Looking around the train passage, Neil found an empty cabin and settled down.
The room was cosy and warm, the seat worn and tatty, the table maroon with chips on the otherwise smooth, glassy wood. Neil looked out of the window as the green pastures zoomed by. His eyes averted to the wallpaper, which was creamy white printed with roses, all very pretty, apart from the fact it was peeling away from the walls.
About an hour later the food trolley came by. His stomach rumbled, and thinking of food he bought a cheese and onion pasty. His heart leapt as he sunk his teeth into the pastry, flavours of cheddar and sauteed onion exploded onto his tongue. The lukewarm pasty crunched and snapped as he began to daydream about the soft Cornish sand, the deep green sea lapping the shore...
He woke up. "I must have gone to sleep", he thought to himself. The train slowed and came to a stop. Neil slung his bag over his back and made his way to the doors. "Penzance Station" he read. He was there.
A whole new range of feelings washed over him and he started to worry. Would he really get to Portmartin? Would he actually be able to start again? On the platform, he felt a chill and realised the sun was setting.
He checked his watch. Four in the afternoon. Only 45 minutes, maybe an hour at most of daylight left.
Starting to panic, Neil ran out of the station to the nearest bus stop. Five minutes until the next bus. Time was running out. Suddenly time seemed to speed up, soon he was in Portmartin and in the information centre scanning the map for Ship Street. There! Only 5 streets away. A sense of hope and enlightenment flooded him.
Walking along barefoot, basking in the winter sun, Neil came past pastel-coloured houses beautifully coordinated. Harbour Street. Boat Street. Sea Avenue. Marina Lane. Ship Street. Neil walked along trying to figure out what to say to her. "Hello Aunt Tessa! I'm Neil, your nephew..." He chuckled to himself.
Turning his attention to the houses, he spotted a duck egg blue cottage with a thatched roof. Hanging baskets with pansies in them hung from it and the paint was crumbling away from the house. Neil slowly approached the door.
All around him were neatly organised rows of hedges. The flowers, some dead, were awash with happiness anticipating spring, as if someone had poured in a rainbow. Rain drops sat obediently on the brim of a planter. On the wall, a hand painted sign announced "The Hermit Shell".
Neil knocked on the door and as he waited he prepared himself for what was yet to come.
"Hello?" A friendly voice rang out, belonging to a kind, brown-haired woman in her early-50s.
Frown lines and expression marks gave her face emotion as she stood in the doorway in a blue t-shirt and primary coloured jeans.
"Are you Tessa?" Neil asked.
"Yes dear, that's me. Can I help you?"
"This is going to sound really strange, but I think I'm your nephew." Neil said.
"Neil?" She whispered. "Well, you'd better come in..."
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