( I just wanted to thank everyone for their kind and supportive messages, they really helped me so much and I was able to sit down and whip up this chapter this afternoon just because you all took the trouble to respond. What a great bunch of people we have in this community. This chapter is dedicated to my precious Tara, my cheeky and naughty companion who has been at my side as I've written every word of this story but who was tragically run over on Monday and died in my arms. Run free baby girl xx)

As they drove up to the farm in the bright afternoon sunlight, Martin was struck by the house's general state of tattiness and disrepair. While it had never been an impressive home, Phil had always kept it well maintained and tidy but some of the outbuildings could now only be described as dilapidated. Without his constant ministrations, the passage of time and the extremes of Cornish weather were exacting a heavy toll. Martin felt a slight pang at the loss of his uncle, and made yet another mental note to talk to Joan about getting her some help around the farm. He didn't expect that she'd accept his assistance willingly but he felt duty-bound to at least have the conversation with her.

He turned the engine off and looked over at his passenger.

"Was that so difficult?" He asked her, trying not to sound too pointed.

Louisa looked back at him, with an unimpressed stare. She took a deep breath.

"No, Martin. Not difficult at all." She said as she exhaled, before adding peevishly. "Just really boring."

He gave her a withering look.

"Do you want everything taken upstairs to your room?" He enquired flatly and she sighed heavily again.

"Oh, right." She replied, as if she'd forgotten the events of the morning, despite the back seat of the car being full of her belongings."Yes, please."

After he had located the door key, and they had let themselves in, Martin made three trips up and down the stairs with her things. He stacked the boxes neatly in the corner of her room, and sat the suitcase on the floor next to the unmade bed. The bed itself was covered in pamphlets and booklets, as if someone had upended a sackful from a great height. He couldn't help but notice that they appeared to be related to tertiary education and, for reasons he didn't quite understand, he was pleased that Louisa seemed to be undertaking some sort of planning for her future.

As he turned to walk away, a brochure from UCL caught his eye and he paused just long enough to be caught mid-glance by Louisa as she came through the door with the last box. She looked at him nervously and he felt himself colour up. He cleared his throat and looked away, wondering how easily he could push past her and beat a hasty retreat from the room, before deciding on a more rational course of action.

"Aah," he said "University College. Is it...are you, umm, considering it, I mean, leaving Cornwall to study?"

She gave him a little half smile, put the box on the floor and, shyly, tucked her hair behind her ears.

"Well, actually I wasn't. I mean, I never thought I had that many options, but then, yesterday, I had a meeting with the Careers Advisor..." She hesitated, somewhat self consciously, unsure whether to go on.

"And, what did they say?" Martin asked quietly.

"Ummm, well, she was really great actually." Louisa replied and gave a little grimace. "She said that if I can keep my marks up, and, ummm, if I really put the work in for the next couple of years then I should...I might have the A levels for a good university."

"Which would be good." He added, encouragingly.

"Yes." She said, smiling again, a little less nervously. "I was really excited about it all on Friday but then...well everything sort of went wrong and I haven't had a chance to think about much else really."

"Right." He said thoughtfully, and paused. "Louisa, if your teachers have faith in your ability to succeed at university, then you must work as hard as you can to prove them correct. No one can ever take a good education away from you."

She nodded, a little breathlessly, in agreement.

"I just wanted to be able to...to take care of myself really. But she...she told me that I should be a lot more ambitious than that." She waved her hand at the pamphlets. "So that's where all this came from. Now I just have to read them all."

"Yes." Martin concurred. "You do."

He looked down at the bed.

"Why don't you, ummm, collect them up and bring them downstairs. Umm, I could...if you have any questions, ummm, well about any of the London options at least, I could try and answer them. If you wanted. If you like."

"I would like that a lot." She replied, and the nervous smile returned.

"Good. Yes. Okay." He muttered, and they stood for a moment, staring at each other in silence until, once again, discomfort overwhelmed him, and he slipped quickly past her and back to his room. She smiled to herself and began to gather up the assorted booklets.

Half an hour later, Louisa made her way downstairs to discover that Martin had set himself up on one side of the table, and was deeply absorbed in his little clockwork boat once more. She put her papers, a well worn ring binder, and her pencil case down on the table opposite him and pulled the chair out.

"Mind if I sit here?" She asked and sat down before he had time to answer.

He looked at her from under his firmly knotted brow and grunted something indecipherable in his assent. Under the strip lighting of the kitchen, he observed that she looked pale again.

"What did you have for lunch?" He asked suddenly, struggling to recall if there'd been anything suitably nutritious on Muriel Steele's table.

"Ummm," she said thoughtfully. "After I, aaah, fainted, I had a cup of tea and I think there were some chicken sandwiches. Yes, that's right. I had some sandwiches and half a date scone."

He looked at her dubiously. "Are you hungry now?"

"No," she replied honestly "But I wouldn't mind a cup of tea. Would you like one?"

"Aaah, yes. That would be good. Milk no sugar. Thank you, Louisa."

He looked up at her and his eyes were bright and soft. "I, ummm, I found this oil can in the workshop. I think it's originally from an old sewing machine."

He held up the tiny battered apparatus to show her. It had a long delicate spout and a heavily embossed body. In Martin's large hands, it looked impossibly delicate.

She smiled. It was the most animated she had ever seen Martin and it was because of an old oil can. But he'd been endearingly like a little boy when he'd held it up, so shyly, to show it to her

"Does that mean you'll be able to fix your boat then?" She asked hopefully.

"Umm, I really need special clock oil for the mechanism, so the contents aren't much help. But I, ummm, I just liked it really. It seems very old. And interesting."

"You should ask Joan if you can keep it then." She said, as she put the kettle on to boil.

He put the little oil can back down on the newspaper he'd spread on the table, and admired it. The thought came to him that he should offer to buy it from Joan, which might kill two birds with one stone.

"Mmmmm." He said simply and returned his attention to his boat.

After a few minutes, she sat his tea by his elbow, and returned to her research. She pulled a highlighter pen from her pencil case and, for the next half hour, the silence was only punctuated by the squeak of its tip as Louisa ran it over sentences she felt important.

Martin was deliberate and restrained in his actions, and methodical and calm in the way he worked, so he was quite disconcerted to notice how animated Louisa was, even when she was reading in silence. He looked across at her surreptitiously as she wriggled constantly in her chair, and rearranged and restacked her brochures, it seemed to him, quite pointlessly. She chewed on the end of her pen, scratched her head with it and, when she was deep in concentration, even pushed it into her forehead so firmly that it left a red indentation. She also managed to get ink on her neck, her cheek, and all over her fingers.

After a while, she glanced up and noticed his face was aghast. When she looked at him questioningly, he quickly looked away.

"Ok, I've read the London prospectuses." She said haltingly. "It sounds really exciting but it's all a bit daunting when you've never been there."

Martin put his boat down again.

"Umm, yes, I can see how you might feel that way." He said in the low velvety way she'd come to rather like. "But, Louisa, remember it's also the higher education capital of the world. People compete for places so vigorously because a degree from a London university is well recognised, not only in the UK but across the globe."

"They do mention that in these brochures, actually, but it's good to hear you say it's true"

"Yes, I do believe it is."

"Okay." she said slowly. "I will definitely think about what you've said. And there's lots of other things to do. Lots of gigs and concerts to go to. You wouldn't get that in Pompey. Or Bude."

"I think there'd be enough live music, even for you, Louisa. And there are a plethora of museums and galleries. I have lived there my entire life and I would not have seen even half."

"But, so many people. And so far from the beach. That would be hard."

"Ummm, yes, yes, but don't forget, there are parks and gardens everywhere."

Louisa looked up at him, contemplatively.

"I 'spose, if it got too much, I could always just come home for the weekend."

"You could. And you may find, at the conclusion of your research, that there are other, closer options that might be more suitable. I merely urge you to consider placing a greater weight in your decision making process on your long term prospects rather than your short term convenience."

Louisa sighed, slumping forward onto the table. "Okay. Alright. Thank you. I will. I promise I will."

After a moment, she lifted her head to look at him; he was still staring back at her with a thoughtful expression. She flashed him a cheeky grin

"Anyway, sorry Martin but my brain hurts now. Can we change the subject please? Where did I leave my NME?"

"Your what?"

"My magazine. I was reading it this morning."

Then there's probably a very good chance that it's sitting where you left it, Martin thought. On the floor. But, wisely, he said nothing, and picked up his boat. With a deft movement of his wrist, and just the right amount of twisting pressure, he finally managed to separate the deck from the hull and, there in front of him, in all its corroded glory, was the exposed clockwork mechanism he had had to work so hard to get to. He gave a satisfied sigh and there was an almost imperceptible rounding of the apples in his cheeks, and a slight raising of his upper lip. For the second time in one day, Martin smiled.

He tinkered happily for quite some time, enjoying the silence, absorbed in his task. Every so often, he heard Louisa turning a page but, after a while, even she was quiet and the only sounds were blackbirds in the hedgerows, and the scratching of branches against the windows as the afternoon breeze whipped through the garden. His suspicion that she had fallen asleep was confirmed by a couple of gentle snores. He wondered if she'd had her adenoids out and, as the snoring became more noticeable, concluded she hadn't.

A short time later, there was the distinctive sound of vehicle pulling up on the gravelled driveway. Martin glanced down at his watch; it was just after 5pm. He was glad that Auntie Joan was now home as he'd recently began experimenting with eating an early supper and he was finding it most beneficial for his digestion. He began to pack up his boat components, carefully wrapping the pieces in cloth before placing them in a shoebox he'd uplifted from the barn. He heard Louisa stir on the couch. She stretched, scratched her head and yawned loudly.

"Is that Mrs Norton?" She asked sleepily

"Mmmm. Yes. I think so." He replied, standing up and cradling the shoebox carefully. "I'll just put this upstairs."

Louisa rolled herself into a sitting position and rubbed her eyes. Picking up her half drunk mug of cold tea, she tottered over to the sink and absently tipped it down the drain. She was just in the process of reaching over to put the kettle back in to boil when she was startled by a loud rapping on the back door.

Still not quite awake, she wandered over to see who it was. Most villagers would have just called out and walked in, without the persistent and aggressive knocking that was emanating from the area of the front door. Then she heard a heavy metallic sound, as if the visitor had given up on the door and was now bashing the downpipe next to it. Suddenly, she felt a bit concerned.

She heard Martin coming back down the stairs rapidly, and into the kitchen which was reassuring. Too many nights hiding under the covers in the dark, cold house, listening to drunken neighbours and brawling fishermen, had made her a little bit nervous of banging doors and aggressive visitors. He came up beside her on the porch as the banging got even more violent.

"What on earth?!" Martin growled angrily. Protectively, he grabbed Louisa's arm to pull her back, reaching across in front of her and flinging open the door. She heard him take a sharp intake of breath and then he froze, still gripping her arm.

A woman Louisa didn't recognise stepped into her line of sight, and glared at them both so intimidatingly that the girl felt a ripple of fear run through her body, and she leaned closer into Martin for reassurance.

He finally relaxed his grip on Louisa's arm.

"Edith." He said coldly. "What are you doing here?"