by Sarah Mason
“So what plans have you and Sam got for the weekend, Charlotte?”
“Well, I rally want to see the Eden Project so Sam has promised to take me.”
“Just as long as Charlotte agrees to come surfing with me on Sunday,” interjects Sam.
“Have you been surfing before, Charlotte?” asks Sally sweetly.
“No, but I ski an awful lot so it can't be very different from that, can it?”
“Oh no. You'll be standing within the hour, riding the tubes with the rest of them,” I say cheerfully. Charlotte may well drown herself within the hour, let alone still be united with her surfboard. “You just need to remember to paddle out really far and wait for the big ones.”
Barney shoots me a warning look. “Come up to Watergate Bay, I'm not working in the morning so I'll come surfing with you.”
Damn it. Barney, being a bit of a whiz on the old board and having a life-saving qualification to boot, isn't going to let her drown. God, the arrogance of the upper classes never ceases to amaze me. No I'm-worried-I'll-make-a-tit-of-myself troubles for our Charlotte. They're sent forth from the nursery with an unshakeable confidence in their own inner perfection.
My father starts to lay dishes on the heatproof mats on the table and Sally and I get up to help him. A delicious-looking korma sprinkled with fresh coriander, a fresh salsa of tomatoes and bananas, pilaf rice with cloves and cardamom, okra in a tomato sauce and rich spicy Bombay potatoes appear. My mouth waters greedily. My father knows how to make a mean curry.
“How is Calamity Jane coming along, Sally? Sorrel?” asks Sam as the plates are handed out and my father makes my mother put her cigarette out. Barney and I have no pretensions toward visitors and start digging in first.
“Fine, we're just trying to work out how to manage the stagecoach scene, aren't we, Sally?”
“You know the one, where Calamity Jane is being chased by Indians across the plains?” asks Sally. Sam has had to sit through the video almost as many times as we have so this is a safe bet.
“Are you going to use a real stagecoach?”
“That's the idea,” my mother replies.
My father frowns at her. “Darling, is that wise? Do you remember that play you were doing when we met?”
“The amateur one?”
“That's the one. They had you swinging out over the audience in a model airplane? You kept having to be retrieved from the rafters.”
“Oh yes, I do remember! They swung me out into the dress circle. Once it took them over two hours to cut me down.”
“Gordon was up there practically cutting the wires himself, as I remember.”
“I'd just met him, bless him, and he'd asked to represent me. He'd probably leave me up there now. Anyway, don't worry about the stagecoach, darling, because I've asked the set designer from the National for a few ideas.”
There is a few minutes' silence as everyone appreciates the food. Charlotte says, “Patrick, this is simply super.”
“Thank you. Not too hot for you, Clemmie?” My pathetic curry threshold is well known in the family.
“Rally good.” Bloody hell, I'm starting to talk like her now. Her accent must be contagious. Sam must think I'm blatantly taking the piss because he shoots me a nasty look.
Thankfully Sally and I can excuse ourselves as soon as the meal is over. I interrupt Sally's jolly gossip with Barney as soon as the last mouthful has been taken and we go out together into the chilly evening air.
“God, she's awful!” I exclaim as soon as we're out of hearing.
“Clemmie, she's not that bad. Just a bit thick-skinned, that's all.”
“What on earth does Sam see in her?”
“Well, she is rather pretty.”
“Is she?”
“Her work does sound a bit boring though.”
“A bit? Bloody hell, he probably has to shag her to shut her up. Actually, maybe that's how he started going out with her.”
“Just a difficult pause in conversation?” Sally giggles.
“Exactly,” I say vehemently and we start to stride down the hill toward the pub.
Chapter Four
Holly and I are on a sofa, sipping our hot chocolates and looking at Watergate Bay. She arrived just this morning and we have come down here in the hope of a chat with Barney. Holly tried to persuade me to take a walk on the beach but we only got about a hundred meters and then I got too cold because I am only wearing three-quarter length linen trousers, which sit just below my hip bones, and a little T-shirt which I either last wore when I was twelve or has shrunk in the wash. So we retired to the café for a hot chocolate. The waitress is very offhand with us until we tell her that we're actually Barney's sisters and then she becomes very chatty. After she has served our hot chocolates, she bustles off to find him. He is supposed to be here, waiting tables, but it does not surprise me at all that he is somewhere else.
“These are very fattening, you know,” says Holly, delightedly sipping from her mug.
“Hmm, I know,” I say, practically face down in the stuff. Barney's café makes the best hot chocolates ever. Lots of cream, mini marshmallows and little chocolate drops. Neither of us is very good at dieting; we both tried a detox diet a few years ago and managed to convince ourselves that carrot cake was the only way to consume the obligatory carrot each day. We didn't lose any weight.
The café is built on stilts (the surf shop is housed down below) and has huge, comfy sofas which face out over the bay. The beach stretches for about a mile in each direction before dramatic cliffs cut it off and this stretch of sand is famous for its water sports. Kite surfing, waveski, and kite buggying—and Barney can do them all.
“It's so nice to see you!” Holly says.
“You too.” It is actually lovely to see her. “Especially by ourselves,” I add on. The last time we saw each other was the last night of my mother's latest play. The whole family turned up and so the dressing room was a tad overcrowded, which somehow caused my mother's dresser, Mildred, to swallow a needle she was using to make repairs with. Everyone was most distressed, particularly my mother as Mildred had also swallowed some beading from her final costume that was on the end of the needle. Funnily enough Holly and I didn't get much chance to chat.
“Anyway, tell me what's been happening here. How's everyone?” Holly leans back into the snuggly recesses of the sofa.
“Fine, we're all fine. Sam and Charlotte came to dinner last night.”
“Did you have a frightfully nice time?”
I grin at Holly. “Frightfully. I honestly do not know what Sam sees in her.”
“Oh, she's not such a bad old stick.”
“Now you're talking like her,” I say, still cradling my mug and taking surreptitious licks from the rim.
Holly grins. “But she's not!” she protests. Holly and the rest of the family have an annoying habit of remaining adamantly faithful to Sam but he and I have always had a much more, I don't know, tense relationship, I suppose. We are not perfectly at ease with each other, whereas he slots in beautifully with the rest of the family. If I am being honest, this slightly irritates me.
“How long have they been going out again?” I ask idly. Sam and Charlotte got together while I was abroad so I have not been party to the usual insider knowledge.
Holly shrugs. “A couple of months or so. I think she's pretty.”
“Pretty boring. Holly, she's an actuary!” I stare at her, willing the awfulness of this to sink in.
“Clemmie, do you know what an actuary is?”
“Well, no. I don't. But it sounds incredibly tedious whatever it is. What is it, anyway?”
“Actually I don't know either. But I'm sure it's not as bad as it sounds. Charlotte is really nice when you get to know her.”
“I told her that Morgan would pee on her if she stood still too long.”
“Clemmie! That's really horrible!” says Holly, grinning slightly. “Is that why she is so fidgety around him?”
“She w
as annoying me and I wish she would stop putting on that accent.”
“But Charlotte really speaks like that. She's not putting it on.”
“Truly? God, can you imagine if she marries Sam. I might actually have to kill my own mother.”
“Do you think Sam and Charlotte are serious then?”
“I don't know but she certainly seems to eat a lot of suppers with us.”
“I wonder if he will go back to London with her.” Sam actually worked in London for a while and we thought he would settle there, but he surprised us all by just suddenly returning to Cornwall and putting down roots. He never told any of us what happened or why he returned which is absolutely infuriating because it's bound to be something completely pathetic like he found the water too hard or some such.
“Maybe. I think his work takes him there occasionally.”
“Hello, you!”
We swivel round to see Barney grinning at us with his customary just-got-out-of-bed look. But then he probably has.
Holly leaps up and they hug tightly. “How are you?” she beams at him when they break apart.
“He has girl trouble,” I put in.
“Thank you, gobmouth. I was wondering how long it would take you.”
“At least I waited until you got here.”
“Girl trouble? What sort of girl trouble?” asks Holly.
“He likes one.”
“Likes one?” She turns back to Barney with raised eyebrows. “Bloody hell, girl trouble usually means they won't leave you alone. Who on earth can this goddess be?”
Barney opens his mouth to reply but I get in before him. “Well, he won't say. She doesn't like him back though.”
“Good grief! What is the world coming to! Probably be good for him.”
“Hello?” says Barney.
“He's determined to change his ways.”
“How on earth is that going to help?”
“I'm still here,” says Barney.
“He thinks she won't even give him the time of day because he's a bit of a wastrel. So he thinks that if he gets a proper job and stuff, he might stand a better chance.”
“Clemmie! Do you mind if I tell Holly?”
“Sorry.”
“Well?” demands Holly.
“Actually Clemmie has summed it up pretty well.”
“Apart from who she is?”
“Holly, if there is anyone more gobby than Clemmie, it's you. So if I haven't told Clemmie then I am hardly likely to tell you.”
Holly looks wounded by this but makes a good recovery. “So what's your plan?” she asks doubtfully.
“I just thought she might take a bit more notice of me if I became responsible. It's not exactly going to do me any harm, is it? She might start to take me more seriously.”
“Are you going to pull out of the worm-charming competition at Blackawton?”
This is a contest where everyone is given a patch of ground in which to bring out as many worms as possible in an allotted time, usually by thumping the ground as though it is raining (although there are other more dubious methods). Barney and I look at Holly in horror. The family love this event. Mother makes a picnic and everything. Besides, Barney is really good at it.
“Do I have to?” he asks.
“Well, let's face it, it's not something a responsible person would do.”
“Maybe you could do it and not dress up as a rain cloud this year?” I suggest helpfully. “That smacks of responsibility.”
“Maybe,” says Barney gloomily.
“Is she really worth it, Barney?” asks Holly.
“She's special,” he says simply.
“Special, loony special?”
“No, just special special. Will you help me?”
“That's quite difficult if we don't know who she is,” says Holly, but seeing the forlorn look on Barney's face adds on quickly, “but we'll help you, won't we, Clem?”
“Of course!”
“You're not to tell anyone by the way. No one else knows.”
“Not even Sam?”
“Not even Sam.”
Barney is getting dirty looks from the owner of the café so he says he'd better go and look as though he's doing some work and disappears.
There's a small silence as we both finish off the dregs of hot chocolate.
“And how are you feeling about stuff?” Holly asks. By stuff she means Seth.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” she queries. Ah, my sister knows me well.
“Well, still disappointed. In men generally, I think, though.” I try a little grin for size. This disappointment still feels relatively fresh because, such was my haste at leaving the country over thirteen months ago, I didn't have time to perform the one vital thing that all relationship divorcees should do without delay. The exorcism. It wasn't until a couple of weeks ago that I managed to unpack some of the boxes from my hasty retreat from my flat in Exeter. Of course, I meant to throw anything vaguely associated with Seth straight in the bin. But this proved harder than I'd thought. I had saved all the cards and presents Seth had given me over the course of our relationship. Not that there were many of those but it wasn't always easy for Seth to get down to the shops. A less charitable person, namely Barney who is generally regarded as one of the least thoughtful people in the household, suggested rather mean-spiritedly that he could have had something delivered. At the time I dismissed this cynical suggestion out of hand but now I secretly think Barney might have had a point. Barney had had to frogmarch me down to the dustbin to throw it all away but still the feelings of sadness lingered.
“Men aren't really on my agenda,” I say with a wry smile. “Maybe when I return from the convent in twenty years' time.”
“Come on, Clemmie! That was just bad luck with Seth.”
“Bad luck? I lost my job because of him! How can one person have such bad judgment?”
“Well, that was awful. But he was becoming a bit pompous. Barney nearly decked him when he saw him.”
I frown. “When did Barney see him? He didn't tell me.”
“Hmm?” Holly looks sort of startled. “Oh, he bumped into him in Exeter.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Barney bumped into Seth in Exeter?”
“Er, yes.”
“Does Barney know where Exeter is?”
“Of course Barney knows where Exeter is! Anyway, are you looking for a job?” she asks, neatly side-stepping me.
“I can't really find anything down here.”
“Have you looked?”
“Of course! Funnily enough, jobs valuing art are a little thin on the ground in north Cornwall, and anyway, I don't really know if I fancy going back to it.”
“What would you like to do?”
I sigh. “I don't know. Something to do with art, I suppose. I do miss that bit.”
“You could come down to the paper with me when we're back in Bristol and talk to the people in the job section. They'd have an idea of what's about at the moment.” I've managed to book some holiday with Mr. Trevesky and I'm going to go back to Bristol with Holly. I think he was quite pleased to see the back of me for a few days after the Wayne/nose debacle.
“Ooh, good idea. Thanks, Holly. By the way, have you found a story yet?”
“God, I really need one. Even Joe is starting to mumble about one-hit wonders.”
“One will just turn up out of the blue.”
“Will it? I'm starting to wonder.”
“Talking about turning up, has Emma?” I ask.
“Not a dicky bird. Nobody has heard a word from her since her resignation. Poor Rachel had to cover the social diaries and she really hasn't got a clue.”
“Maybe Emma has got another job.”
“Maybe, but you'd think she'd clear out her desk before she left, wouldn't you?”
“She left all her stuff?”
“Yes, it's like she went home from work one day and then just decided not to bother coming back. But then her father is so rich she co
uld afford to do that if she wanted to. Jenny in HR got a phone call from her father asking us to post it all to him. When she asked him why Emma had left he got very irate and told her not to ask so many questions.”
“What's her father's name again?”
“Sir Christopher McKellan.”
“McKellan?” I query with a frown. “I think I've heard of him.”
“You might have done. He's a QC in Bristol. Won a famous case a few years ago. Anyway, Jenny wants me to drop off Emma's things at her father's house and see if I can speak to her to make sure she's okay. He's got a second home down here.”
“Whereabouts?”
“Rock.”
“And Emma is there?”
Holly looks momentarily surprised. “Well, I presume so. That's the address he gave to Jenny.”
“I wonder why she resigned so suddenly.”
Holly shrugs. “Probably wanted to go to Bermuda or something and didn't have enough holiday.”
“Yes, but it can't have been anything planned because she would have taken her things with her. Did she say anything to anyone at work?”
“Oh come on, Clemmie. You've met Emma. She's hardly going to win Personality of the Year. She wouldn't deign to speak to anyone at work.”
“Maybe something has happened to her.”
“If anything was up with the daughter of Sir Christopher McKellan, believe me, everyone would know about it. Come on, we'll go home via Rock and get rid of her things.”
Since Rock is all the way around the other side of the estuary, we decide it will be quicker to park in Padstow and catch the little ferry over to Rock. Of course, we forget to work in the extra twenty minutes added to the journey by a holidaying granny who didn't realize her wheelchair would get stuck on the beach at the other side.