‘Yeah. It was fun.’
‘Was Connor there?’
Ryan nodded. ‘I had no idea astronomy was so popular over here. The club was packed.’
‘Really? Connor’s always given me the impression that it’s three nerds and Mr Chinn. No offence.’
He laughed. ‘Do you think I’m a nerd?’
We had reached the turn-off from the main road that led down to Penpol Cove. Ryan shifted quickly down through the gears, making the engine roar.
‘Sorry. I haven’t got the hang of these gears yet,’ he said as we passed the small shop at the edge of the village. ‘Whereabouts exactly do you live?’
‘The other side of the village,’ I said, giving him directions.
‘I’m just further down the lane. In the farmhouse by the cove.’
‘That place has been for sale for ever,’ I said.
Ryan shrugged one shoulder. ‘My dad likes it. It’s quiet.’
I knew the house in question. It was a large granite building right at the end of Trenoweth Lane with views over the cove. Once it had been part of a working farm, but now it was just a big house with a very large garden. No one had lived there for years.
Ryan pulled up in front of my house and switched off the engine. My heart began to thud. Why had he switched off the engine? I could feel the redness begin to blossom across my chest. It would only be a minute or so before it crept up my neck and on to my face, like a flower blooming in a time-lapse photo. I wondered if I could say goodbye and escape before that happened.
‘Thank you for driving me home, Ryan,’ I said. The words came out all wrong. I sounded like an old- fashioned girl who’d been for a drive with her beau. It must be obvious that I didn’t usually do things like this.
He shrugged. ‘You’re welcome. I had to pass you anyway.’
I opened my door and then paused. ‘Are you going to the party tomorrow?’
‘I haven’t been invited.’ He looked at me. ‘Unless you’re inviting me now?’
I nodded. ‘It’s Amy’s birthday. She’s invited everyone.’
‘What do I need to bring?’
‘I’m taking a load of food. You don’t need to bring anything. She’s holding it on Perran Towans, the beach just outside town. At two o’clock.’
‘Shall I pick you up at a quarter of two?’
He was offering to pick me up? My heart repeated the squeeze from earlier, and yet I knew I couldn’t accept.
‘You’re too young to drive.’
‘Apparently I’m not.’
‘Miranda – she’s my aunt, I live with her – there’s no way she’ll ever let me get into a car with a sixteen- year-old driver,’ I said. ‘We could take the bus?’
Ryan shook his head. ‘You just said you’re taking lots of food. My sister Cassie can drive us. She’s seventeen.’
I shrugged. ‘OK. See you tomorrow.’
I slammed the car door and walked up to the house, trying not to skip. Ryan Westland was going to the beach with me tomorrow. OK, it wasn’t exactly a date, but still, we would be going together and I wouldn’t have to wait until Monday to see him again.
Miranda was in the sitting room watching the television with Travis. Two large wine glasses were on the coffee table in front of them.
‘Did you have a good evening?’ she asked, pressing the mute button on the remote control.
She had dressed up. She worked as a legal secretary for a small firm of solicitors in Perran, and always wore a neat, black suit to work. Before Travis, she used to come home from work and change straight into sweatpants and slippers. Tonight, though, she was wearing a red dress I’d never seen before.
‘Yes thanks. We went to the cinema.’
‘How did you get home?’
This was a question I knew to expect. Miranda’s approach to parenting consisted mainly of checking up on my transport arrangements and keeping me clear of wild parties.
‘Megan’s dad gave me a lift,’ I said, the lie rolling easily off my tongue. If I’d mentioned that a sixteen-year- old boy had driven me home, I would probably have been grounded until Christmas.
‘See if you can finish this,’ she said, passing me the newspaper.
I knew without looking that it was the crossword.
‘Have you eaten?’ Travis asked. ‘I cooked teriyaki duck with quinoa and rocket salad. The salad is all gone but there’s a little duck left if you want some.’
I glared at Travis. He knew very well that I was vegetarian. ‘I’m not hungry,’ I said, ‘but thanks for thinking of me.’
‘It’s tasty,’ he said. ‘And fatty. You look like you could use some more meat on your bones.’
‘I’d prefer to be skinny than eat a decomposing corpse.’
He curled his lip in a half-smile. ‘I wonder when you’ll outgrow your vegetarian phase and start enjoying some good food.’
‘I wonder when you’ll stop patronising me,’ I said, smiling back.
‘Travis is an amazing cook,’ said Miranda. ‘You really are missing out.’
Travis was a chef. Originally from California, he had been living in Perran for a few months now, planning to open a fish restaurant on the seafront. He had met Miranda when her firm did the conveyancing on the building.
‘I picked up some food for tomorrow,’ said Miranda. ‘Some courgettes, red peppers and button mushrooms in case you want to make some veggie kebabs.’
I smiled. ‘Thanks, Miranda.’
‘And I also picked up some soft drinks.’
She glanced at the empty wine glasses on the table. Before she started going out with Travis, she had never brought alcohol home. ‘Eden,’ she began, ‘can you promise me that you’ll be sensible at this beach party?’
I nodded. ‘I won’t be drinking, if that’s what you mean.’
She nodded slowly. ‘And how will you be getting there?’
‘I’m getting a lift with a friend.’
She frowned, a severe crease appearing between her eyebrows. ‘Which friend?’
‘Ryan Westland. He’s new at school. His sister’s driving us.’
Travis sat forward. ‘Westland? I’ve heard about them. Father’s a writer.’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘He lives around here somewhere, doesn’t he?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘In the farmhouse down at the end of Trenoweth Lane.’
‘How old is his sister?’ asked Miranda.
‘Eighteen,’ I said, adding a year for insurance.
‘I suppose that’s OK.’ Miranda smiled and turned up the volume on the television. ‘See if you can finish the crossword,’ she said, nuzzling up to Travis.
Chapter 3
I pounded down the empty lanes of Penpol Cove, the cold air ripping into my throat and lungs until my chest felt raw. The first mile was always the worst. My limbs felt weak and rubbery, my breathing was laboured. Experience told me that if I could survive the first mile, I would soon get into the zone, find my stride and lose myself in the rhythm of my run.
My usual route took me through the village and then down the lane to Penpol Cove, past the farmhouse where Ryan Westland now lived. The thought of him seeing me run past his house was just too embarrassing to
