A Cornish Gift

by Fern Britton

  ‘Have you been walking on the cliffs? Majestic, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, and the perfect antidote to disappearing up my own arse.’ Charlotte shot Ed a quick glance. ‘Not trying to drag my husband away from his holiday, are you, Pen?’ She said this lightly, but Ed knew there’d be trouble if he reneged on his promise.

  ‘Not on your nelly! Simon’s banned me from talking about work, so no worries on that score.’

  ‘How’s your lovely daughter, Jenna?’

  ‘Exhausting! But we’ve got a night off this evening. Why don’t you all come and join us for dinner at the Dolphin later? Don and Dorrie are doing a hog roast and all the locals will be there.’

  Charlotte looked at Ed, uncertain.

  ‘No work talk, we promise – don’t we, Pen?’

  ‘Brownie’s honour.’

  It took Charlotte a nanosecond to make up her mind. ‘You’re on!’ She gave Penny a huge grin. ‘I could do with a pint of Cornish Knocker!’

  *

  The Dolphin was packed out. Holidaymakers and locals alike seemed to be making the most of summer’s last hurrah. Ed, Charlotte and the kids made their way through the throng and found that Penny and her husband, Simon, the local vicar, had saved them a seat at a table with two of their friends: Helen Merrifield and Piran Ambrose.

  They all shook hands and said their hellos, then Piran, Simon and Ed duly trooped to the bar, as men do, while the women got chatting about life and kids.

  Charlotte warmed to Helen immediately. It came as a surprise that Helen was now a grandmother – Charlotte thought she was way too young. And she seemed so at home in the community that it was hard to believe she’d left her husband and moved down here from London only recently.

  ‘I thought Piran was your husband.’

  ‘Good God, no!’ Helen laughed. ‘We’d end up killing each other. I’ve been there, done that, and he’s way too grouchy to be a full-time boyfriend. I know you’ve got to take the rough with the smooth, but he takes the biscuit sometimes, so it’s better this way.’

  It turned out that Helen lived a few doors down from their holiday let, in Gull’s Cry – the cottage she’d admired when she arrived.

  Helen clapped her hands. ‘Fabulous, I can take you for a tour round the village. I’ll introduce you to Queenie and Tony.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’ve already met Queenie.’

  The men rejoined them at the table. ‘Guess what: Piran’s a proper Cornish fisherman!’ announced Ed. He had a boyish flush, and Charlotte suspected he was already a bit pissed, but she was glad to see that he was enjoying himself.

  Piran gave them a stern look. ‘Proper fisherman are the only kind we have in this part of the world. ’Tis a serious business.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m not much of a fisherman myself. I only went once with my dad, and neither of us could bear to kill the poor buggers. We threw most of them back in.’

  ‘I could never, ever kill a fish. They have the same feelings as people and catching them is murder!’ Alex said with feeling, looking up from her iPad.

  A smile danced around Piran’s lips. ‘Aye, maid, their lives is as precious to them as yours is to you. All good fisherman respect that and only take what they need.’

  ‘Ha, that’s funny, Alex,’ continued Ed, getting into his stride. ‘I seem to remember that you ended up killing quite a lot of fish when you were younger. Your fish tank had what you might call a revolving-door policy!’

  ‘That wasn’t the same thing, Dad!’ she protested, but she laughed along with everyone else.

  ‘At least it can’t be as bad as Mum,’ Sam chipped in. ‘She’s been prosecuted for crimes against fish dinners! Harry Potter wants her prawn surprise recipe so he can use it to defeat Voldemort!’

  ‘You don’t appreciate fine dining, that’s your problem,’ protested Charlotte, but she was laughing too.

  The laughter was interrupted by Alex’s ringtone, which was an incredibly loud and annoying jangle.

  She looked at the caller and answered it quickly, whispering into the phone that she’d call back when she was alone.

  ‘Got a secret admirer, Alex?’ Ed joked. ‘Make sure you don’t bring him home on prawn-surprise night – that might be the last we see of him!’

  Alex’s face went puce and she balled her fists.

  ‘Ed, hang on …’ Charlotte could see immediately that Alex was upset. But Alex had already stood up and was facing her father, blushing hotly.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t understand and you don’t even care!’ Then she stomped off to sit outside on the terrace.

  ‘What did I say?’ Ed looked aghast, stung by the ferocity of her words.

  ‘Teenagers – they’re a mystery,’ said Simon, with a sympathetic shake of his head.

  ‘It’s getting late. Perhaps we should go.’ Charlotte started gathering up their things, casting anxious glances out to the terrace, where Alex could be seen furiously texting on her phone.

  They all said their goodnights, Helen and Charlotte promising to see each other again. Charlotte retrieved Alex from the beer garden and the two of them walked on ahead with Sam and Molly, while Ed followed gloomily behind.

  ‘She seemed so angry,’ he said to Charlotte hours later as they lay in bed. Outside the night air was still, punctuated occasionally by a barn owl emitting its blood-curdling scream as it swooped on its prey. ‘I’ve never seen her like that before.’

  ‘She’s very touchy.’ Charlotte said sleepily from her side of the bed.

  ‘But it’s so unlike Alex. She hates confrontation, even if she is a sulky teenager.’

  Charlotte sighed from the depths of her pillow, then propped herself up on her elbows and turned to face Ed. ‘She’s been like this for a while now. Something’s bothering her, but she won’t confide in me. If you’d been around more, you might have noticed before now.’

  There was no vitriol or accusation in her words – it was a merely bald statement. They both knew the truth of it and there was nothing Ed could say in his defence.

  He ran a hand over his face. ‘I know, I know – it’s just been so hard to get home. Maybe I can reschedule a few things, put a few projects on the back burner …’

  ‘Ed.’ Charlotte lifted her hand to still his words. ‘This isn’t about “rescheduling a few things”. Alex is growing up. In a few years she’ll be an adult. That’s something no one can reschedule. And, if you don’t adjust your priorities, you’re going to miss what’s left of her childhood. Sam’s, too. Before you know it, they’ll have drifted away from you and you’ll never be able to get back what you’ve lost.’ Her voice softened as she saw the impact her words were having. ‘Right now, Alex needs us – even if she doesn’t realise it.’

  Then Charlotte turned her back on him and settled herself down to sleep. As her breathing deepened and she drifted off, Ed noticed a tightness grip his jaw and recognised the familiar feel of a long sleepless night ahead of him.

  4

  Typically for an English summer, a day of sunshine and blue skies was followed by a gloomy, overcast morning with ominous grey clouds threatening rain. The weather seemed to affect the mood in the cottage and, despite Ed’s entreaties, Alex was refusing his offer of a vegetarian fry-up.

  ‘I only want toast, Dad.’

  Alex was huddled up beneath the duvet in her bedroom, wrapped in her hoodie. Ed thought she looked much younger than her fifteen years.

  ‘Come on, kitten,’ he coaxed. ‘A bite to eat and then we can take a trip somewhere. There’s a lot to see around here. How about driving to Tintagel? There’s a castle.’

  ‘I don’t want to tramp round a boring castle.’

  ‘It’s not boring – they say King Arthur was born there.’

  ‘Who?’

  There’d been a time when Ed could shake his daughter out of a moody spell in minutes. Alex had been a naturally sunny child who was easily reduced to helpless giggles. He realised with a pang of
disappointment that those days were gone. Getting a laugh today would be like getting blood out of a stone.

  ‘Brown or white?’

  ‘Brown. White bread is full of additives.’

  ‘So virtuous – aren’t you supposed to be living on McDonald’s and alcopops at your age?’

  Ed’s attempt at playful banter merely drew a roll of the eyes before Alex pulled the duvet over her head, signalling an end to the conversation. Defeated, he headed back downstairs.

  Charlotte was putting on her waterproof and Sam was in his usual spot on the sofa, watching an episode of The Big Bang Theory.

  ‘Off somewhere?’ he asked his wife.

  ‘I’m going to take a walk down to the beach hut with Molly.’

  ‘But it looks like rain. I was going to make breakfast.’

  ‘Not for me.’

  ‘Oh. What about you, Sam? Not going to reject the only meal I’m any good at, are you?’

  ‘Nah, I’m starving. Is it ready now?’

  Ed looked in the fridge. Their supplies had been somewhat depleted since yesterday. ‘We’ll need to go on a foraging expedition. We’re running low.’

  ‘Try that shop I was telling you about in the village,’ suggested Charlotte.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Ed, you’ll have me doubting that you hang on my every word if you say things like that. I nipped in there for a paper yesterday morning – you can’t miss it: the windows are lined with yellow cellophane and crammed with old boxes of Black Magic and York Fruits. It’s as if the last fifty years never happened. The owner’s an old Cockney—’

  ‘Oh, you mean Queenie’s shop. She does lovely pasties – or “oggys” as they call them round here. You have to order them in advance though. The crew practically live off them when we’re filming.’

  ‘Well, I think you’ll find she sells groceries and everything else we need to top up our dwindling supplies. I can’t believe you’ve been coming here year after year and you don’t even know where to buy a loaf and a pint of milk.’

  ‘OK, Queenie’s it is, then. Fancy a trip out, Sam?’

  ‘Aw, I’m watching this!’

  ‘You can watch that any time. Queenie’s has to be seen to be believed.’

  Leaving Ed to take on the parental duty of tearing his son away from the TV, Charlotte clipped Molly’s lead onto her collar and opened the door. It was starting to rain, but she didn’t care. The beach cabin was calling her.

  *

  By the time Charlotte got down the path to the beach, a steady drizzle had set in. Nothing too heavy, but enough to keep most people away. Aside from the odd dog-walker passing by, she had the beach all to herself.

  She had left some dog towels in the cabin the day before and the first thing she did after undoing the padlock was to fish them out and give Molly a good rubdown. Molly looked out from behind the long hair that covered her eyes and groaned.

  ‘Don’t moan – I get enough of that from the kids! I know you hate the rain, but everything will end up smelling of wet dog if I don’t dry you off.’

  Molly licked her face by way of apology and, once that was done, she settled down on her dog blanket while Charlotte put the kettle on.

  Looking out at the turbulent greys and greens of the surf, whipped up by the rain, Charlotte thought she liked the beach even more today. There was something wonderfully liberating about being here alone. She’d had to get used to being by herself, with Ed away from home so much, but this was a different type of alone. Solitude rather than loneliness. She liked it. The thought of having this on your doorstep every day was hugely appealing and she could see why Helen had come to Pendruggan and stayed put. Maybe when the kids were older …

  She dismissed the thought. No good daydreaming about something that could never happen – not the way things were.

  Taking her sketchpad and pencils from the cupboard, she settled herself down on a deckchair on the veranda, well out of the rain. Then she began to draw.

  *

  Charlotte had completely lost track of time when a voice broke her concentration. On looking up she was surprised and delighted to see Helen Merrifield, accompanied by a lively Jack Russell terrier who danced around her feet. Helen hailed her and headed over. Charlotte waved back, laid her drawing down by the deckchair and put the kettle on. She had no idea how long she’d been there but the weather had brightened.

  ‘Good afternoon, Charlotte. How are you today?’

  ‘Afternoon? What time is it?’

  Helen looked at her watch. ‘Coming up to one o’clock.’

  ‘Crikey! I’ve been here for hours. Cuppa?’

  ‘Yes, please, I’m parched.’

  Helen pulled out another deckchair and plonked herself down on it, watching as her Jack Russell greeted Molly, the pair of them nose to nose, tails wagging, and then sniffing each other’s bum in a doggy hello.

  ‘What’s your dog’s name?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘Jack – and he’s not mine, he belongs to Piran, in as much as he belongs to anyone. He’s a law unto himself, that dog. He seems to have taken a fancy to yours.’

  Jack was chasing Molly in circles around the beach. Despite the difference in size, Jack seemed to have the upper hand.

  Charlotte laughed. ‘Poor Molly, she’s like a giddy schoolgirl. Has Jack been neutered?’

  Helen snorted. ‘No dog of Piran’s would have his knackers tampered with. Molly?’

  ‘No idea. Don’t think so …’

  ‘Oh, well, a marriage made in heaven. The mind boggles. Is that your drawing?’ Helen picked up the sketchpad from her feet. The picture was a brooding mass of greys and greens, depicting the turbulent surf of earlier. The colours were vivid and dramatic and the picture perfectly caught the atmosphere of Shellsand Bay. ‘You’re very good, Charlotte. Is this the sort of thing you do at the theatre you were telling me about?’

  ‘Not quite.’ Charlotte joined her, handing over a mug of steaming English breakfast tea. It wasn’t a green-tea sort of day. ‘The sets are bigger, so you can’t be so precise. It’s more about getting the right feel for a production and creating a canvas that helps the performers tell the story. You have to think a bit differently.’

  ‘Do you enjoy it?’

  Charlotte thought for a moment, looking out to the horizon. ‘Yes, I do. It’s not the same as working on TV sets, not as exhilarating, but you get to be creative. You have to work very closely with the director, channelling his vision …’ she trailed off and Helen could sense something beneath.

  ‘I can imagine. It’s a collaboration.’

  ‘Yes, Henry’s been very …’ – Charlotte searched for the right word – ‘supportive.’

  Helen didn’t pry further. ‘How’s the holiday?’

  ‘Oh, not too bad. The usual bickering, but it’s always like that, isn’t it?’

  ‘Tell me about it!’ Helen said with feeling. ‘I’ve lost count of the family holidays that have been marred by squabbles and mood swings and tantrums. They can be quite a trial. All too often it’s a relief to go home.’

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘It’s nowhere near as bad as that. It makes a nice change for us to be together. And this is absolutely wonderful.’ She threw her hand out expansively at Shellsand Bay. ‘It’s just …’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me,’ Helen said sympathetically. ‘It’s hard for everyone to rub along sometimes, isn’t it? Families change and grow, and not always at the same rate. I had a husband who spent most of our holidays chatting up the barmaid or trying to cadge telephone numbers from young waitresses. One day I woke up and realised that, while I’d changed and matured, my silly husband Gray was still the same insecure man-child he’d been twenty-odd years ago. It was liberating to realise I wasn’t going to put up with it any more.’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘Yes, we do change. I can’t even remember what I was like when Ed and I first met. I must have been quite confident, but I think it was more bravado than anything. Ed was so intense
, took everything so seriously.’ She watched a small boat chugging far out at sea, tossed gently by the waves. ‘He still does take it all so seriously. I know he seems like a lovely easygoing guy, but he’s a worrier, forever driving himself, like he’s on a treadmill he can’t get off of.’

  Helen sipped at her tea. ‘Maybe you should swap roles for a while.’

  ‘He’d never be able to do that.’

  ‘Try him. You never know.’

  Charlotte frowned, thinking.

  ‘Why not suggest that you both give it a trial run?’ said Helen. ‘He should embrace change and so should you. If your marriage is solid, then it’ll be good for both of you – sometimes a marriage needs a helping hand to get it over that midlife hump. None of us stay the same all our lives, we grow and we change – it’s human nature.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Charlotte didn’t look convinced. Was their marriage solid? ‘Are you going back up to the village now? I’ll come with you.’

  They packed up and Charlotte put Molly on the lead. Jack didn’t have one.

  ‘Got time for that village tour? We can pop in and say hello to Polly, who lives next door to me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘By the way, Piran’s offered to take you all out on his boat – the weather looks like it’s going in the right direction, so how about this afternoon?’

  ‘What a great idea! Thanks, Helen.’

  ‘It’s no problem. I’ll text Piran.’

  ‘Not just for that … I mean, you know … the tea and sympathy.’

  ‘Any time.’

  The two women exchanged a hug and headed back towards Pendruggan.

  *

  Charlotte loved Polly’s cottage. It was full of wind chimes and the scent of jasmine. Polly gave her some Tregothan tea – ‘It’s good for your chakras’ – and she fed Molly an organic vegetarian dog treat, which Molly ate politely though with a certain lack of enthusiasm.

  There was a bounce in Charlotte’s step when she got back to the cottage to find Ed and Sam on the sofa watching surf videos on YouTube.

  ‘We went to Queenie’s,’ Ed told her. ‘I’m afraid she didn’t have any oggys left for our lunch, but I got some stuff for sandwiches.’