Secrets of the Tides (8 page)

‘Well . . . what you think
is
important to us.’

‘So if I said I didn’t want to move here then we could stay in London . . . in our
own
home?’ Cassie asked, eyeing him evenly.

‘Well . . . not exactly,’ stumbled Richard, ‘but there are things we could do to help you with the transition.’

‘What about you, Mum?’ Cassie asked, turning to Helen. ‘Do you want to move?’ She couldn’t stop herself; she could feel that tickle deep in her gut that made her want to stir things up.

‘Your father . . . he . . . er . . .’ It was their mother’s turn to stumble. Richard shot her a look and Helen quickly corrected herself. ‘What I mean is
we
think it’s the best thing for the family. An exciting fresh start: a new school . . . and new friends. Your father can manage some of his projects from here, and some from London. He’ll travel back and forth a bit, for a while.’

‘What about
your
job?’

Helen gave a small defeated sigh. ‘Well, I suppose
I
can find a new job when we get down here.’ No one could miss the edge in her voice.

Cassie thought for a moment. It would be a big change. She’d miss her friends, the shops, the freedom of the city, just being able to jump on a tube or bus and find a new corner to explore. But there would be other freedoms living at Clifftops: the beach, the sprawling countryside, the rambling walks and most excitingly, the cavernous old house. There would be no more queuing to use the bathroom in the morning, no more tripping over Dora and her parents in the kitchen at breakfast time, or having to jam a chair against her bedroom door whenever she wanted a little privacy. They would rattle around in the huge old house like the lonely pennies in her money-box. It could be amazing.

‘So
is
it decided then?’ asked Dora.

Cassie watched her parents gaze at each other for a moment. The silence closed in around them.

Finally, Richard swallowed. ‘Yes, Dora,’ he said gently, ‘it’s decided. It will be a new start for
all of us
.’ He reached across and gently took Helen’s hand in his and Cassie watched as her mother flushed slightly and turned her face towards the window. She wondered if she was the only one who could see the pulse throbbing at her mother’s temple, a fast drumbeat visible just below the surface of her skin.

In was late February when the Tide family eventually packed up their poky London terrace and moved down to the space and grandeur of Clifftops. The days preceding had been a tedious round of sorting and packing, clearing out books, clothes and old toys for the charity shops, watching as their life’s possessions were bubble-wrapped, boxed, sealed and stored ready for the big move. There were endless arrangements, phone calls and goodbyes, most of which were punctuated by fierce and frequent arguments between her parents, until at last they stood on the doorstep of their terrace, locked the front door one final time and left London for good. Cassie found it a relief to be going, finally.

The afternoon light was fading fast as they arrived at Clifftops and tiptoed, intruder-like through the back door.

‘Well,’ said Richard, ‘here we are.’ He shivered and stomped his feet on the kitchen flagstones. ‘Let’s get the heating on. It’s freezing.’ He fiddled with a thermostat on the wall before leaning over the Aga.

‘I’ll make tea,’ volunteered Helen. She opened a cupboard and was confronted by a towering stack of roasting trays and cake tins. She tried another, and then another. ‘Where are the mugs?’

‘Try that one over there,’ offered Richard, pointing to a corner cupboard near the fridge.

Helen sighed and stomped across the room, and Cassie, sensing another argument building between her parents, sneaked silently out of the kitchen door.

It was strange wandering through the old house. She skulked down hallways and tiptoed through rooms, flicking on lights and testing how it felt now that it was to be officially their home. Everything stood as her grandparents had left it: each chair still perfectly in place, each cushion plumped, the table in the conservatory cluttered with gardening gloves and seed trays, the airing cupboard piled high with linen tablecloths and crisp white bedding, even the antique clocks in the sitting room still tick-ticking, marking the time as if nothing of any consequence had changed. Cassie came upon a half-finished crossword in her grandfather’s study, and an embroidery frame of her grandmother’s, the needle and thread tucked carefully into the last, uncompleted ‘e’ of the ‘Home is Where the Heart Is’ proverb. And there was that smell, that particular scent that Cassie would always associate with the house; a strange, dusty cedar-wood aroma that filled her nostrils and reminded her, by its very presence, how far they were from London and their old lives.

Cassie went from room to room, jumpy and uncomfortable, half expecting Daphne or Alfred to appear at any moment. It was eerie. The old house still seemed to echo with their presence and she was grateful when she came upon her sister outside the kitchen, perched at the bottom of the back staircase.

‘It feels strange, doesn’t it?’ Dora said in a hushed voice.

‘Yes,’ Cassie admitted, ‘it does.’

She pushed on the swing door and came upon her parents, embracing in the middle of the room. Cassie watched in silence as her father pulled back and studied her mother’s face.

‘We’ve done the right thing, haven’t we?’ he asked, and Helen gave a small, serious smile and smoothed the furrowed lines of his brow with her fingers.

‘Stop worrying,’ she said. ‘We’ll make it work. We have to.’

They drank tea out of Daphne’s cups and saucers and watched as the removal vans disappeared down the drive and it was only then, as the radiators clicked and groaned and the cardboard boxes towered over them that the enormity of the move began to sink in.

It surprised Cassie how quickly she adjusted to her new life. Once she’d unpacked the last of her possessions, got used to the scratchy new school uniform and attuned to the sound of the sea lulling her to sleep at night, she found that there was a lot to like about her new home. There was a simplicity and freedom that came with living in the countryside. In London her parents had always wanted to know exactly where she was and what she was doing, but somehow, by the coast, they didn’t seem as tense or cautious. Cassie revelled in her new-found freedom and as winter gradually receded, she took to pounding the cliff-top tracks, often stopping to perch on a creaking stile or a fallen tree while she watched the waves and daydreamed.

Dora was still a pain, bounding around, snooping through her stuff and always wanting to follow her or know what she was doing, but whether it was the space of their new home, or the vast openness of the landscape around her, Cassie found she didn’t mind her sister’s stealthy pursuit quite so much any more. It was actually fun to wander down to the village shop together on Saturday mornings, spend their pocket money on penny sweets, and then sit on the sea wall, watching the crashing waves and the seagulls flap and spin above them on the breeze.

Their father seemed to love it too. He did his best to balance his weekly commute to London, and while there were plenty of evenings when he couldn’t make it home, he always walked through the door on a Friday night with bear hugs for each of them and a beaming smile spread across his face.

It appeared that all of them had adapted easily to the change. All of them found the transition to their new home relatively straightforward. All of them, except Helen.

Helen, it seemed, was riddled with regret. Almost as soon as the boxes had been unpacked her mood changed. She stomped around the house like a stroppy teenager, grimacing as she opened yet another closet or wooden chest to be faced with teetering piles of fine bone china, crystal wine glasses, or bags of old clothes no one had the heart to throw out. She reminded Cassie of a caged tiger, frustration and bristling anger rolling off her in waves.

‘What on earth are we going to do with all this
stuff
?’ she would moan, despairing of all the dusty relics.

‘Whatever we like, my darling,’ said Richard, attempting to pacify her with a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘This is our home now.’

‘So why do I feel like I’m living in some kind of museum?’ Helen shrugged him off. ‘I feel as though your mother is watching me.’

‘It’s bound to take us all time to settle in. The kids seem to love it though?’ he offered, glancing hopefully at Cassie and Dora who nodded back obediently. ‘I know it’s daunting, Helen, I feel it too, but I owe it to my parents to look after this place. It’s their legacy, after all.’ Helen didn’t reply, so he persevered. ‘And I know it’s a little cluttered and that not everything is to your taste, but you should consider it yours now. Treat it like a project, if you will, now you’re not working. It could be exciting, don’t you think? Do whatever you need to, to make it feel like
your
home.’

Helen looked at him sceptically. ‘A project?’

‘Yes, my darling. Whatever it takes for you to be happy here.’

And Cassie watched as her mother folded her arms across her chest and turned her gaze back towards the room, noting the dangerous glint in Helen’s eyes.

While the Tides adjusted in their individual ways to the move, some things stayed the same. Bill Dryden remained a familiar face around the estate, his hunched figure often visible from the house, stooped over a flower bed or digging in the vegetable patch, just as he had when her grandparents were alive.

Cassie liked Bill, he was what her grandfather would have called
a good egg
, and sometimes, when she was bored with roaming round the big house, she would wander out, following the lazy drift of his tobacco smoke until she found him. She liked to sit and watch him work, sometimes in companionable silence, sometimes engaging in easy conversation. He didn’t treat her like a little girl. He talked to her like a grown-up and always seemed interested in her opinions.

She was heading out to find him early one Saturday morning, when Dora caught her by the back door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Just out.’

‘
Where
out?’

‘Nowhere special.’

‘Can I come?’

Cassie sighed. ‘I suppose so. You’ll need your boots though, it’s muddy.’

Dora was already rummaging in the pile by the back door for her red wellies. ‘Got them!’ she called. ‘Let’s go.’

Cassie held the door open for Dora and they began to clomp their way down the lawn towards the stream, their boots squelching in unison through the wet grass. It had finally stopped raining. There was a freshness to the air that made their cheeks sting but every so often the sun appeared from behind a fast-moving bank of grey clouds and showered them in a pale, golden warmth. Cassie could see clusters of bright yellow daffodils dancing in the flower beds.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Dora after a little while.

‘I don’t know. Just around.’

She took a running jump over the narrow stream and then continued along to the old rusting gate that led into the fruit orchard at the bottom of the garden. The first buds were just emerging on the tips of the branches, a faint green hue against the brown bark. For a while the two sisters wandered amongst the trees aimlessly, companionable in their silence, until the sound of metal against wood carried towards them on the breeze.

‘Listen!’ Cassie said. ‘It’s Bill . . . come on!’ She set off at a run down the hillside, leaving Dora to chase after her, and arrived in the clearing at the bottom of the orchard just in time to see the stooped grey-haired man hefting a large axe at a gnarly branch of wood. ‘Bill!’ she called out. ‘Bill, it’s us!’

The elderly man turned and squinted before breaking into a broad smile. ‘Well, if it isn’t my two favourite girls. Hello there, how are you both?’

Dora rushed past Cassie at full pelt and launched herself into the man’s arms.

‘Whoa there, Nellie!’ he cried, taking the full, buffeting embrace of the little girl. ‘You nearly knocked me for six!’

Dora giggled. ‘I’m not Nellie. I’m Dora!’ It was their little joke.

Cassie caught Bill’s eye and smiled.

‘And Cassie too,’ he said in his West Country lilt. ‘Aren’t I the lucky one. My Betty is still on at me to have you round to the house. She wants to make one of her chocolate cakes especially . . .’

‘We’ll come,’ said Cassie readily. Betty Dryden’s chocolate cake was legendary.

‘Good-oh,’ smiled Bill.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Dora, poking at a pile of logs with the toe of her wellington boot.

‘Just clearing up after winter, chopping firewood for next.’

‘Maybe we could help you?’ said Dora hopefully.

‘Well, you’d be welcome to. I’ve got plenty of branches to clear still. It’s hard work, mind.’

Dora did a little jig of excitement. ‘I’ll start over here.’

She raced off and Cassie watched with amusement as her little sister began to fight with an oversized branch lying in the long grass.

Bill chuckled. ‘She’s nowt but determined, your sister. Reminds me of a young pup. More energy than she knows what to do with.’ He reached for a handkerchief and mopped his brow.

Cassie grinned. She knew just what he meant. Dora did look like a puppy wrestling with a giant bone. She sat on a tree stump and watched her for a moment, swinging her dangling booted feet back and forth.

‘So how are things going up at the big house, Cassie? Are you girls enjoying life by the sea?’

‘Yeah, it’s great.’

‘School OK?’

‘Uh-huh.’ Cassie watched with fascination as Bill took a pipe from his pocket, filled it with tobacco and then placed it in the corner of his mouth.

‘Making friends?’ he asked, lighting the pipe with a match.

‘Yep.’ It was true. Cassie hadn’t had any trouble making friends with the pupils in her class. Everyone had been very welcoming, if not a little in awe of the fact that she had arrived all the way from London.

‘And how are your folks?’

Cassie paused. She wondered how much to tell him. She decided to be honest. ‘Dad’s good. He loves being back here, but I think Mum wishes we’d stayed in London.’