‘Oh? I seem to remember you were quite fond of him as a teenager.’
Amy flinched. ‘You’re thinking of Hari.’
‘No,’ Lily insisted. ‘I’m not. I may be an …effervescentsort of person, but I’m not an idiot. And I care for you. As if I’d forget that your best friend died in a car wreck.’
‘I hate to break it to you, Lily, but your memory is definitely faulty if you think Sam Ainsworth and I were friends.’
‘I never said you werefriends. I said you were fond of him. And I do wish you’d call me Mom.’
‘Just like I wish you’d call meAmy.’
‘I remember your letters from your sixth form years,’ Lily went on, ignoring her. ‘Always full of complaints about how crazy he made you. You did your best to hide it, but of course I could always tell you had a colossal crush on him.’
‘What, because you havethe sight?’ Amy asked, sarcasm finally bursting through her determined politeness. There really was only so long she could feign understanding of Lily’s bizarre melting pot of beliefs, or maintain patience with her pontificating.
‘No, because I’myour mother,’ Lily said.
‘Well, it’s nonsense anyway,’ said Amy, though her voice lacked conviction even to her own ears.
‘Just take care,’ Lily told her. ‘Remember the moon: that card means now is not the time to bury your feelings or push aside inconvenient emotions.’
‘I don’thaveany inconvenient emotions!’ Amy cried. ‘Apart from exhaustion, or annoyance perhaps– I’d already done a full day of work by the time you called me up to start divining my future. I should go. I need to make a start on dinner– Gran’ll be home soon.’
‘Sure,’ Lily said. ‘Give my love to Grace. And darling– one last thing.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ll send you a moonstone. They’re full of feminine power and excellent during times of change.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
‘Trust me, I think you’re going to need it.Remember the moon.’
Amy shook her head at her iPhone. The moment she put it down, what she would need was a very large G&T.
‘Bye, Lily. Speak to you again soon– preferably about something other than the portents of my doom.’
‘You’re not doomed– you’re just evolving!’ Lily said. ‘Or at least the universewantsyou to be. Love you, kiddo. Take care.’
‘Love you too,’ Amy said. And despite their unconventional dynamic, she meant it.
Chapter 16
Carolyn’s claim that Robin Hood’s Bay ‘wouldn’t be difficult to get to’ from Rowton was thoroughly debunked on Friday afternoon.
In Carolyn’s head, it seemed, everything north of the Watford Gap blended into an amorphous mass of ‘not London’, where nothing was far away from anything else. In practice, the journey from South Warwickshire to the North Yorkshire coast took almost five hours– made longer by heavy traffic and a series of delays on the M1.
Amy had insisted on driving. There was no way she wanted to be dependent on Sam for transportation, in the way she’d always been when she and Hugh went anywhere by car. Even though it was years since London-dwelling Amy had undertaken a trip of this length, she’d got herself insured on Grace’s pale blue, rarely used, twelve-year-old Nissan Micra and informed Sam via text that she’d be making her own way up north.
Somewhat logically, but much to her annoyance, he’d immediately asked if he could travel with her. Amy had hoped that the prospect of being driven by a woman would feel somehow emasculating– an idea that, along with jibes about the relative skills of male and female drivers, had sometimes surfaced during discussion among Hugh’s car fanatic friends. Sam had no such scruples; in fact, he was profuse in his thanks when Amy reluctantly agreed that it would be cheaper, and more environmentally friendly, for them to travel together.
The prospect of having to make conversation with Sam all the way to their destination was unthinkable, so Amy had put together a lengthy playlist of music from their youth in the hope of limiting their interactions to only basic, necessary exchanges. Perhaps a little foolishly, Amy hadn’t considered the sort of atmosphere that several hours of songs from their teenage years might produce inside the Nissan as it trundled along. She was by no means a sentimental person, but nevertheless felt swept away by a tide of nostalgia as tracks by Editors, Arcade Fire and Bat For Lashes blasted from the tinny-sounding stereo. The sense of wistfulness for something lost– as opposed to just someone– was palpable; it was a weird, shared pining for the people Amy and Sam used to be, as well as the friend who was no longer there with them. Neither of them acknowledged it.
When Bat For Lashes’ cover of Springsteen’s ‘I’m On Fire’ began seeping from the speakers, Amy’s resolve not to react finally crumbled. She couldn’t handle those lyrics in that small a space– not with him next to her. She pressed a button on the car’s stereo and allowed a Radio Four current affairs show to cut through the tension between them.
As they pulled up to their B&B at just after eight o’clock, Amy sighed with relief. The guest house was a tall, thin, three-storey building within sight of the sea, whitewashed with black-painted window frames. Next door to a pub, it perched at the top of a steep, winding lane that led down to the beach. The sky was still pale blue despite the hour, and the air drifting in through Amy’s open window smelled salty and clean.
They parked at the rear of the B&B on a tiny scrap of concrete that claimed it was a car park, yet contained only three small spaces– two of which were taken. Amy thanked her lucky stars that Grace’s car was little; squeezing in here might otherwise have proved impossible.