Winter Wishes (10 page)

I should have stood up for Morgan more
, Tara thought guiltily. Why had she kept quiet rather than telling Ant that people with autism didn’t always fit a set mould? Why hadn’t she challenged him more when he’d been critical? Who knew what wonderful things her son would achieve one day? What did it matter if he had to run to a timetable, was obsessed with photography and ate his peas one at a time?

You’re so weak
, she told herself scathingly.
You were too scared of being alone and of having nowhere to go, and guess what? It’s happened anyway.

Maybe this was exactly what she deserved. Was it her punishment for what she’d done all those years ago?

“There’s a brilliant teacher at Polwenna Primary,” Summer was saying now, fortunately oblivious to Tara’s stream of self-critical thoughts. “She’s called Tess Hamilton and all the kids are bonkers about her, or according to Mum anyway. I bet she’ll have lots of ideas how to engage and support Morgan. She goes to the village yoga class – it’s Silver Starr’s latest thing but it’s pretty good. I’ll introduce you, if you want, and maybe then you could have a chat about getting Morgan back into the school. If you’re staying, of course.”

Tara’s head was spinning. Was she staying? Was it a possibility? Enrolling Morgan into school here again meant that she really would be putting down roots and staying in one place, didn’t it? She would have to make up her mind; it had been half term this week, but it would probably take a few days to organise things and she didn’t want him to struggle with settling back in. Once Morgan was sorted out and secure, then Tara guessed she would need to start thinking about what she was going to do too. If Danny couldn’t forgive her, she didn’t think she could remain at Seaspray indefinitely. She already suspected that he hadn’t come home last night; the thought of being under the same roof as her had probably upset him too much. That was classic Danny behaviour, and she’d already done enough to her husband without driving him away from his home as well.

“Tess is full of ideas and she’s really creative,” Summer continued.

“Yes, she seemed nice,” Tara replied, brightening a little. “I don’t know her as well as all of you probably do, but I met her when Morgan was at school here before we left.”

“I should imagine she’s giving old Mother Powell all kinds of headaches,” Summer remarked.

Recalling the old battleaxe of a school teacher who’d been at Polwenna Primary since baby Jesus was in the reception class, Tara grimaced. “She’s not still going? Seriously?”

“At full throttle, apparently,” said Summer. “Hopefully by the time Jake and I have kids she’ll have retired, but who knows? She’s probably drinking the blood of virgins to keep herself alive!”

“That won’t be easy in this village,” said Tara drily, and the two women giggled as though they really were teenagers again.

“Talking of yoga, I’m supposed to be off to a class right now,” said Summer, glancing at the kitchen clock. “In fact, I’m running late. Are you all right to clear up here?”

“Sure,” said Tara. “I know where it all goes.”

Summer left the kitchen, and for a moment Tara sipped her coffee and watched the waves roll across the bay. Then she heard the front door slam and the scrunching sound of trainers running down the path. She was alone. The old house seemed to shift and stir a little as though missing Summer’s presence, before it settled down again into a new rhythm.

The clock ticked, the cat purred from the sofa and the gulls squabbled on the kitchen roof. Tara exhaled slowly, feeling the stress of the past twenty-four hours start to ease. For the first time in ages she didn’t have Morgan to worry about or Anthony’s moods to contend with. She closed her eyes and basked in the autumn sunlight streaming through the window. Tension slipped from her body like a discarded coat.

She was home.

Of course, technically Seaspray wasn’t Tara’s home, but she’d started going out with Danny when she was fifteen and had spent so much time at the Tremaines’ house that it had always felt like home. She and Danny had married very young and had started their life together in the old house. She could still picture the girl she’d been then, arms twined around her new husband’s neck and shrieking with laughter, being carried over the threshold. Confetti was in her hair and she’d been protesting that he was smudging her make-up every time he kissed her – but then Danny had carried her upstairs and she’d forgotten everything else. The bittersweet memory made her eyes fill with tears. Tara blinked them away impatiently.
That was all a long time ago
, she reminded herself sharply.
You’re a different person now. You both are.

Looking back, Tara sometimes wondered what she’d been thinking. The answer, she feared, was that she hadn’t been thinking much at all. Danny was gorgeous, the village’s golden boy, and she’d been crazy about him. He’d been in the army, and if she wanted to join him then they needed to be married; it was that simple. While Danny had focused on Sandhurst and his army career, Tara had thrown herself into planning their wedding. Her days had been occupied with choosing flowers and place settings and fabric samples, and she hadn’t really thought any further ahead. Did anyone at that age?

Somewhere in this house there was an album full of pictures of the big day, hastily shoved into a drawer or a cupboard along with some silver-framed pictures too, out of sight in a way that reflected how the family had dealt with the break-up of the marriage. Maybe Danny had even binned the pictures, Tara thought. Who knew? Anyway, it didn’t matter whether she had the photographs in front of her or not: that day was etched in her memory forever. One perfect moment frozen in time, a day when life had seemed rich with promise and possibilities. The idea that anything would ever be otherwise had never crossed her mind. She’d got married in her dream dress, a riot of frothing lace and pink ribbons, and Danny had been heart-stoppingly handsome in his ceremonial uniform. Mo and Issie had been trussed up in fuchsia ruffles (was this why they hated her?), and their respective sets of relatives had been beaming proudly. It had been a huge wedding, the Polwenna Bay event of the year, and exactly what Tara had wanted.

The sun slipped behind a cloud and Tara shivered as the warmth vanished. She’d felt something similar a few months after her wedding. Once the exhilaration of the big day had gone and the novelty of her new name had worn off a little, Tara had focused on her beautician’s job at the Polwenna Bay Hotel and lived for the times when Danny came home on leave. Each of these visits was like a honeymoon, and Tara had basked in the glamour of having a gorgeous soldier husband – especially when Danny was promoted swiftly to Second Lieutenant. At this point Tara had quit her job and flown out to join her new husband at his army base in Germany, full of excitement about going abroad for the first time. The elation was short-lived. Their married quarters were small and spartan, and life as an army wife was nothing like she’d imagined. There were no glitzy balls or parties, and the other wives operated within a strict hierarchy. As she was bottom of the heap, she was generally ignored. Tara’s German was on a par with her Klingon, which meant that any trips into the nearby town were pretty limited. Meanwhile, Danny had been working long hours and was rarely home. When he was, all he wanted to do was sleep; partying and exploring the local nightlife weren’t high on his list of priorities. Tara had been lonely and bored, and if young wives on army bases got lonely and bored it was a sure recipe for trouble.

And when that trouble came in the form of a six-foot cadet with eyes like rain-washed violets and a great line in banter, things could only end badly…

Tara got up and carried her mug to the sink. Sometimes reliving this next part of the story was more than she could bear. She’d tried her hardest not to think about it, had pushed it to the furthest and darkest part of her mind, but from time to time the memories rose to the surface like bloated corpses drifting up from the sea bed.

Bloated corpses? Tara shook her head at this analogy as she rinsed the mug and watched the water swirl down the plughole. Talk about a sense of the melodramatic. And yet, in a way her story did resemble a horror movie: it haunted her and caused her to wake in the night with a racing heart and dry mouth. The difference was that the past that haunted Tara wasn’t dead. It was very much alive. She lived with and regretted it every day.

It was, after all, the reason why Danny had stopped loving her.

Chapter 7

For the past few minutes, Tara had been standing at one of Seaspray’s upstairs windows, leaning her forehead against the glass and watching the clouds scudding across the sky. Beneath them, the white-tipped waves galloped onto the pale slice of beach. Winter mornings in Cornwall had a cold beauty all of their own, she thought. Something about the bright sunshine glancing off the sea, the harsh cries of the gulls and the knife-edge wind that slashed one’s breath away was always capable of luring people from their cosy cottages and out onto the cliffs.

A man was walking at the water’s edge, throwing a stick into the surf for a bouncing chocolate Labrador to fetch, and the rocks at the far side of the bay were dotted with children searching the rock pools for treasure and nature’s curiosities. Morgan had loved that, Tara recalled. It had been one of his early passions – and there had been nothing he didn’t know about the creatures that inhabited the cracks or lurked in the bottom of the seaweedy pools. He and Danny had spent hours clambering over the slippery shore with nets and buckets, returning with tales of crabs and tiny fish and, once, a rare sighting of a basking shark. Recollecting the innocence of those days was painful now. She turned away, almost unable to look at the ever-changing scene.

With all of the family absent, Seaspray felt as though it was holding its breath and watching to see what this interloper would do next. Tara’s every nerve was fizzing, and once she’d cleared the kitchen she’d wandered from room to room, her fingertips brushing surfaces and skimming over furniture as though trying to reacquaint themselves by touch alone. She’d breathed in the familiar smells of polish and lavender and salty air. The house was still glorious, with scoured light pouring in through the big windows. The beeswaxed floors glowed and the threadbare rugs that covered them told of generations of feet crossing the rooms. There was still a scattering of sand too, a gritty memento of days spent on the beach, and in the back porch she’d been touched to find that her wellington boots were still standing to attention beside Danny’s.

Home and yet not home.

Unable to settle or shake off the feeling that the old house was watching her and waiting to see what she did next, Tara returned to her bedroom. There she peeled off the ridiculously tight jeans and the clingy sweater, before padding into the bathroom and scrubbing off her make-up. As she wiped the cotton wool across her cheeks and watched the carefully applied contours melt and blur, Tara laughed at herself. This was Polwenna Bay. Who was there to impress here? The seagulls? A few bored fishermen? The old biddies from the church? Danny certainly wouldn’t care about make-up, not if his taste in women tended towards those who looked and dressed like Jules Mathieson.

She paused, mid-wipe, and frowned at her reflection. Was Danny involved with the vicar? No, he couldn’t be. Could he? Although Jules seemed nice, and Tara supposed that she was quite pretty if you liked that kind of thing, she was a vicar. Would Danny seriously date a vicar? He’d never been into religion before, but then again maybe his injuries had changed more than just his physical appearance.

I’m being paranoid
, Tara told herself. Besides, the vicar had reassured her in the summer that Danny and she were just friends – and vicars didn’t lie. There was still a chance that Tara could make things work with Danny. She just had to play the long game and be patient.

Faded Levi’s and a soft red sweater teamed with stripy socks and a thick cream scarf were far more like it, Tara decided as she changed into these and pulled her hair into a ponytail. A lick of neutral lipstick and some black mascara brushed across her lashes and she was good to go. She looked less sexy now, perhaps, but it was the perfect outfit for a walk up on the cliffs. Just what was needed to blow away the cobwebs and hopefully find herself some headspace.

Tara went back down the stairs and through to the porch, where she liberated her old wellingtons, carefully shaking out a few sleepy spiders, and dug out a waxed jacket from the selection hanging above. Wrapped up against the November chill, she set off across the garden and headed down the path towards the village. If nothing else, at least the bitter cold and the exercise would take her mind off all the drama of the past few days and burn a few calories. Her membership at Anthony’s gym was now a thing of the past, and if she indulged in too much of Alice’s cooking she’d end up twice the size.

The village was fairly quiet this morning, although a few walkers were about. Woodsmoke scented the air as it drifted lazily from chimneys, and fishing boats rode the gentle swell of the tide, their mooring ropes creaking softly. Across the harbour, the lights flickered on as The Ship opened for business. Tara might have been away for a few months but she would have placed money on the probability that the same locals were still heading inside to sit at the same seats and play dice. Big Eddie Penhalligan would be there for sure, and Chris the Cod from the chippy. And without a doubt, her father-in-law Jimmy Tremaine would be in The Ship too, for a pint and the chance of winning a few pounds.

Elsewhere, too, the same familiar people would be doing the same familiar things in the same familiar places as always.

It was thicontinuity that Morgan needed, Tara concluded. There was comfort in it and safety and routine; all the things that were necessary for him to be happy and secure. The same things that a few years ago had driven her almost to distraction. When Danny had phoned and said that there was accommodation available for them where he was based in Germany, and that if she wanted to come she could fly out that month, Tara’s feet had hardly touched the ground. She couldn’t escape Polwenna Bay quickly enough. If she could turn the clock back, she would do things so differently, Tara reflected as she crossed the bridge and headed past the huddled cottages that jostled for space on the quayside. Yet there was one thing she could never regret, and that was Morgan. He alone made everything worthwhile. She would never, ever regret having her son.