‘That smells incredible. What’s in there?’ he asks as I lift the lid of the casserole dish and the heady scent of alcohol and spices fills the room.
‘Local cider, cinnamon sticks, nutmeg. It’s very festive, isn’t it?’
‘Amazing.’
‘Hold on.’ I return from the kitchen with a plastic carton and a scoop. ‘This is delicious with it.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Christmas Pudding ice cream.’
‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ says Kit.
Cal serves up the pears and ice cream and we tuck in. For a few minutes the only sounds are ‘mms and ‘wows’ and spoons scraping on bowls. Cal and Kit have seconds of the ice cream and I take the carton back to the freezer. As Kit’s finishing his seconds, Cal refills his glass with the last of the wine.
‘I’ve been wondering. Don’t you get bored, down here? It’s very isolated and quiet in the winter,’ he asks Kit.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
‘No. I want to be bored. That means I can finish my book. I’ve written more words down here than I ever do in London.’
‘But you must miss your friends in the smoke.’
‘Yes and no. It’s because of my friends in the smoke that I keep being distracted from my work. There’s always someone wanting me to go to the pub or a gig or a play or to the football. All I have here is a walk and the odd pint in the Tinner’s.’
‘The Tinner’s? I’d have thought it was a bit local for a London sophisticate.’ Cal smiles, but my stomach clenches as I fear a fresh sparring contest about to take place.
‘You’re not a regular?’
‘Not as regular as I used to be.’ I can see Cal recalling the lock-ins he used to go to after hours. ‘It’s a decent pub.’
‘Cal’s cousin works behind the bar. She’s a goth.’
‘Ah, Robyn. She’s a laugh. I like her. I hadn’t really made the connection. She’s only doing a couple of nights now, isn’t she? She said she’s too busy with her course and hoping to start up her own jewellery-making business when her course finishes. Her dad’s recently retired, hasn’t he? I guess he must be your uncle?’
‘Yes. Rory Penwith’s my uncle.’
‘Hmm. Now you come to mention it, there is a likeness between you and Robyn. Even withstanding the eyeliner.’
Cal rolls his eyes. I can feel that he’s inwardly fuming.
Kit licks the last trace of ice cream from his spoon. ‘This really is fantastic. I have to have the recipe.’
‘I’ll send you a link. Cal – let’s chill out by the fire again.’ I get up and start to clear some plates from the table.
‘I’ll get the whisky. Don’t load the dishwasher,’ Cal says. ‘Come and have a nightcap.’
‘Don’t worry. I had no intention of it. I’ll leave that to you guys. I don’t want any whisky though.’
After dumping the plates by the dishwasher, I go back to the sitting room to find Cal unscrewing the paper from a new bottle of single malt.
‘So, have you met any other interesting local characters while you’ve been here?’ he says, pouring a generous measure into a tumbler for Kit. ‘In St Trenyan, for instance?’
Oh my God, Cal’s going for the killer blow. Kit picks up his glass, mouths cheers and says, ‘The locals are friendly enough I suppose, but I don’t spend much time in St Trenyan.’
Cal smiles. ‘What about with Mawgan Cade?’
Kit pauses with the glass halfway to his mouth, or am I imagining it? ‘Mawgan?’ he asks.
‘Mawgan Cade. I saw you with her at Sharky’s the other night,’ I say quickly.
‘Oh, yes, I was there with Mawgan, but I didn’t spot you.’ He smiles. ‘If you saw us, why didn’t you come over and say hello?’
‘I didn’t want to butt in, and anyway I was out with a mate and we couldn’t stop because she was in a rush to get back. Her sister wasn’t very well,’ I babble, squirming at my white lie. I could kill Cal.
‘Is Mawgan a friend of yours, then?’ Kit says, sitting back in his chair and smiling at me.
‘We were going to ask you the same thing,’ says Cal, cradling his own glass.
‘Mawgan’s more of a business acquaintance,’ I add. ‘She’s on the St Trenyan Harbour Lights committee. They meet at the cafe once a week, and Cal went to school with her.’
‘Really?’
‘Didn’t she mention it?’
‘No, but then we hadn’t long met. She came along to the talk I gave to St Trenyan Writers and asked me to meet her for a drink.’
‘Mawgan went to a writers’ group?’
Cal has a coughing fit.
‘Malt a bit potent for you?’ Kit grins at him and swills the amber liquid around the bottom of his glass. ‘Too good to water down, though, eh? Your father had very good taste.’
Cal frowns. ‘In some things.’
I sense a dangerous atmosphere.
‘So, you were saying you met Mawgan at a writers’ group …’ I ask.
‘Is that so strange? They knew I was here from a crime writers’ forum and they invited me to give a talk. I didn’t like to say no so I agreed and Mawgan went along.’
‘What’s she writing?’ Cal asks.
‘I’m not really sure. She mentioned something about a bonkbuster. You know, Jackie Collins style. It’s not really my thing, and I’m not sure how serious she is, but she came up to me after and asked if I’d meet her for a drink, so I said, “Why not?” He sips his drink then looks at Cal. ‘I haven’t committed some terrible faux pas, have I? She’s not got a big hairy fisherman boyfriend who’s going to beat me up and feed me to the gulls?’
‘I don’t think she needs anyone for that,’ Cal says.
‘Sorry, we must seem really nosy,’ I cut in. ‘But I was just curious. I didn’t know Mawgan was interested in writing a book. She doesn’t seem the type.’
‘No one ever does,’ says Kit. ‘I gave her a few tips and we had a good time, but doubt if I’ll have time to see her again. I have to go back to London in mid-December, you see. I have meetings with my publisher and my agent’s arranged for me to speak at a book festival and attend a crime writers’ conference. It makes sense for me to leave sooner than I’d expected. I won’t ask for a refund.’
‘We will refund you as you’ve stayed so long at a quiet time of year,’ I say. ‘So, will we still see you at the Harbour Lights this Friday?’
Kit smiles. ‘Oh, yes, I wouldn’t miss that for the world.’
The talk turns to the lights and how the festival and traditions started, and the pop-up cafe we’re opening on the night. Cal joins in readily enough, but I can tell by his body language that he’s puzzled and confused and pissed off. I just want the night to be over.
The old long case clock strikes ten and Kit gets up. ‘Sorry to be a party pooper but I need an early start in the morning. I want to get a run in before I set to work. And I don’t want to keep you both from your bed.’
‘We mustn’t keep you from yours either.’ Cal adds.
Is it me or does he emphasise the word ‘bed’, as in one bed: ours? Seeming amused, Kit goes on. ‘I think we all need our beauty sleep, apart from Demi, of course. If I don’t see you before, I’ll see you at the Harbour Lights, if you can bear the excitement.’
Cal grins and, almost, rubs his hands together. ‘Oh I think so. Actually, I can’t wait. I think it’s going to be an absolutely fascinating evening.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
‘Ten, nine, eight …’
Thousands of voices join Greg Stennack, Radio St Trenyan’s breakfast show DJ, in the countdown to the switch on. ‘Seven, six, five …’
The customers queuing at our pop-up cafe turn to face the harbour like everyone, holding their breath as Greg’s voice rises.
‘Four, three, two … one!’
A huge ‘ohh’ ripples through the crowds as the mayor throws the switch and St Trenyan explodes into multi-coloured, gli
ttering life. Cheering and applause erupts for the thousands of bulbs and displays twinkling in the streets. The harbour walls are decorated with illuminated Christmas trees, presents, stockings, candles and even a shark (sponsored by Sharky’s, of course). There are little boats made up of frames wired with neon bulbs in red, green, yellow, orange, violet and blue. They shimmer like rainbows against the dark waters of the harbour, transforming St Trenyan from the out-of-season gloom into a fairytale seaside village.
We managed to book a prime spot on the harbour for our stall. The location is almost opposite Santa’s grotto and not far from Sheila’s cafe where I worked, briefly, before I lost my job because of a spat with Mawgan Cade. Sheila’s Beach Hut is open, of course, but I don’t expect to see Sheila herself tonight. We’re all way too busy, but I can see the glow of the patio heaters on her terrace from our stall and I’m so happy she’s making a success of the business after her problems with the Cades, her landlords-from-hell.
Most of our stall is given over to a pop-up Demelza’s while Cal and Polly have taken one end to promote Kilhallon Resort to the visitors who have come to Cornwall to enjoy the lights. We’re full for Christmas and New Year now, but hopefully we can lure them down for longer holidays in spring.
Since the event officially kicked off at four o’clock, we’ve been doing a roaring trade before the switch-on, with queues down the street for our mulled cider, hot turkey pasties and mince pies, but the few minutes around the switch-on gave us a quick breather. Nina is helping me to look after the lines that are forming again. Robyn’s right next to us, helping Polly and Cal on the Kilhallon stall. Andi’s coming to help later too, and if Mawgan sees her on our stall, it will be fun.
Robyn gazes around her, wide-eyed. ‘Wow. The lights are amazing. I know it’s so uncool, but I never get fed up of seeing them. I love Christmas.’
She’s like a little kid, and to be honest, even I have a lump in my throat. Last year, I watched this happen from above the town. I was between jobs and Mitch and I slept in a doorway later that night. I could never share this with Robyn, and if I do, I may cry.
‘It’s great. Good for business too.’
Cal catches my eye and mouths ‘OK?’
I nod back, and smile at the young family at the head of the queue. The little girl clutches a Frozen helium balloon. ‘Hello, oh, what a lovely balloon,’ I say to the girl. ‘What can I get you?’ I ask the mum.
All around us, children shriek and chatter, their parents laugh and smile and even the teenagers sound excited. You’d think they’d never seen Christmas lights before. There is something magical about St Trenyan’s lights. Maybe it’s the setting and the reflections in the harbour, or the fact that so many local people have worked to make tonight happen, or the sounds of the Fisherman’s Choir or the tang of the sea in the air. Whatever the reason, the lights have woven a spell over thousands of people from all over Cornwall and across the Tamar, and beyond. There are German, French and Dutch accents, even Americans and Australians mingling with the crowds.
The brief lull in our queue is over and people are lined up again at the stall for hot pasties, mince pies, mulled cider and apple juice. With Nina helping we can just about cope, although the queue for the stall seems to be getting longer. People seem prepared to wait, although I’m a bit worried that we’re going to run out of stock before the end of the event at nine. It’s non-stop, though I manage to send Nina off for a ten-minute break. When she comes back, Robyn catches my arm.
‘Polly asked if you want a hand? Cal can manage the Kilhallon stall and she can see how busy we are. Shall I take over and give you a chance to grab a bite to eat? Do a bit of Christmas shopping?’ Robyn says.
‘Me? Do Christmas shopping?’
‘Yes. You’ll want to get Cal something, won’t you?’
‘I … I hadn’t thought about it.’
Robyn rolls her eyes. ‘Of course you will, but good luck with choosing something. I decided to make him a necklace – a shark’s tooth set in silver on a leather cord with a matching woven wristband. I hope he likes them.’
‘I’m sure he will,’ I say, but realise I’ve no idea what Cal will think, or what to get him myself. I haven’t bought Christmas gifts for anyone for years, and I haven’t had any myself for even longer. I’d like to get Polly something too, and Robyn, and Tamsin and what about Nina and the girls at the cafe? I’ve been so busy serving up Christmas to everyone else, that I haven’t even thought about it myself.
Polly bustles over and starts helping Nina to serve customers while Robyn lays out mince pies on a tray. ‘It’s good to see Cal here. He was away from home last Harbour Lights and for Christmas itself of course,’ she says.
‘He told me he was on one of his aid missions.’
‘Yes. It wasn’t a very happy time because we were all worried sick about him. We’d only had the odd email up to – and after – Christmas but we’d guessed he was horrendously busy. I can’t imagine what it must have been like working out there. Then after the New Year, the messages stopped altogether. Dad contacted the charity a few times and they said he was in a remote place and was probably too busy to speak to us or out of contact. But that’s all over now, he’s back and he looks soooo much better. More like his old self, only maybe happier.’
‘Do you think so?’
She nods. ‘Oh, God, yes. I was so worried about him when he turned up at Bosinney at Easter. He’d lost too much weight and he was so troubled and unhappy but you’ve worked a miracle on him. You are together now, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I guess so …’
Robyn lowers her voice while Polly is engrossed in conversation with a woman from her zumba class. ‘Polly was right then. She said Cal wants you to move in with him but you haven’t yet.’
‘That’s mine and Cal’s business.’
‘Oh, don’t be too hard on her. She thinks she’s Cal’s mum, maybe yours too now. She only means well.’
‘Yeah, I know, but maybe I’ll get her a CCTV system for Christmas so she can watch us all the time.’
Robyn laughs. ‘So will you? Move in with Cal, I mean. He’s never asked a girl to do that before. Not even Isla.’
‘I don’t know, and I’ve told Cal no, for the moment.’
‘Oh, I see … I’m being very nosy, aren’t I? It’s your decision but Cal must really care about you.”
Polly moves on to speak to some holidaymakers. Robyn changes the subject. ‘Anyway, I have some exciting news of my own. Andi and me, we’re going to visit her mum in Australia for Christmas. Dad says he’s cool about it and he’s spending the day with his new woman, Moira.’
‘That’s fantastic, Robyn. But what do Mawgan and Clive Cade think? They won’t be very happy about you visiting Mrs Cade – and you are living in one of Mawgan’s flats now.’
‘Andi’s mum paid for her flight and my dad paid for mine, so it’s none of Mawgan’s business. She said she didn’t care what we do, but Andi thinks she’d secretly like to come with us and see her mum again. It’s sad how Mawgan’s turned into such an evil cow. Fancy cutting off your mum like that when you could go and see her and at least try to patch things up. Andi said Mawgan loved her mum to bits until she ran off to Australia. Mr Cade won’t have any pictures of her in the house, but Andi says Mawgan keeps one at the back of her knicker drawer.’
Luckily, Nina saves me from hearing any more about Mawgan’s knicker drawer, but I was right, Mawgan must still love her mum, even if, as Mawgan views it, she ran off and abandoned her and Andi.
‘Go and take a break, boss,’ Nina orders.
‘That’s exactly what I was telling her,’ Robyn says smugly.
‘OK. I will then, but I’ll be back soon.’
I untie my apron, find my coat and join the crowds in the streets. The lights are dazzling, the smells of food and mulled wine fill my nose, music of all kinds mixes with the ‘festive sounds’ being played by the Radio St Trenyan road show. Outside one of the pubs in the back s
treets, there’s a hog roast and a Celtic band, while the Fisherman’s Choir are setting up outside the lifeboat station. Last year, I watched and listened to all of this like I was watching a TV documentary. Even though I was born and bred in Cornwall, I didn’t feel part of it.
Yet I’m not an outsider any more, I’m at the heart of tonight’s events. A few people nod and smile at me as I make my way through the streets. There will be plenty of time to do more shopping after tonight, although I do spot a gorgeous purple sarong on an ethnic stall. I can’t resist buying it for Robyn. If she’s going to Oz for Christmas she’ll need it before she goes. I think of my meagre but growing savings. I’m so busy I hardly have time to spend my salary so it’s built up. I can afford to spend some on presents. Now Robyn has put the idea in my head, it surprises me how excited I feel about doing my Christmas shopping. It’s what normal people do.
Normal people usually spend Christmas with their families too. Even the Cades will be together, sort of. Mawgan with her dad – what a festive scene that conjures up in my mind; both of them checking their bank balances at the dinner table while some flunkey serves up the biggest turkey Waitrose could supply. Yet Mawgan does love her dad, in her own weird way, whereas the thought of spending Christmas with mine sends shudders down my spine. Not that he ever actually physically hurt me or my brother; but I don’t see any way back for us after how things went downhill between us when Mum died. My father was never the most affectionate man and he liked a drink. After my mum passed away, he hit the bottle and I may as well not have existed most of the time. For all I know, he might have drunk himself to death by now.
Oh God, I hope not. I don’t want that, because I do care about Dad, no matter how much I pretend I’ve washed my hands of him.
Christmas at the Cornish Café Page 17