‘No.’ Sam nods towards the shore. ‘I’ve got a bigger place down by the shore now.’
Sophie squints at the shore. ‘You’ve got people working for you now?’
‘Emmett helps on the bigger orders when I need it. I still help him on the boats when he needs it. Becca’s boyfriend, Toby, has been getting underfoot there, too, since the fish processing plant closed in Heart’s Wish. I’ve had him turning out the table and chair legs on the new lathe.’
‘Why don’t you expand? The lead-time was quite long.’
Sam grunts. ‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘Well, to make more money. Be successful.’
Sam pulls a chamois cloth from his back pocket and rubs it along the sanded hull. ‘That’s it, then? In order to be successful, you need to earn a lot of money?’
Sophie crosses her arms. ‘It’s what capitalism is all about.’
‘Right. And money plus success equals happiness?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Are you happy?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted.’
‘That wasn’t what I asked.’
Sophie frowns at Sam. ‘Why are you so angry with me?’
Sam folds the cloth and stuffs it back into the pocket of his jeans. ‘Because I haven’t been able to forget you. And it tees me off.’
Sophie feels the blood rising in her cheeks. He hasn’t been able to forget me?
‘Sam, look, I’m sorry. Life just … the past ten years just went so fast. I never intended to lose touch.’ She kicks at a small orange buoy on the wharf. ‘I concentrated on my career and it’s been wonderful. I’m a lead architect at the firm. Up for a partnership. I design buildings all around the world. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.’
‘Great. That’s great. I’m happy for you.’
Raising her hands, she signs the words she’s been practising: ‘How’s Becca? Is she well?’
Sam signs back: ‘She’s beautiful.’
Sophie folds her right hand and moves it over her chest in a circle, then she spells out Sam’s name with her fingers. ‘I’m sorry about what happened.’
Sam nods. ‘It wasn’t your fault. I think she’s forgotten all about it. She was just a kid.’
He looks out over the tickle’s rippled blue water. ‘So, Princess Grace, what brings you back after all these years? I wouldn’t flatter myself that you’ve come to see me, and, knowing you, I don’t imagine it’s a holiday.’
Her stomach jolts. How does he know? Can he read me that easily? She can’t tell him about the hotel. At least, not yet. She needs to handle this carefully. It affects everyone in the town, not just Sam. Say the wrong thing, to the wrong person, and the locals will dig their heels in and refuse to budge. A luxury hotel in the centre of Tippy’s Tickle is an idea that she needs to introduce when she’s warmed them up, planted some seeds. The closure of the fish processing plant is a windfall of good luck. The hotel will bring jobs, she’ll tell them; she’ll get the consortium on board with that somehow. Jobs bring money. And money, despite what they say, can definitely bring happiness. Or, at least something close to it.
‘Well, you’re wrong, Sam. I needed a break and I know Aunt Ellie’s birthday is coming up. I know I’ve been rubbish keeping in contact with her, so I thought it was time to come to see you all.’ She glances towards the store. ‘Though not particularly Emmett.’ She rests her elbow on the boat hull. ‘I’ve done nothing but work for the past ten years. I love my job, but I want more balance in my life. Otherwise someday my headstone will say “Here lies Sophie Parry. She worked herself to death”.’
‘So you figured you’d get some balance by coming here.’
‘Why not? I used to draw and paint when I was younger. My mother said I was like Aunt Ellie that way. I really enjoyed picking it up again with Aunt Ellie the last time I was here. I’ve actually kept it up since I’ve been in New York. I’ve just signed up for a painting class, too. I thought I’d spend some time working on some sketches up here. Maybe one day I’ll be good enough to have an exhibition.’ She waves her hand over the view of the tickle and the rocky shoreline with its spattering of colourful houses and wind-bent trees. ‘If I can’t find inspiration here, I’m a lost cause.’
Sam rubs his forehead. ‘Well, you can do what you like, but don’t distract Becca. She’s studying for her entrance exams for med school. She wants to study at Memorial next year.’
‘Oh, I’d never do that, Sam. I know how important it is to be focused.’
Sam looks at Sophie and shakes his head. ‘You know, I thought there was something between us.’
Sophie’s heart jumps. You thought there was something between us? Why didn’t you say anything at the airport? Why didn’t you say anything?
‘Sam, you said you couldn’t get involved with someone who lived in a different country because it wouldn’t be fair on Becca. At the airport, when I left. You said something about timings and geography. Remember? I remember.’
Sam sucks in a breath of air between his teeth. ‘I was an idiot, Sophie. Wince said as much.’
‘You told Wince? The guy at the garage?’
He tugs the cloth out of his pocket and starts buffing the boat’s paintwork again. ‘You get in a garage, and you talk.’ He shrugs. ‘I thought you’d come back at some point and I could make it right.’
Sophie reaches across and rests her hand on Sam’s. ‘But Sam, I have.’
Chapter 52
Tippy’s Tickle – 11 August 1947
Ellie shuts the flimsy wooden door of the outhouse and skirts under a line of washing as she hurries back to the house. She stops to pick several stems of the wild fireweed that shoots up in bright purple banks around the scrubby yard, and swats at the mosquitoes that whine persistently around her head.
Agnes looks up at her from her knitting as the screen door slams.
