Chapter 53
Tippy’s Tickle – 12 September 2011
‘Have you spoken to them?’
Sophie glances at her bedroom door and turns down the volume on her laptop. ‘Give me some time. I’ve only just arrived, Richard. I have to find the right way to do this. Most of the people in Tippy’s Tickle have been living here all their lives. It’s their home.’
Richard removes his round, black-framed glasses. He huffs on the glass and wipes the lenses with a white handkerchief. ‘Sophie, we don’t have time. You know what we can offer. It’s more than generous. I don’t know why you’re making this so complicated. We only need the land around that big house on the cliff and access to the water for the marina. For a start, anyway. What’s that? Three, four properties? Everyone else can stay in their shacks, for all I care. Believe me, those folks will think they’ve won the lottery. They’ll be lining up once we start handing out the money.’
He picks up a tiny white china espresso cup in a thick-fingered hand and sips the coffee. He sets down the cup in its saucer, the chink of china resonating over the Skype connection. ‘I’ve got a meeting with the consortium Friday afternoon here in the boardroom at two. I want to give them some good news, Sophie.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Richard slides his glasses up the bridge of his large Roman nose. ‘Failure isn’t an option.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
Richard shrugs, the neck of his black turtleneck sweater swamping his chin. ‘If you don’t get every one of those people signing up to sell by Friday, don’t bother coming back to New York.’
***
Becca runs up the road from the cottage towards Sam’s pickup truck, Bear loping at her heels, a stuffed dinosaur, frayed and faded, in his mouth. Standing with her hand on the pickup’s door handle, Sophie watches the girl approach; tall, like Sam, and so pretty in the loose floral cotton dress and oversized blue sweater embroidered with fabric flowers, her fine blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Sophie waves at her, signing, ‘Hello, Becca.’
Becca nods politely at Sophie, her eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses the steely blue of a winter sea. ‘Hello, Sophie. How are you?’ she signs.
‘I’m well. It’s nice to see you.’
A shadow of a smile flicks across Becca’s face, then she climbs into the back of the pickup truck with Bear, making a nest for herself amongst the easels and blankets.
Florie hands Sophie a wicker picnic basket and a yapping dachshund. ‘Here you goes, maid. Make sure Hildy doesn’t get into the food. She almost had my finger off this morning when I was makin’ the cheese sandwiches.’
Sam turns the key in the ignition. The engine sputters and chokes. He tries again, and the engine engages with a gritty whine. He leans out of the window. ‘Get in or we’ll miss the sun. It’s going to rain later.’
‘Sit in the front with Sam,’ Ellie says, coming up beside Sophie. ‘I get nervous when we’re driving along the coast. I’ll sit in the back with Florie.’
Sophie glances through the window at Sam, who is twisting the radio knob through a range of static. When she’d put her hand on his earlier, he’d pulled away.
What did you expect, Sophie? That he’d declare his love for you and you’d live happily ever after?
‘Are you sure, Aunt Ellie?’
‘Absolutely.’ She nudges Sophie’s shoulder. ‘Go.’
Sophie climbs into the passenger seat beside Sam. Glancing into the rear-view mirror, she catches Becca’s eye and smiles, but the girl turns away.
Chapter 54
Tippy’s Tickle – 24 July 1948
‘You sees how I’m doin’ it, Emmy? You takes the penknife and you just skims the wood a bit at a time till it’s smooth as margarine.’ Thomas hands the small carving to his son. ‘Does that feels like margarine to you, son?’
‘Yes, Da’.’
‘What does you think it looks like?’
Emmett runs his fingers over the curves and something that looks like a beak. ‘A bird?’
Thomas tousles Emmett hair. ‘It is a bird, b’y. Aren’t you a clever clogs? We’ll gets your mam to paint it up for you, so it looks one of the puffins we saw down the coast.’
Emmett’s round face crumples into a frown. ‘There’s no wings.’ He sticks a finger into a hole on the side of the carving. ‘What’s that?’
‘That’s where the wings goes. See? There’s a hole on each side.’ Thomas picks up two thin, tapered batons, and hands one to Emmett. ‘Here, son, put the narrow ends in the holes.’ Holding the bird’s round body steady, he helps Emmett slot the batons into the holes. He sets the tall wooden stand he’s carved on the table.
‘You sees how the bird has a nice round base likes a ball?’
Emmett nods.
‘And you sees how the stand has a curve in it like a saucer? Now, you puts the bird on top. Don’t knock off those wings.’
Emmett carefully sets the bird on top of the stand until the long baton wings splay out either side. He clutches the bird’s round body. ‘It’ll fall off, Da’.’
‘Let go, son. It won’t fall, I promises you.’
Emmett releases the wooden bird. Thomas taps the bird’s plump body, setting it teetering wildly on top of the stand.
‘It’ll fall!’
‘It won’t, Emmy. See these wings? They’re balancing the body. It’ll just roll around and go back and forth, but it won’t fall off.’
A knock on the store’s door. A waft of hot baking. Ellie walks in with a basket covered in a tea towel. ‘How are my boys? I brought you some tea buns fresh out of the oven.’ She sets down the basket on the battered wooden table. ‘Well, look at that. Isn’t that clever?’
‘You needs to paint it likes a puffin, Mammy.’
‘I can do that, Emmy. Daddy will just need to find
