Status Updates From Ritorno a casa

At the edge of the sea, bordered in pale pink, the detritus of fragments of shells, washed up by the breakers. Exotic shells, a world away from the homely mussels and banded wedges of Penmarron. Here lay shards of conch and nautilus, scorpion shells and cowries. Ear-shells with their mother-of-pearl linings, and the lethal husks of sea-urchins.

Nancherrow was constant, and she was going back, to that place of comfort and warmth and luxury, where responsibilities could be dumped overboard and one could revel in the sensation of being a child again.
Just for a few days. It was probably all going to be dreadfully sad, but she would be there…

I've seen you being absorbed by this family, and become part of them, and a wonderful thing it's been. But it's dangerous too.
Because they're not your famil, and if you're not very careful, you're in danger of losing your own identity. You're eighteen now. I think it's time to break loose and go your own way.

Molly Dunbar, sweet and pliant, had been an ineffectual mother. Nervous about driving her little car, disinclined to sit on damp beaches in the cold north wind, shy of making new friends, and incapable of coming to any sort of a decision. Prospect of change had always alarmed her. . . As well, she had little stamina, tiring easily, and retiring to bed on the smallest excuse.

It was trying to be brave and sensible on one's own that was so wearing. Two people could console each other. Two people could share. Could comfort.

Judith was in the front garden gathering the first of the lily of the valley to sweeten the sitting-room. The bunch of slender, wiry stems grew in her hands, and the scent of the tiny bell blossoms was delicious, set in their coronet of pointed leaves.