashamed of yourself for all you’ve said and done. In fact, you’re no better than my almost mother-in-law. Gosh, two bullets dodged in one month. How lucky am I!’
‘Emily,’ she says. ‘If you even entertain the idea of having a tryst with him, Iwilldisinherit you. Do you understand me?’
I nod. ‘I do. I understand that you’re a very sad woman with no room left in your heart for love and forgiveness.’
‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ she scolds, but I continue nonetheless.
‘I don’t know what it was that my mother did to you – or didn’t do, for that matter. We never talked much. But I can assure you that I am my own person and had things been reversed I would be ready to wipe the slate clean and start over. So if and when you’re ever ready, you just let me know. Because that’s how I personally do things.’
She stands up with the support of her cane.
‘You want to know why I can’t let him be? Because he is a murderer, that is why! A cold-blooded killer who should have rotted in jail for years rather than a few months!’
Jail? Oh, Judas! How can that be? He told me he was bad news when we met, but… murder?
No. Impossible. Jago isn’t like that. He is a little on the rough side, but underneath that iron crust lies a mushy filling. He can’t be capable of such a heinous crime. And yet, Mary wouldn’t say so if it weren’t true. Even she knows the consequences of slander.
‘I’ve got to pack,’ I snap as I turn on my heels and march out of her grand drawing room, leaving her as still as the ornate Anaglypta wallpaper behind her.
It takes me all of five minutes to slam my few belongings into my wheelie suitcase. ForweeksI’ve slaved for her – taken care of her and her home while getting to know the lovely people of Starry Cove. While not only dreaming, but actually working towards a new life here. And she simply dismisses me by saying that I’ll never belong? Is this what family love is all about? All my life I’ve dreamed of it, fantasised about it, and this is it? This is how she treats people? How soul-destroying can she be?
*
The next day, Christmas Eve, I wake up with a sense of oppression in my chest so great that I can’t seem to contain myself. I need air. I need to get out of here and go somewhere. But I don’t want to see anyone. Jago Moon, in jail…! He never told me that. Then again, why would he? It’s none of my business what he does. He’s told me that several times. I’ve had enough of it. I never indicated I was interested in him, so where does he get all thatI’m no good for youfrom, anyway? And what does he know what’s good for me? Who is he, my keeper?
Without realising, I find myself at the harbour. There is a sign reading Christmas Eve Cruises. What a great idea! There are small motorboats for hire that don’t need a nautical licence to be piloted. After a brief explanation by the owner regarding the dashboard and a few simple rules dictated by common sense, I’m given the keys with a nod and abon voyage.
As if driving a car, I turn the key in the ignition, pull in the anchor and manoeuvre out of the harbour and down the river towards the open sea for a bit of coast-hugging. So far, so good. I’m so glad I did this! From the sea, the Cornish coast is even more stunning, with a mixture of gentle grassy slopes stooping to the majesty of the sea, whereas other portions of the coast resist it by presenting high, impervious granite cliffs. I pass a few boats every now and then, and the passengers all have that same look on their faces – sheer bliss.
It is a glorious day for December, and the fact that today is Christmas Eve makes it all the more special and memorable for me. I first piloted my own boat on Christmas Eve! I have a funny feeling that down here, in gorgeous Cornwall, I’m going to have many, many firsts and I’m damned if I won’t enjoy each and every one! I intend to be less fearful, less careful and just live in the moment because… life is much too short. I might not have survived that attack in London and be dead by now. But I am alive! And free!
Straining my eyes for the horizon, I soon become aware of the fact that it’s not as clear as it was a moment ago. In fact, in the space of a few minutes, or at least I think so, the skies have darkened and I now have hardly any vision ahead of me other than dark swirling clouds and a blurry grey smudge that’s my visual limit a few yards ahead. And just as I’m manoeuvring to turn round, a rain bomb hits the boat, pummelling it with all the water it can.
The boat rocks from the pressure of the falling rain and from the choppy waves underneath. A quick glance tells me I’m no longer hugging the coast but have somehow drifted out to the open sea. And there’s no one else around to see that I’m already in trouble, fighting to stay upright as this monster of a storm bounces the boat around. And every time it lands with a thud and a screech back on the crest of the wave, another one replaces it with even more force, sending me higher and higher. At every bounce, I wonder if it’s going to be my last, because now I’ve lost all control of the boat, its little engine is nothing against the fury of the waves. How did this happen in the space of a brief moment?
As I ramp up the speed to try to get out of the rain bomb, I realise it’s a losing battle. At every new strike from under the boat, I grip the wheel, clenching my eyes shut, praying that I won’t be thrown overboard and into the sea. But who am I kidding? It’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long. And once in the freezing water, how long am I going to last out here, on my own?
And now it’s only a matter ofwhenand notifit’s going to happen. And that’s when an almighty heave tosses me into the air, boat and all, only to crash back down through the surface of the icy waters below.
