He was a big, sturdy chap with broad shoulders and strong, capable-looking hands. Even so, he seemed quite alarmed when he realised that his moment had finally come and he would have to venture outside again.
Liz had dug out Robert’s leather gloves and thick, green, military style jacket. It was a bit tight on Des, but he managed to squeeze into it somehow, and stuck the yellow hard hat firmly on his head.
‘Lord!’ said Jean. ‘Now you really do look as if you’re off to war.’
‘Best of British!’ joked Tony, but Des couldn’t see the funny side and gave him a stony stare.
They all watched with bated breath as Des left the cottage and crept across the garden on his hands and knees, glancing up anxiously every so often to check if he was about to be dive-bombed.
As he neared the place where the chick was hiding, he went right down on his belly and slithered like a snake, dragging himself along by his elbows. It was a good job that he was wearing his long striped pyjamas or his knees would have got grazed.
Fortunately, it was still early and there were no passers-by to disrupt the operation in progress. Liz had also taken the precaution of locking Mitzi in the utility room, or she might well have got to the chick before Des.
‘He’s almost there,’ whispered Felipe, whose nose was virtually pressed against the windowpane. ‘Only a few more centimetres…’
Just then, Lowenna jumped up and tried to scramble on to the window ledge, knocking over a ceramic vase in the process. Thankfully, Liz caught it just before it hit the floor; it would have made a terrible noise if it had smashed into pieces.
‘Lowie,’ she hissed, ‘get down!’
The little girl did as she was told, but not before Des, who had clearly heard something, turned and glared at them, waving his arm angrily in their direction as if to say, ‘Go away, you fools!’
Liz held her breath for a few moments, terrified that the birds would have heard, too, but it seemed not. Soon, Des had his head under the butterfly bush and was reaching out with both hands, presumably to grab the chick.
‘I hope he can get it,’ said Debs, and Liz crossed all her fingers.
Des seemed to be under the bush for an eternity, but at last, he shuffled backwards on his knees, holding something carefully between his hands, and everyone let out a silent cheer.
‘Thank God!’ Jean exclaimed, only to be slapped down by Tony, who pointed out that this was only the beginning.
‘The hardest part’s going to be shinning up that ladder. Beats me how he’ll manage it without alerting the parents. Maybe all their friends and neighbours, too.’
The thought of her husband being set upon by a swarm of angry birds was too much for Debs, who made a choking sound and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Liz, patting Debs on the back, ‘I have every faith in Des. He’ll be fine.’
She scowled at Tony; she really thought she could strangle him at that moment. After all, he was the one who had initially volunteered Felipe for the task. Either he was exaggerating the risks of the ladder part of the mission, or he was extremely cavalier with other people’s safety.
By now, Des was fully upright, tiptoeing across the garden towards the ladder with the chick still safe between his palms. This was Felipe’s cue to creep outside and join him.
Liz had managed to find another of Robert’s jackets for the Brazilian, as well as some woollen gloves and a baseball cap. The get-up wasn’t as protective as Des’s, but at least Felipe wasn’t the one potentially coming face-to-face with the nesting gulls.
As soon as Des reached the ladder, he began to climb. Without the use of his hands, he had to use his elbows again to steady himself. Meanwhile, Felipe put one foot on the first rung and took hold of the rails on either side.
Des’s progress was slow, especially in tartan carpet slippers, and the others watched nervously from within the cottage.
‘I hope he doesn’t squeeze the chick so tight he kills it,’ said Debs, and Jean let out a squeak.
‘Oh don’t! That would be terrible!’
At last, Des climbed so high that they could no longer see him any more, not even his slippers. They had to rely for information on Felipe, who gave a thumbs-up when things were going well, and a flattened palm accompanied by a so-so wrist wiggle when he wasn’t sure.
At one point, he was craning his neck so hard to try to see what was happening that Liz feared his neck might snap.
‘What’s going on?’ Debs asked, when several minutes had ticked by and he had failed to update them with any kind of gesture. ‘Do you think I should call an ambulance – or the police? Maybe Des is hurt.’
They all made reassuring noises, but Debs wasn’t convinced. She became so agitated that Liz feared she might rush out at any minute to try to help her husband, which would most likely only make his situation worse.
She was contemplating the feasibility of grabbing Debs by the arm and pinning her to the sofa – not easy, given their size difference – when Felipe turned to them with a wide grin on his face and raised both thumbs triumphantly in the air.
‘He’s done it!’ Debs cried, doing a little jig on the carpet in her long blue nightdress, and the others clapped and cheered. Jean, clearly the most moved of them all, went around giving everyone a hug, just as if they’d survived the Blitz.
‘I hope my husband isn’t hurt,’ Debs said when they’d all started to calm down a bit.
‘At least you’ve still got a husband,’ Tony replied, rather waspishly Liz thought.
When Des himself came into view – feet first and then the rest of him – everyone cheered again, including Lowenna, who also did a celebratory roly-poly. Des was beaming from ear to ear when he came back into the house and Debs dutifully helped him take off his protective gear, just as if she were a medieval lady and he her knight in shining armour. They made a rum sort of Queen Guinevere and Sir Lancelot in their nightclothes, but everyone was full of admiration just the same.
After that, they all wanted a blow-by-blow account of the operation, which seemed to have gone remarkably well. Des explained that when he got on to the roof, he could see the mother in the nest with her other chicks, but not the scary dad.
The mum squawked a bit and ruffled her feathers as Des approached, but he went very slowly and cautiously and managed to plop the baby back in with its siblings without any trouble.
‘I was afraid the father would come back and go for me,’ he said grimly, ‘so once the chick was in, I got out of there as quickly as I could.’
‘You’re a hero!’ Debs said, smiling proudly at her husband.
‘It was nothing,’ he insisted modestly, but Liz could swear that his chest expanded and he’d grown a couple of inches in height.
‘How many chicks did you see?’ she wanted to know, and Des said he’d counted five.
‘Just think how many more rescue operations that’ll mean,’ Tony quipped, grinning wickedly. ‘Liz, you and Des had better set up a hotline. I’m sure Felipe will volunteer for more ladder-securing duties if you ask him nicely.’
After that, everyone wanted more tea and when they finally left, it was almost lunchtime. Rosie had stayed in her bedroom throughout the commotion, but she emerged now, presumably because she was hungry.
Liz, who was still in pyjamas, offered to make her a sandwich but she wanted to do it herself. Then she said she would go over to the restaurant to see if Robert needed any help; she wasn’t working at the Secret Shack that day.
‘I thought I’d take Lowie to the beach this afternoon, fancy coming with us instead?’ Liz asked hopefully, but Rosie shook her head.
‘Don’t feel like it.’
Her cold response, though predictable, still managed to upset her mother, who felt tears prick her eyes. She turned away quickly, so as not to be noticed, and stacked the dirty mugs and plates from earlier in the dishwasher.
‘Robert told me you wanted to go and live with him,’ she said now. S
he hadn’t meant to; it just slipped out.
‘Yes,’ said Rosie.
‘I feel really sad about it,’ Liz said truthfully.
‘Yeah, well, I’m sad too,’ came the curt reply.
Liz looked at her daughter now, and her greeny-grey eyes were hard and pitiless. Shocked, she glanced away; she barely recognised Rosie any more.
‘Darling,’ she pleaded, ‘I know you’re angry with me, but please can we talk about it? I can’t stand it when you’re like this, it breaks my heart.’
She let out a small sob and something in Rosie seemed to soften at last, like snow melting in spring.
‘Don’t cry, Mum,’ she said, walking over to the dishwasher and giving Liz a hug.
She was so surprised and relieved that she burst into tears and it was her daughter who had to comfort her, rather than the other way around.
The show of sympathy didn’t last long, however.
‘I am angry with you,’ Rosie said at last, pulling back, but at least her voice was a bit gentler than before. ‘You’ve hurt Robert so much and broken up the family. I can’t forgive you but you’re still my mum and I still love you. Maybe one day we can be friends again.’
Chapter Twenty
A heatwave started at the weekend and as the barometer rose, the tourists seemed to multiply in numbers, too. Some days, it was hard to find a spot on the beach even to lay your towel, and Chabela was so busy in the café that she barely found time to go for a pee.
Fortunately, Robert had drafted in extra staff as promised – mainly local students back from university – but they needed quite a bit of supervision and weren’t as efficient as the regular employees.
Chabela found herself agreeing to lots of extra shifts to help Robert out. She didn’t mind; it wasn’t as if she had much else to do. It meant, however, that there was little opportunity for more research on the Penhallow clan and she went for days without seeing or even speaking to Simon. In fact at one point she wondered if he were away, until someone mentioned that they’d spotted him in the village.
Rick, however, was another matter. He seemed to find countless excuses to visit the café before and after work, and sometimes, during. Chabela began to wonder if he could be making any money in his shop, because he closed it so often to come to Polrethen Beach.
She would chat to him when he stood around at the serving hatch, sipping tea or coffee, but was careful not to give him any encouragement. He was remarkably tenacious, however. Perhaps he thought that, in the end, she would get so tired of fending him off that she’d finally capitulate and go on a date with him.
Friday was particularly sweltering. By lunchtime, the mercury had hit thirty-five degrees centigrade and Loveday complained of feeling sick and had to go home.
The others soldiered on, constantly sipping cool drinks to prevent dehydration. Although the shack was shady inside, it seemed to heat up like an oven as the day progressed and the fans only worked if you stood right next to them.
The lunchtime rush was crazy; at one point there was a queue stretching halfway along the beach and they ran right out of lobster rolls and ice cream. Chabela was accustomed to scorching weather, but wasn’t used to no proper air conditioning, and when the queue finally lessened, she had to drag a chair into a darkened corner and sit down.
Her feet were throbbing and she had a pounding head. One of the temporary staff brought her a glass of water, which she took gratefully, along with a painkiller. Then she closed her eyes and waited for the thumping in her temples and across her brow to subside.
Gradually, the sounds of the other staff at work started to fade, and she found herself focusing instead on the distant hum of folk on the beach and the cries of seagulls overhead.
She would have given anything to lie down somewhere quiet and go to sleep. Indeed, she must have nodded off for a few moments where she was, but jerked awake again when her head slumped onto her chest, causing a sharp pain in her neck.
It was only when she opened her eyes that she realised someone was watching her through the side door of the café, which had been left open in the hope of catching even the slightest breeze.
‘Simon!’ she said groggily, for she was still only semi-conscious.
His face broke into an amused smile and he took a step forward.
‘Hello! Did I wake you? Sorry! I didn’t know you were having a nana nap!’
She grinned sheepishly and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, fearful that she might have dribbled in her sleep.
‘I was feeling sick, to be honest,’ she said truthfully, ‘and I had a headache. I took a pill, though, and it seems a bit better.’
‘It’s the heat,’ Simon replied sympathetically. ‘Boiling, isn’t it?’
He pointed to a blue rolled-up towel tucked under his arm; she hadn’t noticed it before.
‘I’m going for a swim. Would you like to come?’
She was about to say no, she couldn’t leave work, but one of the students, Martha, had overheard their conversation and chipped in.
‘Go if you want,’ she said kindly. She and Chabela had struck up quite a rapport. ‘It’s not so busy now. We can manage till you come back. A swim might make you feel better.’
Chabela hadn’t had a break yet and the prospect of a dip was very appealing. She’d brought a swimsuit and towel to the café on her very first morning and kept it in the cloakroom. So far, however, she’d only ventured into the water once.
Simon raised his eyebrows hopefully and she didn’t like to disappoint him.
‘OK,’ she said, rising from her chair. ‘I’ll get changed. Give me a moment.’
It didn’t take long to remove her clothes and put on her swimsuit – a bright red halter-neck with high legs and a plunging bosom. It felt strange appearing in front of him with so little on, but he didn’t seem to notice.
As they picked their way through the countless bodies down to the ocean’s edge, she was aware of attracting a few stares, but Simon looked resolutely ahead.
When they were almost at the shoreline, he threw down his towel, stripped off his shorts and T-shirt, removed his tortoiseshell glasses and peered at her short-sightedly. ‘Come on then!’
She was about to say that she’d rather take her time and get in slowly, but he reached out and took hold of her hand. She was surprised, but his hand felt warm and secure and she trusted him completely; she didn’t try to let go.
Without more ado, he pulled her gently to the edge of the waves, clasping her all the time. When her toes made contact with the water, she squealed; it was much colder than Acapulco or Cancún, but he tightened his grip a little, encouraging her to go on.
In they went, deeper and deeper, until the water was up to their thighs, then their waists. Despite the warmth of the sun, the chill almost took her breath away.
Their hands were still linked, but it didn’t feel unnatural. In fact she liked it. Although she hadn’t had a proper look at him in his bathing shorts, she could see his neat, strong torso in the corner of her vision and his smooth, powerful shoulders and arms.
She insisted on holding her arms high in the air to keep them dry, which meant that he had to do the same, until an icy wave leaped up unexpectedly, almost to their necks.
Chabela gasped again and was tempted to turn back, but Simon wasn’t having any of it.
‘It’s no use,’ he laughed. ‘You can’t put it off any longer!’ And with that, he launched himself head first into the brine, dragging her with him.
It happened so suddenly that Chabela took in several gulps of salty water.
She was a good swimmer, though, and after ten or so strong strokes, her body acclimatised. Simon had let go of her hand by now, and she was aware of him finning along beside her.
They resurfaced almost at the same time and looked at each other while treading water. Simon’s wet, dark hair clung smoothly to his head and he made a snorting sound, like a seal, and blew water out of his nose, which made her laugh.
They were just out of their depth and had left behind most of the other bathers, who were splashing around in the shallows. A man in a mask and snorkel passed by, followed by a woman paddleboarder with a very long pole, and then they were alone again.
‘Shall we swim to the cove?’ Simon suggested, pointing to some rocks a little way off to his left, which were jutting out to sea. ‘There’s a beach on the other side. Most people don’t bother to go there. It’s only small but very pretty.’
‘Good idea.’
Soon he was doing his strong, speedy crawl towards the rocks, making quite a splash, while she followed behind. The tide was against them as they swam parallel to the shore, and it was quite hard work. He stopped every now and again to check that she was OK and give her time to draw breath; it was further than it looked.
She’d forgotten all about the café and by the time she remembered, they were such a long way away, and it would have taken so long to get back, that there was no point worrying. In any case, she just about trusted Rosie, Felipe and Martha to take care of things until she returned.
At last they reached the craggy grey rocks, which were covered in seaweed and barnacles.
‘Careful you don’t get scratched,’ Simon warned, as he started to heave himself out of the sea. ‘They’re quite sharp.’
The rocks weren’t particularly high, but still he clambered on all fours for a short way, before straightening up and turning to Chabela, who was just beginning to get out of the water herself.
‘Need a hand?’ he asked, bending down and extending an arm.
‘I think I can manage, thanks.’ She wished that she were wearing a different swimsuit. This one, with its plunging neckline, wasn’t really made for scrambling and she hoped that her boobs wouldn’t fall out.
The barnacles were, indeed, sharp and pricked like needles, but she managed to avoid any injuries. Slowly, she picked her way over the peaky stones, following in Simon’s tracks and taking care not to lose her balance.
The Girl Who Came Home to Cornwall Page 27