by Liz Eeles
‘Of course I promise.’
It’s the second promise I’ve made today but one I’m happy to keep. How awful to carry such heartache in silence for almost forty years.
‘Good. It’s a shame in one way because I’d have made a good mother,’ muses Jennifer, flinging open the door when a small child presses her face against the shop window. ‘Oy,’ she bellows, ‘unless you’re willing to clean that window, get your nose off the glass!’
The girl scuttles off as I imagine Jennifer with a child of her own. Maybe motherhood would have smoothed her sharp edges and made her less spikey. But knowing Jennifer’s story still doesn’t explain one thing.
‘So why do you think Jacques is here now?’
‘I have absolutely no idea. We haven’t been in touch since I left Paris all those years ago and him turning up out of the blue has unsettled me. I can’t help wondering how my life would have been if I’d stayed in France. I like it here well enough but it’s only human to wonder “what if”.’
‘I know but we’d miss you if you weren’t here keeping us all in check.’
‘Well, someone has to do it. There’s a serious lack of discipline in this village which isn’t helped by Roger allowing all kinds of drunken behaviour in his establishment. Oh, no!’
Jennifer is staring through the window and I follow her gaze. Striding towards the shop in a blue blazer and dapper Panama hat is Jacques.
‘I don’t want to see him,’ blurts out Jennifer. ‘Why did you let him stay in the first place?’
‘I had no idea who he was. We were just giving the B&B idea a dry run.’
‘Which is ridiculous because the village doesn’t need a B&B establishment and lots of locals are saying the same thing,’ barks Jennifer, moving away from the window so she won’t be spotted from outside. ‘Why can’t you leave Tregavara House as it is? Alice wouldn’t approve of you inviting strangers into her home.’
I let that go because Jennifer is about to self-combust. Usually under control to the point of coldness, she keeps swallowing and twisting her hands together so tightly her knuckles are white ridges.
Poor woman! We think our lives are under control but all it takes is a face from the past to blast our fragile defences to smithereens.
‘I’ll lock the door again.’ Jennifer dives towards the latch but it’s too late. The bell tinkles as Jacques steps inside, takes off his hat and gives me a small nod. His cologne smells of lemons warming under a sun-bleached sky and drifts across the space between us.
‘Good morning, ladies. I don’t mean to ambush you, Jenny, but I was told you work here.’
‘I don’t work here. The shop belongs to me and I know it’s only small, but we can’t all own fancy businesses across Paris.’
‘That’s true but your shop is charming.’
I’m sidling towards the door and have almost reached it when Jennifer jabs her finger at me: ‘And where exactly do you think you’re going?’
‘Home. I’ve got things to do.’
‘They can wait. Get back on that stool!’ When I hesitate, she gives me a wobbly smile. ‘Please.’
‘It’s fine to stay, Annie,’ says Jacques. ‘I have a feeling you are at the heart of the village.’
At the heart of a village that disapproves of my efforts to save my home – and if the fall-out caused by our first guest is anything to go by, they’ve got a point. I scuttle back to the stool like the biggest gooseberry ever.
Jacques takes off his hat and places it on top of the rearranged confectionery. ‘It’s good to see you again, Jennifer. I have often wondered how you are.’
‘And now you’ve seen that I’m still alive and kicking so you don’t need to stay,’ says Jennifer, giving her magnificent bouffant hairstyle a pat.
‘But I’ve come all this way and would like to catch up with an old friend. Tell me, did you continue with your music studies elsewhere?’
‘No, I didn’t but I’m doing just fine in retail, thank you very much.’
‘That’s such a shame because you had great musical talent.’
‘Had? I still have great musical talent and sing with a choir which recently won a prestigious award thanks to me and my vocal skills. Isn’t that right, Annie?’
That’s over-egging it a bit – though Salt Bay Choral Society did win the Kernow Choral Crown, so I nod.
‘Congratulations. And do you have a husband these days?’ Jacques hesitates. ‘And children?’
‘No, it’s just me.’
A tremor of emotion flickers across Jacques’ handsome face. ‘It’s hard to believe there’s no husband when you’re looking so well. I can still see the young girl.’
When Jennifer looks up at Jacques from under her lashes, I can see it too. She’s not an unattractive woman now but she must have been prettier then, with her high cheekbones and bright eyes. Before years of loneliness and dissing other people scored lines across her forehead and around her pursed lips.
She sighs: ‘Why are you here, Jacques, after all these years?’
Her former lover pauses a moment while I shrink down on the stool. Being size twelve with no super-powers means invisibility just ain’t gonna happen, but I’m acutely uncomfortable about being here. EastEnders has come to Salt Bay but this is painful real life rather than TV soap opera.
Jacques leans against the piled-up windbreaks. ‘I started thinking about the past now I’m on my own and I have some regrets about my behaviour.’
‘Did you finally leave your wife then?’
‘She left me, actually. She died a year ago.’
‘Oh.’ Jennifer stumbles over her next words. ‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’
‘Me too. She had a lot to put up with. But her death has made me think about how I’ve lived my life.’
‘So are you here trying to make amends?’ Eek! I didn’t mean to put my oar in, but the question just slipped out. An invisibility cloak would be wasted on me.
Jacques gives another Gallic shrug. ‘Maybe. I didn’t treat you well all those years ago, Jennifer, and I wanted to make sure you’re all right.’
‘As you can see, I’m absolutely fine so you can push off back to France with a clear conscience.’ Jennifer folds her arms across her chest. ‘How did you find me anyway?’
‘I thought you might still be in Cornwall. You always told me how much you loved the place and I knew you would still be singing. You always had such a beautiful voice.’
‘Still has,’ I pipe up. Jeez, I seem determined to get involved in this when I’ve got quite enough going on in my life at the moment. Fortunately, both Jennifer and Jacques ignore me.
‘So you found me through the choir?’
‘I found your photo online when your choir won that competition last Christmas. I saw the picture and recognised you straight away. Rupert was there too and Annie and Storm.’
‘Rupert?’ Jennifer looks at me, puzzled.
‘He means Roger.’
‘I see. Well, you’ve found me, Jacques and I’m a successful retailer so you can go back home with your conscience eased and get on with your life.’
‘I’ll be returning to Paris very soon but I’m happy to see you and would like to talk about the old days, if you’re willing. Perhaps you would meet me in the pub at lunchtime? I would like to find out what you’ve done with your life. I never forgot you, Jennifer.’
Ooh, it’s still really awkward, sitting here watching the drama play out. But I’m agog about what Jennifer will decide. Will she accept an invitation from a former lover to reminisce or will she tell him to sling his hook? Bam bam-bam bam-bam ba-ba-ba-ba! The EastEnders theme tune starts playing in my head.
Jennifer looks around at her little Salt Bay empire. Newspapers and magazines, beach balls and sunglasses, headache pills and diarrhoea tablets. Then she gives a tight nod.
‘One o’clock, the Whistling Wave. And I’ll buy my own drinks, thank you very much.’
Jacques grabs Jennifer’s hand, raises
it to his lips and plants a soft kiss on her skin. ‘How do you say it? It’s a deal.’
Twenty-One
Storm is mooching about when I get home.
‘Where have you beeeeeen?’ she whines, pulling off my denim jacket and throwing it at the coatstand. She misses and it crumples down the back of the radiator.
‘I went to Jennifer’s and then had a walk across the cliffs. It’s gorgeous up there. You ought to try it sometime.’
‘What, walking?’ Storm shudders. ‘I don’t think so. It sucks that there’s nothing like the Tube round here but why would I walk more than I have to?’
‘Exercise. Fresh air. Pleasure.’
Storm gives a ‘does not compute’ frown and propels me into the kitchen, which is spotless with piles of gleaming washed pots on the drainer. Emily’s been busy.
‘Whatever. I was worried Jacques would get back before you and it would just be the two of us in the house ’cos Emily’s out.’
‘I thought you were out too with Serena and you don’t need to be worried about Jacques anyway,’ I say confidently, though there’s a slight niggle at the back of my mind.
Is it irresponsible to have a stranger in the house? I know very little about him – apart from the fact he was once an adulterer who seduced foreign students. Which really doesn’t help.
‘Serena’s going out to see some old friend of her mum’s who’s down here on holiday from Derby or Dundee or somewhere.’ She grimaces because if it’s north of London it doesn’t exist. ‘They invited me along but I didn’t fancy it. Having lunch with old ladies isn’t much fun and someone from school might see me. Anyway, I thought you could take me to the pub for lunch. To cheer me up. I need chips.’
‘Gee, thanks, Storm. That’s very kind of you to allow me to buy you lunch.’
‘Yeah, I think so too.’ Storm grabs her ginormous plastic sunglasses from the kitchen table and flings open the back door. ‘Come on then. I didn’t have any breakfast ’cos I was so, like, traumatised and now I’m getting hangry.’
Hungry plus angry is a toxic mix when it comes to Storm so I grab my keys and usher her outside.
To be honest, it’s nice going out with Storm, even when I’m merely viewed as a meal ticket. But maybe the pub isn’t such a good idea this lunchtime.
‘Let’s go to Maureen’s instead,’ I suggest when we get closer to her tea shop, which is looking jaunty in the sunshine. Striped red and blue bunting is pinned above the door and tourists are chatting at tables covered in red gingham cloths.
‘Nah, you’re all right. I’d rather go to the pub.’
‘You can have a sundae at Maureen’s with clotted cream and chocolate sprinkles.’
Some mother substitute I am, tempting Storm to get stuck into a mountain of sugar. But she keeps on walking.
‘Nah, I need lots of chips. It’s definitely a carbs kind of day when your own mother doesn’t want to see you.’
Sighing, I catch up with my half-sister and follow her towards the whitewashed pub. Maybe I’m feeling awkward unnecessarily and Jennifer will give Jacques the brush off, just like he let her down almost forty years ago.
* * *
The Whistling Wave is heaving with even more people than usual on an August afternoon and I don’t recognise half of them. They’ll be holidaymakers spending a week away in gorgeous Cornwall before heading home to the rat race. I get a sudden pang for the buzz and excitement of London but ignore it.
‘Why is this place so rammed?’ complains Storm, trying to hurry up a young man and woman who are leaving their table by standing uncomfortably close.
‘Let them have some space.’
I give the back of Storm’s T-shirt a gentle tug and she steps back a millimetre while the tourists hurriedly grab their bags and leave.
‘Well, that worked.’ Storm sinks onto the woman’s chair and puts her elbows on the table that’s littered with salt specks, sauce splatters and breadcrumbs. ‘Ooh, this table’s disgusting! Did they get any food in their mouths?’
‘It’s mad in here today,’ says Kayla, suddenly appearing with a cloth and knocking all the table detritus onto the uneven flagstones. ‘Are you eating? Specials are on the board.’ She reels them off by heart without an ounce of enthusiasm.
‘What would you recommend?’ I ask her.
‘Definitely not the boeuf bourguignon ’cos Dan’s getting it out of a tin. He’s filling in for Frank, who’s off sick, and let’s just say that cooking isn’t his forte. Sadly, watching The Great British Bake Off doesn’t turn you into a chef. The crab salad’s all right ’cos there’s not a lot that he can do to spoil that.’
‘Can he cook chips?’ Storm is so worried, she stops texting for a second.
‘Even Dipshit Dan can manage the deep fat fryer though I wouldn’t want to be near that today. It’s so hot in the kitchen during the summer, I can’t be doing with being in there.’
‘But you’re from Australia. You should be used to soaring temperatures.’
‘Yeah, but in Oz we have a nifty little invention called air conditioning.’ Kayla pants and blows her fringe off her forehead. ‘I’m going to take a break in a min so order your food at the bar and I’ll come and join you.’
By the time I’ve fought my way to the bar and placed our orders, Kayla has clocked off for lunch and comes to sit with us.
‘Don’t you think Roger needs a hand?’
Roger has damp patches under his armpits and his sparse, grey hair is sticking up like grass.
‘He had a break a while back so it’s my turn. What’s going on with those two then? Roger says he’s your B&B bloke.’
She takes a slurp of lemonade and tilts the glass towards a table at the back where Jennifer and Jacques are talking, heads bent together. She did turn up then. While I’m staring, Jennifer glances up and catches my eye. Oh, great! She’ll think I’m in here spying on them.
‘I have no idea what those two are doing. None at all. Why should I know? No one tells me anything. It’s a complete mystery.’
Oops, I’m talking too much. Taking a huge swig of my sickly sweet orange juice, I pretend to be studying the desserts menu, but Kayla narrows her green eyes.
‘You’d tell me if you did know, wouldn’t you, Sunshine?’
‘Of course I would.’
I give a little laugh as though I’d rather gouge out my own eyeballs than keep a secret from my blabbermouth Aussie friend.
‘Hhmm. It all looks a bit intimate to me. Do you think they’re on a date?’
‘What?’ Storm snorts so hard, Coke dribbles down her nose and she blots at it with a tissue. ‘Those two on a date? They’re both, like, ancient.’
‘I hate to break it to you, Storm mate, but even old people go on dates. Sometimes they even have sexual intercourse.’
‘Eew, that is disgusting.’ Storm pulls a face and slams her drink down on the table. Sugary liquid slops over the glass and dribbles across the wood.
‘Hey, watch it. I’m the sucker who’s got to mop that up. What’s the matter with you today, anyway? You’ve got a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp.’
‘Nothing,’ mutters Storm, arms folded and strop-face on.
‘Weren’t you supposed to be going up to London today, to see your mum?’
Storm shakes her head.
‘Storm’s trip had to be cancelled at the last minute because the situation at her mum’s house changed.’
‘That’s a shame.’ Kayla wiggles her eyebrows at me but doesn’t pursue it, thank goodness. The last thing I need is Storm going off on one in a packed pub while Jacques is watching. ‘So what’s happening with running the B&B then, Annie? Can you see yourself doing it long-term?’
‘Maybe, as long as the roof repair holds. But what do the locals think about having a B&B in the village? Jennifer was a bit iffy.’
‘Jennifer’s always a bit iffy but it’s your house and no one can tell you what to do with it. Not everyone liked the thought of you reviving the chora
l society but now half of them claim it was their idea. And anyway, Alice left the house to you and not to them.’
Now Kayla is talking too much. ‘So what you’re saying is that people have been kicking up a fuss about it.’
‘A few, maybe. But they’re just set in their ways round here. And who cares what people think anyway?’
‘I do. Salt Bay’s my home and I don’t want to upset the people who live here.’
‘Pah!’ exclaims Kayla. ‘They’ll be far more upset if you sell the house to Toby and he turns it into holiday flats, especially if he rents them out to his posh idiot friends.’
‘You what?’ Storm’s head jerks up from her Twitter feed.
‘Nice one, blabbermouth.’
‘How was I supposed to know you hadn’t told her?’ whines Kayla, rubbing her shin where I’ve just kicked her.
‘There’s nothing to tell because nothing’s been decided. It’s just a possibility.’
‘And they don’t tell me anything anyway ’cos they think I’m just a kid.’
‘We don’t think that but we don’t want to worry you.’
‘Barry used to say that but all it means is I worry all the time that there’s stuff no one’s telling me. And I get that you’re short of cash, Annie, but if you sell the place to Toby and he mucks it about, the old lady will come back and haunt you.’
Cheers, Storm. My sister goes back to tweeting in a right old huff while Jennifer and Jacques continue their conversation in the corner. One event changed the course of Jennifer’s life forever and I’m at a fork in the road too. One way leads to Salt Bay and possible penury while the other leads to who knows where.
‘Here you are – bon appetit!’
Dan slams down a crab salad in front of me and a plate piled high with chips in front of Storm. The fish I insisted Storm order with her chips is almost hidden beneath a mound of deep-fried potato.
‘How’s it going, Dan. Busy day today?’
It’s a rhetorical question but I feel sorry for the poor bloke who looks like he’s on fire, from the tip of his scarlet nose to the ends of his pillar-box-red ears.