The shop is finished. Dad’s campaign is over. And Jack Dixon was no more mine than the stars in the sky.
What have I done?
Chapter Fifty-Six
Jack
‘Jack Dixon, you bloody legend!’
Bill Brotherson raises the just-opened magnum of champagne to a chorus of cheers from the build team. My team – I can hardly believe the job is mine and the build will happen. The project team mingles with Brotherson Developments’ executives, looking awkward in suits and ties with bright yellow hard hats and pristine green wellington boots.
Brotherson poses with a gleaming silver spade for the eager gaggle of photographers. The shell of Bethel Parsonage watches us and waits as my new employer breaks ground on the next chapter of its life.
I’m proud to be here and excited by the prospect of what we will build on this windswept old site, but I can’t shake the memory of Seren MacArthur as she left the meeting last week. So I smile, shake hands and accept the congratulations of my colleagues – the very model of a professional project manager – but inside I’m battling doubt.
I should have gone after her. Or visited her shop next day. I should have told her about the crack in the foundations of the parsonage, warned her that our plans were about to change, reassured her that I would save every piece of stone it was possible to salvage and build Elinor Carne’s legacy into the building that rose from the ashes of her former home. I could have left a message with Lou Helmsworth, or Aggie, or the tall blond bloke I saw going into her shop. I could have walked around St Ives until I bumped into her – anything would have been better than what I’ve actually done. Which is none of the above. I’ve told myself I’m busy, that she wouldn’t want to see me, but the truth is I don’t know what on earth I would say to her. Several times, driving out to the Rectory Fields site, I’ve seen the sign to St Ives and almost changed direction. A ten-minute detour would be all it would take: park in the station car park, walk down the hill, turn left into Fore Street and carry on until I reach the courtyard. In my mind I’ve imagined walking that route, going into Seren’s shop and refusing to leave until she listens to me.
I almost kissed her. That has to count for something.
But what would I say?
‘This is so good, Stink.’ Owen grins as he joins me. Nessie is giggling with her cousins, the too-big hard hats provided by Bill Brotherson slipping over their eyes. Sarah does her best to herd them close, giving me a warm smile when she sees me. ‘A great job, good money . . . I knew you’d come out of this okay.’
I have, haven’t I? This is what I longed for during the sleepless nights when the precariousness of our lives threatened everything. Despite my regrets over Seren MacArthur, this is what matters. I have a job to do. That’s all I can think of for now, putting the rest of it aside.
‘I’m just glad Ness and I have some security. And I think I can build something great here.’
‘If Brotherson lets you.’
That remains to be seen, but I’m prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. ‘He will. There are too many people watching him on this one. Plus, he has his eye on another old building at Trevalgan so he’ll want to keep the community on side.’ I’m counting on the glow of positive publicity to speed Bill Brotherson through all the decisions I want him to make.
With work secured for the foreseeable future, I finally took the risk and asked Jeb about the chalet last night. We’re scarily close to the main holiday season and I wanted everything in place before I begin the Rectory Fields build.
‘I was sort of hopin’ you’d stay on a bit,’ Jeb said, surprisingly downcast. ‘But I’ll understand if you need somewhere better.’
‘That’s not why I’m asking. I thought you’d need it for the holidays. To rent out.’
He’d instantly brightened. ‘What, that old place? Not likely. I’ve only just managed to get my TripAdvisor ratin’ back up after the last person stayed in it. Figure I’m best doin’ the vans for the moment. The shack’s been better since you and Nessie have been there. Wenna and me have got used to you bein’ around, too. So you stay as long as you like.’
It isn’t forever – and as soon as I have a decent amount saved, I’ll look to rent somewhere better for us. But I like the idea of Nessie having the beach on her doorstep for the summer. We’ve both been better for spending time on Gwithian every evening.
The only sadness is that our seaglass stars stopped being completed a few days ago. Nessie and I found our star from the previous evening exactly as we’d left it. I suppose it had to end eventually, but it was still sad to mark the end of the adventure. Nessie was understandably upset, but after a disturbed night she emerged with a typically philosophical response.
‘Maybe the mermaids decided that we know what we’re doing now. So we should carry on, but finish the stars ourselves. And they’ll be watching, won’t they, Dad?’
‘I’m sure they will.’
So we’ve made a star every night, completing the last point ourselves. Nessie has taken to wearing the seaglass bracelet when we’re making them, just in case the mermaids are watching. It’s our thing now, in our new home, on the beach that has come to mean the world to both of us.
Whatever brought about the game, or whoever it was that joined us in it, I will always be grateful to those stars. They appeared when we needed magic most, something beyond where we found ourselves, something that gave us hope. They became a sign of better things ahead: everything good in our lives began when they arrived. I hope the other starmaker realises what they did for us. I hope they are happy.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Seren
This morning I walked on Porthmeor Beach as the sun rose. For the last few days I’ve stayed in St Ives for my walks, visiting the lovely beaches every morning – Porthgwidden, Porthmeor, Bamaluz, Porthminster, Lambeth Walk and Harbour Beach. Each has its own character, and you can categorise locals in the town by which beach they prefer. My favourite is Porthmeor, with its dramatic surf, crops of black rocks filled with pools and the Island rising majestically from the sand; Mum’s is Porthminster, wide and warm, with its beautiful view. Dad loved tiny Bamaluz and Lambeth Walk beaches, where he first took me seaglass-hunting. Molly is happy to pad her paws on any of them, if she gets the chance. Bamaluz is where we usually walk her these days, largely because dogs are allowed on it all year round. We are blessed with beaches in this beautiful part of the world, and I feel like I’ve neglected the gems on my doorstep in recent weeks.
I haven’t been to Gwithian Beach since the vote, and I don’t know when I’ll return. I didn’t go there to complete the star that would have been waiting for me the morning after the vote. Part of me wanted to, just one last time, to end what was a magical adventure before I lost everything. But what would have been the point? All day, I sat in the stillness of MacArthur’s and thought about Jack and Nessie heading to the beach that evening, finding the star still unfinished. I didn’t want to let Nessie down, but I just couldn’t carry on, knowing what I know.
I’m glad I didn’t tell Jack I was his starmaker. I might have made a complete fool of myself, but that would have been an admission too far. Let him wonder who played the seaglass stars with him. It should stay magical and elusive. Tainting the game with the mess of the vote would diminish it, I think. That can be my gift to him and Nessie: a tiny mystery for a time now passed.
I still need the sea’s calming presence before I start my day, even if I leave its treasure untouched in the sand. I try not to notice the seaglass when I walk, even though it calls to me. I just can’t bring myself to do that yet.
Mum asked last night about the seaglass jewellery. She’d brought fresh towels to my room and noticed my workbench empty.
‘You’re not working on anything?’
‘No.’
‘But – what about your online shop?’
‘I’m just taking a break, that’s all.’
I think of the announcement I’ve
posted on my Etsy shop:
Stargirl Gems is closing for a while.
At this point I have no plans for new designs.
Thank you for your valued custom.
My heart just isn’t in it any more. I can’t think of my jewellery without thinking of Dad, or Jack, or Nessie. I tried to make something the evening after the vote but my fingers turned clumsy, the seaglass dulling in my hands. It might change, when it doesn’t hurt so much. I have more pressing concerns to attend to.
The sky behind the Island chapel on the hill turns a strengthening gold, sending armies of sunbeams sparkling across the sea. Facing the horizon, the chill of sea breeze in my face, I let the sunrise soothe me. Today I need the strength I find on the beach to help me.
MacArthur’s is eerily still when I enter, the sound from outside deadened by the silence inside. It’s as if the shop knows I’m about to abandon it. I don’t know if Dad is watching, but I hope he knows why I have to do this, and why I have no choice.
I called the estate agent yesterday, after days of soul-searching. I knew before the vote, back when everything seemed like an opportunity and I thought I could easily let go. I’ve known for a long time that MacArthur’s can’t continue. We’re haemorrhaging money, and if we don’t act soon we might be too deep in debt to save ourselves. So I had the conversation I’d been dreading with Mum and didn’t hide any of the horrors. She was shocked and upset, but I think deep down she’d expected it.
I can’t save Dad’s business, as I’ve tried so hard to do. But I can sell it before the bank forecloses. It’s the only decision I am able to make, our last bit of control in a situation that has been spiralling dangerously towards oblivion. Dad might not be remembered for being a roaring success, but at least he won’t go down as someone forced out of business by a bank’s decision.
The estate agent arrives at nine a.m. and I recognise him immediately. It’s Nick Boleyn, the adjudicator for the St Ives vote, who is part of the volunteer crew at the local RNLI Lifeboat Station. Fitting, I think, as I pour coffee from the machine. He’s become part of this story, and now he’ll help me finish it.
‘How are you doing, after the vote?’ Nick asks.
‘Well, it was a shock, obviously,’ I reply, handing him a mug. ‘But Lou and Aggie already have ideas of how to build on the support we received. The vote was close, so we’re taking comfort from that.’
‘You know, if you need ongoing financial support I’m sure my boss would swing some more your way. We were happy to help before and it would be good to make it a more permanent thing. Whatever you decide to do for Elinor Carne will be worth supporting.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate that.’
Nick scans the shop as he drinks his coffee. I hope he can see potential, not the faded paintwork, splintered shelves and patches of damp. We need enough to clear Dad’s debt from the sale of the shop – and until I know what price it might be able to fetch, I’m nervous it won’t cover what we owe.
‘Right. I’ll just get on with measuring up, take some notes and see what we can do for you.’
‘I suppose everyone says this, but the more you can get for the shop the better. We’re in quite a lot of debt . . .’
‘It’s okay.’ Nick has a warm, reassuring smile that stops me before I say any more. ‘I understand. Trust me, Seren, this is a good thing.’
It doesn’t feel good. It feels like admitting defeat.
Mum’s gone to stay with a friend in Porthleven for a couple of nights and Molly’s gone too, so I’m on my own again. I don’t blame her – she’s taken the result of the vote hard and even though she knows selling the shop is our only option, she doesn’t want to be there to see the sign go up. The house is too quiet without them, which is why I headed for the beach as soon as I woke up. Aggie is coming over later and has insisted on cooking us dinner. I might persuade her to stay overnight, just so that I’m not alone.
Nick takes half an hour to survey the shop, pausing to ask questions as he takes notes on a clipboard. Although he’s respectful and polite, it’s hard to discuss Dad’s shop in such clinical detail. I know it’s necessary, but it hurts.
‘So, working on what we’ve sold similar commercial premises for in the area, plus the current state of the shop, this is what I’m thinking we can expect to achieve.’ He pulls a wad of yellow sticky notes from his jacket pocket, writes a figure, peels the note from the pad and hands it to me.
I take a breath, praying for good news.
It is good – not as much as I’d hoped, but definitely enough to cover what we owe.
‘Oh, that’s a relief,’ I say, tears flooding my eyes unexpectedly.
Nick nods, his hand briefly brushing my shoulder. ‘Tough too, though, eh? It’s hard to keep in business in this town. Trust me, I know. But the good news is that there are plenty of people willing to have a go. A shop the size and age of this place might struggle to make its asking price anywhere else. I’m confident the location will sell this shop, quickly and at a good return. Now, where do you think it’s best to put the For Sale sign?’
Aggie is clearly on a mission when she arrives at Mum’s house that evening, insisting on sitting me down with a large glass of red wine in the kitchen while she works her magic on dinner. To be honest, I’m not hungry and haven’t been for over a week, but it’s so lovely to have someone fuss over me that I’m determined to eat every last mouthful of Aggie’s meal.
‘Bird, you’ve got to see this as a sign from the universe to start takin’ care of yourself.’
‘I don’t believe in signs, Ag.’
She snorts. ‘Well, I do, and it’s about time you started. You’ve done everythin’ you could, but now it’s time to think of you. What do you want to do when the shop closes? Find another job? Go travellin’?’ She jabs at me with her wooden spoon. ‘Sit and mope around your mother’s house all day lookin’ like bleddy Eeyore?’
‘If I’m Eeyore then you’re most definitely Tigger.’ The comparison makes me smile, despite my mood. ‘I haven’t decided what I want to do yet. I’ll need to start looking for a job initially, to help Mum out.’
‘Well, I reckon Becca would give you more shifts, if you asked. And you know I can always find you bits to do at mine.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘Make sure you do. Oh, I expect you didn’t hear Lou’s latest news, did you?’
To be honest, I’ve avoided Lou since the vote. He was so invested in the campaign – and so certain we’d win – that I haven’t been able to face him yet. ‘No, what’s happened?’
‘He’s got three major local companies supporting the Foundation. Two came to see him after we lost the vote, and they brought a third bloke in afterwards. I think a lot of folk assumed we’d win. When we didn’t, it gave them the kick up the bum they needed to get more involved. They’re helping us plan a mobile exhibition we can take to schools, clubs, town centres and so on, to spread the news.’
‘That’s fantastic. He must be so pleased.’
‘He’s over the moon, as you can imagine. And very concerned about you . . . No, bird, you need to hear it. I know you blame yourself for the vote, but it was always goin’ to be the town that decided. And like you said before that meetin’, we never really needed the parsonage to spread the word about Elinor Carne.’
I still believe that, even after everything else I mistakenly did. Cerrie’s class proved that Elinor’s story has the power to inspire people regardless of where it’s told. Maybe the great lady herself would be amused that an exhibition dedicated to her life and work wasn’t confined to the location she could never leave.
Aggie’s meal is delicious, and afterwards we sprawl on the two saggy sofas in the living room. Like most of the furniture in this house, they have been here forever, but they are so comfortable and reassuring that replacing them has never been an option.
‘I reckon you could do anythin’ next, you know,’ Aggie says, her half-full wine glass sloshing as she raise
s her hand. ‘Be anyone. Go anywhere.’
‘That’s not how it works, though. We still have to find a buyer for the shop.’
‘Which you will. Easy.’
‘And clear Dad’s debt.’
‘That’ll happen. With any luck, the next poor sap who buys that shop will fall in love and pay over the odds.’
I drain my glass. ‘Maybe.’
‘Your mum says you haven’t made any jewellery. Why?’ Aggie doesn’t flinch when I stare at her.
‘When did you speak to Mum about me?’
‘Yesterday. She came into the hut for coffee. She’s worried about you, Ser.’
‘She doesn’t need to be.’
Aggie raises an eyebrow. ‘Doesn’t she? Bird, it’s a mistake to throw out everythin’ just because stuff hasn’t gone your way.’
‘It’s a bit more than me not getting my own way,’ I reply, sitting up. I love Aggie, but I didn’t ask her over for a lecture. And she doesn’t know the full picture. I’ve told nobody about Jack or the seaglass stars, even now. It hurts too much to think about him or the thoughts I’d entertained before. ‘I don’t have the time or energy to try to make anything new. Until the shop sells and Dad’s affairs are in order, I can’t even think about it.’
‘You could sell those bracelets in my hut,’ my friend offers, putting her empty glass down on the old grey carpet. ‘Or put flyers for them on the counter. Sharon might sell some in her shop if you ask. You can reopen your Etsy shop, we can even hunt out some craft fairs and storm ’em. You can finally put the time in to make this the business you’ve wanted. You have options, Ser. You just need to be brave enough to try them.’
I know she means well, but this feels like an attack. I’m not brave – the last time I was brave I threw away everything I cared about for someone who didn’t care about me. ‘Can we change the subject, please?’
Aggie has known me well enough to recognise when I’ve had enough. ‘Your call. Anyway, we have puddin’ to attend to.’
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