If it hadn’t been for the yellow hat, anyone watching might have thought that there was a trained sniper in their midst. Unlike Liz, they probably wouldn’t have noticed the way that Robert’s limbs were shaking and his hand, holding the gun, was trembling, too.
After a few minutes, he composed himself enough to take aim. Dropping his gaze, he extended his arms as far as he could, with the gun pressed tight between both palms, and flipped the de-cocking lever. His intention was to fire close enough to scare the creatures away, but not so close that any of them would get hurt.
Liz could imagine him whispering, ‘One, two, three… steady now – shoot!’
She squeezed her eyes shut and straight away a series of sharp bangs, like firecrackers, ricocheted around the small garden. This was soon followed by some high-pitched screams, then a flurry of gulls left the roofs of Bag End as well as all its neighbours round about, and launched themselves into the heavens. For a short while, their wings blotted out the sun and the whole world seemed to turn black.
Liz’s arms shot up instinctively to protect her head and it crossed her mind to run for cover. But Robert shinned down the ladder double-quick and soon had his arm around her shoulders to give her a reassuring squeeze.
‘Mission accomplished,’ he said proudly. ‘I looked a few of them in the eye and I reckon we came to an understanding. I don’t think they’ll be back.’
‘Well done!’ Liz went up on tiptoe to kiss her husband’s cheek. ‘You’re a hero!’
As they strolled back into the cottage, however, she had the strange sensation of being watched and when she turned her head, she saw that one gull had already returned and settled on the garden fence, from where it was examining her beadily.
‘Pesky thing,’ she muttered under her breath, giving it her most withering look. It merely cocked its head cheekily to one side and ruffled its feathers.
‘Squawk,’ it went, and ‘Eeeeeeee!’
She could swear that it was laughing at her.
She didn’t tell Robert – it would drive him mad.
*
While he was still warring with the gulls, Rosie left for school, meeting up with Rafael at the bus stop on the way. The pair usually travelled there and back together, unless Rafael was late, in which case she went on without him.
He knew the score – he had five minutes’ grace and after that, he was on his own. She was very strict about it.
In their absence, Chabela and Loveday had to run the café on their own; it wasn’t a problem, though, as they weren’t exactly inundated with customers. All this would change in a few weeks, of course, but by then they hoped that Robert would have lined up the extra helpers.
It was a warmish day but there wasn’t much sun, and Chabela felt a bit dreary as she stared out of the serving hatch at the deserted, windswept beach.
Digging out her phone, she searched for some Mexican guitar music and turned the volume up loud. It perked up both the women immediately.
‘Fancy a coffee?’ Loveday called over the din, and Chabela did a thumbs up.
Something occurred to her then and she told Loveday to prepare two mugs half filled with black coffee and a jug of hot, frothy milk. Disappearing into the cloakroom, she reappeared not long after clutching a miniature bottle of alcohol.
‘Tequila,’ she said with a wink, holding the bottle up for Loveday to see. ‘It’s delicious in coffee with a bit of cream, sugar and cinnamon. I brought it with me specially. I thought we might need a little boost!’
Loveday glanced furtively out of the hatch to check if anyone was there, but all was quiet.
‘I don’t think Robert would approve!’ she said with a wicked laugh. ‘Make mine a double!’
‘Nonononono.’ Chabela waggled her index finger and clicked her tongue. ‘No doubles, just a tiny dash – see?’
She walked over to the counter, where Loveday had put the half-filled mugs, and poured not much more than a thimbleful of tequila in each. Then she added some hot milk, a soupçon of whipped cream from the fridge, a spoonful of sugar and some cinnamon sprinkles.
‘Here,’ she said, picking up one of the cups and handing it to Loveday, who sniffed the drink appreciatively. ‘Tell me what you think.’
Without any further encouragement, the girl put her lips to the mug and took a tentative sip.
‘Mmm!’ she said, glancing up, with foam still around her mouth. ‘It’s delish!’
Chabela was pleased. ‘Isn’t it?’ She closed her eyes and took a swig herself, savouring the taste, which reminded her so much of home. ‘You wouldn’t think the ingredients would go together, but they do.’
‘I’ve never had tequila before,’ Loveday commented, dipping a finger into the froth and licking it off. ‘Lush!’
They stood side by side for a little while gazing at the ocean, silently communing with their drinks, each other and their surroundings while Mexican guitars strummed in the background.
Every now and again, Loveday would make an appreciative slurp or suck, and once or twice, when the strumming reached a particularly rousing crescendo, either she or Chabela would break into a sort of flamenco jig.
Loveday especially liked to click her fingers and drum her feet on the floor because her heavy trainers made a satisfying thud, which seemed to resonate around the interior and make the walls and ceiling quiver.
When she grew tired of the music, she switched to the radio instead and listened intently with Chabela to the weather report. Out here, all alone in a glorified hut on a vast, inhospitable beach, the forecast was suddenly particularly interesting.
‘Thick cloud and a forty per cent chance of rain later,’ came a woman’s voice.
Her clipped English was quite unlike the accents of most of the folk around here and Chabela realised that she was becoming accustomed to the Cornish burr and even learning to like it.
‘Ugh,’ said Loveday, pulling a face. ‘I hate it when it rains. I wish we could close early.’
Already, it seemed, the cheering effects of the tequila were wearing off and Chabela didn’t dare give the girl any more in case it made her tipsy.
‘It rains a lot in Mexico City in the summer,’ she said, hoping to distract her. ‘At about three in the afternoon it’s torrential and everyone runs for cover. But it only lasts an hour or two, then the skies clear and the sun comes out again.’
‘I’d quite like to visit your country,’ Loveday commented. ‘But it’s not top of my list.’
There was something so open and artless about her that it was difficult to take offence. She was only telling the truth, without the usual social politeness filter turned on.
‘What’s number one on the list, then?’ Chabela asked with a smile.
‘Zante,’ came the reply, ‘in Greece. My friend went there last summer. She had a right laugh. The clubs were open all night and she slept all day. She came back whiter than before. Hardly saw the beach at all!’
Loveday seemed to regard this as an impressive achievement, and Chabela decided not to challenge her.
‘Mexican girls and women stay out of the sun, too,’ she commented drily. ‘It’s not fashionable to have a tan like it is here.’
‘Really?’ Loveday looked astonished. ‘My friend was hoping she’d come back black, but she never woke up in time to see the sun!’
The good news, she went on, was that the friend had met a lad from London out there and they were still texting each other.
‘He keeps saying he’s going to come to Cornwall to see her, but he never does.’
‘Men!’ Chabela raised her eyebrows. ‘They’re an unreliable lot.’
Loveday bit her lip and seemed to think about this for a moment.
‘I know what you mean,’ she said at last, her head on one side, ‘but Jesse’s not like the rest. Usually, if he says he’ll meet me somewhere or do something, he does.’
‘You’re lucky. You should hang onto him.’
There must have been something about Chabe
la’s tone that made Loveday take notice.
‘Have you ever had a boyfriend?’ she asked, quite shyly.
Maybe it was the tequila, or perhaps it was the girl’s straightforwardness, but for some reason Chabela found herself opening up a little about Alfonso. It was a subject so raw and close to her heart that she hadn’t mentioned him to anyone since arriving in Cornwall, and hadn’t intended to.
‘I was in love with someone once,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘I thought we had a future together, but it turned out we didn’t.’
Loveday’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Tell me!’
Chabela shook her head.
‘Oh go on,’ Loveday wheedled. ‘You can’t start and stop like that. It’s not fair!’
She looked so cross that Chabela laughed, despite herself.
‘Well, he’s married,’ she said carefully, watching Loveday’s face to gauge her reaction.
The girl’s pupils grew very large. ‘Ooh! Naughty!’
Chabela nodded.
‘It went on for many years – seven, to be precise. I adored him. I’m not proud of it.’
‘Did he finish with you?’
‘The other way round.’
‘Why?’
Chabela swallowed. Already she’d said too much. She felt that she could trust Loveday, but didn’t know for sure and in any case, how could a girl her age be expected to understand? What experience did she have of real life? She’d hardly even been out of Cornwall.
‘I’m sorry,’ Chabela said, lowering her eyes to the floor, ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I came here to try to get over him.’
‘And is it working?’
The directness of the question caught Chabela by surprise.
‘Um, not really.’ She gave a sad smile. ‘A little, perhaps.’
‘Well, that’s a start!’ Loveday clapped her hands. ‘Maybe you’ll be swept off your feet by a handsome Cornishman.’ She pulled a face. ‘Mind you, there aren’t many round here. You get more choice in Truro. It’s a proper city, with shops and cinemas and that.’
The conversation switched to the safer topic of films and hot actors. Loveday admitted that she fancied men with ginger hair, which cheered Chabela up no end, especially when she discovered their shared passion for Damian Lewis.
They were giggling so much that at first they didn’t notice Rick hovering by the serving hatch, but when Chabela glanced up, she became aware that he was staring at her, seemingly transfixed.
‘Oh!’ she said, self-consciously smoothing back her hair. ‘Sorry. Have you been waiting long?’
He didn’t reply, in fact he seemed a million miles away, so she tried again.
‘What can I get you?’
This time, he coughed with embarrassment and slid his gaze away.
‘Er, coffee please,’ he said, staring down and shuffling from one foot to another. ‘White, no sugar.’
While Loveday made the drink, Chabela talked politely with him about the weather. She had already discovered that this was a favourite topic among English people and seemed to put them at their ease.
Rick was wearing a smart, woollen navy reefer jacket with black anchor buttons and his grey hair, previously quite long and unkempt, had had a trim.
‘I wanted to ask you something,’ he said at last, wincing slightly as he spoke, as if it caused him pain.
Chabela had no idea what was coming next and felt slightly nervous for some reason.
‘I wondered if you’d be interested in visiting the tin miners’ museum?’ he went on. ‘I thought it might be useful for your research. You can go right down underground. There’s also some information up top about the Mexican migration. I can drive you there if you like? It’s not too far.’
Chabela exhaled loudly. She hadn’t realised that she’d been holding her breath. She realised that at the back of her mind, she’d been worried he was going to ask her on a date, but this sounded like nothing of the sort.
‘That would be great, thanks,’ she said with a smile and Rick’s face lit up.
‘Cracking! I mean good,’ he added quickly, checking himself. ‘When are you free?’
They settled on a week on Wednesday, when Chabela would have the day off. Rick said he wouldn’t mind shutting the shop at lunchtime.
‘I’ll put a notice up soon as I get back, then no one can say they haven’t been warned.’
He left with a spring in his step and as soon as he was out of earshot, Loveday dug Chabela in the ribs.
‘Watch out!’ she hissed. ‘I think he’s got the hots for you.’
At first Chabela didn’t understand. ‘The hots?’ she said innocently, but then the penny dropped. ‘No, no, you’re wrong,’ she insisted, appalled. ‘We’re going to a museum, for goodness’ sake. He’s just being friendly.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ Loveday replied with a scoff. ‘You’d better keep an eye on his hands down that mineshaft!’
This made Chabela shudder and she rather wished that she’d refused. But Rick was a nice person and it would be interesting to see a real tin mine. She might even learn something more about her ancestor’s historic journey.
After that, customers came in dribs and drabs and the women took it in turns to have a short lunch break. During hers, Chabela sat in her car with the heating on, eating a prawn sandwich.
She’d parked in her usual spot behind the café and it wasn’t much of a view, but she didn’t care. Loveday’s questions about Alfonso and then Rick’s unexpected invitation had set off a train of thought that she wanted to pursue, no matter where it led or how uncomfortable the journey.
Why had she been drawn to Alfonso, when he was so clearly attached to someone else? Back then, there had been countless admirers knocking on her door. Yet from the moment she met him, she had eyes for no one else.
She’d always assumed that she was simply swept away by his good looks, intelligence, experience and charisma. She wondered now, though, if there was something about his very unavailability that had been irresistible.
She found herself returning to their very first meeting, when she had no inkling of the fact that the course of her life was about to change dramatically and for ever.
He was director of the Centre of Latin American Studies when she took up the post of senior lecturer and researcher, and although she hadn’t met him before, she knew him well by reputation.
A political scientist and world expert in the field of US and Latin-American relations, he had written a number of highly acclaimed books, sections of which she could recite by heart.
Fifteen years older, married and with two teenage children, he wasn’t exactly good boyfriend material, but she was instantly hooked. She tried her best to disguise her attraction and at first, he seemed hardly aware of her presence. As time went on, however, he began to take more of an interest in her, stopping to chat when they passed in the corridor and asking how she was getting on.
Once, he offered to lend her a book that he said might help with a research paper that she was writing, and she went to his office to pick it up.
She could still remember how nervous she felt knocking on his door and how her legs almost gave way when he gestured to the chair on the opposite side of his vast wooden desk and invited her to sit down.
The room was high up, with views of the tall buildings that dominated the city’s skyline. A bright light shone through the windows that ran along the entire length of the wall behind him, illuminating his broad shoulders and head of thick, silvering hair, that was cut short at the sides and slightly longer on top, almost curly.
He was handsome by any standards – smooth-shaven, shortish in height and athletic-looking, with thick dark brows, a slim, straight nose, a full lower lip and clever, intense brown eyes behind a pair of distinctive, retro, black-framed glasses.
The sleeves of his pale blue shirt were rolled up and he’d undone a couple of buttons and removed his ti
e, while the jacket of his navy suit was laid carefully across the arm of the small black sofa to his right.
‘Would you like some coffee – or water, perhaps?’ he asked, leaning back and stretching, his arms behind his head, so that she could see the outline of his chest and taut stomach, the way his biceps seemed to be struggling to get free.
She could picture the moment as clearly as if it were yesterday, and desire licked at her insides all over again and seemed to burn through her gut, making her feel quite sick.
There was an open can of Diet Coke in the car’s cup holder beside her and she took a sip, remembering how, back then, she had declined his offer of coffee, thinking that she couldn’t trust herself not to spill it down her front.
After that, she’d watched him push the book that he’d mentioned across the desk to her with his fingertips, so overcome that she could barely raise her eyes far enough from her lap to take it from him.
He was clearly in no hurry and invited her to summarise the main arguments that she intended to put forward in her paper on the effects of the Cold War on gender and women’s rights in Latin America.
Panicking, she’d launched into a half-baked summary of her ideas, realising too late that she was making a fool of herself and that it would have been far better to stay schtum.
After a few moments of listening to her waffle, he removed his glasses, tucked them in his shirt pocket and bent forwards, his elbows resting on the table.
This caused her to lose her chain of thought entirely and as she paused to collect herself, she noticed to her dismay that his eyebrows had shot up. At the same time, he’d lowered his chin almost to his chest and was fixing her with a disconcerting look.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted, before she could stop herself. ‘I haven’t—’
‘Dr Penhallow Maldonado,’ he interrupted, with a devastating smile, ‘if you don’t mind my saying so, I’ve never heard such a pile of shit in my life.’
Her mouth dropped open, tears sprang to her eyes and it was all she could do not to bolt from the room. Fortunately, however, he took pity on her.
The Girl Who Came Home to Cornwall Page 13