The Girl Who Came Home to Cornwall

by Emma Burstall

  Luckily, Chabela didn’t hear the reply because Rick asked for two cappuccinos to take away, one with chocolate sprinkles and one without.

  It soon became clear why, when he was joined by a very tall middle-aged lady in a long, billowing, bright yellow waterproof jacket like a traditional fisherman’s mac, and a matching sou’wester hat.

  ‘Here you are! I thought you were never coming back,’ she complained, grabbing him proprietorially by the arm. ‘I’ve been waiting in the car for ages.’

  Loveday, who was standing by the coffee machine, leaned over and whispered rather loudly in Chabela’s ear.

  ‘Uh-oh, that’s Audrey, the nosy old cow. She and Rick have known each other for ever. They’re just friends, though. He wouldn’t go out with her. No one would.’

  If Audrey heard, she pretended not to, instead leaning forward and peering closely at Chabela, eyeing her up and down. It made her feel quite uncomfortable, and even more so when the older woman gave a disconcerting sniff and turned away, as if she’d seen quite enough, thank you very much.

  ‘Um, would you like anything else?’ Chabela asked Rick, as he handed her some coins. After checking the amount, she gave them to Rosie, who put them in the till, because Chabela wasn’t very good at operating it yet.

  Rick shook his head and picked up the drinks, in eco-friendly disposable cups. Audrey had now walked off and he seemed rather sorry to have to follow.

  ‘Let me know about the talk,’ he said to Chabela. ‘Just pop into my shop anytime and I’ll reserve you a ticket.’

  He seemed very keen; perhaps he was low on numbers. She hadn’t the heart to turn him down.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ she promised, ignoring Rafael’s further snort of derision. ‘And thanks again for looking into the Penhallow family history.’

  *

  The day seemed to go quite quickly after that, despite a distinct lack of customers. Loveday’s boyfriend, Jesse, dropped by with a fresh stock of coffee beans, bread for the freezer and suchlike, and when he found them all dancing, he joined in.

  The atmosphere was so jolly that he didn’t want to leave, but he had to get back to A Winkle in Time or he said Robert would ‘blow his top’.

  ‘It’s much more fun here,’ he grumbled, running a hand through his blond corkscrew curls and flashing Chabela a winning smile. ‘Must be the Mexican influence.’

  Jesse could be a bit of a flirt.

  Loveday frowned. She could be very jealous, but she soon melted when he gave her a big snog by way of goodbye.

  Just before closing time, when the rain had finally stopped and patches of watery blue sky were peeping through the clouds, Chabela heard her phone ping.

  After wiping her hands on a tea towel, she checked her messages and saw that she had one from Simon.

  Made a bit of progress on the Penhallow front. Would you be free to pop over tomorrow at 6.p.m.? All best.

  There was no mention of the Mexican meal; perhaps he’d gone off the idea. It wouldn’t surprise her.

  In any case, she was keen to know what he’d found out and if she didn’t go tomorrow, which was Sunday, her visit might have to be delayed until the following weekend. She typed back in her politest English.

  I’m most grateful. Thank you. I have a new job and I’ll come straight from work.

  For some reason, there was a slight fluttering in her stomach, which she put down to curiosity about his findings. Then she remembered that she was really only mildly interested in her family tree anyway, and the butterflies quickly vanished.

  Chapter Nine

  The Lobster Pot pub on Tremarnock’s seafront was always full on Saturday evenings, and tonight was no exception; in fact Liz could hardly get through the door.

  She could see Barbara, the landlady, behind the bar, chatting with one of the local fishermen who was bending forwards so that his nose was practically in her cleavage. Whether this was deliberate or not wasn’t clear, but neither seemed uncomfortable with the situation.

  Barbara, a widow in her fifties, ran an extremely successful business and was also a great organiser. When it came to raising funds for the village hall, for example, or organising a search party for a missing dog or person, she was your woman.

  With her halo of dark-blonde hair, her tight tops, high heels, pillowy bosom and friendly, open demeanour, it was easy to see why she was so popular with the local men of a certain age. As far as anyone knew, however, she’d not dated a single one since her husband had died.

  ‘I’m like a swan, I mated for life,’ she was once overheard saying to a fellow who had taken to propping up the bar on the nights when he knew that she’d be there. ‘I love men, but Gareth was the only chap for me.’

  That didn’t stop her taking more than a passing interest in the lives of her customers, however, who flocked to her for advice about all sorts of issues, ranging from relationship worries to work and even health problems.

  She would always lend a friendly ear and offer advice, too, without ever overstepping the mark. No wonder her tills were always ringing. Spending time in her pub was like rest, relaxation and therapy all rolled into one.

  As she scanned the room, Liz saw quite a lot of people she didn’t recognise. Some might be tourists, although it was still a bit early in the season, while others had probably caught the ferry across from Plymouth.

  Tremarnock was popular with Plymothians, as well as folk from the surrounding towns and villages, because of its cobbled streets, quaint architecture and, of course, its proximity to the sea.

  It had a certain holiday feel at weekends, even in the depths of winter, and the Lobster Pot was famous for its lively atmosphere, local beers, fine wines and warm welcomes.

  It wasn’t the only pub, of course. The Hole in the Wall, around the corner, was also popular but catered mainly for teens and twenty-somethings, who flocked to its live music nights. Meanwhile, the Victory Inn on Towan Road was considered rather staid, being mostly frequented by elderly pensioners.

  Nudging her way through the bodies, Liz finally made it to the far side of the pub, near the fireplace. In winter there was always a roaring blaze, but the grate was empty now.

  Sitting on a tall wooden bench, with his back pressed to the wall, she soon spotted the familiar, whiskery face of Rick, in a bright pink shirt, open wide and displaying quite a lot of curly grey chest hair.

  He was nursing a pint of warm ale, his large, meaty hands cupped around his three-quarters empty glass almost reverentially. Beside him sat Jean the childminder, and opposite were Audrey and Jean’s husband, Tom. Liz would know them anywhere – even by the backs of their heads.

  Her heart sank ever so slightly, because she hadn’t realised that Audrey would be present. She should have guessed. Rick had only recently split from his latest girlfriend and was somewhat bereft. He didn’t like being single and, indeed, it was pretty unusual. An avid online dater, he generally enjoyed a great deal of success with the more mature ladies of the region and was rarely without someone on his arm.

  Now, however, he was having to endure a hiatus and Audrey, whom he’d known since childhood, had stepped into the breach. No one doubted that their relationship was purely platonic and they seemed to enjoy a love-hate sort of bond. Each appeared to find the other intensely irritating, yet somehow they couldn’t ever be apart for long.

  Liz had hoped to stay for just one or two drinks before hurrying back to collect Lowenna, who was at Tabitha’s house, playing with her son, Oscar. Liz had only agreed to come here at all because Jean had pressed her, insisting that Rick needed company, but this clearly wasn’t the case tonight.

  ‘Liz!’ he cried, catching sight of her and rising abruptly, almost knocking over the table in his enthusiasm. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘My round,’ she replied, noticing that Jean’s glass was almost empty, as was his. ‘Same again?’

  Battling her way to the bar and back took ages, and when Liz finally sat down, Jean was halfway through a long and t
edious story about her daughter’s mother-in-law’s niece. It was quite hard to follow, and Liz found herself zoning out for a while, listening to the buzz of voices, the clink of glasses and the occasional scrape of chairs on the wooden floor.

  She was brought back to the present by a sharp dig in the ribs from Audrey.

  ‘Well?’ the older woman said bossily, clearly enjoying Liz’s evident confusion. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Er, about what?’ Liz felt her cheeks heat up. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

  ‘About the plaque ceremony,’ said Audrey with exasperation, as if she were speaking to a naughty, inattentive pupil. ‘Jean thinks we should get the local children to perform something for Max at the reception afterwards, a poem or something. Any ideas?’

  Liz racked her brains and remembered how Max enjoyed music. ‘What about singing some sea shanties?’ she said at last. ‘Things like “Trelawny” and “Robbers Retreat”? It wouldn’t take the kids long to learn. They probably know most of the lyrics already.’

  Everyone thought this was a marvellous idea, even Audrey, who generally vetoed any suggestions that she hadn’t made herself.

  ‘They’ll have to start rehearsing pronto,’ Rick commented. ‘They’ve only got a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Alex can accompany them on the accordion,’ Tom suggested. ‘I’m sure Ruby won’t mind giving up a few hours to teach them the tunes.’ Alex was the head chef at A Winkle in Time while Ruby, a grandmother in her sixties, was a competent pianist.

  ‘You’ve got a lovely singing voice, Liz.’ All eyes turned to Jean, in a lilac sweater decorated with little yellow flowers. ‘You can be choir mistress.’

  Liz’s heart beat a little faster. ‘Actually, I can’t—’ she started to say, but Jean wasn’t listening.

  ‘I’ll come along, too,’ she said. ‘I can keep the kiddies in order.’

  Tom suggested that the children should all wear blue and white, like sailors, and maybe someone could search online for some cheap nautical hats. ‘I can see Lowenna in a cute little doughboy cap.’

  If Liz had had her wits about her, she’d have interrupted him right there to explain that she and the girls were away that weekend and wouldn’t be able to attend the ceremony at all.

  For some reason, however, she was struck dumb, and before she knew it, she had been appointed the official director of singing, to be accompanied on the piano and accordion by Ruby and Alex, while Jean was tasked with contacting the local mums to invite their children to take part.

  By the time they’d all finished discussing their favourite sea shanties and Rick had treated them to a few lines of each in his booming baritone, the whole pub, it seemed, was in on the idea and Liz hadn’t the courage to back out.

  ‘Will you ask Ruby if we can rehearse at her house?’ Jean asked, and Liz nodded meekly, cursing herself for being so weak.

  All her good intentions, it seemed, had come to nothing and whether she liked it or not, she would be seeing Max again after all.

  Her stomach flip-flopped at the prospect, but she told herself not to worry. His visit would be brief and for most of the time he’d be surrounded by people, both at the ceremony and the reception afterwards. There’d be no opportunity for them to speak alone and as soon as the day was over, she could go home and put him out of her mind.

  The subject moved on after that to other forthcoming village events, including the annual summer barbecue at Polgarry Manor. Tom mentioned ‘the Mexican lady’ who’d stopped to admire his garden, at which Rick’s ears pricked up and he told them that he was helping to research her family tree.

  He made it sound rather as if he were in charge of the whole project and didn’t refer to Simon Hosking once.

  ‘With a surname like Penhallow she’s got to be part Cornish,’ Rick commented. ‘The question is, does she come from the Penhallows of Tremarnock, or from another branch of the family?’

  Liz remarked that Chabela was working at the Secret Shack for the summer, not realising that Rick and Audrey had been there earlier in the day.

  ‘Be careful,’ Audrey said suddenly. ‘She’s trouble.’

  Liz raised her eyebrows. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘I reckon she’s a man-eater,’ the older woman added darkly. ‘A flirt. Most likely a gold-digger, too.’

  ‘You can’t say that!’ Jean spluttered. ‘You don’t even know her!’

  Liz agreed. ‘She’s only been in the village a week!’

  But Audrey was having none of it.

  ‘Check out the way she dresses. And how she holds herself. She thinks she’s the Queen of Sheba, craves male attention – can’t get enough of it. I’ve met her type before.’

  She shot a look at Rick, who was too busy twiddling his moustache to notice and seemed lost in thought.

  ‘She’s a good-looking woman,’ he said at last, with a faraway look in his eyes.

  ‘And she knows it!’ Audrey barked. ‘She was even flirting with Rafael. Disgusting! He’s young enough to be her son!’

  Tom said he didn’t believe it; Chabela was very pleasant and not at all coquettish with him.

  ‘You see!’ Audrey cried triumphantly, ‘That’s exactly what I mean! She makes you think she’s all sweet and nice and then, bam, she’s trapped you in her web and there’s no getting out.’

  ‘You only saw her briefly!’ Rick sounded wistful, as if he’d rather like to be caught in Chabela’s silken strands. ‘How can you possibly judge a person in that time?’

  ‘It was long enough,’ Audrey replied, tapping the side of her nose mysteriously. ‘She’s a Jezebel, mark my words. The wives round here had better watch out.’

  Later that night, Liz strolled to Tabitha’s house to collect Lowenna, leaving the others still drinking in the pub. It had stopped drizzling but there was a chilly wind and as she headed uphill, she could hear the waves thrashing against the sea wall, dragging the pebbles back down the beach as they receded.

  Her footsteps clattered on the cobbles and her shadow made strange shapes in the lamplight. At one point, a white cat darted across her path, making her jump, and she wrapped her coat more tightly around her.

  It had been wrong of Audrey, she reflected, to speak of Chabela in that way. Liz tried her best to think well of people and not jump to hasty conclusions, but in Audrey’s book, it seemed, you were guilty until proven innocent.

  Even so, Liz couldn’t help thinking that it was a good job Chabela would be working such long hours in the café; she didn’t like to think of a dangerous female let loose in Tremarnock, although from the look on Rick’s face, he for one would be more than delighted to offer himself up as prey.

  And as for Max, well, he was a problem for another day. Tonight, Robert had promised to come home in good time, leaving Alex and Jesse to close the restaurant.

  A Saturday night in with her husband was a rare treat for Liz. They’d probably open a bottle of wine and snuggle on the sofa in front of a film.

  He’d be tired, no doubt, but hopefully he’d be able to stay awake for a couple of hours at least to give her his undivided attention. She intended to make the most of it – and him.

  *

  Chabela arrived early at the Secret Shack the following morning, which was just as well because Loveday didn’t roll up until nearly eleven o’clock and Rafael wasn’t much before her.

  Rosie was more punctual but still, it fell to Chabela to open up, turn on the lights, update the menu board and heat the deep-fat fryer. When Rafael finally arrived, Rosie had made the sandwiches and Chabela was serving a group of customers who were out for a Sunday morning walk with dogs and children.

  She might have been a quick learner but still managed to get in a flap when one of the women walkers asked for a double macchiato with soya milk. She couldn’t remember whether to pour the foamed milk directly on top of the espresso or whether to spoon it in and stir. Fortunately, Rafael came to the rescue.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he said, removing his blac
k jeans jacket and throwing it in a cavalier fashion on the counter behind.

  His skin was a slightly strange putty colour and an angry red spot had sprung up on his unshaven chin. There were also dark circles under his eyes, and his hair, which had yesterday been styled into a dashing Mohican quiff, was looking distinctly flat.

  ‘Did you have a good night?’ Chabela asked wryly.

  He nodded rather too vigorously and his face contorted in pain.

  ‘Do you have a headache pill?’ he called hopefully to Rosie, who scowled back.

  ‘Plonker! I bet you were drunk as a skunk last night, weren’t you? You should have come to the cinema with me instead.’

  Her sharp tone made him wince again and he lowered his eyes and focused on pouring the coffee. At that moment, Liz glanced out of the hatch and saw a dishevelled Loveday walking gingerly across the sand towards her.

  Yesterday’s rain and wind had given way to sunshine and blue skies and it was really quite warm. Even so, Loveday was wrapped in a swishy black coat that nearly reached her ankles, her arms hugged around her as if for protection.

  She was wearing the same chunky platform trainers as yesterday, and her pink hair was scraped into a ponytail perched on top of her head. She was frowning hard and even from several metres away, Chabela could see that she hadn’t washed her face properly. Last night’s black kohl and mascara were smudged around her eyes and her thick white foundation was streaked.

  ‘Vengaaaa!’ Chabela muttered to herself in exasperation. ‘Oh come on!’

  To have to suffer one co-worker with a crippling hangover was bad enough, but two simultaneously? This was going to be a long day.

  By the time she set off for Simon’s cottage in the car, her legs were aching from standing for so long and really all she wanted was to return to the manor for a long, hot bath.

  Once she’d left Loveday and Rafael behind, however, she started to feel better and decided that it had mainly been their sallow faces and gloomy moods that had dragged her down.