Tremarnock Summer

by Burstall, Emma

  When at last she’d found the number, she dialled with shaking fingers and a woman’s clipped voice said the name of a well-known auction house, then, ‘Good morning.’

  Bramble drew back her shoulders and took a deep breath.

  ‘I – I’d like to speak to an art expert,’ she stammered. ‘Someone who knows about old paintings. I’ve found... well, it might be nothing, of course. It’s difficult to describe on the phone. What I’m trying to say is... I need to talk to someone as soon as possible.’

  *

  ‘QUIET, Lowenna! Stop screaming, will you? I’m being as quick as I can. I don’t know what’s got into you.’

  Rosie glanced up from the kitchen table, where she was nibbling on the end of a peanut butter sandwich, and gave her mother a funny look.

  ‘You’re in a bad mood,’ she commented as Liz lifted her youngest daughter out of the high chair and plonked her impatiently on the floor. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Liz scowled. It was the day of the festival and she was feeling grumpy, though of course the event had nothing whatsoever to do with it. Rosie was going – as was the whole of Tremarnock, apparently. In fact, it seemed that no one could talk about anything else and Liz was sick to death of it. Didn’t people realise that a stupid concert wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea?

  Lowenna, dismayed by her mother’s uncharacteristically rough handling and tone of voice, started bawling.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, what is it now?’

  ‘I’m going to get changed,’ Rosie said, pushing back her chair and rising quickly. She bent down and scooped up her little sister. ‘Come on, Lowie, come with Rosie. Mummy’s being naughty. Mummy must be very tired.’

  Lowenna eyed her mother reproachfully over Rosie’s shoulder.

  Left alone amidst the debris of her daughters’ late breakfast, Liz felt a mixture of anger and guilt. She knew that she’d been foul ever since she got out of bed and it was no surprise that her family was avoiding her. Even Robert had left for the restaurant earlier than usual, claiming that he had a mound of ‘admin stuff’ to get through, but she was pretty certain that her sour face and prickly manner were the real reason. In fact, if she were honest, she hadn’t felt herself for ages. She could no longer legitimately claim delayed shock from Lowenna’s accident at sea, however, because it had happened almost three months ago and everyone else had managed to move on.

  As she crashed about, putting cups and plates into the dishwasher and sweeping crumbs off the floor, she found herself wondering what the festival crowd would be like, and how Tabitha was feeling and what she’d wear. Liz hated the fact that she wouldn’t be there to support her friend, and she’d have quite liked to experience the atmosphere, too. If only Bramble wasn’t going to be about, but of course the event wouldn’t be happening without her.

  Tony, Felipe, Jean, Tom and Esme – everyone had tried to persuade Liz to join them. Even Shannon had popped in unexpectedly with her brothers last weekend and asked why she wasn’t going.

  ‘It’s going to be a right laugh,’ she’d said, eyes shining. ‘Most of my mates can’t afford tickets, but Bramble gave me four, one each for me and my dad and two extra. That was kind, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Well, you have given her lots of help in her garden,’ Liz had replied tartly. ‘I hope she’ll buy you a few drinks and something to eat as well.’

  Shannon had looked at her oddly. ‘She did pay me for the work, even if it was only a little. She’s not rich, you know.’

  Liz had pursed her lips and remained silent. Shannon had benefited in more ways than one from the association with Bramble, as Liz had hoped she would, but it hadn’t been Bramble’s idea, and besides, she had gained, too. There was no call for hero worship.

  Liz could hear Lowenna laughing with her sister upstairs and was tempted to see what they were up to, but realised that she’d only spoil their fun. It was a long time, she reflected, getting out the antibacterial spray and scrubbing the surfaces hard with a blue cloth, since she’d felt quite so bitter and out of sorts, and she didn’t like the sensation. It wasn’t something vague or general that was getting to her either; she wasn’t upset about the state of the world or the bad weather. She didn’t have PMS, and she and Robert hadn’t argued. No, her resentment was directed at just one person: Bramble. Try as she might – and as pointless as it seemed to keep going over and over the accident – she couldn’t seem to get the woman, or her bloody festival, out of her head.

  She went into the sitting room and picked up the newspaper, but hardly a word sank in. Robert would be back for a couple of hours around four and they’d agreed to go for a stroll, but other than that she’d be alone with Lowenna all evening with the windows closed, trying her best not to hear the music booming down from the clifftop, to see the manor lit up in all its austere glory against the velvety black sky, to imagine Tabitha’s soulful voice filtering through the rapt audience and melting hearts.

  She hoped, for Tabitha’s sake, that the event would be a wild success, that word of her talent would spread far and wide and that they’d manage to raise heaps of money for the wonderful rescue services. As for Bramble, however, she could only wish that one day, when she had children of her own, she might finally understand something of the pain that she’d put Liz through by risking Lowenna’s life. Then perhaps she’d grasp why they could never be friends again.

  Rosie sauntered down with her sister about an hour later, dressed in black jeans and a sequined top that left a sizeable strip of bare tummy.

  ‘You’ll freeze in that,’ Liz snapped. She cast an eye over her daughter’s silvery eyeshadow and heavily mascaraed lashes. ‘And you’re wearing an awful lot of make-up.’

  Rosie pouted. ‘Mu-um, it’s a party. And I’ll be in a tent most of the time and I’ll have a coat with me.’ She fiddled self-consciously with her top, pulling at the hem. ‘Do I look all right?’

  Liz wanted to kick herself. Rosie wasn’t the most confident person, and she needed encouragement, not criticism. Besides, she was beautiful.

  ‘You look absolutely gorgeous,’ she commented, managing a small smile, almost for the first time that day. ‘You’ll raise gasps wherever you go.’

  A group of friends, including Rafael in head-to-toe black, arrived at about one o’clock to pick Rosie up, and at two thirty, when Lowenna woke from her nap, Liz decided to take her to the play park. It wasn’t raining but the sky was gloomy, the air felt slightly damp and all the colours had leeched away, turning houses, grass and hills into an indeterminate brownish-grey. There was virtually no one about; perhaps they were all getting changed and heading for Polgarry already. Even Lowenna seemed to sense that she was missing out. She normally loved the play park, but today as Liz pushed her on the swing she grizzled to get down and she only went on the little slide once before grumbling.

  The wind whistled around Liz’s ankles and she had an insane urge to cry. She might have indulged herself, but someone tapped her on the shoulder, making her spin around.

  ‘Hey! Fancy seeing you!’

  It was Robert, back early from the restaurant, towering over her in his dark-green jacket, his brown hair tousled and his navy scarf flying. Normally, she’d have gone up on tiptoe to give him a kiss, but not today.

  ‘She’s in a foul mood,’ she said, gesturing to Lowenna, who was grizzling at the foot of the slide. ‘I don’t know what’s got into her.’

  Robert didn’t reply, but instead strode over to where his small daughter was crouching and scooped her up, tickling her in the ribs and making her laugh straight away. This only made Liz crosser.

  ‘Typical,’ she muttered. ‘She’s all sweetness and light the minute you turn up.’

  Robert coughed. ‘Um, are you a teeny-weeny bit out of sorts, perhaps? Maybe she can sense it?’

  ‘Rubbish!’

  He looked at his wife askance. ‘Anything to do with the music festival, by any chance?’

  ‘Absolutely not!’ Liz snapped back.
r />   But he wasn’t giving up that easily.

  ‘You know, you could always pop up there with Lowenna for an hour or two, just to spend a bit of money and show some support, I mean. It’s for a very good cause and you’ll know practically everyone. You might even find you enjoy it.’

  The heat rushed to Liz’s face and her cheeks lit up in fury.

  ‘There’s no way I’m going anywhere near that woman. She practically drowned our daughter, remember? I can’t believe you even suggested it.’

  Upset by her mother’s tone of voice again, Lowenna started whimpering, so Robert walked her over to the roundabout and popped her on, while Liz trailed miserably behind.

  ‘Wouldn’t Pat have enjoyed all the excitement?’ he said, giving his daughter a push. ‘Not the loud music maybe, but the young people and the general hullabaloo.’

  His comment seemed innocent enough, but Liz knew what he was up to, and sure enough, at the mention of the old woman’s name she felt a stab of longing so sharp and fierce that it almost took her breath away. Since Pat had died, she’d tried hard not to dwell on her own grief but to think of the full and happy life her friend had led. Right now, though, she realised that more than anything else in the world she wanted to be back in The Nook, sitting beside Pat in her cosy front room with cups of tea in their hands and a plate of chocolate biscuits on the table beside them.

  Pat would have understood. She’d have listened patiently to Liz and talked things through. Pat had adored Lowenna, and although she’d had no children herself, she’d have shared Liz’s shock and horror after the accident, and no doubt would have railed against Bramble for taking two small children on her own to a beach with no lifeguards, when the weather was iffy and the sea was unpredictable at the best of times.

  But would she have banished Bramble from her life for ever? Liz watched Lowenna going round and round, giggling at her father’s funny faces. He had forgiven Bramble, and Pat would have, too. After all, she’d been deeply wronged once by Loveday and she’d given the girl a very hard time, but in the end she’d conceded that the harm hadn’t been intended and they’d made up and become even closer than before.

  Something that Liz had once read in a newspaper article came to mind. It must have struck her quite forcibly or she wouldn’t have remembered it: ‘Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die.’ Was she wallowing in a pool of bitterness, wasting precious mental and emotional energy on hostility? Certainly, she’d managed to wound Bramble by refusing to see her, but who was hurting the most?

  At last Lowenna had had enough of the roundabout, and she didn’t seem to want to go on anything else, so Robert strapped her back in her pushchair. He and Liz were silent as they strolled home, but she didn’t need to ask what he was thinking.

  The truth, she reflected as she watched him open the front door and lift their daughter indoors, was that she felt locked in a prison for a crime that someone else had committed, and no matter what he did or said, she wasn’t at all sure that she could find a way out.

  *

  ‘I’m nervous, Katie. What if something goes wrong? What if it’s a huge flop?’

  Bramble was staring out of her bedroom window with Katie, watching the steady stream of visitors filtering through the temporary ticket gate and fanning out across the manor grounds before making their way towards the giant purple tent, in the shape of a cow, in which music was already blasting out from high-tech speakers.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be great,’ Katie replied, giving Bramble a hug. ‘I’m sooo proud of you.’

  Bramble had collected Katie from the railway station the evening before, and they’d spent the morning walking around the site, chatting to the musicians, the sound and lighting people, the St John Ambulance staff, the security guards and the elderly man in a bright-red cagoule who was hoping to sell his helium balloons shaped like golden unicorns.

  The ground had been damp underfoot and Bramble fully expected a mud bath later, but at least no more rain had been forecast and the temperature was mild for the time of year, which meant, with luck, that people would want to stay outside where most of the action would be taking place.

  ‘Don’t you think we should go down?’ Katie asked, picking her pink bobble hat and coat with the fake-fur collar off the bed. She hadn’t altered... well, only a little. Perhaps she did look slightly older now that she’d found herself a decent job in the finance department of a large City of London legal firm and started dating one of the trainee lawyers, who’d helped her to recover from the Danny trauma. She’d toned down the make-up and got herself a grown-up manicure, but she was still the same underneath. The naughty, wild laugh hadn’t changed, and of course it was the weekend and she was up for some serious fun.

  Bramble noticed a bit of an altercation going on between the gatekeepers and a man hoping to bring a large, hairy dog on a chain into the grounds. There was a good deal of shaking of heads and gesticulating while the crowd behind shuffled impatiently, until the man eventually gave up and walked off in a huff.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned back to Katie. ‘OK,’ she said, giving a brave thumbs-up. ‘On with the show!’

  As they strolled slowly along the landing and down the sweeping staircase, passing by the stiff portraits of long-dead ancestors, Bramble found herself wishing that Matt were here. She could imagine them walking hand in hand around the gardens, admiring the fabulous sights, sounds and smells, pointing out and commenting on things that one or the other had spotted.

  Once it got colder, he’d check that she was wearing enough clothes and ask if she wanted to borrow his scarf or gloves. They’d have hot drinks and dance, and then later, when it was all over, they’d retire to bed and laugh like drains at the day’s events before making love. It mightn’t be wild and passionate, not tonight; they’d probably be too tired. Instead, they’d go for the shortcut, both knowing exactly what they were doing and how to get it done quickly and to their mutual satisfaction.

  That giddy, butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling that she’d briefly experienced with Piers seemed hateful to her now. After all, hadn’t it always felt less like a joy and more a period of mental instability and exhaustion, even before he’d dumped her? And Fergus... well, the memory of their last encounter made her face burn; she couldn’t quite believe how badly she’d misread him, and herself, too, for it would never have worked, not in a million years.

  Now she thought that she’d happily trade everything she possessed for the solid comfort and safety of Matt, for the kindness, intimacy and respect of a man whom she knew like the back of her hand and who’d really, really cared about her. She believed that she could even be happy in that house around the corner from Bill and Cassie with a bit of garden, a carport and a utility room. But Matt was sharing his scarf and gloves with Lois, as well as his dreams and his bed.

  ‘I think we need a drink,’ she told Katie quickly. ‘Let’s go and find some scrumpy to get us in the mood.’

  Barbara had brought her own tent, complete with a temporary bar, chairs and tables covered in red-and-white-checked tablecloths, several outdoor heaters and a barrel of warm rugs for customers to put on their knees or wrap around their shoulders. It was positively cosy in there. When the girls strolled in, she and her son, Aiden, were polishing glasses behind the bar and issuing orders to the bar staff, two slightly dopey-looking youths in black trousers and white shirts buttoned up to the neck.

  Barbara, especially, seemed quite stressed, perhaps because she’d be rushing back and forth between her pub and the venue, keeping a beady eye on both. Her blonde hair, normally immaculate, was a little dishevelled, and her cheeks were rather pink, owing to too much blusher, hastily applied.

  ‘Which cider do you recommend?’ Bramble asked, eyeing the line-up of strange names: Apple Slayer, Cornish Rattler, Deep Purple, Beast of Bodmin, Spotty Dog.

  ‘Depends whether you want sweet or dry,’ Barbara replied, signalling to one of the youths to stand up str
aight. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m more of a wine girl myself. Aiden’s the expert.’

  ‘I should try the Apple Slayer first.’ He winked at the girls. ‘You’ve got plenty of time to taste ’em all by the end of the evening.’

  Katie nodded enthusiastically. ‘Two halves, please.’ She reached for some money in the back pocket of her jeans. ‘And a bag of pork scratchings.’

  They took their drinks and wandered into the purple tent, where a crowd had already gathered to hear the first act, a mixed group of young musicians from Newquay who’d been recommended by Danny. They looked pretty nervous, fiddling with their guitars and keyboard and checking the sound levels.

  ‘Hello, Cornwall!’ one of them shouted at last through his microphone, and the crowd roared back. ‘Are you ready for a good time?’ he went on, to cries of, ‘Yes! Yes!’ and, ‘Hurry up, we’re waiting!’

  The microphone squeaked a few times and a little girl on her father’s shoulders burst into tears and was escorted swiftly from the tent, while an older woman in a green puffer jacket next to Bramble and Katie put fingers in her ears and scowled.

  ‘What did she expect? Silent music?’ Katie whispered.

  Bramble shrugged. ‘She’s in the wrong place. Wait till she hears the punk band later on.’

  They stood for a few minutes enjoying the first number, which was quite catchy, before deciding to check out some of the other attractions. There was a small crowd of children outside Esme’s pottery tent, a few proudly brandishing golden unicorn balloons, while others were munching on pasties and thick French-bread sandwiches from the food marquee. Bramble spotted Felipe and Tony, in matching dark-navy pea coats and stripy scarves, and some way off, Liz’s daughter, Rosie, laughing gaily with a group of youngsters who were passing around what looked suspiciously like a pint of lager.

  Bramble frowned. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried alcohol at their age. In fact, she’d sampled the lot by about fifteen – beer, wine, spirits; fags, too, which had made her violently sick. Not exactly saintly. But she couldn’t have the police turning up and accusing her of flogging alcohol to minors. She’d have to warn Barbara and Aiden to check IDs.