The Cliff House: A beautiful and addictive story of loss and longing

She was hanging her coat on the hook.

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Good time?’

‘Cleaning?’ She raised her eyebrows and wiped her forehead with her hand. ‘It’s hot today. And I nearly missed the bus and had to run.’ She paused, stared up at me, her brow knotted. ‘The Davenports were there.’

It was then I noticed she held an envelope.

‘What’s that in your hand?’

She looked down as if confused by it. ‘It’s for you.’

‘For me?’

She hesitated. ‘Their daughter asked me to give it to you.’

‘What?’ I squealed and ran down the stairs taking them two at a time and when I got to the bottom I thrust out my hand.

She didn’t give it to me. Instead her hand moved fractionally closer towards her body.

‘Can I have it then?’

She furrowed her brow. ‘I didn’t even know they had—’

But I didn’t let her finish. ‘I can’t believe she wrote to me!’ As I grabbed the letter from her an electric charge shot through me. I stared down at my name which was written across it in the neatest writing I’d ever seen, all the letters even and rounded and perfectly joined up. I beamed at Mum but my smile faded when I saw her expression.

‘How do you know each other?’ she asked with forced indifference.

I gripped the letter hard as my brain turned over and over.

‘Oh. Well, yesterday…’ I hesitated. ‘You know… when you were working at the chip shop? It was a really nice day so I went for a walk. On the cliffs. And, well, I ended up going past their house, and, this girl – their daughter, it turns out – was on the terrace. And I smiled at her. Like you always tell me to. I mean, you’re always saying I should smile more, aren’t you? Anyway, I did smile and she said something. Hello, I think. Then she said something about the weather. Isn’t it sunny? Or maybe something about rain coming. Anyway, we sort of got talking and then she asked me to come in for a drink. A Coke. One of the fancy American ones from the adverts. I think her name’s Edie. Something like that.’

Mum nodded vaguely, her face slick with mild confusion.

‘She’s here for the whole summer,’ I said.

‘Yes, Mrs Davenport told me today. Christ, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I opened the door and the woman was sitting there. I wish I’d known. I’d have worn something a little nicer. You should have seen the way she looked me up and down. Snooty cow. I hated cleaning with her there. So much nicer when it’s just me. Can you believe she actually followed me round? I swear she ran her finger along a windowsill after I’d cleaned it. I mean, even though I know I cleaned it I was terrified it would come up covered in grime.’ She sighed. ‘She said Mr Davenport is finishing a book. Can’t be in London, she said, because it’s too noisy or too crowded or something like that. So they’re here until the end of August. Anyway…’ She took a breath and smiled. ‘Whatever the reason, she’s given me more hours. Three times a week plus more on the weekend if they have guests.’

‘That’s good,’ I said, relieved she seemed happy enough with my garbled account of meeting Edie.

‘It’s come just when we needed it, to be honest. I don’t think we’ve ever had this little money.’ She rubbed her face. ‘Maybe Gareth will advance me some this month.’

The letter throbbed in my hand. All I wanted to do was tear it open and I willed her to let me go.

‘Mrs Davenport said they need some help in the garden. Painting the railings. She asked if I knew any local tradesmen who might be able to do it. I was cheeky and suggested your brother. Obviously he’d have to fit it in around the yard, but he’s only there every now and then, so it would be ideal. She wants to meet him first to make sure he’s suitable. Whatever that means. Is he still asleep?’

‘I don’t think so. I saw him up earlier.’ A lie. He hadn’t emerged from his room yet but she hated him sleeping past eleven and I didn’t want her to storm up there and wake him just so they could fight about it.

I stroked the envelope with my thumb.

‘How’s Granfer doing?’

‘Nearly finished the sky.’

‘He’ll be pleased about that.’

We stood in silence for a few minutes. She glanced down at the envelope with an expectant look on her face. I held it behind my back and she nodded imperceptibly then turned to go into the kitchen.

Clutching the letter to my chest I shot up the stairs like a bullet from a rifle. With the door to my box closed, I fell onto my bed, tore open the envelope and unfolded the single piece of heavy cream notepaper.

Dear Tamsyn

Can you come over later? Max is doing a barbecue for supper. I asked if I could invite a friend and he said YES. Your mother didn’t know if you were busy or not.

I REALLY hope you aren’t!!

Please say you’ll come! I am LITERALLY going out of my mind with the boredom. I think I might DIE of it soon!

Call me on Penzance 3483 to arrange.

Edie x

To make sure I hadn’t misread a word of it, I read it three times over. Then I held the notepaper up to my face and kissed it. This was the single most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. Had she really called me a friend? I read the note a fourth time to make sure while a heat burnt inside me like a bonfire. An invite to a barbecue? I couldn’t believe it. I’d never even had a barbecue. But there I was – me! – with a proper invitation in blue fountain pen on watermarked paper. No more sneaking around. No more fear of getting caught. I was going to The Cliff House as an invited and welcome guest. It was – as Edie would say – literally a dream come true.

‘Mum! Mum!’ I called as I ran down the stairs. ‘Can I borrow ten pence?’

I grabbed her bag from the hook and took out her purse then hared out of the front door. She called something after me, but I didn’t hear what she’d said so I lifted a hand and shouted, ‘Back in a sec!’

When I reached the telephone box on the corner I yanked open the door, recoiling a little from the smell inside. Jago said it was where drunk men peed after the pub closed. So disgusting. Breathing through my mouth and not my nose, I pushed my hair off my face and blew sharply upwards against my sweating brow, whilst retrieving a coin from Mum’s purse.

My hand shook as I picked up the receiver and placed it between my shoulder and cheek. Holding the letter up to read the telephone number, I carefully turned the dial for each digit. As I waited for the numbers to click though I had the sudden fear that this was an elaborate practical joke, that perhaps the number she gave me was made up and she was hiding nearby, watching me make a fool of myself with tears of laughter pouring down her cheeks. My stomach churned so ferociously I nearly slammed the receiver down. But then it began to ring. Two rings in my ear. Two in The Cliff House. Two in my ear…

I pictured their phone on the hall table. Black and new-fangled with buttons like a calculator. I imagined its ring echoing around the house and Edie walking towards it with her hand outstretched. Nerves catapulted around my body. What on earth was I going to say? I had to keep calm. I’d been invited for tea. If I wanted to go – and, oh God, I did – then I had to get through this.

Someone picked up the phone. Then the phone beeped demanding its money. I swallowed and pushed in the coin. It dropped into the box and the beeps silenced.

‘Penzance three four eight three?’ said the poshest voice I’d ever heard. It wasn’t Edie. It must be her. Mrs Davenport with her creamy skin and honeyed hair. My stomach pitched.

‘Erm, hello…’ My throat constricted, forcing my words into a strangled squeak. ‘It’s… Tamsyn.’

‘Who?’

‘Can I… speak to Edie?’

There was talking in the background. Muffled. The receiver must have been smothered by a hand as the voices became faint. Then distant footsteps. A muted ‘It’s for you.’

Then Edie’s voice. ‘Tamsyn?’

‘Hi. I… got your… letter.’ My finger went to my mouth and I chewed on my nail, now certain this couldn’t be real and she was about to explode with cruel laughter.

But she didn’t.

‘Can you come?’ she said.

I closed my eyes as relief flooded me. ‘Yes,’ I breathed.

‘That’s great.’

‘I’d love to. I really would. And I’ve got nothing planned. Nothing at all.’ I was aware I was speaking too fast, tripping over my words in my desperation to get them out.

‘Excellent. Max thinks he’s God’s gift to barbecuing, so I apologise in advance for any weirdness. And bring your swimming costume. I’m not sure your bra and knickers are appropriate.’

She laughed and a prickling heat swept over my neck and cheeks as I relived hauling myself out of the pool in my translucent underwear while she looked on, clothed and beautiful.

‘Come as soon as you can, will you? I wasn’t lying when I said I was dying of boredom. I have no idea how you exist down here. God, I miss London.’

The beeps signalling the end of my ten pence began to chirrup. ‘Okay. I’m walking, but I’ll leave now.’

‘When you get here we—’

The line clicked dead so I missed the end of her sentence.

Despite being delirious with happiness, the claustrophobic atmosphere in our dark cramped house closed in around me in an instant. I hated it. There used to be a time when this house felt like the safest place in the world. When the air rang with laughter not devastated silence. It had been a place of bedtime stories and playing Snakes and Ladders in front of the fire. Now it was cold and unwelcoming, any joy snuffed out by loss and worry.

My mother stepped out of the kitchen as I came in. She held a packet of Jaffa Cakes. ‘Want one?’

‘Jaffa Cakes? What are we celebrating?’

‘My extra hours.’

‘Maybe later,’ I said, as casually as I could manage. ‘I’m going to the Davenports’ for a barbecue supper.’

‘A what?’

‘Supper.’

‘Supper?’ Her face clouded in confusion again.

‘Tea. A barbecue tea. Edie asked me. That was what was in the letter. I checked. Just now on the phone.’ Saying the words aloud made it all seem even more thrilling and I beamed. ‘She said bring a swimsuit.’

A look crossed my mother’s face which I couldn’t read. ‘Why?’

‘For a swim.’

‘No, I mean why’s she asked you for tea?’

‘Supper not tea. And I already told you. We met yesterday and she likes me.’

My mother shook her head. Her brow knotted. ‘She likes you?’

The way she kept repeating everything I said whilst looking so bloody suspicious made me want to scream, but I took a breath and kept my voice level. ‘It is possible for people to like me, you know.’

‘I know. I’m not saying… It’s just…’

My irritation boiled over like a forgotten milk pan. ‘What?’

‘Well, they’re… I don’t know. It’s…’

‘It’s what?’

‘They’re different. To us.’

‘What are you talking about? They’re not royalty.’

‘They might as well be when it comes to the likes of you and me.’ She sighed and rested her hand on her forehead. ‘Look, he’s rich and famous, in and out of the papers, and they’ve got so much money.’

‘That doesn’t mean anything anymore. Things aren’t like they used to be. People aren’t so stuck in their places.’

‘I’m their cleaner.’ My mother looked down at her hands and regarded them as if she wished they weren’t her own. ‘I’m not sure about it.’

‘Edie knows what you do and she doesn’t care. So why should we?’ I crossed my arms and jutted a hip out.

She sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right. She’s bound to be bored being an only child in that big empty house. I can see why she’d want to spend time with someone her own age. But be careful, okay? I’m not sure about any of them, if I’m honest. Especially Mrs Davenport.’ She put the packet of Jaffa Cakes on the side, then smiled at me. ‘I’ll save a couple for you. Granfer and Jago will be on those like weevils. Will you tell her – Mrs Davenport – that I’ll send your brother up in a bit? Remind her it’s about the painting. And say nice things about him, that he works hard and he’s suitable.’

When she said the word suitable she wrinkled her nose. I could tell she was implying something, that there was some sort of meaning hidden beneath the words she spoke, but I decided not to pick up on it. I didn’t have time. I had to find something to wear for a barbecue at The Cliff House. I wished more than anything I hadn’t already worn Mum’s rainbow dress. It would have been perfect, but I’d read a copy of Cosmopolitan in the doctor’s waiting room once which said you could never wear the same dress twice, so I’d have to search out something else.

CHAPTER NINE

Edie

July 1986

Edie walked through the double doors that led out to the terrace and pulled her cigarettes from her pocket. She removed one from the box and paused to light it, shielding it from the breeze with a cupped hand.

The lawn was soft underfoot and the flowers flanking it teemed with bees and butterflies which flew busily from one bloom to the next. The wind was too slight to dilute the dry heat. She leant over the railings and the sun beat down on her, reflecting off the surface of the sea so it shone like a polished silver salver. The gulls were so high they were no more than specks on the cloudless sky and their incessant screeching was barely audible. Edie watched the path and chain-smoked until Tamsyn finally appeared round the bend. As soon as she saw her she stubbed her cigarette out on the railing and dropped the end into the spiky thatch of gorse on the other side of the boundary.

Tamsyn hadn’t seen her and Edie noticed she was walking with a strange sense of purpose, like a soldier marching towards the front line. The wind was clearly stronger on the brow of the cliff and buffeted her hair in a glorious knot of red as if the strands were fighting their tethers in an attempt to escape. Edie waited for her to notice her, but she was too intent on striding the path, concentrating as if she were counting her steps.

When Tamsyn pushed open the gate, Edie called down to her.

The girl looked momentarily surprised but then her face cracked a shy smile and she waved, using her whole arm like a flag, a childish gesture which accentuated how immature she appeared in her denim shorts and shirt tied at the waist. The outfit could have been sexy and grown-up but the shorts were too baggy and there was something wrong in the way she’d knotted the shirt. Too innocent. More Jackie mag than Daisy Duke. Edie made a mental note to tell her that if she tied it tighter and higher to reveal more stomach, and undid an extra button to show some cleavage, she’d look a hundred times better.

‘My father hasn’t even lit the barbecue yet so I thought we could listen to some music in my room,’ she said as soon as Tamsyn was near enough.

Before Tamsyn could answer Edie turned to walk inside. She checked over her shoulder and was pleased to see the girl following like an obedient puppy.

‘What music do you like?’ Edie said as they walked up the stairs.

‘Anything.’

Tamsyn didn’t follow Edie into her room, but hovered at the doorway, her fingers twisting around each other, eyes glued to the floor. Her reticence was annoying and Edie wondered if she’d made a mistake and spending time with this girl was going to be more tedious than diverting. Where was the girl who’d broken into the house and stripped off to swim in their pool? That was the girl Edie liked. This timid version didn’t interest her at all. She picked up her Walkman from her bedside table and sat on her bed, crossing her feet at her ankles, deliberately not looking at the girl in the doorway.

‘I like your room,’ Tamsyn said then. ‘Mine’s tiny.’

Edie looked up. ‘Smaller than this?’

Tamsyn nodded. ‘Way smaller. Only room for my bed. I can’t even open the door properly.’

Edie shifted over on the bed. Tamsyn seemed to take the hint and walked over and sat down beside her. Edie pressed play on the Walkman, then pulled each of the foam headphones off in turn. She pressed one against her ear and offered the other to Tamsyn.

‘Do you know The Cure?’

Tamsyn shook her head.

‘You’ll love them. Robert Smith is a total sex god. Sexy in a way that isn’t really sexy but is, if you know what I mean? This track is “Killing an Arab”.’

Tamsyn held the headphone to her ear.

‘What do you think?’ Edie asked, watching her face carefully.

‘I like it,’ Tamsyn replied, sounding as if she was telling the truth. ‘I haven’t heard anything like it before but it’s brilliant.’

Edie rested her head against the back wall, pulled her knees up and draped her arms over them. Tamsyn copied her, adopting exactly the same position, except with her head turned towards Edie. The girl’s eyes were bolted to her. Edie tried to ignore it for a bit, assuming she’d eventually look away, but she didn’t and it became irritating.

Edie pressed the stop button on the Walkman and the music quietened with a loud click.

‘Are you all right?’ She turned to face Tamsyn.

‘Sorry?’ Tamsyn’s lips twitched nervously.

‘You’re staring. It’s unnerving. And a bit weird, if I’m truthful.’

Tamsyn’s face flushed fuchsia, clashing horribly with her hair. Edie was hoping she would laugh and say something cool or even combative, but she didn’t, she just clammed up and mumbled apologetically. Dull. Boring and dull.

Edie knelt up and shuffled to the end of her bed and climbed off. She wrapped the headphone wires around her Walkman then faced Tamsyn with crossed arms. She was going to tell her to leave. This wasn’t fun. This was worse than being alone. She’d tell her the barbecue was off and her plans for the summer had changed and didn’t include her anymore.

But as she opened her mouth, Tamsyn swung her legs off the bed and looked up at her, eyes fixed and unwavering. ‘My dad died.’

Edie raised her eyebrows. A dead father definitely made her interesting again.

‘I think I come over a bit weird because of it.’

Edie didn’t say anything.

‘Sorry. Maybe I should have told you sooner. I—’

‘How old were you?’

‘Ten.’

Edie felt a small twist in her stomach. Ten years old. A little younger than the age she’d been when she first found her mother passed out on the floor, pale and still. For a while she’d been convinced she was dead and it terrified her. She’d sat beside her for ages, holding her hand, stroking her, begging her to wake up. Then her father appeared and sent her out of their bedroom. As she left she heard him muttering crossly, saying ‘at this rate she’d be dead before Christmas.’ Shortly afterwards Edie returned to school and every night she went to bed convinced she’d get a message in the morning that this time her mother hadn’t woken up.

‘What happened to him?’ she asked, sitting down beside Tamsyn on the bed.

‘He drowned.’

Edie rested her hand on Tamsyn’s knee.

‘He was a volunteer with the RNLI.’ She hesitated and glanced at Edie. ‘The lifeboats? He was called out in a storm that had come in too fast. There were a couple of tourists who’d got caught in a dinghy. Idiots. They died too. His body was washed up the next morning a few miles down the coast.’ She paused and blinked slowly, then whispered: ‘Sometimes it hurts so much I can’t breathe. I miss him every day.’

Tamsyn became animated as she talked about her father’s death. Her shyness evaporated. Her raw grief was palpable, but so was the inner strength which Edie had seen a flash of the day before.

‘That’s dreadful. I’m so sorry,’ Edie said. And she meant it. ‘You poor thing.’

Without thinking she put her arm around Tamsyn and for a while they sat like that, peaceful, no sound except the lilt of the breaking waves which rolled in through the slightly open window.

CHAPTER TEN

Tamsyn

July 1986

There had been a moment in Edie’s room, when she caught me staring at her, that I’d thought I’d ruined it all. I’d been distracted by her. Carefully studying the slope of her nose, the tiny silver stud that glinted in one nostril, her flawless eyeliner drawn into extravagant sweeps on each eyelid. But when she challenged me I noted the sudden cooling in her. I’d seen the look she gave me before, many times, on the girls and boys at school. It generally came with a dismissive sneer and a silent promise not to be seen dead with me.

When I saw it on Edie’s face I panicked.

Offering up my father’s death as an excuse was risky. It could have easily scared her off. She might not have seen it as an explanation. She might not have cared. I was trading information for a second chance. But the gamble paid off and within seconds her face softened and her body opened up like a flower in water, arms uncrossing, fists unclenching, eyes widening.

I’m so sorry. You poor thing.

Then she held me and let me rest my head on her shoulder. Of course, I froze like a marble statue. There was no way I was going to move for fear of spoiling the moment. Nobody had ever shown me sympathy like that. Especially not people my age. At school his death was a topic to be avoided in case it made me cry or shout or punch a wall.

Eventually she stood up. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I’m hungry.’

As I followed her down the stairs the reality of where I was, and how I’d come to be there as an invited guest, made me light-headed. I was so used to being in the house illegally with the constant threat of being discovered hanging over me. Being there legitimately was suddenly a little overwhelming and for a moment I had to pause, grip hold of the banister, and take three deep breaths to steady myself.

We walked through the living room and towards the back door. The windows were open and the gauzy curtains danced like ghosts in the billowing breeze. A wall of late afternoon heat hit me as we stepped outside. I gasped when I saw the table. I hadn’t noticed when I arrived, too intent, I suspected, on following Edie up to her room to listen to music. I’d never seen anything like it. The iron table was laid up as if for a banquet. A white tablecloth had been laid over it and there was a large glass bowl in the centre which was piled high with a rainbow of exotic fruit I’d never even seen before. There was a small dish of butter which had softened in the sun and rolled-up serviettes encircled with silver rings and a silver bucket on a stand which held ice cubes and two bottles. The table had been set for four places and my stomach turned over with the thrill of realising one of them was for me.

‘Typical. Wine but no water,’ Edie said. ‘Wait here. I’ll go and get some.’

As she left a movement caught my eye. I looked across the gleaming surface of the pool and saw Max Davenport. He stood with his back to me in front of the brick barbecue in the far corner of the terrace, poking a pile of smoking charcoal which sent clouds of sparks into the air with each prod.

I decided to try to talk to him. My stomach fizzed as I neared him and I focused on the voice in my head which was telling me to be brave, be brave, be brave.

He must have heard me and turned, face broken in half by a smile, and raised his tongs in greeting. A film of sweat coated his forehead and there were two patches of damp in the armpits of his snow-white shirt, which was open to his stomach revealing white skin with a light thatch of greying chest hair. He wore long red shorts with a crease ironed down the centres of the legs and on his feet the soft blue shoes. I’d seen them a hundred times through the lenses of my dad’s binoculars, but had never noticed the two gold coins slipped into slots in the leather on the tops of the shoes.

He must have seen me staring at them. ‘They’re penny loafers,’ he said, with an unmistakable glint of amusement. ‘You’re supposed to put a penny in them, but I put pound coins in mine.’