Fergus was too far off to hear, but something made him turn his head and he stared at them for several seconds as if checking them out before slowly returning to his original position.
‘You don’t think he’s about to jump, do you?’ Bramble asked, alarmed, but Piers laughed.
‘I reckon he’s just contemplating Life, the Universe and Everything. He looks a bit odd, though, I’ll give you that.’
She shivered, hoping the land agent was right. ‘Let’s go back. Katie will be wondering where we are.’
As they began to descend the way they’d come, she glanced over her shoulder and saw her peculiar tenant still fixed to his spot, staring at the water. He reminded her of the fable of King Canute trying to hold back the tide, except that in this case it might have been the movement of the earth and of time itself that he was trying to restrain.
Not looking where she was going, she skidded on some rubble and almost tripped.
‘Careful,’ said Piers, catching her by the arm. ‘We don’t want any more accidents.’
He didn’t let go until she’d safely reached the bottom, by which time Fergus was no longer in view.
‘I’ll return on Monday or Tuesday next week,’ Piers announced once they were on firm ground. ‘I might have done a full site appraisal now, but I didn’t fancy rubbing that chap up the wrong way.’ He jerked his head to indicate where they’d come from.
The prospect of another morning – or day, even – with the handsome land agent filled Bramble with anticipation, and she couldn’t help thinking that life was looking more interesting by the minute. Daydreaming all the way home about spins in his Land Rover, more country walks and perhaps even a candlelit dinner or two, she soon forgot all about Fergus and that strange encounter on the cliff.
*
Some time later, Liz was leaving the bakery with a packet of iced buns for tea when she noticed a slim, elegant man with silver-flecked hair entering the fishmonger’s shop. He was a fairly unusual sight in the village, in an expensive-looking tweed blazer and shiny brown brogues, and she wondered who he was and the nature of his business.
She paused for a moment with Lowenna in her pushchair and eyed him through the window as he pointed to something on the fresh fish counter, behind which stood Ryan in his white overalls. He gave her a wave and she waved back, before being distracted by a group of noisy young people in bathing suits and carrying towels who were making their way from the beach. They were around fifteen or sixteen probably, a mix of boys and girls, some nut-brown, others paler-skinned with pink noses and shoulders.
She’d seen them before and knew they were part of the large group of families renting three cottages side by side. They looked as if they were having a wonderful holiday; it would be hard not to when the weather was so perfect.
A girl in a white bikini shouted, ‘Race you home!’, and all at once five or six youngsters hurtled past, laughing and waving their brightly coloured towels, while one remained behind, pleading with them to wait because she’d dropped her sunglasses. Liz stooped to pick them up and noticed Rafael lurking in the corner of the square, his hands in his pockets. She bet he’d like to be part of their crowd, but of course he didn’t know them, or anyone else his age.
He was wearing similar black clothes to those she’d seen him in at the live music night, and he must have been rather hot. The only difference in his appearance today was that the strip of hair running along his scalp was blue now rather than green.
She was about to go and speak to him when he spotted an empty can of Coke at his feet and began kicking it disconsolately. He wasn’t doing any harm, but a voice behind shouted, ‘Oi!’, and Audrey jogged past in a blue-and-white-striped T-shirt and white jeans. Liz watched as she drew up in front of Rafael, who stopped what he was doing and cowered against the wall behind. He was tall but Audrey was taller, and although her back was turned, it was clear from her body language that she was furious, shaking her artfully mussed pixie crop and trembling with rage.
‘Don’t you dare...’ Liz heard, and, ‘What on earth...?’ and, ‘Damage...’
The more she went on, the more Rafael seemed to diminish in size. Even the blue Mohawk started to wilt.
‘What’s going on?’
The elegant man in the suit came out of the fishmonger’s carrying something wrapped in white paper and stood by Liz, staring at the curious scene.
When she explained what had happened, he raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah!’
‘She’s on the warpath, as you see,’ Liz whispered and the stranger tutted.
‘I’m not surprised. The little hooligan could have hit someone or smashed a window.’ He tucked the bag of fish under an arm and took a step forwards. ‘D’you think she needs my help?’
‘Oh no. Rafael’s harmless.’
At last Audrey stopped shouting, and she marched towards Liz with a face like thunder. Liz would have liked to speak to Rafael, to explain that Audrey could be a bit over the top sometimes and it would blow over, but he was already sloping off in the other direction, head down, hands still firmly in pockets.
‘It’s not on,’ snarled the older woman when she was close enough to be heard. She’d clearly made a rapid decision that the elegant man was one of them and it was therefore safe to proceed. ‘That lad’s a menace. Have you seen the way he skulks around, looking for trouble?’
‘An unsavoury character,’ the stranger agreed.
Liz did her best to pour oil on troubled waters. ‘I had a nice chat with him the other day. I feel a bit sorry for him actually. He’s got no friends here yet and nothing to do. It must be hard to adjust.’
‘If he doesn’t like it, he should jolly well go back to Brazil,’ Audrey snapped. ‘I can’t imagine what possessed Felipe and Tony to bring him.’
Esme – in a clay-smeared pottery smock, billowing purple cheesecloth skirt and green Birkenstocks – left the bakery and came over to join the fray. When she heard about Rafael’s doings, she seemed unperturbed.
‘I rather admire his hair,’ she chirped randomly. ‘It’s quite artistic, don’t you think?’
Audrey gave her a withering look. ‘I couldn’t agree less. And that unmentionable hole in his ear...’ She shuddered.
‘I think we should all have them,’ Liz joked. ‘It’s an ancient cultural practice, you know. The larger the hole, the greater your standing in the tribe.’
Audrey seemed to experience a severe sense of humour failure.
‘Small studs are quite enough, and drop earrings for the evening. On women, that is. If the men round here start getting them, I shall be forced to move.’
Lowenna, who’d been as quiet as a mouse, yawned and closed her eyes. Liz had almost forgotten about her, but the last thing she needed was for her daughter to snooze now and then be up half the night wanting to play.
‘I’d better get going,’ she said, smiling briefly at the strange man whose name she still didn’t know.
‘Piers,’ he said, almost on cue. ‘Piers Fenton-Wallis. I work for GB Clark, land agents. I’ve been up at Polgarry Manor. I’m acting for Miss Challoner.’
Audrey’s face lit up and Rafael was instantly forgotten.
‘Are you? How interesting. Do tell me, what are her plans?’
Liz left them to it while she trundled Lowenna back up South Street, thinking that if anyone could winkle out the information, it was Audrey. She should have been a reporter, she had such a nose for news. She could sniff out a good story a mile off – and a handsome man, come to that. Piers Fenton-Wallis had better watch out.
*
It was quite a surprise to find Rosie at home, as she’d told Liz that she’d be going to Tim’s to work on their website, U-R-Special, which they’d set up to help pupils with disabilities throughout Cornwall. Children could post their problems and the pair would get back to them with pertinent comments and useful links. It was all their own idea and had proved a great success, as there was nothing quite like it in the area. What’s more, it
had helped Tim with his stammer and had taken Rosie out of herself and given her confidence as well as a new circle of friends.
‘Hey,’ said Liz, pleased, when she found her eldest daughter in front of an open packet of biscuits at the kitchen table. ‘I didn’t expect to find you here. Fancy an iced bun? Good job I bought four.’
Rosie didn’t reply.
‘Tim busy again?’ Liz persisted, plonking the iced buns on the table, and Rosie shook her head, indicating that she didn’t want to speak.
It wasn’t simply tiredness, Liz could tell. She knew her daughter back to front and inside out. She would have tried to get to the bottom of it, but Lowenna, who’d dropped off despite Liz’s best efforts, woke up and squawked loudly from her pushchair in the hallway, demanding to be fetched.
‘All right, all right,’ said Liz, hurrying to find her. The little girl’s face was red with rage and she was struggling so much that it was quite hard to free her from her restraints. ‘Come on then.’ Liz picked her up and planted a kiss on her hot, wet cheek. ‘Rosie’s home! Let’s go and find her.’
At the mention of her big sister’s name, Lowenna stopped crying and her brown eyes opened wide.
‘Wo-wo!’ she cried eagerly, bouncing up and down as if it would somehow speed her mother’s progress.
Normally, Rosie would have rushed out to give her a cuddle, but not today. Instead she looked up listlessly from the table when they entered and barely smiled when Liz plopped the little girl on her lap. Lowenna snuggled happily into her big sister’s arms and stuck her thumb in her mouth, while Rosie buried her face in her dark, silky hair.
‘What is it?’ Liz asked gently, pulling out a chair for herself and settling down. She pushed the packet of buns forward but they remained untouched.
‘Nothing.’ Rosie’s bottom lip quivered.
‘You can tell me,’ Liz coaxed. ‘I’ve got broad shoulders, you know.’
A big, fat tear rolled down the girl’s cheek. ‘Tim doesn’t want to do the website with me any more.’
Liz started. ‘Really? Why?’ He’d been to their house only a few days ago and Liz had heard them talking about it. He’d certainly been less committed of late, but hadn’t seemed to want to give it up altogether.
Lowenna was playing with the yellow watch on Rosie’s wrist, fiddling with the plastic strap, which she unfastened and handed mechanically to her sister.
‘Why?’ Liz repeated. ‘Maybe he just wants a break over the summer? You can go back to it in the autumn.’
Rosie sniffed and shook her head again. ‘He said he hasn’t got time. He wants to do more with Amelia now.’
That name again. Liz felt it like a needle in the arm, or a dagger in the heart.
‘Wretched girl.’ It came out as a snarl; she couldn’t help it. ‘What’s so great about her? I don’t get it.’
Rosie fixed her mother with a pair of watery greenish-grey eyes. ‘She doesn’t have a tricky arm or a wonky leg.’
Another jab of the knife.
‘Well, I bet she’s not as nice – or as brave,’ Liz retorted, fury bubbling inside her. It was wrong to hate anyone, let alone a schoolgirl, but right now she thought that she could strangle Amelia with her own bare hands.
‘She’s a really good runner,’ Rosie replied. ‘She wins all the races at school. She’s going to France next week with her family and they’ve invited Tim, too.’
Liz’s shoulders drooped. How could you compete with that?
‘Lucky Tim. Whereabouts in France?’ she asked fake-brightly.
‘La Rochelle.’
Of course Rosie would know. She’d have been thinking about it for days, ever since she’d heard the news, chewing it over and over and trying to swallow it down so that no one would see her pain.
‘When did you find out?’ Liz dreaded the answer because it would reveal how long her daughter had suffered in silence.
‘Last week. Tim’s going to her house tomorrow to talk about it.’
‘They’ll probably have a horrible time,’ Liz said savagely. ‘I’ve heard La Rochelle’s packed in summer. I can’t think why they’d want to go there when we’ve got such beautiful beaches on our doorstep.’
‘They speak French,’ Rosie replied as if her mother were stupid. ‘And eat baguettes and have nicer weather.’
‘We can go to France sometime if you want? We’ll discuss it with Robert.’
It wasn’t the point, of course, and Liz knew it. Another tear trickled down Rosie’s cheek and plopped on to her sister’s head, but Lowenna was busy chewing the watchstrap and didn’t notice.
‘Well, I think it’s mean of Tim to stop the website like that. What about all your followers? It’s not fair.’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Rosie flatly. ‘He’s getting into other things now. He and Amelia have joined an athletics club.’
Liz took a deep breath. She felt so helpless. Tim was perfectly within his rights to move on, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier. She thought back to when she was that age and had just started to take an interest in the opposite sex. She’d had a major crush on a boy in her class and had thought her heart would break when he’d begun going out with someone else. Rosie and Tim mightn’t have been boyfriend and girlfriend officially, but Rosie had treasured their special bond and would miss him terribly. It was so hard.
‘I’m sorry.’ Liz moved around to the other side of the table to give her daughter a hug. ‘I know you’re upset, but I promise you’ll get over it in time.’
Rosie buried her face in her mother’s top. ‘No one will ever want to go out with me, not with my stupid arm and glasses.’
‘Oh yes they will,’ Liz cried, looking quite fierce. ‘You’re clever, kind and utterly gorgeous. But trust me, men can be absolute fools, and if my experience is anything to go by, you’re going to have to kiss a fair few frogs before you find your prince.’
8
AFTER THAT, THEY decided to go for fish and chips on the beach to cheer themselves up before calling in on Pat on the way home. The old woman had lived in and around Tremarnock all her life and married a fisherman, long since deceased. They’d had no children – ‘they never came along’ – but she’d grown up with younger brothers and sisters and adored little ones, especially Rosie, who called her ‘Nan’.
Pat had babysat Rosie in the evenings when Liz had worked as a waitress at A Winkle in Time before her marriage. Money had been tight back then and the old woman had refused any payment, insisting that she liked the company. Liz was eternally grateful. She often did Pat’s shopping and had dropped a bag of food at her house the day before but hadn’t had time to stop. She’d thought then that Pat looked a bit off colour and Pat had also complained that she hadn’t seen Rosie for a while.
‘She’s too busy now to bother with an old thing like me,’ she’d said mournfully while Liz had plonked the carriers on the kitchen table. ‘She’s got better things to do.’
‘I haven’t seen much of her myself,’ Liz had confessed, feeling guilty on behalf of them both. Pat didn’t get many visitors these days and Liz had promised to return soon for a proper chat, but the old woman had merely shrugged.
‘It’s always the same with you young people. Your lives are so full. Rush, rush, rush. Never mind,’ she’d added, shaking her snowy head in a long-suffering manner, ‘I expect there’ll be another time – if I don’t die first.’
It took Pat a while to get to the front door and when she saw the three of them on the step, their hands and faces sticky with the salt water they’d used to wash off the tomato ketchup and vinegar, she gave a beautiful smile, flashing her false teeth.
‘Are you coming in? Really? Oh good! I’ll put the kettle on.’
She ushered them into her little front room and Lowenna, who was getting sleepy, sat quietly on her mother’s lap while Rosie helped make the tea and arrange chocolate biscuits on a flowery porcelain plate.
‘Well now,’ said Pat, plonking down gratefully
in her favourite armchair with a crocheted blanket on the back. Beside it was a little table on which she proudly displayed part of her precious china owl collection. ‘What’s the gossip?’
Liz racked her brains to come up with some juicy news and remembered Bramble, whom she’d met in the pub.
‘She’s brought her friend from London,’ she explained, taking a sip of hot tea. ‘They’re both young and Bramble’s got a lot of plans for the manor.’
Pat nibbled reflectively on the corner of a biscuit. ‘She’ll need a fortune to do up that place. It’s in a right old state.’
‘I’m not sure if she’s got one, though. I bumped into her land agent this afternoon. Perhaps he’ll have some bright ideas. I just hope she doesn’t want to turn it into a theme park.’
Liz was only joking but Rosie, who’d been listening in silence, sat bolt upright. ‘A theme park? Ooh!’
Pat was all set for a good grumble, until she remembered something more pressing.
‘I say, I saw our Tabitha earlier on with that long-haired, beardy fellow from the pub.’
Liz’s ears pricked up. ‘Did you?’
‘They walked past my window. Very cosy with each other, they seemed.’ Pat shuffled forwards, as if someone might be eavesdropping. ‘They stopped outside her flat and guess what? They had a smooch. A proper snog!’
‘Not that you were spying!’ Liz laughed. Pat would have had to crane her neck to see that far.
‘Certainly not,’ she huffed. ‘Whatever gave you that idea? I was dusting my ornaments.’
Liz let it pass. ‘I was beginning to wonder if it would ever happen. They seem ideal for each other, and Tabby so deserves some happiness after all she’s been through.’
‘Handsome fella he is, too. Wouldn’t fancy that beard myself, though. Too prickly by half.’
Liz was about to reflect on the wisdom of this observation when she noticed Pat wince and shift slightly in her chair, as if she were in pain.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Just a bit of indigestion, that’s all.’
But the old woman looked strained and the deep lines around her eyes and mouth had deepened into fissures.
Tremarnock Summer Page 11