A Cornish Gift

by Fern Britton

  ‘What is it?’

  Good question. ‘It’s a prawn curry. Nigel Slater.’

  Alex rolled her eyes. ‘Why don’t you just stick to ready meals, Mum?’

  ‘I like cooking.’ It was true.

  ‘But you’re not very good at it.’

  ‘I shall ignore your implied insult. I’ve been complimented on my cooking, I’ll have you know.’

  ‘Only by Granny Alice, who lost her taste buds when a bomb fell on her house during the war.’

  ‘Not only Granny Alice, actually: many people.’

  ‘Yeah, right, Mum,’ Alex replied sceptically, turning to leave.

  Charlotte was on the verge of letting her go, but then decided it was time to bite the bullet and confront her daughter. ‘Alex, I called Poppy’s mum when you were late home. She said—’

  Alex’s explosive response took Charlotte by surprise, even though she’d been exposed to enough teen anger that she ought to be used to it by now. ‘How dare you! You’re always snooping around and following me. Why can’t you let me live my own life?’

  ‘Alex, darling, I don’t want to interfere, but you’re only fifteen and we worry about your safety, that’s all.’

  ‘Rubbish! You just want to control me.’

  Charlotte struggled to keep her voice even. ‘Alex, I understand how—’

  ‘No, you don’t! You can never know how it feels to be me!’ And, with this, Alex raced out of the room and up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

  Charlotte looked at Molly, who was cowering under the pine kitchen table. ‘Well, that went as well as can be expected,’ she muttered, and Molly crept out and sat on her foot again, giving her hand a consoling lick. ‘Thanks, Molly. I can always rely on you to be here for me.’

  If only she could say the same of her husband. Charlotte silently cursed Ed for never being home when he was needed. Instead, he was hundreds of miles away as usual while she held the fort at home, though it felt very much like a battle she was fast losing.

  He was so much better with Alex than she was; he always knew how to bring her round. Part of the problem was that she and Alex were too much alike: spiky, emotional rather than rational, prone to keeping secrets … But the old Alex had hated confrontation. On the rare occasions when she did get in an argument, she was always the one who would try to make up. The familiar gnawing guilt fluttered in her belly, berating her. This is your fault. If you weren’t spending so much time at the theatre … All that time with Henry when you should be at home …

  As if on cue, her phone rang. It was Ed. Hello, stranger, she thought.

  ‘Hi, Ed. How’s it going?’

  ‘Yeah, good. We’re finished now for four weeks – Dahlia’s gone off to do her one-woman show in London.’

  ‘Oh, God, that! What’s it about again?’

  ‘Um, not sure – something to do with older people having a lot of sex?’

  ‘Crikey.’

  ‘Kids OK?’

  ‘You probably know better than I do.’

  Whenever he was away, Ed kept in daily contact with them by text and FaceTime.

  There was a pause at the other end of the line. She could picture him floundering over what to say next without putting his foot in it.

  ‘I was wondering,’ he said eventually, ‘how would it be if you all came down to Pendruggan for a few days? There’s a great place we can stay – it’s right by the beach. We haven’t seen much of each other over the last few weeks—’

  ‘Months, more like. And whose fault is that?’ Charlotte couldn’t stop the words slipping out.

  ‘I know, I know.’ Ed’s voice sounded pained. ‘But I think it would be good for the kids – and for us.’

  ‘I’m not sure, Ed.’ Charlotte knew from experience what a holiday could be like when Ed was in work mode. ‘You couldn’t find time to join us in France last month. Apart from one long weekend when you deigned to make an appearance, I had to hold the fort with my mum and dad. And those few days you were there you spent on your laptop or iPad, working. And when you weren’t working you were sleeping – or drinking too much.’

  There was silence from the other end of the line. Charlotte was already regretting her outburst and was on the verge of apologising and explaining why she’d felt the need to vent when Ed suddenly blurted, ‘Please, Charlotte, I promise I’ll be totally “there”. No phones, no laptop, no iPad. Just us. We need this.’

  Charlotte breathed in deeply. ‘Let me think about it and call you back. Alex is being tricky at the moment, and, even at the best of times, getting the kids to do anything outside their comfort zone is practically impossible. Besides, Pendruggan is a good five-hour drive, and—’

  ‘It’ll be worth it,’ Ed pleaded. ‘I promise you – come on, let’s do it.’

  Still Charlotte wouldn’t cave in. Promising that she’d call him back once she’d spoken to the kids, she hung up the phone and eyed the contents of the saucepan. It hadn’t looked like this in the Observer. She pulled the ring on the tin of coconut milk and hoped for the best.

  *

  Charlotte knocked on Sam’s door and popped her head in. Her eleven-year-old was sprawled across his bed watching a YouTube video on his iPad.

  ‘Dinnertime.’

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, without looking up.

  Charlotte looked down at the gloopy rice-and-sauce concoction on the tray she had brought up. ‘Prawn surprise.’

  Sam raised his head and frowned at her. ‘Is a prawn something you want to be surprised by?’

  ‘That’s a very good question, Sam. Perhaps we’re about to find out the answer.’

  She sat next to him on the bed and he scrutinised the contents of the tray. Taking the beaker of milk, he took a long slurp and said, ‘Can I have a burger in a bun?’

  Charlotte looked down sadly at the prawn surprise. ‘Would Birds Eye be an acceptable option for you, sir?’

  ‘Perfectly splendid, m’dear.’ And Sam finished off the milk and replaced the beaker on the tray with a flourish.

  ‘What’s that you’re watching?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘This is the most amazing thing ever, Mum. It’s Spike Turner, the skateboard pro. He’s doing this totally awesome bitchslap.’

  ‘Sam!’

  ‘Don’t be lame, Mum – it’s skate lingo.’ For the next five minutes Sam gave her an incomprehensible commentary that consisted of terms like nollie, lipslide and mongo. She tried to keep up but most of it went over her head.

  ‘Sam,’ she ventured when at last there was a brief lull in his analysis, ‘how would you feel about a little trip?’

  ‘Where to?’

  A voice behind them said, ‘Cornwall. To see Dad.’

  They both turned to see Alex standing in Sam’s doorway holding her phone. ‘I talked to him already – he called to tell me about it.’

  That was crafty, thought Charlotte. As always, he’d managed to get Alex on side. The mood she was in earlier, it must have taken a major charm offensive to win her over.

  ‘So, what do you think?’

  ‘I want to go. I haven’t seen Dad for ages.’

  Charlotte look at Sam. ‘What about you?’

  Sam barely glanced away from Spike’s latest heelflip. ‘Dunno. Have they got wi-fi?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Alex. ‘I checked that with Dad.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Sam. ‘Then I can show Dad Spike’s video.’

  Feeling that she was losing control of the decision-making process, Charlotte chimed in: ‘Hang on a minute. There’s no way I’m going to drive all the way to Cornwall for the weekend so that the pair of you can sit watching YouTube or texting your friends the whole time. I want us to do things as a family, otherwise we might as well stay here.’

  The children both shrugged. ‘OK,’ they said in unison.

  ‘It’s a bloody long drive, too, so we’ll have to be up and ready to go by six a.m. And I’m not doing all the packing by myself – you’ll both have to
help.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And we have to make it a proper break, be a family, do things together.’

  ‘OK!’

  ‘Even if it means not being glued to your iPad for the next three days?’

  ‘OK! OK!’

  *

  As Charlotte scraped the untouched prawn surprise into Molly’s bowl she wondered at the ease with which the children had agreed to come. Maybe this trip was something that needed to happen. If nothing else, it would give her and Ed a chance to have a proper talk, clear the air. They’d been dancing around each other for too long.

  As Molly sniffed noncommittally at her bowl, Charlotte picked up her phone. She’d text Ed later. First she needed to call Henry …

  2

  It was gone 9.30 a.m. and Charlotte was only now switching on the satnav.

  ‘Mum!’ whined Sam from the back seat. ‘Why does it have to be me in the back with Molly?’

  ‘I’ve told you, Sam, you can swap seats with Alex halfway through. Now let me concentrate on putting this postcode in the satnav so we can get going. I was hoping to miss the worst of the traffic, but we’re so late—’

  ‘It was you who overslept, Mum,’ Alex pointed out smugly.

  Charlotte cast an irritated glance at her daughter, sitting in the passenger seat fiddling with her headphones.

  ‘That’s because I was up past midnight, packing.’

  ‘You love your bed too much, Mum.’

  ‘It is the holidays.’ Charlotte wasn’t sure why she needed to justify herself. She and the children were all good sleepers. It was Ed who tossed and turned, often padding downstairs in the middle of the night, dogged with insomnia brought on by worries about work.

  ‘Mum!’ Sam nudged the back of her seat with his knee. ‘Why do I have to get stuck with Molly?’

  Charlotte turned to look at Molly. The expression ‘hangdog’ could have been coined especially for her. Molly’s head was hung low and her soulful eyes gazed out mournfully from under her shaggy hair.

  ‘Poor old Mol,’ Charlotte cooed sympathetically. ‘You totally hate car travel, don’t you, girl?’ And she reached out to stroke her. Molly responded by giving her hand a sorrowful lick, then put her head down on her paws with a sigh.

  ‘Nobody gave her any food, did they?’ Charlotte asked suspiciously.

  ‘No,’ they both answered, but Charlotte thought that Sam looked shifty.

  ‘Sam?’

  ‘Nothing, I promise!’ he protested.

  ‘Well, if Molly gets sick,’ she warned, ‘I’ll have a pretty good idea why. Now, let’s get this show on the road.’

  ‘Hang on, Mum,’ Alex said suddenly, rummaging in her bag. ‘I’ve forgotten my charger.’

  ‘Alex!’

  ‘What! You were rushing me!’

  ‘Oh, just hurry up, will you.’ She thrust the door key at Alex, who leapt from the car and ran towards the house. Shaking her head, Charlotte returned her gaze to the satnav, which had just finished calibrating. The estimated journey time popped up on screen: five hours and seven minutes. Great, thought Charlotte, this is going to be so much fun.

  Adjusting the rear-view mirror, Charlotte caught sight of herself and pushed her long fringe behind her ear. Her short, layered hairstyle hadn’t changed much over the years, though the spicy copper colour was a thing of the past. Charlotte’s naturally light-blonde hair was now flecked with grey, which she disguised with highlights. The smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks gave her a girlish appearance, but there was no ignoring the crow’s feet and laughter lines that were becoming more prominent with every passing year. It didn’t bother her unduly: getting older was better than the alternative, she always thought.

  Alex dashed back to the car and thrust the door keys at her mother. ‘Did you lock up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Double-locked it?’

  ‘Yes, Mum. Let’s go!’

  ‘Right, A303, here we come. Oh, by the way, we’re going to make a little stop en route …’

  *

  ‘Where are we going, Mum?’

  Two hours in and Alex had finally taken off her headphones. Sam was dozing on the back seat.

  ‘Well …’ Charlotte said enthusiastically, ‘I thought we’d stop at Stonehenge.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s sort of on the way, and you and Sam have never seen it, and I haven’t been there for years. And … why not? We’re on holiday, aren’t we? We said we’d do things as a family – and you promised there’d be no grumbling.’

  ‘Don’t remember promising that,’ Sam mumbled under his breath from the back.

  ‘It’s a bit random, Mum.’ Alex raised her eyes heavenward.

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ Charlotte was conscious of the defensive tone in her voice. She was wondering now what had possessed her. As much for her own benefit as the children’s, she tried to explain why she felt the need to make this detour: ‘Stonehenge is an amazing place. I came here when I was a kid, but couldn’t remember anything about it, so I asked your dad to bring me here once when it was the summer solstice. I was pregnant with you at the time.’

  ‘Really?’ Alex sounded genuinely interested for once.

  ‘Yep. So, technically, you’ve been here too.’

  ‘Cool.’

  Charlotte stole a glance at her daughter. Alex had Ed’s nose and his eyes and his brown wavy hair. Sam took after her with his fair hair and skin.

  ‘What were you listening to? On your phone?’

  Alex shrugged. ‘One of my Spotify playlists.’

  ‘Oh, like those ones that you and Poppy used to spend hours putting together in the kitchen?’

  ‘It’s not one of those,’ Alex said tetchily.

  ‘Oh.’ It suddenly struck Charlotte that she couldn’t remember the last time Poppy had been round to the house. The two girls had been best friends ever since primary school and had made the leap to senior school together. For years they’d been inseparable, wearing the same clothes, liking the same films and music and TV shows, and even sounding alike. But, apart from Alex telling Charlotte that she’d been with Poppy when she hadn’t, there’d been no mention of her for ages. Charlotte could have kicked herself for not realising that Poppy hadn’t been on the scene for a while. Perhaps she’d give Carol, Poppy’s mum, a call and ask her about it, though Alex would go nuts if she found out she was snooping.

  ‘Stick it on the Bluetooth and let’s have a listen? I could do with waking up. So could Rip Van Winkle back there.’ Charlotte nodded towards Sam in the back seat. ‘We’ll be at Stonehenge soon.’

  Alex paused as if weighing her options, then gave another shrug and connected her phone to the Bluetooth. A moment later a playlist popped up on the screen of the car’s media player: ‘Lily’s Love List’. The first track came through the speakers, it was ‘Stay with Me’ by Sam Smith.

  ‘Who’s Lily?’ Charlotte asked.

  Alex stiffened. ‘No one.’

  ‘No one called Lily?’

  ‘She’s just one of the girls at school,’ Alex said through gritted teeth.

  Clearly, the question had hit a raw nerve, but Charlotte had no idea why. Who was this girl? And, if the two of them were friendly enough to be sharing playlists, why hadn’t Alex brought her home?

  Charlotte put the questions to one side for a moment as she sang along with Sam’s lonesome sentiments, but, the moment she did, Alex clicked on her phone and stopped the track.

  ‘Why did you turn it off? I was enjoying that.’

  ‘You were ruining it! Can’t you put your Happy Mondays CD on like you normally do.’

  All right all right, thought Charlotte, don’t get your knickers in a twist. She popped the CD in. The last thing she wanted was to infuriate her touchy daughter even further.

  *

  The car pulled up on the roadside and the three of them looked at the 4,500-year-old monument. A light rain was falling and the ancient site sat behind a wire fence, cl
oaked in drizzle. Charlotte couldn’t help thinking that they weren’t seeing the place at its best.

  ‘What do you think? Hordes of slaves dragged those stones across the country to get them here, you know.’

  There was a moment’s silence before Alex said, ‘It’s smaller than I thought it would be.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s puny,’ Sam agreed.

  ‘It’s quite big, actually. It’s just that people have these preconceptions …’

  ‘Yes,’ Sam said flatly. ‘Preconceptions that it’s bigger and better than it actually is.’

  Charlotte tutted at his lack of appreciation. ‘Well, the last time I came—’

  ‘We came,’ corrected Alex.

  ‘The last time we came it was amazing,’ she persevered.

  Charlotte could remember the day so vividly. She’d been eaten up with anxiety. Her pregnancy had been going well, she was fit and healthy and her midwife was pleased with how things were progressing, yet she couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed at what was to come. She decided that what she needed was something to ground her, something to remind her that childbirth was part of the endless cycle of life and not merely something to scare the shit out of you. She’d always liked to dabble in alternative stuff. Ed used to tease her about it, saying she was a bit ‘woo-woo’, but she didn’t care. A lot of it was mumbo-jumbo, but you couldn’t argue with the magical antiquity of a place like Stonehenge.

  The summer solstice was approaching and she’d told Ed that she wanted to see the sun rise at Stonehenge, never expecting that he would embrace the idea. But he surprised her by offering to drive them there, and he’d even booked them into a B&B somewhere close the night before so she wouldn’t be too tired to appreciate it. As they ate a pub meal on the eve of the longest day of the year, Charlotte could hear the locals discussing the approaching event.

  ‘Only them druids is all that’s allowed on the site now,’ said an ancient barfly as he supped his pint.

  Curious, as they got up to leave Charlotte asked him whether they would be allowed to join the ceremony.

  ‘No, my love, they don’t let anyone ’cept druids come to the stones these days. Too many New Age travellers and the like spoiling the site, they reckon.’

  Charlotte was bitterly disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to get close enough to touch the stones and feel the connection between herself and the baby growing inside her with something timeless, enduring and powerful.