.
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу - страница 14
‘Sshh,’ she whispered, worried that the noise would attract unwanted attention.
‘It’s fine,’ Cal murmured. ‘No one will hear it.’
She pushed the gates open just wide enough to allow them to step through.
‘Are you worried it’s going to crumble into the sea with us at the wrong end?’ she said, turning to look at Cal again.
‘Are you looking for a reason not to do it?’ he countered, half smiling.
Was she? Kind of. Not because she was scared of it crumbling; she trusted her Grandpa Henry better than that. Her reticence was much less tangible than that, almost a muscle memory of being here before, a whisper of yesterday, a ghost from the past.
She was being fanciful; aware that her gran’s blood ran in her veins, that she looked so very much like her, that her spirit seemed to have lain dormant in her daughter and skipped down a generation. In actual fact, Violet was ever so slightly afraid. What had happened to Monica for her life to come to such a sudden, tragic end in Swallow Beach? It was unreasonable to fear the same fate, the sensible part of Vi’s brain knew that, but all the same her gran had arrived in Swallow Beach a bride and died far too young as a result. The thought sent a portentous chill down her spine. Maybe her mum was right to fear this place. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come here at all.
‘Violet?’ Cal’s hand warmed her shoulder. ‘Shall we?’
Buoyed by his presence, she swallowed her fear. It was now or never.
‘Yes. Yes, we shall.’
The change from pavement to wooden boards underfoot felt like passing from reality to fairytale. She was really here, really doing this, really walking along her grandmother’s beloved pier. After just one day here, Vi already felt immeasurably closer to Monica, never more so than as she set foot on Swallow Beach Pier for the first time.
‘Okay?’
Cal’s reassuring voice was quiet at her shoulder as he closed the gates so as not to attract attention. He didn’t touch her; perhaps he sensed she needed to do this under her own steam. She nodded, her gaze lifting towards the glass pavilion at the other end. She’d feared that it might feel rickety, rather like walking the plank, but it was dry and solid beneath the soles of her sheepskin boots. A light sea breeze lifted the blue ends of her hair, and she breathed in slowly, purposefully, filling her lungs with the fresh, salty air as she moved forwards. She was aware of Cal following a few steps behind her, grateful for both his presence and his silence.
‘I’m here, Gran,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve come.’
Solid as the pier was, Violet caught glimpses of the sand below through the gaps between the boards, and then of seawater as they moved further away from dry land. A slight sense of disorientation made her pause for a second, aware that they were putting their trust in the structure to hold them safely above the waves. Glancing back towards Cal, she found he’d paused too, and his little nod and thumbs up was enough to make her turn back and carry on again.
Half way now. She knew as much because a pale blue stripe had been painted across the boards and inscribed with the faded words ‘Half way to paradise’. Vi hunkered down to look at it, tracing her fingertips over the swirled golden letters, glad they’d stood the test of time.
Was it her grandmother’s hand? She suspected so. The letters had been accented in gold leaf, and something in the style reminded Violet of the Lido apartment. Looking at it, Vi couldn’t help but wonder if her grandmother had paused to look at it the very last time she’d walked the pier. Apprehension twisted her mouth, and then Cal’s hand on her shoulder made her look up, shielding her eyes from the low, peach-pink sunrise with her hand.
‘It’s tradition not to step on the line,’ he said. ‘Everyone in town knows that.’
Standing, Vi blew on her cold fingers, digesting this new bit of detail about the town’s relationship with the pier, even those too young to have ever been on it.
‘Right,’ she said, stepping carefully over the board. Maybe the rule was a practical one, there simply to protect the paint, or perhaps it was more deeply rooted in superstition. Good luck, bad luck. Was it random, or did fate play a part? Had Violet always been destined to come here?
Giving herself a mental shake, she marched along the pier, her head held high, not stopping again until she reached the end where the boards flared out to accommodate the pavilion. She wasn’t just Monica’s artistic, impulsive granddaughter. She was Della’s daughter, and Della had instilled a forthright practicality in her only child that served her well in that moment.
‘Keys,’ she whispered, feeling in her coat pocket.
‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ Cal asked.
Violet slid the key into the lock and found it as well-maintained as the previous one. Despite the fact that the pavilion was glass, it was difficult to see inside due to the dust accumulated over many years standing empty.
‘Yes, come in,’ she said, unthreading the chain from the door handles and laying it on the floor. As she bent she caught sight of the waves beneath them, a reminder that they were cut adrift from the mainland. Straightening, she rolled her shoulders and pulled the door open, giving it a bit of a shake when it offered resistance.
‘Smells a bit.’ She wrinkled her nose, pulling off her bobble hat and stepping inside as Cal pulled the door closed behind them.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, or rather side by side, given that Cal was a good six foot two to Violet’s five foot four.
‘Wow,’ Cal murmured. ‘I’ve only ever seen inside it in photographs.’
His words reminded Violet how much the pier was ingrained in the locals, and also reinforced how bizarre it was really that she’d grown up with no knowledge of it at all.
‘Do you know what it was used for?’ she asked, not yet moving further inside.
He paused. ‘Exhibitions, I think? And as a gallery too, for a while in the sixties. If my memory serves me rightly, it was a shopping arcade for a while too.’
‘Really?’
Cal nodded. ‘Local craft shops, souvenirs, that kind of thing.’
Violet gathered her coat closer around her. She had no idea what she was going to do with the pier, if anything. Her thought process hadn’t got much beyond this moment; seeing it, walking in Monica’s footsteps, trying to understand its power over her grandmother.
‘Shall we look around?’
Violet found herself glad of Cal’s suggestion; she’d faltered, held still by the quiet cathedral of the glass pavilion. Inside, it seemed to be separated into various spaces by smoked-glass СКАЧАТЬ