The Cliff House: A beautiful and addictive story of loss and longing. Amanda Jennings

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you come over later? Max is doing a barbecue for supper. I asked if I could invite a friend and he said YES. Your mother didn’t know if you were busy or not.

       I REALLY hope you aren’t!!

       Please say you’ll come! I am LITERALLY going out of my mind with the boredom. I think I might DIE of it soon!

      Call me on Penzance 3483 to arrange.

       Edie x

      To make sure I hadn’t misread a word of it, I read it three times over. Then I held the notepaper up to my face and kissed it. This was the single most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. Had she really called me a friend? I read the note a fourth time to make sure while a heat burnt inside me like a bonfire. An invite to a barbecue? I couldn’t believe it. I’d never even had a barbecue. But there I was – me! – with a proper invitation in blue fountain pen on watermarked paper. No more sneaking around. No more fear of getting caught. I was going to The Cliff House as an invited and welcome guest. It was – as Edie would say – literally a dream come true.

      ‘Mum! Mum!’ I called as I ran down the stairs. ‘Can I borrow ten pence?’

      I grabbed her bag from the hook and took out her purse then hared out of the front door. She called something after me, but I didn’t hear what she’d said so I lifted a hand and shouted, ‘Back in a sec!’

      When I reached the telephone box on the corner I yanked open the door, recoiling a little from the smell inside. Jago said it was where drunk men peed after the pub closed. So disgusting. Breathing through my mouth and not my nose, I pushed my hair off my face and blew sharply upwards against my sweating brow, whilst retrieving a coin from Mum’s purse.

      My hand shook as I picked up the receiver and placed it between my shoulder and cheek. Holding the letter up to read the telephone number, I carefully turned the dial for each digit. As I waited for the numbers to click though I had the sudden fear that this was an elaborate practical joke, that perhaps the number she gave me was made up and she was hiding nearby, watching me make a fool of myself with tears of laughter pouring down her cheeks. My stomach churned so ferociously I nearly slammed the receiver down. But then it began to ring. Two rings in my ear. Two in The Cliff House. Two in my ear…

      I pictured their phone on the hall table. Black and new-fangled with buttons like a calculator. I imagined its ring echoing around the house and Edie walking towards it with her hand outstretched. Nerves catapulted around my body. What on earth was I going to say? I had to keep calm. I’d been invited for tea. If I wanted to go – and, oh God, I did – then I had to get through this.

      Someone picked up the phone. Then the phone beeped demanding its money. I swallowed and pushed in the coin. It dropped into the box and the beeps silenced.

      ‘Penzance three four eight three?’ said the poshest voice I’d ever heard. It wasn’t Edie. It must be her. Mrs Davenport with her creamy skin and honeyed hair. My stomach pitched.

      ‘Erm, hello…’ My throat constricted, forcing my words into a strangled squeak. ‘It’s… Tamsyn.’

      ‘Who?

      ‘Can I… speak to Edie?’

      There was talking in the background. Muffled. The receiver must have been smothered by a hand as the voices became faint. Then distant footsteps. A muted ‘It’s for you.’

      Then Edie’s voice. ‘Tamsyn?’

      ‘Hi. I… got your… letter.’ My finger went to my mouth and I chewed on my nail, now certain this couldn’t be real and she was about to explode with cruel laughter.

      But she didn’t.

      ‘Can you come?’ she said.

      I closed my eyes as relief flooded me. ‘Yes,’ I breathed.

      ‘That’s great.’

      ‘I’d love to. I really would. And I’ve got nothing planned. Nothing at all.’ I was aware I was speaking too fast, tripping over my words in my desperation to get them out.

      ‘Excellent. Max thinks he’s God’s gift to barbecuing, so I apologise in advance for any weirdness. And bring your swimming costume. I’m not sure your bra and knickers are appropriate.’

      She laughed and a prickling heat swept over my neck and cheeks as I relived hauling myself out of the pool in my translucent underwear while she looked on, clothed and beautiful.

      ‘Come as soon as you can, will you? I wasn’t lying when I said I was dying of boredom. I have no idea how you exist down here. God, I miss London.’

      The beeps signalling the end of my ten pence began to chirrup. ‘Okay. I’m walking, but I’ll leave now.’

      ‘When you get here we—’

      The line clicked dead so I missed the end of her sentence.

      Despite being delirious with happiness, the claustrophobic atmosphere in our dark cramped house closed in around me in an instant. I hated it. There used to be a time when this house felt like the safest place in the world. When the air rang with laughter not devastated silence. It had been a place of bedtime stories and playing Snakes and Ladders in front of the fire. Now it was cold and unwelcoming, any joy snuffed out by loss and worry.

      My mother stepped out of the kitchen as I came in. She held a packet of Jaffa Cakes. ‘Want one?’

      ‘Jaffa Cakes? What are we celebrating?’

      ‘My extra hours.’

      ‘Maybe later,’ I said, as casually as I could manage. ‘I’m going to the Davenports’ for a barbecue supper.’

      ‘A what?’

      ‘Supper.’

      ‘Supper?’ Her face clouded in confusion again.

      ‘Tea. A barbecue tea. Edie asked me. That was what was in the letter. I checked. Just now on the phone.’ Saying the words aloud made it all seem even more thrilling and I beamed. ‘She said bring a swimsuit.’

      A look crossed my mother’s face which I couldn’t read. ‘Why?’

      ‘For a swim.’

      ‘No, I mean why’s she asked you for tea?’

      ‘Supper not tea. And I already told you. We met yesterday and she likes me.’

      My mother shook her head. Her brow knotted. ‘She likes you?’

      The way she kept repeating everything I said whilst looking so bloody suspicious made me want to scream, but I took a breath and kept my voice level. ‘It is possible for people to like me, you know.’

      ‘I know. I’m not saying… It’s just…’

      My irritation boiled over like a forgotten milk pan. ‘What?’

      ‘Well, they’re… I don’t know. It’s…’

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