‘And, what about you? You never married?’
‘No. Why would I want to do that, after seeing how miserable Mum and Dad were? I wanted to be able to stand on my own two feet. Art, well, it wasn’t really a solid career choice. Dad thought I could give it a go, but Mum was dead against it. She wanted me to be financially secure. She said a “proper”—’ she tweaks her fingers to indicate quotation marks ‘—career would give me freedom. She was right.’
Ellie nods. ‘Marriage isn’t for everyone, I suppose. With Thomas there was never any question, once I’d got my head around leaving Britain. He proposed to me in a medieval tower in Norwich, did you know that? He gave me a lovely Art Deco ring. I don’t know whatever happened to it. I lost it years ago with my wedding band.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘Yes. I would have loved to have given them to Becca.’ Ellie flips over the page in her drawing pad and begins on a view out to sea. ‘You could have made an art career, Sophie. Many people do.’
Sophie shrugs. ‘Maybe. The idea just faded away. I didn’t want to be a doctor or a solicitor, but since I could draw, Mum and I agreed on architecture. The only problem was that I was terrible at calculus, and I needed it to study architecture. Poor Dad. I think I drained his bank account with all the summer calculus courses and tutors Mum made him pay for. I finally scraped through and got accepted to the University of Manchester to study architecture.’
‘Did that work for you? Did you enjoy it?’
‘It was fine. I worked hard and I did like parts of it quite a lot. The more creative elements. I graduated with first-class honours, found a good entry-level job in London and made my way up to senior architect at the firm. I went out on my own when I turned thirty. Six years ago I won the tender to design the Millennium Pavilion. It received a lot of publicity, and I had a call from a headhunting firm about a position at a leading architecture practice in New York. That’s where I was headed for an interview when my plane was diverted to Gander.’ She opens up her arms. ‘And, now, here I am.’
‘My heavens, Sophie! You’ve been busy. And you’re happy?’
‘I can’t complain.’
Ellie raises an eyebrow. ‘You can’t complain?’
‘No, I mean. Yes. I’m happy.’
Ellie nods. ‘Good. It’s important to be happy. Or, content, at least. I’m not sure I ever found out what happiness is.’
‘But weren’t you happy when you came to Newfoundland? Mum seemed to think you’d run off to dance through daisy fields here with your husband and your baby.’
Ellie laughs, the sound warm and husky. ‘Dancing through daisy fields? I certainly can’t imagine Emmy doing that!’
‘I heard her say that to Dad once when she was having a turn.’
Ellie sighs as she tucks a strand of hair the wind has caught behind her ear. ‘If Dottie only knew. It was very hard. There were times when I wanted to run away and take the first boat back home with Emmy. Thomas’s mother and I didn’t get on. She made my life a misery. But, I had no money to return to England even if I’d wanted to. And I loved Thomas. He was a good man.’
Ellie turns over another page and shifts on the bench to face a view of the village houses clustered along the coast. ‘I fell pregnant with Winny, and I knew then that I’d never leave. After Thomas died …’ She looks out to the sea and sighs. ‘After Thomas died, life just went on. One day after another, one year after another. And, me, always wishing I could go home. Then, when I was forty-four, Florie careered into my life, and I realised that this place, this rock of an island, is my home. And I’ve been content.’
She smiles at Sophie, her blue-grey eyes the colour of the ocean beyond her. ‘Now that you’re here, Sophie, my family’s complete. I might even say I’m happy.’
***
‘There, Becca, duckie,’ Florie says as she sets a loaf of bread and a grater on the wooden table, ‘climb on a chair and start grating some breadcrumbs for the meatballs.’
‘What are you making?’ Sophie asks as she pockets her mobile phone. ‘Can I help?’
‘Sure, thing, duck. Spaghetti and meatballs tonight. Meat’s in the fridge. Everythin’ else’s in the pantry.’
‘Righto’ Sophie heads through the door into the small pantry. Spaghetti and meatballs. How hard can it be? Boil up some spaghetti, heat up some sauce and fry up some meatballs.
She returns to the kitchen with a package of spaghetti. ‘I’ve found the spaghetti but there doesn’t seem to be any sauce.’
Florie laughs as she spoons blueberry pudding batter into a ceramic pudding bowl. ‘There won’t be, maid. We makes it from scratch here.’
Sophie’s face falls. ‘From scratch?’
Florie peers over at Sophie and grins. ‘Don’t get in a hobble about it, duck.’
The screen door swings open and Sam strolls into the kitchen, Rupert at his heels. He heads over to Becca and kisses her on her head. ‘What’s Princess Grace in a hobble about?’
‘I’m supposed to make spaghetti and meatballs and I haven’t got a clue how.’
Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘You don’t know how to make spaghetti and meatballs?’
‘No, I don’t. I don’t cook. I usually pick up something at Marks and Spencer or grab a pizza at Pizza Express.’
‘Did you hear that, Becca-bug?’ Sam signs. ‘I think we need to teach Sophie how to make spaghetti and meatballs, don’t you think?’
‘Yes! Yes!’
Florie secures a piece of wax paper over the pudding bowl with a large elastic band and
