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Would he still be the unobtainable guy all the girls wanted to speak with? They all tried. All year, he was the one they all wanted to get with, even right up to our study leave. It was a regular occurrence to see the popular girls go up to him, twirling their pretty hair and hoping he’d show some interest. Being able to brag that you had Jeremy Archer as your boyfriend for the summer would push anyone up the popularity list.
But he never chose a girlfriend.
Maybe next year would be different.
Chapter Two
It was impossible not to think about that day every year when we left for Cornwall. The day my dad drove away.
We were meant to be going on holiday as a family. I was so excited and had already packed all my clothes and toys.
But instead of packing us all up into the car, he got in without us, just his suitcase, and drove off, ignoring me as I ran after him down the drive and along the road. My feet hurt as I pounded the pavement wearing my fluffy pink slippers, confused about where he was going and scared about the worry that took over my six-year-old heart. I was desperate to catch him, but my legs only held out for a few houses before the car gained speed and pulled away.
He didn’t slow down, and he didn’t look back.
He wasn’t coming back.
Mum refused to wallow. I don’t ever remember seeing her cry.
She woke me up the next morning, ignored my puffy red eyes, bundled me into her car, and drove all the way to Cornwall. And we had the holiday we’d planned, in a little cottage near the beach. She built sandcastles with me every day and let me have as much ice cream as I wanted. She became my world over those two weeks. And I’ve never felt like I’ve missed out because of him since. Why would I when she’s been there for everything?
And every year since, we’ve done the same thing — a mark of solidarity — our time to be on our own because we didn’t need my father.
We still stay in the same cottage we first stayed in nearly ten years ago, in a little place called Tregethworth, and fall in love with it all over again for the two weeks we’re there.
Sammy’s right. I do love going away with my mum, even now. It’s a magical time when we have no cares in the world.
I’m always quiet on the car journey, as despite knowing I’m better off without him, it’s the only time of the year that I think about my dad. I wonder what he’s done since leaving or if he regrets it. Mum doesn’t mention him. I only know that he at least helps support me financially.
He knows where I am and how to contact me, but he’s never felt the need. Why should I go looking for him? He’s the one missing out.
My mood picks up as we get closer to the coast like it’s a balm. It’s soothing to watch the sea come into view, and I even smile as we squeeze down the narrow and turning roads towards our little spot.
The grey stone cottage beckons to us as we get to the end of the small track road. We get out, head to the edge, and look over at the beach. It’s busy, despite the overcast day, with plenty of people dotting the sand and out in the waves, but it doesn’t matter. It’s our place, and we make the best of it every year. After taking in the sea air, we race inside with our bags.
When I was little, I’d share the big bed with Mum in the master bedroom. That first year, she barely let me out of her sight. But we outgrew that. The closest we get now is falling asleep on the sofa together, watching a film. I take the bigger bedroom with two singles and use the spare bed to lay out all my things before going back to help Mum.
She’s brought down supplies for The Silver Tree, a small jewellery store where she sells her pieces.
“Come on, kiddo. Let’s get this down to Silvia, and then we can grab something at Molly’s.”
“Deal.” I don’t need any encouragement to go to Molly’s. It’s our favourite place in Tregethworth. A small diner with cosy chairs and sofas for coffee, as well as booths for eating. It serves the best milkshakes and burgers and is a great place to hang out.
I loved it from the first time we went in, even when it got crowded with tourists and beachgoers.
It's funny; we’ve been coming here for so long that we don’t think of ourselves as tourists, but we are.
I wait at the car door, but Mum shakes her head. “No, it’s five minutes to get down to Silvia. We don’t need to drive.”
“But you have all your stuff.”
“It’s one big box. We can carry it between us. That’s the deal.”
“Fine.”
I pick up my side of the Perspex box, and we start lugging it down the narrow lane and into the main part of the village.
Mum pushes the door to the shop open. “Hey, Silvia,” she calls.
