Cassy heard the familiar rattle of her letterbox. The post here in Cornwall was always on time; letters and bills would arrive on her welcome matt at some point between nine-thirty and ten every morning. Back in London you would be lucky to see a postman before midday.
She had come down from Capital over a year ago, and now had no regrets. For a short period, out of season during her first December, she had wondered if she had done the right thing leaving her job and her friends. During that winter she had felt disengaged from the world, isolated and deflated. The locals had seemed indifferent, only the young men would acknowledge her as a presence, with looks of lust as she walked by. She had never felt so completely alone.
At first she constantly pined for Amie, her ex-partner. She still could not understand why she betrayed her trust and jumped into bed with that slutty little book illustrator, Pippa Goodenough. What irked most about Amie's deceit was that she herself had introduced them to each other at the London Book Fair. They were now living together in Nottinghill Gate, and last month they, the bitches, had sent her an invitation to their civil ceremony. Talk about rubbing your nose in it!
When Amie told Cassy that she was leaving, that was the final straw. For months before it all blew up she had only been going through the motions at work. After Amie's news, and a week of smashing ornaments, she decided to resign from her job as features editor at Crimson Lady, the society women's magazine. Widespread broadband meant she could easily have carried on working from her new home in Cornwall, but she had decided to take a complete break and concentrate on finishing the novel she had been wrestling with for over two years. Her agent had promised to get it published on the strength of the first chapter
The writing had been going well and now she was in the final stages of tidying up loose ends. She had no T.V. and only an old dial up Internet connection, which she used once a week to catch up with her friends. The still viewed her move away with bewildered incredulity. But she did not miss the tedious social rounds; the invitations to a new book launch, or the dinner parties held by smug happy couples. Nor the office gossip or the deluge of celebrity tittle-tattle that the media and her own publication was obsessed with.
After paying back what she still owed on the mortgage, the money she had made on the sale of her flat had been enough for her to buy small cottage. Properties were a third the price you would pay in London. With the thirty thousand she now had left over, she would be able to survive for at least two years or more. Time enough to finish her book.
Gradually, though, Cassy had fallen in love with the bleak isolation of the Cornish coast in winter. Now the sense of isolation protected her and impelled her inwards, to dig deep within her-self for the ideas that would steer her writing. Each day before she would start to write, she would walk on the beach in the early morning, the wind from the Atlantic scouring her face. Then, for half an hour or more, she would sit on the dunes, snugly ensconced in the depths of her arctic parka, and let the sound of the huge breakers sweep her mind clean. She would go back to her work desk inspired, ready to write for four hours. It was the same each day, everyday, like clockwork.
And over time the locals had become used to seeing her going about her errands in their small seaside town, and they would stop to pass the time of day. The shopkeepers would smile in recognition when she went into their stores and address her as Miss Thompson.
It was now late May and it was hot. The summer seemed to be here at last. She had set about opening her mail and was feeling very pleased with her new life. She drank tea whilst looking at each envelope in turn. Most were typed business correspondences, but there was one letter with a large colourful foreign stamp in the corner. The address was in a handwriting that she recognised as belonging to one of the twins, her nieces, the daughters of her much older sister Mary.
Now, which one was it? Cassy looked hard at the handwriting and decided it belonged to Lotti. Lorri was left-handed and was not as neat as her sister. It said that the pair would soon be back in the U.K and asked, would it be okay for them to visit? They would telephone when they arrived in at the airport. She had given up ever hearing from them again, and although tears were in her eyes, inside she felt ready to burst with gladness.
Two weeks later she was waiting outside the railway station waiting for the girls to arrive, feeling excited, and very nervous. They would be grown women now, not the teenage girls they had been when they left. She thought about how they used to be and the time they were emotionally close.
After their father, Jack, had left them, Mary had found it hard to cope with the girls. The separation had affected her badly and she had started to drink heavily. Relatives offered to do what they could to help her with the care of her daughters.
The girls would visit Cassy once each month, to stay with her and Amie, in the new house that they had just moved into. They would arrive Friday evening and leave Sunday teatime. Amie indulged the girls, and Cassy loved those days when they would play being a family. As other relatives became tired of the burden of looking after two troubled teenage girls, they came to Cassy's place more and more often, until by the time they were seventeen they were there every weekend, and longer in the holidays.
During their eighteenth year, whilst taking their exams, it had been thought best that the twins went to live with Cassy for the summer. There they could study without having to cope with the emotional demands of their mother. They both received the grades they needed for the universities of the their choice and all was looking on course for them. In September Cassy waved them both goodbye as they set out together on their gap-year travels. They had not been back to the UK since that day, failing to return to take up their uni places. It had been three years now since she had seen them. She had received the occasional email, or card but in her heart she had thought them lost to her.
And then she saw them coming through the station exit, all back packs, T-shirts, and shorts. She marvelled at the pair. They were both fine looking young women now, but together, like this, their combined beauty radiated from them and no one could help but stop and stare as they went by. They were not identical twins; Lotti had straight, nearly black hair. She was Olive skinned and Mediterranean looking. Cassy had always thought she resembled a younger version of herself, and did so even more so today. They had probably inherited a similar combination of genes. Lorri was taller, with pale and freckled skin, her hair was an explosion of strawberry blond curls. Her looks were those of her father.
Cassy got out of the car and waved, "Over here, girls."
They both turned, and when they saw her, Lotti shouted, "Auntie Cassy! Oh Auntie Cassy! She's there, Lorri." She pointed, "There!" They ran to her.
They hugged and exchanged kisses. Tears came to Cassy's eyes and she thought she might cry completely. She had not expected this surge of emotion. After the company of strangers for so long the sudden presence of her family undid some tight knot that she had tied inside herself, it detonated a bomb of love.
When the excitement had abated, Cassy took them to a local pub for lunch. They talked all afternoon, re-establishing old bonds. The girls explained their failure to return and were sad that they had upset Cassy. They told her of their plans and that they were back in the UK to stay, and that they would now be re-applying to university.
Later, they asked if it would be okay if they surfed for a couple of hours before going to the cottage. Cassy said that she could do with some time on the beach in the sun, and that she would love to watch them. The girls hired boards and wet suits and ambled down to the waterline.
She watched from the dunes as they surfed. Learning to surf had been on her list of things to do, but the winter had meant she had put it on hold. Today the surf was clean and well formed, the waves about two foot high. They were not bad surfers and managed to ride a number of waves all the way. They had taken lessons while they had been in New Zealand, and had practised again while travelling in Australia.
After the surfing, the girls sat on towels with their aunt.
Sitting up and rummaging in her beach bag, Cassy said, "You should put some cream on, girls. It may not be that hot but the sun can still catch you. Especially you, Lorri, with that fair skin of yours." She threw the bottle to her.
Lorri undid the top and smeared dollops onto her arms and rubbed it in, all the while looking at Cassy. "Can you do my shoulders, Aunt Cassy, please? I can't reach."
Cassy crawled across the towels to her and quickly applied cream to Lorri's, pale, freckled shoulders.
