by Jenny Kane
‘Well, no, but …’
‘But nothing. First we’ll have to empty this place. I suggest you get that lot advertised in the local paper and on eBay asap,’ Max pointed to the machinery, ‘otherwise, shall we make a start while we wait for the pizza?’
Not waiting to take no for an answer Max pulled a bin bag out of another of his copious pockets. ‘Right, what of this lot is rubbish?’
For half an hour, with one ear listening out for the doorbell and the arrival of their takeaway, the two friends went through the first box, quickly filling the bin bag, while also creating a pile of leather off-cuts which Beth had quickly earmarked for future textile and art lessons at school. As they worked they threw ideas back and forth.
‘After the showing of the children’s work, which could just be stuck to the windows really, what then?’
‘I think their pictures deserve a little more than a bit of sticky tape at each corner, Beth, but I get your point.’ Max examined the wall shelves, ‘They’d make great shelves for old-fashioned sweet jars. How about a sweet shop?’
‘Not sure I fancy that, and anyway, I’d never compete with the one in Penzance; the fudge in that place is to die for.’
‘Clothes, shoes, hardware, posh deli, café, bookshop?’
Beth sighed. ‘The bookshop idea appeals, but not the others. A café or food store would require too much upkeep on a daily basis, and as I said, I don’t want to give up teaching.’
‘You could remain the owner, but lease the place as a hairdresser’s or beauticians or one of those new nail bar things?’
Beth laughed incredulously, ‘Seriously?’ She looked down at the hardwearing ankle-length denim skirt and purple shirt that was pretty much her school uniform, ‘A beautician’s salon? A nail bar? Owned by me?’
‘Alright, alright!’ Max held up his hands in surrender. ‘It wasn’t such a bad idea, we don’t have either locally, but call me a quitter, I’m sensing you don’t feel comfortable with those ideas?’
Beth was saved from delivering a short, pithy reply by the arrival of their pizza.
Chapter Seven
Nerves and an inconveniently accompanying wave of guilt hit Abi as she pulled into Taunton Deane services. With the border that divided Devon and Somerset a few miles away, Abi could feel the enormity of the step she was contemplating starting to disturb her concentration.
Making a beeline for a desperately needed cup of coffee, preferably with a side order of something unhealthy and smothered in chocolate. ‘Although not a bloody muffin,’ she muttered under her breath.
Abi couldn’t stop thinking about what her brother-in-law had said when she’d finally given in and answered one of his calls. Had Simon been right? He’d talked to her as if she’d flipped, and had suggested rather forcefully that the trauma of Luke’s untimely death must have had more of an effect on her mental health than they’d all initially thought.
Abi hadn’t been able to stop herself from laughing at the time, assuring Simon that she was very sane, thank you very much, and that if she didn’t like Cornwall, she’d be trying other locations, but that was her business and not his, or his parents. To both humour him and shut him up, and because ultimately it really would be useful, after much consideration, Abi had decided to tell Simon she’d accept his help with ensuring a seamless and tidy sale of the house if he was still willing.
Abi had been quite proud of herself, as Simon had given her his fervent promise that he’d keep an eye on the house sale while she was away, with no expectations or agenda. Now however, as she queued for her overpriced drink, Abi couldn’t help listening to a treacherous voice at the back of her head telling her Simon might be right. Perhaps her leaving was just a delayed knee-jerk reaction to Luke’s unexpected death.
Luke may not have been the best husband in the world, and she didn’t miss being put down in public for one minute, but at the same time she’d never once doubted that he’d loved her. It was more that he always acted as if he wished he didn’t.
Every day since his death it was becoming harder to remember how she’d let herself be changed from a successful businesswoman (who had admittedly been acting her socks off to portray a strong image and hide the true shy persona beneath) to the mousy wife who’d do anything to avoid the look of disappointment in her husband’s eyes when she failed yet again to live up to his expectations. I did love him, and I do miss him, but …
Abi looked out of the window, trying not to let another stab of emotion get the better of her as she watched a happy family of four, all holding hands, cross the car park. Had she been so naive to dream that she and Luke could have a family like that one day?
Despite their age difference, Luke had always given Abi the impression that he wanted children – until about a month after their honeymoon. They’d been eating in a restaurant, and a family had come in with a baby that wouldn’t stop crying. Luke hadn’t been just indignant, he’d been plain rude to the parents about their inability to keep the infant quiet. All the way home he’d ranted about how families shouldn’t be allowed in restaurants with babies, and preferably with no one under sixteen. When Abi had stuck up for them, saying that there was no way anyone could predict when a baby would cry, and that having children in restaurants from a young age helped teach them good manners and social interaction, she had been cut short with a cold look, a look she would become all too familiar with over the next few years.
A look that was followed by Luke informing her that there was no way they were ever having a creature that behaved like that! And that had been that. All conversations about having a family were closed, and every attempt Abi made to resurrect the discussion met a brick wall of silence.
Was she really striking out for a better life on her own terms, or was she running away from the hurt Luke had brought her when he was alive, and again now he was dead? Could she even do this? Determined to remain calm, Abi found a semi-clean table and sat by the window, staring out blankly across the sea of parked travellers’ vehicles.
She looked down at her drink ruefully. Luke certainly wouldn’t approve of her drinking coffee from a paper cup. After his mega-promotion at work, even drinking from a mug rather than a bone china cup and saucer was only something to be done when circumstances allowed no superior alternative.
Continuing to watch the chatting couples, groups of friends, and families move about the car park, tears started to gather at the corners of Abi’s eyes. By allowing Luke to take over every aspect of her life, she’d missed out on so much. She hadn’t meant to be so feeble – but with Luke …
With a sustaining sip of caffeine, Abi knew she’d been miraculously given another chance. She wished it had come about in another way, but nonetheless, it was a chance, and she was not going to waste it.
Abi suddenly had a strong desire to do all the things Luke would never have approved of. She wanted to mess up her salon-perfect hair, maybe get a tattoo, go out of the house without make-up, make friends …
That had been the hardest thing. None of her friends had taken to Luke. She’d tried to justify him in the beginning; to explain his haughty exterior was all an act, that he could be nice when he was on his own – but as he didn’t approve of anyone Abi knew outside of work, Luke never showed them his nice side. As a consequence none of her friends saw the Luke she had fallen in love with. Now, as she stirred extra milk into her coffee, Abi found herself wondering if that side of him, the side she did miss, had been the act, and Luke’s public persona had been the real one.
Knowing that there was no point in thinking that way, Abi pulled the list of properties for sale she’d printed off the computer the night before from her small backpack. None of them looked anything like the house she’d loved as a child, but as she nibbled on her bar of chocolate a smile crossed Abi’s face and extinguished any idea of crying. Whether they looked like her childhood dream house or not, all of the properties displayed on the page before her appeared a lot more inviting than the sterile executiv
e home she currently owned.
Abi wanted a house she could wear shoes in without anyone having apoplexy about dirty footprints on the carpet. She wanted a home that felt like a home, not a place that was on the verge of expecting royalty, or an impromptu visit from Homes and Gardens magazine.
Daydreams of long costal walks and lazy clifftop meanderings, maybe with a dog (one with long hair that would get all over the furnishings!) filled Abi’s head as she knocked back the remains of her coffee and, clutching the house details like a lucky talisman, set off back to the car.
The sun stopped shining almost the second Abi’s car crossed the Tamar, the river that separates Devon from Cornwall.
Until that moment, Abi had managed to keep hold of the optimism she’d wrapped herself in while sat in the service station, but now, as the sky began to darken, her new resolve began to waver. The journey was taking far longer than she’d imagined. The route she’d planned on the internet should have taken about five hours. But as the Cornish roads became slower and narrower, she encountered countless road-works, and hundreds of caravans had slowed the traffic flow right down. Then the motorway had disappeared entirely, the sky had become steadily bleaker, and storm clouds had congregated above her. Driving fatigue and fear at the unknown path that lay ahead fought to get the better of Abi.
Never had Abi been so pleased to see a road sign as she was to see the sign for Penzance, which she knew was the closest town to St Just. As Abi drove past a large pub, mentally marking it as somewhere to visit later in the week, the first fat raindrops landed on the car, and a crack of thunder overhead heralded her arrival to the very foot of the country.
Cold in the summer clothes which had been so fitting at the beginning of the journey, but were no longer suitable for a wet evening, Abi’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything apart from a bar of chocolate since lunchtime, and now it was coming up to 6.30.
‘Yes!’ Her body sagged with relief behind the wheel of her car as she spotted a signpost. St Just was only two miles away! Turning right as directed, she followed the curve of the narrow road. After what must have been four miles, Abi realised she must have taken a wrong turning somehow. Doing a three-point turn that was more like an eight-point, she drove back the way she came. Then, repeating the exercise, she did it again – and still found she’d gone wrong.
Every road sign Abi saw seem to conflict with the next, and as she drove round in circles, panic began to set in. How could she possibly be lost at this stage of her journey? Abi glanced at her petrol gauge. She was getting close to empty; she couldn’t afford to be lost for much longer.
Pulling over, Abi cursed the fact that she’d lost Wi-Fi signal and so couldn’t check her directions on her phone. ‘Right, be logical. You know it isn’t in front of you. You can’t go left or right here, so it has to be behind you. A whole town, however tiny, cannot have disappeared! Go back towards Penzance, and then at least you can find a pub for food and then hunt for some petrol.’
With her pulse thumping rather faster than she would have liked, and wishing the roads weren’t so narrow, Abi kept going. At last she spotted the pub she’d seen earlier. Pulling into the car park, Abi went inside, her usual reluctance to go into a pub on her own wiped away by her desire to find both food and directions.
The beaming landlady quickly settled Abi at the only free dining table. After making sympathetic noises about the state of traffic in the holiday season, and promising that Abi would have step-by-step instructions of how to get to her hotel before she left the premises, she bustled off to fetch her a cup of coffee and a tuna mayonnaise-smothered jacket potato as fast as humanly possible.
Half an hour later, her coffee gone and her meal almost consumed, Abi was re-reading the list of houses she hoped to make appointments to see when she had the feeling she was being watched.
Looking up, Abi found herself looking into the smiling face of a tall rugby player of a man with shockingly ginger hair, who was walking purposefully in her direction.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but Patsy there behind the bar,’ he gestured towards the barmaid who waved at Abi, confirming that the man had arrived on her instructions and wasn’t someone about to make a doomed attempt at chatting her up, ‘told me that you could do with a few directions.’ He held out a large hand. ‘I’m Max.’
‘Abi. And yes please! I’ve been going in circles. I’m not sure if I was going wrong because I was tired and hungry, or if none of the road signs actually go where they claim to.’
‘You also need a filling station?’
‘Yes.’ It hit Abi that she was talking to a good-looking man she didn’t know, and that there was no one to tell her not to. Luke would have hated this if it had happened in his company – but then it simply wouldn’t have happened in the first place. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had offered her help without some kind of personal agenda of their own. Abi found herself sighing, and then she blushed. ‘I’m sorry, it’s been a long drive.’
‘Not at all. Where have you come from?’
‘Surrey. I knew it was a long way, but somehow it seems even longer!’
Max laughed. ‘Those last few hours once you’ve crossed the border into Cornwall go on for ever, don’t they?’ He nodded towards the house particulars laid out on the table before Abi. ‘Looking to join us in these parts, then?’
‘Well … yes,’ Abi was embarrassed at her unthinking assumption that she’d be welcome here, ‘but don’t worry, I’m not planning on being one of those weekenders who snap up all the good houses, and then disappear back to London to spend their wages there!’
Laughing again, Max said, ‘The idea never crossed my mind. Do you know the area?’
‘Not really. I loved it as a child. My parents used to bring me and my brother to Sennen every year. I’m going to try and find a house I fell in love with back then, and then look for somewhere to live.’ She pointed to the chair. ‘Would you like a seat, a drink?’
‘Thank you, but I ought to go. I promised a friend I’d looked in on her tonight. I wondered if you’d like to follow my van, if you’re ready to leave that is. Patsy said you were off to the Cairn. I go right past it on my way, so you could trail me.’
‘That would be so kind of you.’ Abi gathered up her notes and papers, ‘I’m dying for a hot bath and an early night.’
‘Come on then.’ Max collected up the empty plate and cup and put them back on the bar, before calling goodbye to Patsy.
‘Nice motor.’ He waved approvingly towards Abi’s car.
‘How did you know that one was mine? The car park is packed.’
‘You’re from London, lass, as near as makes no difference anyway, and it shows.’ He smiled broadly to show he wasn’t being insulting, but merely honest. ‘So, if you turn right out of here, drive for about three minutes, and turn right again, you’ll find a petrol station. They open at six o’clock tomorrow morning. Right now however, we are going to turn left, OK? If you stay behind my van, then I’ll get you to your hotel.’
Doing as she was told, staying as close as was safe to the ‘Max Decorates’ van, Abi reached the hotel car park in minutes.
‘Here you go.’ Max jumped out of his van’s cab and strode over so he could open Abi’s car door for her. ‘You’ll be all right here. Nice place.’
‘Thanks so much, I would have still been going around in circles without you.’
‘Just remember the golden rule: the road signs are for the tourists, they take you the long way for everything, and they are designed to confuse.’
‘Why?’
‘Not a clue.’ Max laughed again, ‘Oh, and I hope you don’t mind me saying, but if I were you I’d check out all of the towns where there are houses you want to view first, before you book appointments to see them. Some of locations are going to be smaller than you imagine, I suspect, and not all of them have Wi-Fi. Find your childhood place first though. I don’t think anything else will match up until you do.
’
As if he realised he might have been giving unwanted advice, Max mumbled, ‘Just a thought, like,’ before he quickly drove off with a wave goodbye.
Letting the heat of her bath soak into her tired shoulders, Abi found herself thinking about the kind giant of a man who’d guided her to this temporary haven. She realised with a sense of surprise that, not only had she found talking to him easy, but that at no point had it crossed her mind that he might have been leading her into trouble, or been about to proposition her. Like Patsy, the landlady at the pub, and Barbara when she’d checked into her hotel room half an hour ago, Max was simply a very friendly person.
Abi sank further beneath the bubbles. ‘Friendly people. That has to be a very good omen.’
Chapter Eight
Restless since the squawks of the local seagulls having a squabble had woken her at dawn, Beth had given up on the struggle to sleep long before six. Pulling on the set of overalls Max had left for her, and rolling up both the sleeves and the legs several times so that the outfit was merely too big rather than swamping her, she stood in middle of the shop clutching a roll of rubbish sacks.
Cranking up the radio in time to hear the tail end of the six o’clock news, Beth apologised to her grandad for what she was about to do. Flapping open the first bin bag, she took a deep breath and began to divide the contents of the old cobbler’s shop into things to throw away, things to keep, and items to sell.
An hour later, as the third sack of rubbish was tied closed, Beth stretched out her back and walked over to the old shoe bar where her grandad had done the majority of his work. Trying to blank out the vision of him standing there, polishing up freshly repaired shoes and boots, Beth wondered how she’d get rid of it. Who would want it? Should she keep it? Was there any way it could be incorporated into the place? ‘Maybe if I call it The Old Cobbler’s Shop.’ Beth spoke to the machine as she stroked it, but she remained unconvinced. The name was hardly inspiring, and could allude to pretty much anything from a café to a hardware store.