‘Of course you wouldn’t go out and leave her without someone to watch her. I don’t even do that with these boys. Though to be fair, Buster’s a bit of a head case. He got into the oven and ate three hot chicken portions, bones and all, last week. It’s a wonder he’s still around to bark at your cat. He could’ve choked, stupid boy.’
‘We both need to be on our guard in different ways, I guess. So anyway, how’s your chip shop doing, mate?’ Andy says. He half turns his back on Emily rather pointedly and sits down.
Tristram roars with laughter and Emily raises her eyebrows.
‘Ignore him,’ Tristram says. ‘He’s a Philistine. My fish emporium is famous throughout the West Country and beyond. You must come and eat with us before you go back to the big city. Maybe this young fella will bring you?’
There’s a stony silence. Andy is suddenly very interested in making a fuss of Buster, who’s finally calmed down and come to say hello, and Emily is looking out to sea, shading her eyes to watch a fishing boat chugging towards the harbour.
Julia sighs. ‘You’re very quiet tonight, Andy,’ she says, deciding to bite the bullet. ‘Did you say you’d got yourself a cat?’
‘She got me really. We seem to have been adopted by her,’ says Andy, still avoiding looking at Emily. ‘Maybe it’s another of Ida’s fiendish plans. Not only that, it looks as if the poor little beast’s about to have kittens. Can I tempt you to one, Julia? Tristram?’
Tristram guffaws again. ‘Can you imagine the fun we’d have, between keeping a kitten out of Buster’s jaws and stopping it eating all the best prawns? No, thanks. But, Julia, how about it? A kitten’s fun, and it might grow into a good companion for you.’
‘Companion? I’m not in need of that! And I’d probably seem even crazier if I started collecting cats,’ says Julia, pulling a face.
‘Crazy? Whoever called you that? Name the dog!’
Bruno looks up at the key word and wags his tail lazily, tongue lolling out of the side of his jaws. Julia bends to stroke him. ‘Nobody yet, Tris, but it’s only a matter of time. A widow living alone, not going out much? I’m fair game.’
‘That’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re the last person to be accused of being dotty. Isn’t she?’ Tristram appeals to Emily and Andy, and they both jump in quickly, strenuously denying that anyone could ever doubt Julia’s sanity. Julia smiles. Nice try, folks, she thinks, but you’re not fooling anybody, least of all me.
Emily yawns and stands up. ‘Well, if nobody minds, I’m off to bed,’ she says. ‘Today seems to have gone on for ever. Night-night, everybody.’
Tristram and Andy both stand up as Emily goes into the house. Julia is pleased that they both know how to act like gentlemen, but can’t help wanting to bang Emily and Andy’s heads together. Why can’t they just get along nicely with each other? She can’t be bothered with all this hassle.
‘That’s a beautiful girl you’ve got there, Julia,’ says Tristram, ‘but she looks as if she’s in need of a good rest. These young ones sometimes don’t seem to know how to stop and smell the coffee. How long is she staying?’
‘A fortnight, I think, but I might be able to persuade her to have a bit more time with me. I haven’t seen her since the funeral and I’d love to keep her for longer.’
‘Well, maybe Andy can help us out there?’
Andy stares at Tristram. ‘How can I possibly do that?’
‘Oh, the jungle drums have been busy, as usual.’
‘I’m not with you.’
‘I was having a pint with my old mate George last night. He tells me you’ve booked a table for two at Cockleshell Bay tomorrow night for yourself and the young lady.’
‘Yes, I did, but I don’t know if she’ll be free now.’ Andy’s jaw is set and his face is thunderous.
‘You made a good choice. Apart from my own fine establishment, it’s the best there is, and you must have remembered I’m closed on Mondays. George and Cliff have the best place to eat in the area. She’ll love it. Emily won’t ever want to leave when she’s tasted Cliff’s crab chowder.’
‘And I’m sure she’s not got anything else planned,’ says Julia, making a mental note to stop at nothing to get Emily out of the house tomorrow night with Andy. She has a feeling it won’t be easy.
Chapter Thirteen
Lying in bed listening to birdsong and the distant roar of the waves, Emily feels more content than she’s been for months. The thrushes and blackbirds in the garden are singing their hearts out and the cry of the gulls adds another layer to the clamour. She’s had the window open all night and the curtains are moving slightly in the breeze, wafting the intoxicating scent of blossom into the room under the eaves.
Slipping quietly out of bed, she pads across the varnished boards to kneel on the window seat, leaning her elbows on the sill and breathing in the clean, fresh scents of the seaside. There’s a hint of damp in the air but the clouds are moving quickly across the sky today and Emily hopes the sun will appear later. The sight of the empty stretch of sand takes her breath away. Without consciously making the decision to do so, she’s wriggling into denim shorts and a T-shirt, her long-time uniform for Cornish days, and lacing up the ancient Converse she’s found in the bottom of the wardrobe. It’s not even five o’clock yet – plenty of time for an adventure before breakfast.
Tiptoeing down the stairs, Emily is reminded of all the other times she’s done this over the years, avoiding the creaking step third from the top, opening the squeaky back door inch by inch, running down the path to the bay, feeling … free. Gran and Gramps weren’t early risers, and she was never able to wait for them to get up, even on rainy days. She always made sure she was back well before Gran started frying bacon and eggs, so nobody was any the wiser and Emily usually got the very best of the morning, before a single footprint marred the perfection of the sand.
With the sharp tang of salt and seaweed and the promise of sunshine later, Emily’s spirits rise, just as they always do at the start of her holidays here. No two days are the same in Pengelly. She remembers May telling her something that an old boyfriend had said to her years ago.
‘He reckoned I was like the Cornish weather,’ May said, grinning. ‘One minute sunshine, then storms and heavy rain that blotted everything else out. Black clouds, thick fog sometimes, bright flashes of lightning and long hot days when time seemed to stop.’
Emily was impressed. ‘He must have been pretty besotted to say those things and to put up with your changing moods, if that’s what you really were like?’
‘Oh, yes, he was, dear, for a while. No doubt about that. And I think I loved him more than I’ve ever loved anyone.’
‘So what happened?’
May didn’t answer the question, changing the subject to something mundane. Maybe Emily will ask again when she sees her this time.
Distracted by the sheer joy of being on the beach again, she jogs down to the waterline and unties her laces, kicking off her shoes. Her hair’s still in its night-time plait and she unravels it quickly, letting it flow around her shoulders as she wades into the sea.
The chill of the first waves lapping over her toes sends a shudder through her but she carries on until she’s knee-deep, rolling up the frayed hems of her shorts until they can hardly be seen under her T-shirt. Her hair lifts in the sea breeze and she laughs with sheer joy. An exuberant breaker almost knocks her over but Emily stands firm, enjoying the power of the current around her calves and the itch of salt water on her skin.
After a few minutes, she paddles back to shore and picks up her shoes, tying the laces together so she can loop them around her neck. It’s then she spots the flash of light in one of the upstairs windows of Andy’s house. A torch? No, it’s too bright to see something meant to be used in darkness. What, then? A reflection? Glass? Her mind leaps ahead. Binoculars or a telescope. He’s spying on her. The weirdo.
Seething, Emily raises a hand and waves in Andy’s general direction. Immediately, the
glinting rays disappear. Ha. Got you, she thinks. But why would Andy be watching her? At this ungodly hour she’d have thought most of the village would be fast asleep.
Emily heads for the other end of the bay, feeling the gritty sand under her bare feet and trying to shake off the uneasy sense of being stalked. Maybe he’s a closet birdwatcher? There are plenty of twitchers around here. But how interesting can it be spotting gulls? Tedious, surely? She gives it a try. It’d be, oh, there’s a gull. Yep, there’s another two. And three more … Not very inspiring, you’d think?
Tonight’s the night when she’s supposed to be going out for dinner with this man. Last night he could barely bring himself to look at her and now he’s spoiling her morning walk. How is she going to get through a whole evening with him? If he’s going to take offence at every little thing she says, it’s going to be hard work. At least Max had been fairly thick-skinned, unless you tried to dent his ego, of course. In any case, it’s definitely time to have a break from men. Who needs them?
As she mooches along, stopping to pick up a shell now and again, Emily becomes aware of the sound of barking. Sure enough, two familiar shapes are getting bigger as they bob closer. Pale, bristly fur and a madly curling tail, an anxious face and a short-legged body bounce slightly ahead of a solid mass of blackness and a long-legged stride. Buster hurtles towards Emily like a damp heat-seeking missile, flinging himself against her legs and beside himself with joy while Bruno lopes along behind him, eager to join in the fun. Emily kneels down to make a fuss of them and waits for Tristram to catch his dogs up.
‘I hope my hounds aren’t making a nuisance of themselves?’ he says, when he’s near enough to be heard. ‘They spotted you from the other end of the beach. I think you’ve made friends there.’
‘But Bruno isn’t wet,’ she says, as Buster shakes himself enthusiastically, giving Emily a shower.
‘No, he’s terrified of water. I’ve never known a Lab before who doesn’t love a swim. Very odd.’
Emily fondles Bruno’s soft ears and scratches Buster under his chin. She wonders if a small dog would be allowed in her apartment, but it’s a forlorn thought, because who would take it for walks and keep it company when she’s travelling, or at work for so many hours a day? ‘They’re both lovely,’ she says, standing up and stretching as Buster hurtles back towards the waves and leaps right into the biggest one he can find, ‘I wish …’ She falls silent.
‘Didn’t you have a puppy when you were growing up?’
‘No, we moved to Munich when I was quite young, and before that we were in Bristol. My parents said a city was no place for dogs. I was allowed a fish tank.’
‘Hmm. Difficult to take a fish for a walk.’
They fall into step and walk back up the beach. Emily’s stomach rumbles, and she wonders if the pan will be sizzling when she gets back to the cottage. Her gran’s breakfasts are stupendous – local sausages and oak-smoked bacon, fresh farm eggs with deep yellow yolks, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms from the farm shop … Emily’s mouth waters.
‘Have you got a young man in New York, Emily?’ Tristram asks suddenly.
Emily stares at him, unsure whether to be offended by the intrusion. ‘No,’ she says eventually, ‘not any more. And what about you? Are you married?’
‘Same answer; not any more,’ he says, pulling a face. ‘My wives are all long gone.’
‘Wives? You make yourself sound like Bluebeard.’
‘Well, I tried several times. I’m aiming for Henry VIII’s final total, that’s what I tell my daughter. Not really, though. I think four wives is enough, don’t you?’
‘You’ve been married four times?’
‘Yes, and all of them were lovely women – they just weren’t the right ones for me, or more likely I wasn’t the right one for them. I’m not very good at marriage. Too unpredictable, that was the main criticism. Oh, and also much too impulsive. Just don’t seem to be able to make a woman happy, or not long-term anyway.’ He grins at her. ‘I do OK for a while, though. Short-term husband material, that’s me.’
They’ve reached the bottom of Memory Lane now, and without discussion they sit down on one of the seats overlooking the bay with Bruno at their feet. All the benches have brass plaques dedicating them to the dear departed. This one is in memory of ‘Arthur and Maud, who loved the view over Pengelly Sands’. Emily wonders how many times these two wandered along the beach, maybe hand in hand, in love, planning their future together or, later, sharing memories. Arthur and Maud would have been sure of each other’s feelings. He wouldn’t have had a wife and a gang of kids tucked away somewhere, and she probably never doubted his devotion.
Tristram sees Emily reading the inscription, and makes a disgusted face. ‘I knew those two,’ he says, ‘and they couldn’t stand each other most of the time. Don’t be fooled. Their son put this bench here to make himself feel better for never coming to see them, but you couldn’t blame him. They were grumpy as hell.’
The dream of the couple holding hands as they skip through the shallow waves on the waterline vanishes, and Emily is back in the land of cynicism. Is anybody really happy with their partner? Emily’s mother and father dislike each other intensely; Tristram has never achieved a happy marriage, and she is now single by choice.
Tristram stands up and calls Buster, who comes running immediately, tail waving and ears flapping. At least a dog gives his whole heart. ‘You’re going out with Andy tonight,’ he says.
‘I was supposed to be. He doesn’t seem so keen now, and neither am I.’
‘It wasn’t a question. You are going for dinner with my friend Andy. That man needs a night out with a beautiful woman. You deserve some fun. End of story.’
Tristram pats Emily’s shoulder as if to take any sting out of his words, whistles to his dogs once more and they set off together down the beach. Emily watches them go and turns to head back home for breakfast. She can already smell the coffee brewing. And for now, that’s enough.
Chapter Fourteen
May wakes early, as usual, and is soon relaxing in her favourite cane lounger on the deck. She’s slightly disorientated this morning, because she’s been thinking about her parents and their shadowy figures seem very near this morning. May has been replaying one particular conversation in her mind. She remembers it almost word for word.
‘May, has it ever occurred to you that you’re … not quite like other folk?’ her father asked as they walked across the beach one spring day.
‘What do you mean, Pa?’
‘I’ve seen you accumulating trinkets. I know how you feel about them. We’re both different, you and I. My mother was the same.’
He paused there, running his hands through his ginger hair until it stood on end. May sat down on a rock and waited, eyes wide. She had the sense of standing on the edge of a cliff. It was a long way down.
‘Go on,’ she said.
‘I first noticed how other people’s possessions made me feel when I was in my teens. Not everything, but some had an unusual energy inside them …’
May held her breath.
‘It was the feeling of euphoria they gave me. A sort of a buzz, you could say, and it sometimes lasted for several hours. I’d been having a bad patch, health-wise. A bout of whooping cough had laid me low, but when I paid proper attention to my collecting again, I began to feel stronger and healthier.’
‘But, Pa, I get it too – the buzz.’
‘I know you do.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because I strongly suspect that you and I have the power to harvest memories from certain objects. I’ve noticed how you love collecting old things, and I’ve seen the look on your face when you first hold a new … acquisition, shall we call it? Will you show me now? Here’s something a bit special.’
He handed her a coin from his pocket. May looked down at the gold sovereign nestling in her palm. Holding it more tightl
y, she focused her mind on its shiny surface and let her thoughts wander. The resulting flood of muddled memories made her gasp, and then the feeling settled into one of pure happiness.
‘I wanted to see you in action,’ said May’s father, smiling at her rather sadly. ‘It’s just as I thought.’
‘But what does it mean? And what happened to your mother?’ May was on the verge of panic now. It was one thing having the sensations she experienced explained, but did she really want to know the answer to this question? What if the power she shared with her father was going to change her life, and not for the better? She gave him the coin back and held up her hands, palms outwards, as if she were pushing him away. ‘Maybe you don’t need to say any more.’
‘No, I must. We have to understand as much as we possibly can about what happens to us when we soak up all those memories. As you know, Ma died in a flu epidemic, but she always looked incredibly young for her age. Everyone commented on it. And she was an avid collector of antique dolls. You look very like her.’
May had never even tried to put her talent into words. It had been part of her life for as long as she could remember. Right from her first proper memories of lying in her pram in the garden looking up at trees moving in the breeze, she’d been aware of the power of certain objects. The string of tiny wooden animals that was suspended across the front of her pram to amuse her was a constant source of happiness. Later when she was much older, May found out that the mobile had belonged to her grandmother as a baby. The echoes from it gave her a deep sense of wellbeing even years later.
The relief of hearing her father bringing their shared skill into the open was intense, if scary. May closed her eyes and counted to ten in the hope that she wouldn’t cry. This was too important to be spoiled by bawling like a baby. Her father cleared his throat.
‘May, how old were you when you really noticed the memories transferring themselves to you?’
59 Memory Lane Page 9