Emma’s first day back, stop by stop

1. The cliff road. It follows the cliffs for nearly a mile before dropping down to the harbour. In winter storms the waves climb halfway up the granite, and people in the village can hear them hitting the rock from their beds.
2. St Brynn’s. The old church, its stone tower unchanged, though the clock face now has a crack running through one corner.
3. The bakery. On the corner before the harbour road. The painted sign has faded. The smell of fresh bread hasn’t.
4. The harbour. Fishing boats in faded reds and blues behind a curved stone breakwater, coils of rope by the quay, and a couple of old men on the wall discussing tides and weather, exactly as they did twenty years ago.
5. The Harbour Lantern. Maggie’s pub. Floorboards that creak, lamps reflected in a polished bar, a table by the back wall with a view of the boats, and coffee that has been on the warmer a good while.
6. The old post office. Up the hill from the harbour, its crooked sign faded to a dull red.
7. The cottage on the hill. Small and solid, weathered by years of Atlantic wind, the front garden gone wild. Upstairs, two doors face each other across the landing. One was Emma’s. The other was Anna’s.
8. The old coastguard station. On the path out along the headland. Boarded up now, the door hanging crooked in its frame, the paint stripped by salt and wind.
9. The lighthouse. Built in 1870 and run these days by remote monitoring somewhere on the mainland. When Lucas was a boy it still had a keeper, a thin, white-bearded man called Trevithick whose hands smelled of paraffin and salt.
10. The caves. Below the headland, the old smugglers’ openings run back into the cliff. Every child in Porth Trevan has dared the others to walk a little further into the dark. Most people only know the main entrances. There’s more further in, if you know where to look.