Another Life: Escape to Cornwall with this gripping, emotional, page-turning read

Mark smiled and they stopped for a minute and watched the river. Beyond the houses on the far side the sky was a flushed pink and gold as the sun sank below the buildings.

Mark got the front-door key out of his pocket and they walked up three steep steps to the entrance of a small three-storey house with creeper growing up its walls. The front door was dark green with a brass knocker. As he opened the door, Mark turned to Gabby and said, ‘I’m like a kid. I can’t believe I’m going to live here for a year. There’s no place I’d rather be. Come in and look, Gabriella.’

There was a long hall that led into a sitting room on the right, which had a view across the river and was now full of buttery yellow light. It was partially furnished, but it was obvious that furniture and ornaments had been removed. A fine layer of dust lay on the mantelpiece.

The left room was empty, but had once been a dining room.

‘I don’t think my aunt ever used it after her husband died,’ Mark said. ‘There is a kitchen at the back, facing the garden, which is much warmer.’

The stairs went straight up from the hall and a narrow passage continued to the back of the house and into a surprisingly large kitchen, which had a small Rayburn and pine dining-table and chairs. Gabby could tell immediately that this was where Mark’s aunt had spent most of her time. It was an L-shape, and Mark went in and opened up old pine shutters which led back into the sitting room. Immediately the room was flooded with light from the dying sun.

‘I don’t think she ever closed these when she lived here.’

Gabby was silent, drinking in the light and the sound of the river. Listening to the boats hooting as they went under the bridge, to the distant growl of traffic and a blackbird somewhere, calling on one note. If it is possible, she thought, to fall in love with a house at first sight, I have just done so.

Mark, seeing her face, said, ‘I see you understand now why I am so childishly excited.’

‘Yes,’ Gabby said. ‘Oh yes.’

‘Come upstairs and then I’ll open a bottle of wine and show you the garden.’

They climbed the steep stairs to two bedrooms at the front and one at the back. Both front bedrooms were empty of furniture. The windows, stretching from floor to ceiling, looked down on the fast flowing river and the sounds of people calling to each other at the end of a day.

Mark had obviously been sleeping in the bedroom at the back of the house. There was a clock and books on the bedside table. A shirt hung on the door. A pair of trousers were neatly folded over a chair. The room looked down on the small garden, not much more than a large yard. Next to this room was an old-fashioned bathroom. On the third floor was an attic room.

While Mark went back downstairs Gabby went into the bathroom and brushed her hair, stared at herself in a crackled antique mirror hanging above the basin. Put some moisturizer on her lips. Sprayed a little of Nell’s scent on her wrists and behind her ears. She had no idea who taught her to do this small, timeless act. As she met her eyes in the mirror she saw how clear and calm they were. The blackbird was still singing as if its heart would break. Clear into this moment Gabby stared, transfixed, looking into the mirror as if she had never seen herself before.

I’m home, she thought. I’m home. She closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the basin, as peace, and something far beyond peace, flooded through her.

She walked slowly down the stairs and back into the kitchen. Mark had opened a bottle of wine and had poured out two glasses. He was leaning against the work surface, looking out into the garden. His face looked more serious in profile when his mouth and eyes were invisible.

He turned as she came into the room. She stood just inside the doorway, suddenly unsure. He did not pick up a glass of wine and hand it to her, he did not move at all, he just stood looking at her. The atmosphere in the room became electric and unbearable. Gabby held her breath. The moment hovered and grew, needing to be broken with a laugh. Needing to be broken.

Gabby swallowed and moved into the room towards him. He moved at the same time and they met somewhere in the middle. He placed his hands on the top of her arms and bent and kissed her forehead and both cheeks then drew back to look down into her face. Gabby could not take her eyes from his bottom lip. She longed to bite it. She reached up and kissed his mouth, once, hard.

His eyes changed colour, his hand came up to touch her face and he bent to her mouth, gently at first, almost a question mark. Gabby, holding on to his arms for balance, opened her mouth to him, pressing against him. He pulled her to him, kissing her urgently now, and there was only the sound of their short sharp breaths in the warm room.

He lifted her suddenly to the edge of the room so that her back was against the work surface, bent to her neck, pressed her so close to him she felt part of his body. She held the back of his head, pushing him to her skin as one of his hands started to undo her shirt. She could feel his hand trembling, then his fingers cold on her breast and his mouth warm on her nipple.

With a small cry she started to shake off her shirt, pulling her arms out of the sleeves. Mark undid her bra and removed it, threw it behind him, stood away for a moment to gaze at her; then he gently took her bottom lip in his teeth and held it there as if he was about to eat her.

Gabby’s hands moved to his belt and started to undo the buckle. Still kissing her, Mark helped her, sliding out of his shoes at the same time. He kicked his trousers and boxer shorts out of the way and slid her trousers and underpants down her legs, bending and pulling off her shoes and socks. There was the brief, awkward moment of their own nakedness before he pulled her to him again, kissing and touching her until she could bear it no longer.

He lifted her up onto the work surface and slid into her making her gasp, lowering and holding her onto him. Gabby, gripping his shoulders, cried out as they moved together and came immediately. Then they were both motionless in the dusky kitchen. The sun had disappeared behind the buildings and Gabby was grateful for the coming darkness. One of Mark’s hands stroked her hair as she stayed buried in his neck.

She shivered involuntarily and Mark held her away and whispered, ‘You’re getting cold.’

He carried her upstairs and wrapped her in his towelling robe and placed her under the duvet. Then he made two trips back downstairs to get the wine and their clothes which he folded neatly together on the chair. Finally he got back into bed beside her and held her to him, and they floated between sleep listening to the last of the birds skittering and calling in the dusk.