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June 28 - July 5, 2021
Lawrence was philosophical about this last, merely remarking that it was a pity they hadn’t been inside it.
Spring in Cornwall is such a magical time. I must go soon, otherwise it will be too late.
‘Don’t forget those things,’ Sophie told her. ‘They are all part of the person that he was. It is good to remember the bad times as well as the good. After all, that is what life is all about.’
Grief was like a terrible burden, but at least you could lay it down by the side of the road and walk away from it. Antonia had come only a few paces, but already she could turn and look back and not weep. It wasn’t anything to do with forgetting. It was just accepting. Nothing was ever so bad once you had accepted it.
Self-reliance. This was the key word, the one thing that could pull you through any crisis fate chose to hurl at you. To be yourself. Independent. Not witless. Still able to make your own decisions and plot the course of what remains of your life. I do not need my children. Knowing their faults, recognising their shortcomings, I love them all, but I do not need them.
It was good. And nothing good is ever lost. It stays part of a person, becomes part of one’s character.
The glaring light off the sea. I could scarcely believe it, until I experienced it for myself.’
Far below, on the beach, the sea whispered.
the first of the balmy days stole up upon them, blue-skied, sweet-smelling, halcyon. Buds swelled on trees, the moor was misted green with young bracken, and the roadside banks starred with the creamy faces of wild primroses.
‘That’s a good one. Or spending a day at Silverstone, deafened by racing cars, and then, on the way home, stopping off at some vast, incredibly beautiful cathedral, and going in, and just listening to the silence.’
Penelope learned to live without him, because there was no alternative. You couldn’t say ‘I can’t bear it’ because if you didn’t bear, the only other thing to do was to stop the world and get off, and there did not seem any practical way to do this.
For, although it was blue, it was a blue made up of a thousand different hues. Over sand, shallow and translucent, it was jade-green, streaked with aquamarine. Over rocks and seaweed, it darkened to indigo. Far out, where a small fishing boat bucketed its way across the waves, it became a deep Prussian blue.
Cosmo always said that life wasn’t worth living unless you had something to look forward to.’
the old engine houses of disused tin mines pointed to the cloudless spring sky, jagged as broken teeth.
‘It’s after six o’clock. Would you mind if I telephoned Danus? I promised I would, just to let him know we’re safely back.’
Happiness is making the most of what you have, and riches is making the most of what you’ve got.
As long as Mumma was alive, she knew that some small part of herself had remained a child, cherished and adored. Perhaps you never completely grew up until your mother died.
Which was strange, like watching a tangle of loose threads unravel and plait themselves into a single braided cord, stretching ahead into the future.
