Thrown (10 page)

I try to imagine the spot where my aunt fell then I glance up at the cliff top where I was walking moments ago. The path up there is totally safe. There’s no danger of falling over the edge. Is that why the police are investigating? Because they think she was thrown over the cliff edge? But they don’t know that she put her cat in the cattery two days before she died. Even during her last days, she was thinking of the well-being of Mr Tibbles. She even went so far as to pay the bill so I wouldn’t have to when I collected him. Everything tied up neatly. Then she jumped.

I don’t know why. I’ll probably never know why.

‘Hey, Amy.’

Stoker is looking at me, his painting barely touched. ‘You want to go for a coffee?’

‘But your painting isn’t finished.’

‘I’d rather go for a coffee with you than sit here painting. Those cliffs aren’t going anywhere. There’s a beach front coffee shop in town called Sarah’s Coffee And Cakes. They open early and they do a really nice coffee and…’

‘No need to say any more, you had me at “cakes”. I’d love to go.’

‘Really? Cakes at this hour?’

‘It’s never too early for cake.’

He laughs and starts to pack away his painting equipment.

‘You need any help?’

‘No, I’ve got it. Everything folds down and fits in this little bag.’ He holds up a black nylon bag. ‘I travel light, especially when I’m painting because I sometimes have to sneak out of the house. I couldn’t do that with a full-sized easel and canvasses.’

‘Why do you have to sneak out?’

‘My dad doesn’t like me painting. Or drawing. Or even reading.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s a long story.’ He folds the easel up and stows everything away in the bag, which he slings over his shoulder. Seeing him in the tight t-shirt, I realize how muscular he is. He must go to the gym regularly to get a body like that. I stop my mind from going down that route; we were having a nice relaxed conversation and if I start thinking about this other stuff, I’ll have trouble forming sentences.

‘Let’s go,’ he says, ‘your cake awaits.’ He sets off toward the trail that leads up the cliffs.

‘Did you walk here from home?’ I ask him.

‘No, there’s a little parking area off the road up there. I came in the Land Rover.’

‘Great.’ I don’t know if I can make it back up the trail and all the way into town, no matter how much cake is waiting at the finish line.

He starts to ascend and even though he has the bag on his shoulder, he’s a lot faster than me and soon I’m puffing and panting and way behind him. He stops half way up and waits. As I catch up with him he reaches out his hand. I take it and we walk up hand in hand. It’s nice.

Really nice. I almost don’t want to get to the top because I don’t want him to stop holding my hand.

I’ve held hands with a few boys before but it was just awkward. I didn’t know what to do. Should I move my fingers a little? Stroke the back of their hand? It just seemed pointless. But with Stoker it feels natural, it feels right. I’m not even worrying about what to do with my hand or fingers because I don’t feel like I
have
to worry about it.

He guides me to the top and we stand there for a moment still holding hands. The breeze feels so good up here and I close my eyes as it cools my face. Stoker stands close to me, still holding my hand.

‘You OK?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, that feels so good.’

‘The sea breeze?’

‘Mm hmm.’

‘I thought maybe you meant the fact that we’re holding hands.’

‘That feels good too,’ I admit. Did I really just say that? Wait until Dell hears about it, she’ll be giving me her best ‘told you so’ look and screaming down her webcam at me that she knew it all along. I’m sure I can handle her gloating because for the first time in my life, I actually feel something for a boy. I feel something when I look at him, when I touch him and even when I think about him.

‘We should go before they run out of cake,’ he says.

I open my eyes and smile at him. ‘I thought you said only crazy people eat cake at this early hour.’

‘I never said that.’

‘You kind of implied it.’

We walk past the path to a cement area next to the road, still holding hands. Stoker’s Land Rover is parked there. There are picnic tables on the grass here and a steel trash can on a wooden post. ‘It’s kind of a picnic area,’ he says, ‘for the tourists mainly.’

‘Is that how you think of me, as a tourist?’

‘Hell no. You were born here. You’re a Cover through and through.’

‘Cover? Did you just make that up?’

‘Maybe. OK, how about Covian? Cove-Dweller?’

‘And you call me crazy.’

‘I told you, I never said that.’

‘You implied it.’

‘You want to drive’ he asks, ‘now that you’re proficient with the gears?’

‘How do you know I’m proficient?’

‘I may have seen you driving the Volvo a couple of times around town.’

‘Are you stalking me?’

He flashes me an innocent look. ‘Me a stalker? Do I look like a stalker?’

‘I don’t know what a stalker looks like.’

‘They look like mechanics mainly. Mechanics who paint.’

I laugh and get into the passenger side. ‘You can drive. I don’t want to drive this monstrosity.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He gets into his seat and reverses onto the road before heading toward town.

I look out of my window and smile. The sun has come up and has lit up the sea and the cove and the cliffs.

It’s going to be a great day.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Reveal

Amy

We get to Sarah’s Coffee And Cakes and Stoker parks the Land Rover.

I slide out and he takes my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it feels like it is. We walk into the coffee shop together and a blonde lady in her forties behind the counter smiles at us. There are five other customers in here, even though it’s still really early. Two businessmen in suits reading newspapers and drinking coffee and a couple in their twenties who look like they’ve been camping on the beach. They’re eating pancakes. And an hispanic man who is wearing a suit and typing figures into a spreadsheet on his Macbook.

‘Hey, Stoker,’ the woman says, ‘who’s your friend?’

‘Hi, Sarah. This is Amy. Amy Anderson. Amy…Sarah.’

I smile and say hello.

‘Anderson? Are you Beth Anderson’s niece from America?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ I seem to be semi-famous in Promise Cove.

‘It’s a real shame what happened to your aunt. She was a lovely young woman. Now what can I get you two?’

‘Two coffees,’ Stoker says, ‘and I believe Amy wants some cake, despite the time.’

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Sarah says. ‘The cakes are over here, dear.

Freshly baked this morning.’

She shows me to an area where the cakes are displayed in a plexiglass case and I have a hard time choosing, they all look so good. ‘I think I’ll try the lemon drizzle.’

‘Good choice.’ She cuts me a big slice and puts it on a tray along with our coffees.

We find a table next to the window overlooking the beach and sit opposite each other. While Stoker pours cream into his coffee and adds sugar, he says, ‘Do you swim?’

That’s a strange question to ask out of the blue. ‘Yes, I do swim,’ I reply. What I don’t tell him is how I always wear a t-shirt over my swimsuit or bikini. And it’s always a dark t-shirt so it won’t get see-through when it’s wet, revealing the ugly scars on my arms.

‘Excellent.’ He takes a sip of coffee.

‘Are you going to tell me why?’

‘Because that means I can show you something. Something really cool.’

‘That’s what all the boys say.’

He laughs and almost chokes on his coffee. ‘No, that wasn’t a line.

There really is something I want to show you. I think you’ll like it.’

‘Sounds intriguing.’

‘Tomorrow’s Sunday so the bookshop is closed and the garage is closed and…the tide should be out at lunchtime…plus the weather forecast is good. How about tomorrow? You free?’

What would I be doing other than moping around the house eating junk food and watching TV?

‘I’m sure I will be free around lunchtime.’

‘Great. I’ll come pick you up around eleven. You’ll need a swimsuit and a towel. I’ll bring everything else.’

‘OK.’ He seems really excited so I hope I’m going to like whatever it is he’s going to show me.

I taste the lemon cake and it fills my mouth with tangy citrus flavors perfectly set off by the light sponge. ‘Oh my God, this cake is amazing!’

He laughs. ‘The perfect breakfast.’

‘Don’t knock it. You want to try some?’

‘No thanks, I’ll pass.’

‘Well you’re missing out.’

‘No, I’m not. Sitting here with you is what I’ve been wanting since I first saw you.’

‘Really? That time on the driveway? I have to apologize about that. I was tired and…’

‘Don’t apologize, you were really nice. That’s why I tried to ask you out after we got back from Penzance.’

‘What? Oh, you mean your ‘show you around Promise Cove’ thing?

Oh my God, I didn’t realize, Stoker. I’m sorry.’

‘Yes, that ‘thing’. Anyway, here we are.’

I nod. ‘Here we are.’ And I can’t think of any place I would rather be than here with him. He really does seem to be the perfect man. In a way that worries me because I feel like I should be pinching myself to make sure this isn’t a dream. But all my dreams are nightmares so this can’t be one of them.

‘But there is a downside to us being here,’ I say.

‘What’s that?’

‘You didn’t finish your painting.’

‘Never mind that. I’m really not bothered about it.’

‘But you came out there early to catch the dawn light and I took you away from it and now the dawn is over.’

‘There’s a dawn every day, you know.’

‘Yes, I am aware of that fact.’

‘Besides, I don’t come out early to get the light necessarily. I told you, it’s to avoid my dad.’

‘You said he doesn’t like you painting?’

‘Yeah.’

‘But you’re old enough to decide what you want to do, so why go sneaking around behind his back? Why not just tell him?’

‘It’s more complicated than that. It hurts him when I do stuff like painting and drawing.’

‘You’re going to have to explain that a little more. It doesn’t make sense.’

He takes a swallow of coffee and puts the cup down on the table. ‘I saw you at the cemetery the other morning. I couldn’t speak to you because I was too upset. Do you know why I was there?’

‘Your mother and brother are buried there. I saw their graves.’

‘Yeah. James was my older brother and he was my hero. He wasn’t just my hero, he was my dad’s hero. James had a real talent for playing football…or soccer as you would call it…and he was probably going to go pro. He had a few interviews lined up with professional clubs. My dad is something of an old-fashioned man, or as I like to call it a neanderthal.

So he loved that his son was a sportsman. James was everything Dad wanted in a son.’

I take a sip of coffee and prepare myself for what’s coming next because I already know this story ends in tragedy. I’ve seen the graves.

‘I was everything Dad didn’t understand. I liked to read, to lose myself in fictional worlds and daydreams. My talents are artistic and creative, two things Dad thinks are worthless. So James didn’t just become Dad’s favorite son, he became the only son Dad understood. I know a lot of kids think they’re misunderstood but I literally was.

Painting, drawing, reading…those things are alien to my dad. My mum tried to encourage me in the things I was interested in but Dad told her she was turning me into a sissy. Real men like sports and cars and drinking as far as he’s concerned.

‘I learned enough about cars to be a mechanic in the garage and all three of us worked there for a while but even then Dad and James would spend all day talking about sports and basically ignore me.

‘Then there was the car crash. Mum, James and I were in our Honda Civic on a clear spring evening coming home from a trip to the supermarket in Truro. As soon as we left Truro, my mum took the road that goes over the cliffs. There was a car broken down just around a bend.

There was no way she could have seen it in time. The driver of that car was just getting out of his vehicle when we crashed into it. I was in the back seat and the impact threw me between the front seats and out through the windscreen. If we had been anywhere else, I would have landed on the ground at a high velocity and probably been killed, or at least broken a lot of bones. But because we were at a point where the road was close to the cliff edge, I was thrown over the cliff and into the sea.

‘I remember landing in the water and being in incredible pain. The windscreen had cut my back and side to ribbons as I went through it and that made the salt water feel like acid in my wounds. I managed to swim to shore and drag myself up onto the beach but then I passed out. The paramedics found me there when they arrived at the scene.

‘I found out later, when I was in the hospital, that Mum and James and the other driver had all been killed instantly.’

‘That’s terrible,’ I say.

He nods. ‘After the accident, Dad started drinking heavily every evening. He usually passes out but not before telling me how much of a disappointment I am to him. He wishes I had died in that crash and James had lived.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

‘Oh, it’s true. He’s told me as much.’

‘He shouldn’t say things like that.’

He shrugs. ‘So that’s why I keep my creative life hidden. It hurts him because it reminds him that I’m not James. It drives a wedge between us.’

‘Stoker, you can’t live your life pretending to be someone you’re not.’

‘I know that. It just makes things easier if I don’t tell Dad when I’m painting. He’s already lost James and when I’m doing something he doesn’t understand, it makes him think he’s losing me too. Maybe he is.

We’re such different people.’

‘It sounds awful.’

‘It is. My dad and I can’t co-exist for much longer yet I feel so sorry for him. He lost his wife and son and now
he
feels lost.’