journey across to Helford Passage, but elsewhere, pausing to place her flowers as she had on this same day the previous year - the first time; Gladioli, G.Communis, known locally as Whistling Jack, an explosion of vibrant magenta picked from their own garden as the last offerings of a warm summer. They were Gabriel’s favourite.
Wrapped around the flower stems, clutched so tightly that her knuckles strained her skin, was a familiar newspaper cutting; the start of their journey. The cutting was from the Western Morning News, dated October 3rd. She’d kept it these past three years.
The title ran: Rare Business Opportunity . It invited offers for the ferry business and a number of river moorings, including pontoon ramps and beach kiosks, with an option to purchase associated equipment such as vessels and marine equipment. According to the Truro based selling agents it would secure the buyer a new way of life, suiting somebody looking for a lifestyle change.
Beneath the main advertisement was a brief history informing prospective buyers that the Helford Ferry, now a foot ferry primarily for tourists, had been in continuous service since the reign of King Canute in 1023, serving as a working horse ferry and a valuable link to Falmouth. It had seemed perfect - it was perfect. If only for the briefest of times.
Amy’s stare remained fixed somewhere out on the twinkling water; countless sail boats were little more than white blurs. Silently she wished she could give everything back in exchange for the hurried lives they used to know - used to share. The lengthy, often delayed commutes during hot and sweaty summer months, carriages overburdened with like-minded commuters affording no time to one another - no interest.
“Morning!” Two walkers approached along the path, hand in hand, bringing her immediate surroundings back into focus. “Lovely day.” And it was. It might still have been August.
Amy made a fist, still sensing the memory of Gabriel’s hand around hers, wrapping it, protecting and comforting. She longed just to hold his hand again, to feel his skin, his warm breath on her lips before a kiss. She smiled at the couple through choked eyes, making no contact, the corners of her mouth barely lifting.
The man waved a collapsible walking pole towards her in friendly gesture as they passed and Amy turned away again, looking down to her watch: a Cartier Lanières, worn for the occasion. Twenty round-cut diamonds bordered the long hexagonal face, linked by a slim, three-row 18ct gold bracelet. It was a present from Gabriel and a reminder of her past life. The black, sword shaped hands told her it was nearly time.
She rose slowly from the bench. Then she sat down again, unable to bring herself to what she knew she must face. Where’s Martin? She would wait. As she sat, the sun caught the bright gold of her wedding ring, drawing her eye. They were Gabriel’s idea: matching Celtic bands depicting a circle of delicately engraved interlocking hearts, each inverted against the other. It meant so much to her. The tangible symbol of their love that she had toyed with constantly, affectionately, for the last twenty years. Now she flicked at it anxiously with the edge of her thumb nail and recalled how both their parents had urged them to wait. She was barely nineteen, another year or so, just to be certain...
Amy had never been more certain of anything in her life, then or now. Without warning the tears came, like it had only just happened.
Across the water at Helford Passage, a twenty-six foot glass-fibre catamaran was being untied from its moveable pontoon. The first of its kind, it was powered by two 25hp engines and was designed to land passengers on the beaches of Trebah and Glendurgan via a bow access ramp. It allowed business expansion to include trips to the gardens, and due to its design could cope with rough weather
Wrapped around the flower stems, clutched so tightly that her knuckles strained her skin, was a familiar newspaper cutting; the start of their journey. The cutting was from the Western Morning News, dated October 3rd. She’d kept it these past three years.
The title ran: Rare Business Opportunity . It invited offers for the ferry business and a number of river moorings, including pontoon ramps and beach kiosks, with an option to purchase associated equipment such as vessels and marine equipment. According to the Truro based selling agents it would secure the buyer a new way of life, suiting somebody looking for a lifestyle change.
Beneath the main advertisement was a brief history informing prospective buyers that the Helford Ferry, now a foot ferry primarily for tourists, had been in continuous service since the reign of King Canute in 1023, serving as a working horse ferry and a valuable link to Falmouth. It had seemed perfect - it was perfect. If only for the briefest of times.
Amy’s stare remained fixed somewhere out on the twinkling water; countless sail boats were little more than white blurs. Silently she wished she could give everything back in exchange for the hurried lives they used to know - used to share. The lengthy, often delayed commutes during hot and sweaty summer months, carriages overburdened with like-minded commuters affording no time to one another - no interest.
“Morning!” Two walkers approached along the path, hand in hand, bringing her immediate surroundings back into focus. “Lovely day.” And it was. It might still have been August.
Amy made a fist, still sensing the memory of Gabriel’s hand around hers, wrapping it, protecting and comforting. She longed just to hold his hand again, to feel his skin, his warm breath on her lips before a kiss. She smiled at the couple through choked eyes, making no contact, the corners of her mouth barely lifting.
The man waved a collapsible walking pole towards her in friendly gesture as they passed and Amy turned away again, looking down to her watch: a Cartier Lanières, worn for the occasion. Twenty round-cut diamonds bordered the long hexagonal face, linked by a slim, three-row 18ct gold bracelet. It was a present from Gabriel and a reminder of her past life. The black, sword shaped hands told her it was nearly time.
She rose slowly from the bench. Then she sat down again, unable to bring herself to what she knew she must face. Where’s Martin? She would wait. As she sat, the sun caught the bright gold of her wedding ring, drawing her eye. They were Gabriel’s idea: matching Celtic bands depicting a circle of delicately engraved interlocking hearts, each inverted against the other. It meant so much to her. The tangible symbol of their love that she had toyed with constantly, affectionately, for the last twenty years. Now she flicked at it anxiously with the edge of her thumb nail and recalled how both their parents had urged them to wait. She was barely nineteen, another year or so, just to be certain...
Amy had never been more certain of anything in her life, then or now. Without warning the tears came, like it had only just happened.
Across the water at Helford Passage, a twenty-six foot glass-fibre catamaran was being untied from its moveable pontoon. The first of its kind, it was powered by two 25hp engines and was designed to land passengers on the beaches of Trebah and Glendurgan via a bow access ramp. It allowed business expansion to include trips to the gardens, and due to its design could cope with rough weather
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