Wearing a backpack stuffed carefully to the brim with various fruits from the local market in the town square, I stopped and gazed up at the whitewashed walls of the library. I had books to return, of course, and I had thought of getting more to take out, but now I was here, I hesitated at the thought of entry.
I had marched in along the coastal path under brilliant skies of blue, dotted with puffy marshmallow clouds drifting in a light breeze. Despite the chill of evenings as the start of winter drew about the land, the days continued to be warm, almost like they had been in summer. There were frequent rain showers, the odd dull day, mornings of mist, but generally it had been a glorious end to autumn. Hedgerows still groaned under the weight of shining blackberries and plump damsons, and wild mushrooms were popping up in clumps amongst the grass. I’d been wondering if I could find a good puffball to cook. Cornwall, as I had been told, clung on to the warmth better than the rest of the UK, but this was still unusual weather.
The path along the cliffs had been slippery because of an early morning rain burst, but was still easily passable, although I had to admit that my journey had been rather marred by occasional nervous leaps into the air when I heard a rabbit or squirrel in the bushes, imagining myself to be about to be attacked by some spectral wolf, panther or bear, as Philomena had. I found myself, too, looking for the place where she and Anna had strayed from the path into the woods, but had stopped myself from this silly quest by reasoning that not only was I supposed to be putting the book aside, physically and mentally, so as not to become entirely obsessed with it, but it was now over one hundred years since the events described in the book, and the path had likely changed during that time. For one thing, there was a lot more cleared land now, used as grazing lands, that bordered the coastal path than there had been then. The forest Philomena had described was likely much reduced now. There was still a small wood stretching along parts of the coastal path near to the border of my aunt’s house, but of the deep, dark forest described in the journal, I could see little remaining.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Gemma’s Substack to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.