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

‘Like a wallet?’

He laughed. ‘For decoration.’

I hadn’t realised money could be used for decoration. When I looked back down at the coins they seemed to shine like the beams from a lighthouse.

‘Mum’s not sure about the new coins,’ I said. ‘She likes money you can fold, not pockets weighed down with shrapnel.’

‘Your mother sounds supremely sensible.’

I smiled. His voice was different to how I’d imagined it. Posher and gravelly as if he’d swallowed a handful of sand before talking.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Tamsyn Tresize.’ I hoped he wouldn’t notice me blushing.

‘A good Cornish name.’ He smiled again. ‘And pretty too.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Mr Davenport,’ I said, remembering my manners.

‘Max,’ he said. ‘You must call me Max.’

As he spoke I was hit by the peculiar sensation of being separated from my body and sitting up by the rock, watching Max Davenport talking to a girl with long red hair who looked identical to me.

‘Max? Are you ready to cook yet?’

The voice catapulted me back onto the terrace. I turned to see Mrs Davenport walking out through the door. She was dressed in a voluminous kaftan in peacock greens and blues, which was edged with gold and wafted out behind her as she moved. Oversized white-framed sunglasses concealed most of her face and her hair was piled into a bun on the top of her head, revealing heavy pearl and gold earrings at each ear.

‘You must be Tamsyn,’ she said.

Her voice was soft with a slight slur as if her words had melted into each other. She smiled and showed perfect white teeth and when she sashayed over to me with her hand outstretched, I almost didn’t take it, worrying that if I did I’d make it dirty.

‘Lovely to meet you. Your mother is an absolute godsend. I have literally no idea how we’d survive sans elle.’

‘Her mother?’ Max asked.

Mrs Davenport smiled. ‘The cleaner, darling.’

I swallowed as my reality bit at my ankles like a vicious dog. My eyes flicked over to Max. I watched for his reaction. Wondered if he now thought my name less pretty.

‘Amazing woman,’ he said and I beamed.

Edie came out of the house holding a green bottle and sat down. She beckoned to me and I went to her, though part of me wanted to stay and talk to Max about his shoes.

A short while later we were all sitting at the table and my cheeks ached with smiling. It was all I could do to stop myself laughing out loud. I thought of all those times I’d hidden myself in the sandy grass on the cliff and watched the Davenports eating – either out on the terrace or inside at the round white table in the sitting room – and sucked up every movement, every mouthful, every sip of every drink. It was all so familiar, the way she placed her knife and fork down precisely as she chewed, how he leant back in his chair to look out over the ocean, how he poured wine and she tipped her face to the sun. It was like I’d fallen into my favourite film.

‘Your mother was kind enough to lay up for us this morning. Of course, she did it for three not four. Edie didn’t tell us you were coming until just before you arrived so I had to lay the extra place myself.’

Edie rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not exactly hard to put out another knife and fork, Eleanor.’

‘It’s really nice to be here, Mrs Davenport,’ I said quickly, sensing something between them.

Eleanor smiled at me as she lifted a bottle of wine from the ice bucket and topped up her glass, though I could tell that she was annoyed, and I wished Edie hadn’t mentioned the cutlery.

Max Davenport stood and excused himself quietly before walking back to the barbecue. He picked up the tongs and waved them about like a sword as he turned steaks as thick as the Bible.

‘So, Tamsyn,’ said Eleanor Davenport, dragging my attention away from Max and the barbecue. ‘Are you pleased it’s the school holidays?’

‘Oh, yes. Very. I’ve just had exams so last term was pretty hard work.’ I thought back to all the hours I’d stared blindly at my books whilst daydreaming and then the exams in which the words had swum and I’d struggled to even remember my name let alone how to long divide.

‘O levels?’

‘CSEs.’

‘CSEs?’ Eleanor placed her glass down on the table. ‘The ones you take if you aren’t bright enough to do O levels? How many did you take?’

I swallowed and a wave of hot shame swept over my body. ‘Just five.’

‘Do we have to talk about school, Eleanor? I mean, God, that’s the last thing Tamsyn and I want to think about.’

‘My apologies,’ Eleanor said. ‘I was interested, that’s all. Aren’t you always saying I need to be more interested?’

I wracked my brain to think of something to say. ‘I really like this tablecloth.’

‘The tablecloth?’ Eleanor laughed. ‘Thank you. It’s an old one we don’t need in London anymore.’

‘I’ve never eaten at a table with a cloth before. I don’t think we even own one.’

‘Really?’

‘Mum would worry about staining something so pretty.’ I fingered the cloth, which was made of fine white cotton with exquisitely embroidered daisies dotted across it. I imagined my mum lifting it up into the sky so the sun lit its whiteness and the wind caught hold of it like a ship’s sail before allowing it to float back down to the table. I saw her hands smoothing it. Saw the care she’d have taken to make sure it was centred properly, everything perfect, wanting to please Mrs Davenport. Then I heard her voice.

They’re different to us.

And she was right, she and Eleanor were as different as two people could be. Eleanor reached for the salad bowl and I studied her hands. Soft. Blemish-free. Unlike my mother’s which were blotched red and rough, unpainted nails trimmed short for practicality. Mum might have been right about her being different but she was wrong about me. Sitting at that table I didn’t feel out of place or as if I shouldn’t be there. I felt as if I belonged.

‘Do you want some water, Tamsyn?’

Edie was holding the green glass bottle and without waiting for my reply she leant over to pour some in my glass. The water fizzed as it went in. I didn’t even know they made water fizzy and wondered briefly if it came up from the ground that way. Before Edie had finished filling my glass, however, Eleanor reached over and lifted the neck of the bottle with her finger to stop the flow.

‘Champagne surely, girls? What do you think, Tamsyn?’ Eleanor retrieved the second bottle from the ice bucket and tore off the gold foil then untied the wire caging. ‘Do you like champagne?’

‘I’ve never had it before.’

‘Never?’

I shook my head.

‘Then you absolutely must try some.’ She eased the cork out and it popped like an air rifle.

She poured the sparkling pale liquid into a tall, thin glass and passed it to me. I lifted it up to the light and watched the bubbles race to the surface in a million effervescent pinpricks.

‘I can’t believe your mother hasn’t let you have half a glass before. It’s not right you’ve got to this age and not even tasted it.’

‘I don’t think she’s ever had it either.’

Eleanor looked genuinely horrified.

‘Vile stuff,’ Edie said then.

‘Ah, my darling daughter,’ Eleanor said, whilst sipping from her glass. ‘The very measure of sophistication.’

Edie rolled her eyes and made a face, and I looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught in collusion. Edie’s chair scraped back on the terrace with a loud screech and she disappeared inside the house.

Eleanor drank most of her champagne in one go then topped up her glass. We sat in silence until Edie arrived back at the table with a carton of orange juice. She poured a glass for herself and offered it to me, but I shook my head and sipped the champagne, which wasn’t as nice as I’d hoped it would be, too acrid and not very thirst-quenching.

‘By the way, Edith, if you have to smoke, can you at least put your cigarette ends in the bin? I found three on the terrace morning.’

How could Edie say Eleanor Davenport wasn’t cool? Letting her smoke? That was definitely a cool mother. I tried to imagine what mine would have said if she’d found out I’d been smoking.

‘The wait is over!’ Max called over. ‘The steaks are done!’

He returned to the table and with an air of triumph he placed the white serving plate down. The four steaks bled their red and brown juices all over the china. I grinned. Steak for tea. Granfer wasn’t going to believe his ears.

Someone’s birthday?

No!

Just any old tea?

Yes. Any old tea. Steak and champagne. Can you believe it?

‘I hope it’s cooked as you like it,’ Max said, as he lifted a whole steak onto my plate.

‘Thank you. Yes.’

Max began to vigorously cut into his steak. ‘I must say, it’s lovely to have you with us, Tamsyn. A real treat to have a proper local as our guest. Especially such a lovely one.’

Then he smiled at me and I smiled back because it was possibly the nicest thing he could have said.

Eleanor reached for her champagne glass and drained it.

‘Be careful not to drink too much in this heat, darling,’ he said to her.

Eleanor ignored him and took a mouthful of steak. She grimaced. ‘Christ, I can’t eat this,’ she opened her mouth and pulled out the piece of meat which she put on the side of her plate. ‘It’s tougher than leather.’

‘Why don’t you have half of mine,’ Max said coolly as he took a sip of wine. ‘It’s incredibly tender.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

I momentarily considered asking if I could take it home to give to my grandad, but decided against it. Eleanor rapidly tapped her perfectly painted fingernail against the table as if punching out Morse code, then she reached for the carton beside her plate. She opened the lid to reveal cigarettes inside which were unlike any I’d ever seen before. Each one a different colour with a filter of shiny gold foil. She selected a red one and lit it.

Eleanor drew on her cigarette then turned to look at me before leaning forward and jabbing my shoulder a couple of times.

‘If you sat up straight and pushed your shoulders back you’d look much more elegant at the table.’

This drew a sharp glance from Edie. ‘For God’s sake,’ she muttered.

‘Don’t be silly. I’m helping, that’s all.’ She smiled at me. ‘You don’t mind do you, Tamsyn?’

I shook my head. I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I was grateful to Eleanor. Yes, her manner was a little brusque, but I was happy to have her point out the things I did wrong. I glanced at Edie who was looking fixedly out to sea, then sat up in my seat, straightening my back and pushing out my shoulders, aware of my chest rising.

Eleanor smiled and sipped her drink. ‘You see, Edie? Now your friend doesn’t look completely like le Bossu de Notre Dame.’

Max cleared his throat. ‘So, Edith, tell me.’ He pressed his serviette to his mouth then placed it carefully on the table. ‘While I’m finishing this magnus opus of mine and your mother is enjoying our little piece of Cornish heaven, how are you planning to use your time while we’re here?’

‘Well, Max.’ She drew out his name and leant towards him. ‘How about I shut myself in my room all day to avoid my family like you do and enjoy a triple vodka for breakfast like she does. That sound okay?’

I inhaled sharply and glanced at Edie in horror. If I used that tone with my mother I’d be sent upstairs before I’d finished my sentence, but Eleanor Davenport merely ignored her so I could only assume she hadn’t heard properly.

Edie stood then picked up a couple of plates and left the table.

It turned out Eleanor Davenport had heard her daughter. ‘Tell me, Tamsyn,’ she said. ‘Do you speak to your mother like that?’

I had no idea what to say. ‘I, well, I—’

‘Of course she does, Ellie.’ Max grinned at me again. ‘She’s a teenage girl. That’s how they speak to their mothers. You wouldn’t want a wallflower for a daughter, now would you?’

Eleanor stared at Max over the rim of her glass. ‘And you’d know all about teenage girls, wouldn’t you?’

There was a jagged edge to Eleanor’s comment and I watched Max’s eyes narrow with anger for the briefest of moments.

Eleanor turned to address me. ‘Tamsyn, do forgive me.’ She stood, stumbling as she did, then steadying herself on the table. ‘I’ve a headache. Max was right about wine in the sunshine. I need to go indoors.’

Max and I watched her retreat back to the house. Without Eleanor or Edie an awkwardness crept over us and I wondered if I should also excuse myself and try to find Edie. I glanced at Max and forced a smile.

‘I’m sure Edith will be back soon.’ He reached across the table to the bowl. His fingers lightly traced the fruit and then settled on a large red apple. He placed it on a small plate to the side of him, then took the knife he’d used for his steak and ran it through the folds of his serviette, leaving a greasy brown mark on the white. He carefully sliced the apple into quarters, then held each piece in turn, made two cuts to remove a triangle of core, and one lengthways to divide each piece in two.

He placed his knife down and held the plate out towards me.

‘Have some,’ he said. ‘They’re delicious. Bought from the farm shop yesterday. Sweetest apples I’ve ever tasted.’

I hesitated but he nodded so I reached for a slice and bit into it.

Max looked at me expectantly. ‘Well?’

He was right. The apple was the sweetest and juiciest I’d ever tried. I smiled at him and took another.

‘What’s your book about?’ I asked as I broke the second slice of apple in two and put half in my mouth.

‘I never talk about my novels until they’re finished. I’m convinced that if I do, I won’t ever finish them. Superstitious nonsense, I know.’

‘You must really like writing.’

This made him laugh though I had no idea why. ‘Hemingway said there’s nothing to writing, all you do is sit at a typewriter and bleed. It’s an obsession. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t do it. But then again, I know I’m lucky to earn so much money doing something I love and not have to tread the hamster wheel for peanuts in an office somewhere. Plus,’ he said, taking another piece of apple and gesturing at me with it, ‘writers have fictional worlds to escape to, which I’m certain stops us all going completely batty.’

I knew exactly what he meant.

‘Here’s a pearl of wisdom for you. In life always remember you’re the author of your own story.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t let life be something that happens to you. Write it yourself.’

It was the type of thing my dad would probably have said to me. Edie was lucky to have her father still. To have him alive and eating apples, not drowned and buried in a coffin in the ground.

Max patted the table then stood. ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Enough of that nonsense. My book calls.’

‘Thank you for supper,’ I said, pleased I’d remembered it was supper not tea.

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