by Liz Eeles
Oh, give me a break, Barry! The responsibility of being Storm’s stand-in mum is suddenly too much on a day like today; a day of final farewells to Alice and finding out we’ll soon be homeless. I put my elbows on the table – Alice would not approve – and my head in my hands.
‘What are you up to, Barry?’
Storm is standing in the doorway, her freshly washed hair wrapped in a towel.
‘I was just talking to Annie about what happens next, now Alice has gone.’
’We can stay here, can’t we? It’ll be weird without the old lady and she’d better not start haunting us ’cos I don’t do ghosts, but nothing else will change, will it, Annie? Why are you looking so stressy?’
’I’m afraid lots is going to change,’ I say gently, ’because the house doesn’t belong to me.’
’Who the hell does it belong to then? I thought—’ The penny drops and Storm’s jaw drops with it. ‘You are totally kidding me. Not Tosser Toby!’
’Afraid so,’ I sigh, having given up the fight months ago to stop Storm from dissing my cousin. ’And he wants us out.’
‘Oh. My. God. I can’t believe… he wouldn’t… what a total…’ Storm claws at the towel on her head and throws it dramatically onto the kitchen tiles. She’s almost beside herself and looks scary with her damp hair sticking up on end and muddy-brown eyes blazing. Barry hauls himself to his feet and drapes his arm around his daughter’s shoulders.
’Don’t worry about it, love. We’ll work something out if you have to come back to London. Mugger Mike’s getting a new place soon which’ll have a spare room and a proper bathroom and everything. And he’s off the drugs now. He hasn’t been arrested for ages. Hey, what’s that they’re playing?’
Dropping his arm, he strides over to the radio and turns it up full blast. The final chords of a song echo across the kitchen as Storm pushes her lips into a full-on pout and shakes her head at me. This is odd behaviour, even for a man who once walked from Tower Bridge to St Paul’s dressed as a chicken drumstick for a bet.
‘For goodness’ sake, Barry. I’m having a mega meltdown and you’re only interested in listening to some crappy song on Radio 2. And I can’t believe you lot listen to Radio 2, anyway, ’cos it’s for, like, ancient people,’ whines Storm.
’That crappy song was my crappy song. But how can it be on the radio? I wrote it years ago when I was with Va-Voom and the Vikings.’
’Oh, not that stupid band you belonged to about a hundred years ago. You’re obsessed.’ Storm kicks at the towel lying in a sodden heap on the floor. ‘My life is imploding here, Barry, and you’re going on about some stupid song on the stupid radio that you didn’t even hear properly. That was not your song, you’re never going to be a rock star, you are totally off your head and you don’t care about me. No one cares about me.’
With a dramatic sob, she rushes out of the room and slams the door so hard, the teacups hanging on the dresser chink together.
‘I could have sworn I recognised that song but I must have been mistaken.’ Barry drops into a chair, still looking puzzled. ‘And I’m sorry about Storm throwing a hissy fit. She’s just like her mother – very highly strung.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Barry,’ I sigh, picking up the soggy towel and hanging it over the handle of the Aga.
‘Yeah, we’re all upset about Alice at the moment and not behaving normally.’
I nod, though Storm throwing a wobbly and flouncing out isn’t that unusual. Whereas me picking up her wet towels is totally normal and even more thoughtful Emily often leaves hers in a sodden heap. Today’s world-weary teenagers have longed consigned Santa and the tooth fairy to the realms of make believe but still believe in the Spirit of Terry Towelling who magically clears up the bathroom after them.
‘So what happens now Toby’s throwing you out?’ asks Barry, puffing out his cheeks. ‘I always knew he was a bit of a tit but that’s well out of order. Would it help if I had a word with him?’
‘No! What I mean is, he’s made up his mind so there’s no point in you getting involved. I’d hate for you to be distracted from your music when you’ve still got so much to give.’
Fortunately, Barry takes the bait and all thought of confronting Toby is forgotten while he agrees that the world needs his undistracted musical prowess. He witters on for a while about the joys of performing live and the discomforts of on-the-road budget hotels before pushing his hand across the oak table and laying it on top of mine.
‘But that’s enough about me. What will you do now you’ve lost Alice and your home, Annie? Have you thought about going back to London with Storm and persuading that man of yours to go with you?’
‘Huh, fat chance! Josh thinks London’s awful. He’s wrong, obviously, and I miss it loads but I’d miss Salt Bay more. It’s daft, isn’t it, when I spent almost thirty years in London and I’ve only been in Cornwall for one and a bit. But what I’ve found here is more than just this house and Alice. It’s the village and the people and the peace.’
‘I’ll give you it’s quiet around here. Or it would be if it wasn’t for those damn birds squawking and pooing all over the place. I thought London pigeons were bad until I came face to beak with a Cornish seagull.’
‘I don’t mean the actual quiet. I mean the peace of mind. In London I was always a bit jittery inside – it’s a jittery kind of place, I suppose. But here, it’s different. It took a while but I feel calmer in Salt Bay. I feel better here.’
I stop, embarrassed at baring my soul to Barry, who doesn’t really do deep. But he surprises me.
‘Peace of mind is underrated and you must do all you can to hang onto it,’ he says, stroking his calloused guitar-playing fingers across the back of my wrist. ‘So if you’re planning on staying in Cornwall, what happens now?’
‘I don’t know but I’ll do what I can to sort things out for everyone including Storm.’
‘I know you will, Annie, because you’re a lot like Alice.’
Which is the very best thing to say and the very worst because it makes me cry. Fat, salty tears plop onto the table as my dad scrapes his chair round next to mine and puts his arm across my shoulders.
And even though my father can be a bit of a tit himself, his presence is comforting on a day like today when everything’s been turned upside down and the cold hard reality of being a grown-up starts hitting home. Change is coming. Big change – and it’s scary.
Six
‘Are you all right?’
Josh sits next to me on the damp wooden bench and looks across Alice’s garden at the harbour. The mizzle has lifted but the sky and sea are still steel-grey and the grass on the cliffs is a washed-out green. Vibrant colours have leached away with Alice and the world seems drab.
‘I’m glad people came back to the house after the ashes scattering, but I began to think they’d never leave.’
‘Me too. Jennifer was determined no one would escape until all the sandwiches were gone. I saw her shoving a couple into Florence’s handbag when she wasn’t looking.’
When I laugh, the sound carries and startles a seagull that’s strutting along the path like he’s king of the garden. Is it OK to laugh when someone you love has just died? I’m pricked by a sharp shard of guilt.
‘I think Alice would have enjoyed her wake,’ I say, shuffling along the cagoule I’m sitting on so Josh can benefit from the plastic too. He pulls it under his backside and shifts across until our thighs are touching.
‘She would have had a lovely time. Though she wouldn’t have been happy that Gerald was smoking in the kitchen.’
‘She’d have been furious.’ I give Josh a sideways smile ’cos smiling’s probably OK, and he laces his fingers through mine. His skin is smooth and warm. ‘I’m not sure I could have got through today without you. Thanks for being here.’
‘Where else would I be?’ he says, simply, nudging his shoulder against mine, and my heart brims over with love. Yep, I’ve become one of those loved-up saddos who floa
ts around with a daft smile on her face, but I’ve never felt like this before – completely at ease with another person and desperate to snog them senseless. But today there’s an added frisson of fear because loving someone means there’s a lot to lose and losing people hurts.
‘I miss her.’ Turning my head, I stare at the village that Alice loved with all her heart for eight decades. It looks the same. Of course it does – honeysuckle will still frame the front doors of granite cottages and the crystal-clear river that cuts across the village green will continue to flow into the sea. Life in Salt Bay will go on even though Alice has gone.
‘I know. Me too.’ Josh swallows hard. ‘People dying reminds you of other deaths, doesn’t it? Other people who’ve left us.’
‘Yeah, it’s reminded me of Mum. I thought I’d come to terms with her dying and had put it behind me but it’s like Alice’s death has ripped off the sticking plaster covering up the wound.’
I bite my lip, feeling foolish. My outrageous, annoying, fabulous mum died of breast cancer almost half a decade ago. So I should be over it by now, shouldn’t I? Stiff upper lip and all that.
But Josh nods. ‘It never fully goes away however long ago it happened. I thought of Dad while we were up on the cliffs.’
‘Your step-dad?’
‘My step-dad and my real dad. I was only a kid when he died but I still remember the shock of it. I still remember him.’ Josh rarely mentions Mark Pasco, who died of a heart attack more than twenty years ago and I hold my breath, waiting for him to go on. ‘I sometimes wonder what he’d think of me now. Whether he’d be proud of me and happy with the way my life’s turned out.’
A single tear trickles down Josh’s cheek and he brushes it away with a frown. My boyfriend is much less repressed these days after being bathed in my emotional intelligence – though he will insist on referring to it as emotional incontinence. But being touchy-feely sometimes takes him by surprise.
‘Of course your dad would be proud.’ My fingers catch slightly on the dark bristles across his chin when I stroke his lovely face. ‘Just look at you – a successful teacher who’s doing a brilliant job of looking after his family, and with an absolutely gorgeous girlfriend to boot.’
Josh snorts and pulls me close against him as a broad brushstroke of lemon sunshine breaks through cloud and falls across the garden. ‘I suppose you’re not bad in spite of having an utter git for a cousin.’
Often I stick up for Toby when he’s getting a bad rap. Blood is thicker than water and all that caboodle. But not today. I get that the house should be his even though he doesn’t love it like I do. But telling us on the day of Alice’s funeral that he’s chucking us out is utterly git-like.
‘You know what.’ Josh swivels around on the bench to face me. ‘I know leaving Tregavara House will be hard for you but maybe it’s for the best in the long run. It’ll be a fresh start. We can find a little place for the two of us – somewhere cosy with an open fire and a sea view. Just you and me. What do you reckon?’
I reckon being holed up with the man of my dreams in a tiny seaside cottage sounds wonderful. I can see us now, a modern day Ross and Demelza, facing the world together from our cosy Cornish home. We can make love in front of a roaring fire with no worries about Storm bursting in at a climactic moment – at Tregavara House, we’ve taken to wedging a chair under the door handle.
But it’s just a dream. Having spent most of my twenties successfully avoiding responsibilities in London, I’ve acquired a shedload since coming to Cornwall.
‘I’m sorry, Josh. That sounds amazing, but I can’t leave Storm and Emily, and what about Barry? He’ll need somewhere to sleep when he comes to visit. Storm hardly ever sees her mum so I don’t want her to stop seeing her dad too.’
Josh sucks in his bottom lip and thinks for a moment, his thick hair caught in the breeze. ‘We’ll just have to get a bigger place for all of us then.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘One thousand per cent sure, which is why I teach English and music, rather than maths. My family’s important to me and yours is to you. I get it.’
He grins and gazes out to sea, his face in profile, as I thank my lucky stars for having such a lovely boyfriend who’ll help keep my dysfunctional ragbag family together. I don’t want to lose them as well as my home.
A dark shadow cast by the thick stone walls of Tregavara House settles across my feet. It’ll break my heart to leave this place but what choice do I have now Toby’s gone all Lord of the Manor on me?
No choice at all, so buck up and get on with it, girl, says my inner voice, which is sounding more and more like Alice these days.
Seven
The offices of Jasper and Heel solicitors’ practice are perched at the top of an old building squeezed between two bow-fronted houses in a Penzance backstreet. The carpeted staircase smells of fusty old books and there’s a brass doorplate with the firm’s name inscribed on it in curly copperplate. Surely I’ve strayed into a Dickens novel.
The Victorian vibe goes into overdrive when the door is flung open by an elderly, pinch-faced man in a tired black suit who introduces himself as Emmanuel Thistleton. Really? Some parents are just cruel.
‘Do take a seat and we can proceed with reading the will,’ sniffs Emmanuel after shaking my hand. ‘And please do accept my condolences on the death of Mrs Gowan. I’ve looked after her affairs for many years and had become fond of her. She was a formidable woman.’
Toby’s already here and gives a curt nod when I take the chair next to him, which is near a desk piled high with papers. He’s perching on the very edge of the seat and jiggling his leg up and down, a bag of nervous energy. Or maybe it’s excitement at the thought of all he’s about to gain.
‘No Pasco?’ he grunts.
‘He’s at work.’
‘That’s a blessing. Shouldn’t you be at work too?’
‘My office is only around the corner and I’ve taken an early lunchbreak.’
Toby nods again but doesn’t ask about my job. He probably doesn’t have a clue where I work or what I do. If it’s not happening in London, it’s not happening at all, as far as Toby’s concerned.
A younger man with short, greying hair and a straight Roman nose strides in from the book-lined room next door, places a manila folder on the desk and adjusts it until it’s in perfect alignment with the inlaid blotter.
‘This is my colleague, Elliott,’ announces Emmanuel, settling into the tan leather chair behind the desk and leafing through the papers in the folder.
Ah, so this is Elliott, who contacted me last year to pass on Alice’s invitation to visit her in Salt Bay. That was the first I’d ever heard of Alice and his letter changed my life.
‘Miss Trebarwith, I presume. It’s marvellous to meet you at last,’ coos Elliott, caressing my palm with his thumb when we shake hands. A fleck of foamy spittle settles on his upper lip. ‘You’re quite as lovely as you sound on the phone. And what amazing blue eyes you have.’
Is this what a solicitor should be saying to a recently bereaved person? Elliott was annoying when he flirted with me over the phone but in the creepy flesh he’s even worse. I pull my hand away and resist the urge to wipe it down my skirt.
‘Let’s get on, Elliott,’ says his boss with a disapproving glance. ‘I’m sure Mr and Miss Trebarwith have places to be.’
‘Actually, I’m not sure why I need to be here at all,’ I pipe up, taking off my cardi and placing it across my lap. It’s really hot and stuffy in here.
‘Exactly,’ whines Toby.
‘Really?’ Emmanuel squints at me over the top of his half-moon glasses and frowns. ‘You are Mrs Gowan’s great-niece, aren’t you? Did you bring your passport with you for identification purposes as requested?’
‘Yes, but I don’t see why…’
Oh, never mind. My question peters out as I realise it’s best to just get this over with and focus on finding somewhere else to live. A lack of rental properties in the villag
e means we’ll have to move out of Salt Bay so being here to witness Toby take over Tregavara House seems extra cruel. He’ll probably rip out all the old features and replace them with expensive modern tat to impress his friends. All the plaster coving will go. And the ancient fireplaces and thick oak doors. Within a few months, Tregavara House will be full of glass and stainless steel and concrete.
If only Alice was still here. I blink rapidly, determined not to cry – not here in front of Toby and creepy Elliott who’s sitting in the corner, undressing me with his eyes.
‘Right then,’ Emmanuel picks up a sheet of paper and clears his throat. ‘This is the last will and testament of—’
Suddenly, the door flies open and Kayla hurtles through it. Her face is glowing scarlet and she’s wearing hardly any clothes – just a strappy T-shirt and a teeny tiny skirt that barely covers her thighs. Elliott’s eyes open wide and he pulls his shirt collar away from his neck.
‘Sorry, so sorry. The bus was late and packed with tourists who didn’t know where to get off and then I couldn’t find you and you’ve got so many stairs! I’m surprised you get any clients up here,’ she puffs.
‘What the hell is going on?’ demands Toby, leaning across the desk towards Emmanuel and raising his hands palm-up to the ceiling. ‘I didn’t know she was coming. She’s nothing to do with me or Alice.’
‘What are you doing here, Kayla?’ I hiss when she drags a chair to the desk and drops into it with a loud oof.
‘Covering your arse, Sunshine,’ she whispers loudly out of the corner of her mouth. ‘I want to make sure you’re not screwed by him over there, seeing as Josh can’t make it. You’re far too nice for your own good. Whereas I’m not.’