by Fern Britton
‘He got his green beret, Doctor,’ said Jan, wanting the doctor not to think too badly of her son, but Edward ploughed on.
‘Fat lot of good that was. He couldn’t keep his fists to himself. Got court-martialled. Banged up in chokey for eight years.’ Edward put his hands to his head and rubbed his temples. ‘Dishonourably discharged four or five years ago. We haven’t heard from him since. He couldn’t even send me a note just to let me know he was all right. We had no idea he was back till today.’
Jan started to cry quietly and rummaged around in her handbag for a tissue.
Edward looked at her with pity. ‘He broke his mother’s heart and now look at him. I wish he’d never come back.’
Jan shouted through her tears. ‘Don’t say that.’
‘I’ll say what I like.’ Edward raised his voice in return. ‘He’s brought us nothing but heartache and—’
Jesse stepped in. ‘Dad. That’s enough. We’re all upset.’ He turned to the doctor. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor.’
*
Jesse had insisted that his parents go down to the hospital cafeteria to get something to eat and drink.
‘Let me sit with him till you get back.’
On his own with Grant, Jesse wondered what his brother’s dramatic reappearance would mean to the family. Did Grant know that Jesse was managing director of Behenna and Clovelly? Bryn and Edward were still nominally joint chief executives, but the day-to-day running of the company was in Jesse’s control. Had Grant come back hoping to get a slice of the company? There was no way Jesse would give him one. He looked down at Grant, lying so still in the bed, so white against the pillow. How could he come back here after all this time? Jesse had seen the damage that Grant’s behaviour had done to his parents, and he had worked his fingers to the bone doing fourteen-hour days to make Behenna and Clovelly the best in the business. He had clients across the globe, and a reputation that was the envy of his competitors. He was damned if Grant was going to come back and fuck it all up.
‘What are you doing back here, Grant?’ he asked.
Grant didn’t open his eyes. But he answered, ‘I missed my family.’
Jesse put his face close to his brother’s. ‘Well, we haven’t missed you,’ he said with menace.
‘That’s nice, little brother.’ Grant slowly opened his eyes and winced. ‘My head hurts.’
‘It will.’
‘I didn’t mean to fall off the edge. I was just having a little drink when I saw the boys in the boat. Thought I’d get a better look at ’em.’
Jesse’s heart started to pound. ‘You’re lucky we got you out.’
‘You rescued me?’ Grant coughed a little. ‘Got any water? My throat’s sore.’
Jesse looked and saw a plastic jug of water and a beaker on the bedside cabinet. He poured half a cup and handed it to Grant. ‘Here. I ain’t nursing you. Hold it yourself.’
‘How lucky I am to have a brother so kind.’ With difficulty, Grant took the cup and held it to his lips, taking a couple of mouthfuls. ‘So you rescued me then.’
‘Coxswain on the lifeboat, ain’t I.’
Grant attempted to laugh but started to cough, spilling the water on the bedclothes.
‘Lifeboat, eh? What a pillar of the community! So unlike your scallywag of a brother. How proud Mum and Dad must be,’ he said with venom.
Jesse couldn’t take any more of this bullshit. In a dangerous voice he said, ‘Just tell me what the fuck you’re doing here.’
‘I told you,’ Grant smiled. ‘I missed my family.’ He opened an eye. ‘And those lovely boys.’ He smiled a smile of pure evil. ‘By the way, how is the gorgeous Loveday? Oh, and your uptight wife, Greer? I’d have had a go at Loveday myself, but I don’t like taking sloppy seconds, especially from my little brother.’
Jesse lifted his fist and would have smashed it into Grant’s face sending him spiralling back to oblivion, if it hadn’t been for the door opening and the arrival of Jan and Edward.
Jan ran to Grant’s side. ‘Son. You’re awake. It’s OK. You’ve had a terrible fall but the doctor says you’ll be fine. You’re safe with your family now. We’ll take you home.’ She took his hand and, rubbing it, dropped a kiss on his forehead.
‘Thanks, Ma,’ said Grant. ‘Give us a hug.’
Laughing through her tears, she bent and hugged him as best she could.
Over her shoulder Grant looked at Jesse and winked slyly. ‘Yeah. I’m home, Ma. With my family. For good.’
26
Normally Jesse took enormous pleasure from arriving at the new offices of Behenna and Clovelly.
He parked his car in his reserved space. He climbed out of the new Jaguar XK V8 and breathed the clean, salty air. His head was aching. He hadn’t slept well. Grant’s reappearance had left him troubled.
‘Morning, Jesse.’ Mickey was walking towards him with Loveday. ‘’Ow’s Grant doing?’
‘Morning!’ Jesse pressed the button on his key fob and the car bleeped and locked itself. ‘He’s all right. Coming out today. He’s going to stay at Mum and Dad’s for a bit, but I’m worried for them … they could do without a scrounger like him living off them.’
Loveday was concerned. ‘Your poor mum. Last thing she needs.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Give us a kiss, Mick. I’m late for work.’ Mickey obliged and both men watched Loveday as she walked into the Behenna and Clovelly offices.
‘She loves that job, Jesse,’ said Mickey.
‘Well, she’s very good at it.’
‘Yeah. Always good with her head. Better’n me.’
‘How are things with the new house?’
‘Great. The girls love their room up in the attic and Hal’s got space to do his school work in his room rather than on the kitchen table.’ Mickey looked at Jesse’s car. ‘Look at us, Jesse. We ain’t done too bad, ’ave we? Remember that old Ford Capri you had?’
‘That was a classic.’
‘’Twas a heap of shit.’
‘What about your bike?’ said Jesse indignantly. ‘That was knackered before you got it.’
‘That was class, that was. With Loveday on the back of it, I felt like a king.’
The men smiled. ‘Those were the days, Mick,’ said Jesse fondly.
‘Yeah,’ nodded Mick. ‘They were shit really, weren’t they?’ He laughed out loud. ‘But look at us. Your’n all prosperous boss an’ that. The car, the house, the business.’
‘You haven’t done so bad! Skipper of the biggest boat in our fleet.’
Mickey looked abashed. ‘I wouldn’t have any of it if it weren’t for you.’
‘Nor I if it weren’t for you, Mickey.’
‘Well, you got your bugger of a brother to deal with now, and I’m glad I ain’t got him.’
Jesse sighed. ‘I hope he’ll just piss off again and never come back.’
*
Having said goodbye to each other, Mickey headed off to his boat and its waiting crew, and Jesse stepped into the air-conditioned luxury of his building. As he glided upstairs in the glass lift, he saw the whole of Trevay spread out below him. Nothing much had changed since he was a boy. The old cottages and houses in the cobbled lanes were looking better kept, though, now, owned as they were by sharp-eyed Londoners who’d bought them as holiday homes. Up on the hill, the housing estate had grown and was sprawling out over what had been farmland, but where else could the locals afford to live? Not in the centre of highly priced Trevay, that was for sure. And they didn’t want to. Cramped old houses with wonky floors and no garage? Let the ones from up country have them. Fools and their money, and all that.
The lift stopped with barely a whisper and the door opened, revealing a long, sunny room that had been partitioned into small, private offices or larger open areas, where long couches, glass tables and local art were displayed beautifully. This was Greer’s handiwork. Her interiors company was now so busy that she employed three designers and a team of builders and tradesmen. Jesse’s office was at the end of
the building and took up the entire width of it. His secretary was at her desk, writing something in his diary.
‘Morning, Mr Behenna,’ she smiled.
‘Good morning, Lauren.’
‘Coffee? Usual?’
‘Yes, please.’
Lauren stood up to go to the canteen. ‘By the way, your father’s in the office waiting for you. I’ll bring you two coffees up.’
Jesse’s pleasure at walking into his kingdom, already dissipated, dissolved entirely.
‘Dad.’ He wrapped a smile on his face. ‘Nice surprise. How’s Grant?’
Jesse noticed that Edward had aged in the three days since Grant had turned up.
‘He’s all right. Your mum’s fussing at home, making up the bed, writing lists. He’s coming out of hospital this afternoon.’
Jesse walked round his big wooden desk and sat down. ‘I’d go and collect him for you but …’ He spread his arms, indicating a day full of work, even though his desktop was clear.
‘Your mum and I’ll get him. No, it’s not what I came to see you about. I want to get things sorted. Legally. Grant’s not having what you’ve got.’
‘Dad.’ Jesse knew that his father would wash his hands of Grant if he could, but the fact that his father was of the same mind as him regarding the business was music to his ears. However, it was important that his father didn’t think Jesse was trying to push Grant out.
‘Dad, I’m only number two son.’
‘Yeah, but you’ve worked hard. I am not about to see Grant try to take it from you.’
‘Does Mum know about this?’
‘She don’t need to.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘I won’t leave him empty-handed. He’ll get what’s right, but he ain’t getting the business. It’s twenty years since Bryn and I agreed that it would be yours and Greer’s, and then Freddie’s.’
‘If he wants it.’
‘Why wouldn’t he?’
‘Because … there’s a world out there and he wants to see it. Just as I wanted to see it …’
Lauren came in, pushing the heavy door with her bottom. ‘Two lattes.’ She put the two chunky pottery mugs onto the coffee table. ‘Anything else I can get you?’
‘No, thank you, Lauren.’ Jesse smiled impatiently.
Lauren took her cue and left quietly, and Jesse turned to his father. He didn’t want to look this gift horse in the mouth. ‘OK. I’ll get on to Penrose tomorrow and make sure that the paperwork is watertight, if that’s what you want me to do.’
‘I do,’ his father said firmly. ‘And Bryn agrees with me too.’
‘So when are you going to tell Grant?’ Jesse asked, stirring his coffee. ‘Or will you leave it until you’re gone and we’re at the reading of the will?’
Edward smiled ruefully. ‘I’d like to do that, but it’s the coward’s way out. No, I’ll tell him sooner rather than later.’ He took a sip of the latte. ‘That way, with a bit of luck, he might not be tempted to hang around.’
*
It was a long day, made longer by the nagging thought that Grant was bound to be the bearer of trouble. Jesse was snappy and irritable. Problems heaped up. More than once, Lauren bit her lip and retreated to her desk. The final straw came late in the day when a London chef, not known for his equability, rang complaining about ‘this shit you’ve sent me. I wouldn’t give it to me cats. The lobsters aren’t big enough, the skate is too expensive, and where’s the sodding lemon sole? I’m not paying for this crap …’ On and on he ranted, in his pseudo-cockney accent. Jesse put the receiver on the desk and rubbed his temples. When the man had calmed down he picked the receiver up and said, with a serenity he did not feel, ‘Luigi, I am so sorry. I shall send you up a box of twelve dozen Falmouth oysters on the overnight van, on the house. And, next time you’re down here, I’d like you to have dinner here at our expense. What do you say?’
*
An hour later, Jesse climbed back into the dark luxury of the Jaguar. The leather seat gave under his weight and released its hypnotic aroma. Jesse put his head on the steering wheel and closed his eyes. His headache was worse. He gave in to his exhaustion and relaxed the tension in his shoulders. ‘What a shit of a day,’ he said to himself.
A sharp knock on his window made his heart pound as he jerked upright. His headache shot an arrow of pain through his left eye.
Grant, still wearing his head bandage, was leering through the glass. ‘First sign of madness, talking to yourself.’
Jesse turned on the engine and the dashboard glowed sweetly, but even that small pleasure was now spoilt. He opened the electric window. ‘Grant. What do you want?’ he asked dully.
‘A bed for a bit. Ma and Pa’s house is too small and Ma’s driving me mad. As soon as I got home she was mithering me. I walked out while she was in the kitchen putting the kettle on. She was talking so much she didn’t hear me go.’
‘What about Dad?’ Jesse sighed.
‘He’d pissed off to the pub.’
‘Why not go with him?’
‘Whaaat? When my brother has a fancy new car that needs to be sat in and a beautiful new house that needs to be visited?’
Grant walked round the outside of the car and opened the passenger door. He got in. ‘Not bad.’ He wiped his none-too-clean hands over the walnut trim.
Jesse was not a happy man. A bad day had just got worse. ‘Thank you,’ he said flatly.
‘Well, come on then!’ smiled Grant, rubbing his hands gleefully. ‘Show me what this baby can do.’
27
When they had lost Louisa, Greer’s father, Bryn, had helped them to move out of Pencil Cottage, with all its sadness, and buy Tide House. Bryn had made enquiries through various solicitors and found that the cove below had passed from the previous owner to distant relatives, who lived in Canada and who had no idea of the beauty – or worth – of it. He had bought it for a song. A wooden gate and a large ‘KEEP OUT PRIVATE PROPERTY’ sign made sure that no wandering tourist could ever honestly say they didn’t know that they were trespassing.
This evening, Freddie was home first for a change; he kicked off his shoes in the hallway. He was starving and headed straight into the kitchen and made a beeline for the fridge. He sighed as he eyed the contents. Six low-fat yogurts, a ready-made couscous salad and a packet of defrosted chicken fillets. If this was the fridge at Hal’s house, it would be groaning with Dairylea, mini sausage rolls and thick-cut ham. His stomach groaned loudly as he grabbed one of the yogurts and he pulled a face as he tasted the bland goo.
He heard his mother’s car pull up in the drive and made a dash for the stairs and the sanctuary of his room.
His mother’s voice drifted up from the hallway. ‘Freddie! How many times have I told you not to leave your trainers in the hallway? There is a perfectly good shoe store under the stairs.’ He heard her tread on the stairs, heading his way.
She strode proprietorially into his room. ‘And how many times have I told you not to eat in bed?’
‘They eat wherever they want in Hal’s house.’
‘Exactly. Point proven.’ She picked up the empty yogurt pot and sat on the edge of his bed.
‘How was your maths tutorial?’
‘Boring. A waste of time.’
‘It isn’t a waste of time. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders and all you need to do is apply yourself.’
‘No point if I’m going out on the boats.’
Greer frowned. Just because Jesse had left school at 16, it didn’t mean that Freddie had to as well. She was determined that Freddie was going to make something of himself. She turned and headed back downstairs towards the kitchen; catching sight of her refection on the staircase, she stopped to appraise herself. Greer now wore her hair in an elegant pixie cut. It accentuated her cheekbones. She was wearing a pair of skinny jeans from All Saints paired with a plain white T-shirt and a navy blazer from Joseph. As usual, she saw herself with a critical eye. It took work to lo
ok as good as this and, as well as running a successful interior design business, Greer also saw looking after herself as part of the package. She managed to squeeze in either a Pilates or a yoga class every day, and their basement downstairs was equipped with a state-of-the-art gym, which she made good use of.
‘What’s for dinner?’ Freddie shouted from his room.
‘Chicken, new potatoes and salad.’
There was silence above, then, after crashing down the stairs like a herd of elephants, Freddie made an appearance at the kitchen door.
‘Can I go over to Hal’s tonight?’
‘Freddie, that’s the third night this week.’
‘Well, if my mates come round here you only complain that they dirty the carpet or leave the toilet seat up. They don’t care about any of that at Hal’s.’
Greer raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s “lavatory” – and indeed.’
Freddie persisted. ‘I’m doing you a favour. Besides, they’re having a barbecue again tonight.’
‘You’ll have to ask your father. Speaking of which, he sent a text to say he’s on his way. Apparently we’ve got a guest.’ She looked out of the kitchen window to see if she could spot his Jaguar. ‘I wonder who it is.’
*
It was less than a fifteen-minute drive to get to Jesse’s home. At the top of Trevay, he turned right and continued along the cliff road towards the crossroads, where you could go straight on for Truro, left for Pendruggan or right towards Tide Cove. He turned right. The lane was wide enough for two cars at this point, and they were high enough up to see the sun glinting off the Atlantic. Holiday-makers, with sandy bare feet, were struggling up the hill after a long day on the beach. They hauled toddlers and dogs, pushchairs and beach trolleys. Fit young men, in surf suits peeled to their navels, jogged up with surfboards on their backs; gaggles of girls with sea-bleached hair stared after them and giggled. Jesse steered the car carefully through them all, pulling into impossibly small passing spaces to allow camper vans and Chelsea tractors coming from the beach to get by. About two minutes from the beach itself there was a small left-hand turning, discreetly signed: ‘Tide Cove. Private Property’.