Jenny pulled a face. ‘I can’t pretend I’m looking forward to it. I was hopeless at sports at school. Walking’s more my thing.’ She laughed. ‘And dreaming up a hundred and one things to do with a courgette.’
As well as helping her husband, John, run the village fishing-tackle shop on the seafront, Jenny was hub leader of the South East Cornwall Five Fishes Project, set up some months ago to provide hot meals for the poor and vulnerable using recycled food, mainly from shops and supermarkets.
Robert had offered to donate remains from A Winkle in Time, especially fresh fruit and vegetables that wouldn’t pass muster in fancy dishes but that could easily be made into tasty, nutritious stews, tarts, crumbles and so forth, and soon Jenny had roped in Liz on Tuesday mornings as a volunteer chef, server and greeter. She, in turn, had recruited Robert’s chief chef, Alex, sous-chef, Jesse, and waitress, Loveday, who was Robert’s niece, on their days off, which made things a whole lot more fun. It had become quite a family affair.
Jenny, who was small, blonde and round, fiddled with the waistband of her leggings, as if they were digging into her tummy.
‘Don’t worry, the class is quite gentle,’ Annie reassured her. Then, glancing at Liz, she said, ‘I’m starting a BuggyFit class for mums and babies in September. You should come along.’
‘I’d love to. I need toning up.’
‘You?’ said Jenny incredulously. ‘You’re as thin as a rake!’
The foursome paused at the top of the hill while a large group of brightly dressed mums, dads and children sauntered by in the middle of the road, talking and laughing, flip-flops slapping as they went. Some of the kids were swinging masks, snorkels and fins, others had gaudy armbands and one small boy was carrying a bright-green inflatable crocodile that was almost as big as himself.
A car tooted impatiently and the crowd separated to allow it through.
‘What’s the hurry?’ the small boy shouted cheekily from behind his crocodile, but the driver’s windows were closed.
‘They’re renting the Old School House in Donkey Lane,’ Jenny commented. ‘The whole lot of them – must be a bit of a squash.’
‘I hope they don’t complain about Loveday and Jesse,’ said Liz. ‘They’re having a do tomorrow night and we all know what that means.’
Much to everyone’s relief, Loveday and Jesse had rekindled their relationship after a major crisis, and they were now sharing a rented flat next door to the Old School House, which seemed to have become Party Central.
One of the visiting children grabbed the crocodile off the boy, who screamed blue murder while his mother yelled back like a fishwife.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,’ Jenny replied, putting her fingers in her ears and wincing. ‘This lot are so loud they won’t hear a thing!’
*
As soon as she got back to Bag End, Liz dumped the bags, unbuckled Lowenna and carried her to the kitchen at the back of the cottage to peel off her filthy clothes and wash her face and hands. She didn’t object, she was half-asleep already, and by the time Liz had taken her upstairs and changed her nappy, she was in that blissful, floppy, drugged-out state that babies and toddlers fall into when nothing, it seems, not even an earthquake, could rouse them. It was a shame when they grew out of it; you could get an amazing amount done during their comatose hours, even vacuuming.
Now, though, Liz was in no mood for housework. Rosie had already left – she must have been in a tremendous hurry – and Liz fancied collapsing herself, so she was irritated when the landline rang and half inclined to ignore it. Jenny, who should have been pounding away in the fitness class by now, sounded thoroughly stressed, having just received a text message informing her that a volunteer at Five Fishes had dropped out due to sickness, leaving a gap tomorrow, Friday.
‘I know you normally only do Tuesdays. I’m sorry to ask, but could you step in and help me out of a hole?’
It would have been hard to refuse. ‘That should be fine,’ Liz reassured her, and she promised to check that Jean, the childminder, could take care of Lowenna.
‘You’re a doll.’ Liz could hear the relief in Jenny’s voice. ‘I’ll make sure I find someone else in plenty of time next week if our usual lady’s still poorly.’
A quick call to Jean, who lived just up the road, soon settled matters, and after that Liz made herself a cup of tea and sat with her feet up on the sofa in their cosy front room, which looked straight on to Humble Hill. It was deliciously cool in here, and the air was filled with the scent of pink roses that she’d picked from a bush in the back garden and placed in a glass vase on the mantelpiece.
The house was quite compact, with low ceilings and thick walls, typical of the old fishermen’s cottages around here, and she felt cocooned from the outside world. The only noises she could hear were the muffled voices of passers-by mingled with the cries of seagulls and the occasional low rumble of a car engine. She found her head lolling back against the cushion, her eyes closing. Even easy babies tended to wake with the larks and Lowenna was no exception. You had to catch up when you could...
They were both snoozing when Robert arrived home from the lunchtime shift. He strolled into the front room to find his wife flat out, a half-drunk mug of tea on the floor by her side. He was a tall, thin man with messy brown hair and a slightly harassed air. When he and Liz had first met she’d thought him odd and unfriendly, but love and marriage had smoothed away the rough edges.
He tiptoed over and brushed her forehead lightly with his lips.
‘Hello, you,’ he whispered, and she muttered something in her slumber.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he went on, sweeping a strand of hair off her face. She stirred slightly and the corners of her mouth tilted, as if she were having a nice dream.
‘Liz?’
This time her eyelids fluttered open.
‘You’re awake, you little...’ He pinched her arm, not too hard.
‘Ow!’ she squealed, shuffling over to make room for him. ‘Don’t stop, I was enjoying it!’
‘I didn’t think you could hear.’
She took his warm hand in hers and looked into his eyes – hazel flecked with amber. She’d always loved his eyes; she thought she could drown in them.
‘You’d just got to the bit where you said I was beautiful, remember?’
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, ‘Yes, Mrs Hart – and extraordinarily vain with it!’
3
BACK IN LONDON, Cassie was standing in the bedroom doorway, clutching a pile of Bramble’s ironed clothes so tightly to her bosom that it looked as if they’d have to be wrenched away.
‘You can still change your mind, you know. You don’t have to go.’
Bramble herself was sitting on the end of the bed with a blue canvas holdall, half-full and open, beside her, while another, zipped up and bulging, was on the floor at her feet.
‘It’s something I need to do,’ she said gently, trying to ignore the tears pooling in the corners of her stepmother’s eyes. ‘You do understand, don’t you? I have to give it a try.’
Cassie let out a small sob and Bill, standing behind, put a protective arm around her shoulders.
‘Remember, you can always come back if you don’t like it. There’ll be no shame in it.’ His eyes, too, were suspiciously glassy and there was a wobble in his voice that he couldn’t disguise.
Bramble jumped up and flung her arms around both parents, so that they were huddled together like small animals clinging to each other for warmth and comfort.
‘It’s only Cornwall. It’s not that far,’ she said – uncertainly, for right now she felt as if she were emigrating to Australia. After all, she’d lived her whole life in Chessington and, bar the occasional week in Tenerife or Mallorca, had barely ventured outside the M25.
‘They do things different there,’ her father said ominously, knitting his unruly grey eyebrows. ‘Instead of buses and cars, you’ll see fields and sheep and...’ He paused and rubbed his chin
. ‘...and half-wits.’
Bramble laughed; she couldn’t help it. ‘Half-wits? What on earth do you mean?’
Her father nodded wisely. ‘Inbreds. They go in for it; it’s a known fact. There’s not much choice, y’see.’
‘Da-ad, I can’t believe you said that.’
Bill shrugged. ‘You can think what you like, but it’s true. It’s not for nothing they’re described as wurzels with a piece of straw sticking out of their mouths. They’re not quite all there, most of ’em.’
Bramble pursed her lips. There was no point arguing. Her father had tried every tactic known to man to persuade her to stay, but to no avail. The inbreeding theory was but the latest in a long litany of excuses as to why she shouldn’t go. Chances were, he no more believed it than she did, but he was desperate.
‘When are you coming to visit?’ she said hopefully, but Bill only growled.
‘Said I’d never set foot in that man’s place, not after what he did, and I never will.’
‘Nor me,’ said Cassie, all choked up. ‘Never.’
‘But he’s dead,’ Bramble cried. ‘And it’s not his manor any more, it’s mine!’
Bill broke away from the clinch and took a step back. ‘He’ll always be hanging round that place. There’s no getting away. Like a bad smell, he’ll linger on, and you’ll sense his evil presence everywhere. That’s why I wanted it off your hands. I didn’t want you tainted...’
His voice cracked and he couldn’t continue. Bramble hated to see him like this; it nearly broke her heart. She was almost inclined to cancel her plans, unpack her bags and stay here after all, but that wasn’t the answer. For as long as she could remember she’d felt an itch, a sense that something wasn’t quite right, and now, at last, life was about to change. Would she really throw away this opportunity because of a mean old man in his grave?
Matt arrived at seven p.m. and pecked her hello on the cheek, scarcely able to meet her eye. In all the long months that it had taken to complete the administration of the estate, she’d tried to convince him to come with her, but he’d dug in his heels and steadfastly refused. Flexible he was not.
‘I like my job, my mates, my life,’ he’d insisted. ‘I don’t want to live in Cornwall, miles from anywhere. I want to stay here with you.’
Bramble suspected he had been secretly banking on the fact that she wouldn’t go on her own, that she’d be too scared, but he hadn’t reckoned on Katie. Unlike him, she’d leaped at the chance of visiting the manor some months ago to check the place out, and after a certain amount of umming and aahing and more than a few heated discussions with her parents, she’d agreed to take his place. Matt had had to admit defeat, convinced that his girlfriend would return in a few months with her tail between her legs. He could do little to hide his hurt and resentment, however, and needless to say, Katie’s name was mud.
Bill, Cassie, Bramble and Matt were a melancholy little foursome as they sat around the dark-brown table in the neat dining room at the front of the house, picking at the lamb casserole that Cassie had lovingly prepared earlier, lamb being one of Bramble’s favourites. Matt had been part of the family for so long that it would have been extraordinary not to invite him, but no one had much of an appetite or seemed to know what to talk about. The subject of the manor was out of bounds, yet it loomed so large in their minds that any other topic seemed pointless.
‘Have you remembered your toiletries?’ Cassie asked, skewering a piece of carrot with the end of her fork and staring at it dolefully. ‘I noticed you’d left a big pot of conditioner on the bathroom shelf.’
Small, pretty and ginger-haired, she was self-conscious of her curves and generally tried to cover them up with loose clothes in varying shades of beige, but this evening she’d donned the sparkly black Marks and Spencer frock reserved for special occasions. She’d also used the best porcelain crockery and silver-plated cutlery, and the crystal wine glasses that were normally kept in the glass display cabinet. Bramble wished that she hadn’t; it only made her feel guiltier.
‘The pot’s almost empty,’ she replied, trying to swallow a piece of meat that had stuck in her throat. ‘I’ll buy more when I get there.’
Bill looked up from his plate. ‘Are there shops?’ he asked doubtfully, as if Tremarnock were situated on the very edge of the world, about to topple off.
‘Of course. There’s one in the village, and a supermarket nearby. It’s still England, you know. It’s perfectly civilised.’
‘Not much in the way of entertainment, though,’ Matt growled; he couldn’t resist it. After Bramble’s brief recce, he’d professed astonishment at the lack of cinemas, theatres and bowling alleys.
‘There are pubs, and there’s supposed to be a really good restaurant,’ Bramble insisted. ‘Anyway, maybe you don’t need much entertainment when you’re surrounded by fields, cliffs and sea.’
Silence descended while everyone reflected on this observation. Bramble knew what they were thinking: that she’d never shown the slightest interest in nature, favouring retail therapy above all other pursuits, and nor did she much like beaches or swimming, come to that. Cassie used to joke that shopping malls were her natural habitat, but she didn’t say it now; it was no use. Bramble’s ancient yellow VW was parked outside and her bags were already in the hallway.
Bill and Cassie rose to clear the plates, and when they returned from the kitchen, Cassie was carrying her trademark homemade trifle, complete with chocolate sprinkles, glacé cherries and a sparkler on top. She’d always made it for Bramble’s birthday parties and other special occasions: GCSE and A level results, her first job, passing her driving test.
‘That looks a bit of all right,’ Bill commented, setting down the bowls. ‘Your stepmother’s done us proud, as usual.’
It was what he always said, the same words for as long as Bramble could remember, but tonight there was no feeling in them; he could have been reading from a train timetable.
‘I wish everyone would stop being so gloomy,’ she blurted, biting back tears. ‘I’m doing what I want. You should be happy for me.’
Cassie set down the trifle, pulled a tissue from the sleeve of her dress and blew her nose.
‘We are happy for you, love, but we’ll miss you like mad. Surely you can understand that?’
‘I’ll miss you, too, but I haven’t died. The way everyone’s behaving, you’d think it was my funeral.’
Matt helped to wash the dishes, then left early. He didn’t linger. He and Bramble had agreed that they wouldn’t have a protracted goodbye, so they hugged quickly at the front door and she promised to call soon. Tears filled her eyes again as she watched him walk slowly down the path, glancing back only once to give a half-hearted wave. He looked smaller, somehow, less robust, and it took all her self-control not to race down the street after him to say that she’d changed her mind, made a mistake, that she’d sell the manor straight away and use the cash to buy a place for them nearby.
And yet... it wasn’t wrong, was it, to welcome a challenge? She was only just twenty-six, for goodness’ sake, and had her whole life in front of her. It wasn’t every day that you inherited a manor, and if she’d never lived there, she might look back in years to come and bitterly regret her lack of courage or imagination. No, she thought, closing the door and heading purposefully upstairs, she was doing the right thing, frightening as it seemed.
But she slept badly that night, tossing and turning in her little childhood room, too hot one minute, too cold the next, wishing that Matt were beside her, his strong arms keeping her safe. Once or twice she picked up her phone to call him, before reminding herself that it wouldn’t be fair; she was the one who’d chosen to leave. Would she torture him now with hope that she might yet do an about-turn?
As morning light seeped through the pink curtains, illuminating the familiar pine shelf displaying her favourite childhood books, the white chest of drawers, the oval mirror where she’d first practised putting on make-up, the flowery rug, she
wondered how it would feel to wake up in a strange place, surrounded by peculiar objects harking back to a bygone era. Would she leave behind her old self, too, like a snake shedding its skin, and emerge as a whole new person?
She threw back the curtains and looked out on to the wide street, lined with plane trees and mock-Tudor semis, cars parked neatly on identical front drives. Her own car, still gleaming from its recent wash, seemed to wink at her mysteriously. Only time would tell.
*
Packing wasn’t her forte, and when Bill saw the slapdash way that she’d thrown everything in, he insisted on taking it all out again and doing it properly.
‘You won’t have room for Katie’s stuff,’ he warned. ‘Or Katie, come to that.’
He eyed the wooden coat stand that had been squeezed in diagonally across the boxes and bags in the back, one end jutting through the gap between the front seats.
‘Do you really need this?’ He pulled it out, put it upright on the floor and scratched his head. ‘Aren’t there dozens in that windy old place already?’
‘It’s for my hats,’ Bramble insisted, ‘so they don’t get crushed.’
‘But you never wear hats.’
‘I’m just waiting for the right occasion.’
‘We’ll have to dismantle it,’ her father sighed, and he unscrewed the base of the stand and separated the post into two bits. ‘It’s easy enough to put back together. I’ll show you how. Look.’
But Bramble was already scurrying back into the house to fetch the pile of hats sitting on her bed, one inside the other, still sporting their price tags. They were to go in last of all, on the very top.
‘I’ve made you a picnic,’ said Cassie, almost bumping into her in the hallway with a carrier bag stuffed with goodies. ‘Ham sandwiches, crisps, lemonade, that sort of thing. It’s a long drive.’
‘Thanks, Ma,’ said Bramble absent-mindedly. ‘Put it by the car, will you? I’ll shove it in later.’
Tremarnock Summer Page 3