‘Who are they then?’
Ryan looked at me and exhaled deeply. ‘I have heard of them. I recognise their names, but I can’t remember why they’re famous.’
‘History lessons in New Hampshire must be so bad. What did they teach you?’
‘You’ve had your three questions,’ said Ryan.
‘Answer it and you can ask me one more.’
‘They taught us about the Greeks and Romans mainly and the history of discovery and exploration.’
‘Like Columbus?’
He nodded. ‘Can I ask my final question?’
‘Fine,’ I said, expecting another general question about my loves or hates.
‘What did Connor mean earlier?’
‘You mean when he began his Mr Health and Safety routine?’
Ryan nodded.
I hesitated. I hated talking about what happened. People never knew what to say. ‘Ten years ago, I was in an accident. I was in a car with my parents and we were driving home from a wedding. My dad was driving. He’d had a lot to drink apparently. We were on the coast road, halfway between Penpol Cove and Perran. He lost control of the car. It skidded off the road and into the sea.’ I pointed to the headland across the bay from the harbour. ‘That’s where it happened. It’s known as Lucky Cove. Both my parents drowned.’
Ryan said nothing, but I noticed on the drive home later that afternoon that he stayed well below the speed limit for a change.
Chapter 7
Ryan knocked on the door at eleven o’clock on the dot, just as the beeps on the radio signalled the hour. I smiled to myself at the military precision of his timekeeping. How had he managed that? I’d been watching for him from my bedroom window, half expecting him to call and cancel. It was my turn to host the Sunday revision session and although I’d invited Ryan every week since we met, this was the first time he’d accepted.
I’d seen his silver car reach the top of Trenoweth Lane before heading around the corner, out of sight. A minute or two later, he’d strolled along the road, his backpack swinging from one shoulder, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Part of me hoped to catch him doing something self-conscious – like checking his reflection in the wing mirror of a car – but he had just ambled along the pavement, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.
Miranda got to the door before me and I guessed she had been planning that all along.
‘Hi,’ I yelled, running down the stairs two steps at a time.
Ryan looked up at me and smiled. ‘I wasn’t sure what we were studying, so I brought everything,’ he said, holding up his backpack.
I was stunned for a moment by just how great he looked in his shirt and black jeans, and then I remembered my manners. I jumped to the bottom of the stairs.
‘Ryan, this is Miranda, my aunt.’
‘How do you do?’ Miranda said, shaking his hand enthusiastically. ‘Come inside and meet Travis, my partner.’
Partner. That was new. Travis had somehow skipped the boyfriend stage, jumping directly from friend to partner, passing Go and collecting two hundred pounds without me noticing. Not that I minded too much. Despite the vegetarian jibes, Travis was OK and he seemed to make Miranda happy.
Travis was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a coffee and reading the food section of the Sunday newspaper. He stood up and held out a hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Ryan.’
‘Likewise,’ said Ryan, shaking Travis’s hand.
‘Take a seat,’ said Miranda.
Inwardly I cringed. Miranda had warned me that she wouldn’t let Ryan and me go up to my room alone. What did she think we were going to get up to with her and Travis downstairs and Connor and Megan on their way over? And if she objected to me being alone in my room with a boy, why did she allow me to spend hours alone with Connor? It was typical of her random, half-thought-through rules that held no logic.
‘What part of the US are you from, Ryan?’ Travis asked, as he sat down again.
For a second Ryan looked alarmed, as if he’d been asked a trick question, but then he pulled out a chair and joined him. ‘New Hampshire.’
‘Live free or die,’ said Travis with a smile. ‘I’m from California myself.’
‘Eureka,’ said Ryan, smiling back.
‘Would one of you like to explain what you’re talking about?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Travis, winking at me. ‘You like puzzles. You work it out.’ He turned his attention back to Ryan. ‘What part of New Hampshire?’
‘Wolfeboro. Do you know the area?’
‘Not at all,’ Travis said. ‘But my college room-mate came from that area, so I’ve heard a little about that part of the country. What’s the hunting like out there? Mike used to shoot deer. He invited me but I never did make it out.’
‘Ryan’s vegetarian,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t hunt.’
Travis smirked. ‘Well then, this really is a match made in heaven. Shall we put an announcement in the paper?’
Ryan looked at me, one eyebrow raised in a question.
‘Just ignore Travis,’ I said. ‘It’s his aim in life to irritate and embarrass me as much as possible.’
‘You have an unusual accent, Ryan,’ said Travis. ‘You’re not originally from the east coast, are you?’
‘We move around a lot. Dad’s a writer and he likes quiet places. Every year or so we move. Wolfeboro is home, but I grew up all over the place.’
Miranda was pouring orange juice into a jug. ‘That sounds exciting.’
Ryan shrugged. ‘It’s OK.’
‘Has he written anything we might have read?’ she asked.
‘Not unless you enjoy books on palaeoclimatology and astrophysics.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Miranda, reaching for a set of tall glasses.
‘It’s the study of long-term climate change.’
‘He must be very clever.’
My phone vibrated with a text message. ‘Connor and Megan have just got off the bus,’ I said. ‘They’ll be here in a couple of minutes.’
‘Well then, you’d better take this up to your room,’ Miranda said, passing me a tray laden with biscuits and cakes and juices.
That morning I had tidied, dusted and vacuumed my room and even picked a bunch of daffodils from the garden to make the room smell nice. Miranda had noticed and she and Travis had teased me all through breakfast.
‘Voilà,’ I said, kicking the door open. ‘Chez moi.’ I put the tray down on my desk. Ryan shrugged off his black jacket and hung it on the hook on the back of my door.
He turned a full circle, taking it all in with a smile. ‘So this is where you dream,’ he said, almost to himself.
He leant on the window sill and gazed down into the back garden. A cool wind was blowing in from the Atlantic. Miranda had pegged out the washing and the sheets billowed and snapped on the washing line like sails.
‘Choose a seat,’ I said.
As well as the single bed, there was a desk with a chair, an armchair with a reading light and a beanbag on the floor. Plenty of options.
Ryan chose the bed. He leant back against the headboard.
‘Sorry about the interrogation,’ I said, sitting next to him.
‘They seem nice.’ He picked up a small framed photo from my bedside table. ‘Are these your parents?’
I nodded. It was my favourite photo of the three of us. We were standing in the back garden on a sunny day. My mother was wearing a pair of thin, rectangular sunglasses and her bright red hair, which fell almost to her waist, gleamed like copper. My dad, tall with wavy brown hair was grinning at the photographer. I was in between them, my darker auburn hair tied into two neat little plaits, squinting through the sun.
‘Your mother is beautiful,’ said Ryan. ‘You look like her.’
It was a sweet thing to say. My mother was beautiful but we didn’t look alike. Nor were we alike in personality. She was as vibrant and confident as the colour of her hair and, according to Miranda, was as reckless as I was cautious. My mother had jumped out of an airplane for charity when she was twelve and had once been rescued by the coastguard when her rubber dinghy floated more than a mile out to sea as she slept. Although Miranda had never said so, I was certain she would have been one of the kids jumping off the harbour wall as a teenager. The most reckless thing she’d done, however, was drop out of school aged sixteen when she’d discovered she was pregnant with me. Against everyone’s advice she had married my dad, who was only seventeen himself.