Christmas on the Little Cornish Isles

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Hugo as Basil licked his hands enthusiastically. ‘You ridiculous hound.’ Hugo clipped the lead to Basil’s collar and ruffled his ears. He really did love his dog, who was probably his only real companion on Petroc apart from paid staff. Maisie felt briefly but genuinely sorry for him.

  ‘I’m surprised you made it over in this weather. You can’t even see Petroc tonight.’

  ‘I could find my way over that channel in worse than this, you know that. And I’ve been to sign a contract with one of the islanders earlier. You’ll forgive me if I don’t say who.’ Hugo had recovered his composure fast.

  Maisie’s heart sank but she was determined not to rise to the bait. ‘It’s none of my business,’ said Maisie as her sympathy ebbed away.

  ‘Come on, you’re dying to know. We’re both fighting for the soul of Gull in our own ways, aren’t we? Only you think you’re on the side of the angels while I’m some evil monster who wants to destroy the place.’

  Maisie laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I only want to help people keep their independence.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re organising this renovation venture for their sake, not yours? Are you sure there’s nothing personal in it?’

  ‘Personal?’

  ‘Against me? You never did me the courtesy of returning my calls, did you?’ he said, then smiled. ‘I expect you have so many other distractions to occupy you at the moment.’

  Maisie was annoyed by his tone but tried to keep things civil. ‘I can assure you there’s nothing “personal” except me wanting to help my neighbours, and I’m sorry that I haven’t found time to arrange a face-to-face meeting with you. I’ve been very busy with the pub and other things and er … I heard you were away on business,’ said Maisie, clutching at straws. The mist seemed thicker than ever and she was growing cold chatting to Hugo outside.

  ‘Well, we’re here alone together now,’ he said. ‘And we may not have another chance.’

  She lifted her wrist as if to check her watch. ‘We’ll miss Patrick’s talk if we don’t get a move on.’

  ‘Ah yes, Nature Boy … I’m looking forward to that too.’

  ‘You’re interested in wildlife, then?’ said Maisie innocently.

  ‘I’m more interested in Mr McKinnon. You didn’t know a lot about him before you took him on, did you?’

  She fired up. ‘He had excellent references and I was more than satisfied by his reasons for taking the job and his previous experience. That’s all I need to know and might I say, Hugo, that whatever an employee tells me relating to work or his personal life is no one else’s business.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to pry; I’m merely concerned about you.’

  Maisie ignored him. ‘We’re going to be late, so if you really want to hear this talk, you’d better get a move on.’

  Maisie marched off, her torch beam wavering as she hurried the short distance up to the hall. Basil barked behind her as if trying to call her back, but she kept on moving.

  Hugo trotted up to her. ‘If you’d bothered to accept my invitation for a private meeting, you’d have realised that I care for you genuinely.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what you mean and I don’t want to know. I’m going to this talk and you can do what you like,’ said Maisie.

  ‘He’s not what you think, you know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Patrick McKinnon.’

  Maisie stopped. ‘What do you know that I don’t?’

  ‘Nothing … nothing definite. Yet. But why would a bloke like him turn up on Gull in the winter? It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘If you must know, Patrick made a promise to his dying friend and, before you ask, those reasons are personal. In fact, he put his own life on hold to come here. If you can’t understand that kind of loyalty, it’s not my problem.’

  ‘A promise to a dying friend? How noble. What a golden boy he’s turning out to be.’

  ‘This isn’t doing you any favours, Hugo. You can’t handle that Patrick is happy here and that some people might like and respect a stranger more than you.’ The moment the words were out of her mouth, Maisie could have bitten them back, but Hugo had tipped her over the edge. ‘Shit. It’s none of your business what Patrick does or what I do. Now, I am going to this talk.’

  A warm wet tongue licked her hand. Basil wanted to stay, but Hugo had other ideas.

  ‘Actually, I think I’ll give it a miss after all. It’s obvious I’m not wanted on Gull these days, and if you can’t see beyond Mr McKinnon’s dubious charms, there’s nothing more I can do. If he turns out not to be what you think, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Come on, Basil, we’ve outstayed our welcome.’

  And he left without another word.

  Maisie pulled the curtains open the next morning. Damn it. She still couldn’t make out the beach from the windows of the flat. Everyone, most of all her, would be disappointed, but unless the murk cleared soon, she would have to call off the barbecue.

  After her encounter with Hugo, she’d spent most of Patrick’s talk fuming about Hugo’s insinuations. He could only be envious of Patrick’s popularity and suspicious that he and Maisie were having an affair, which they were, of course.

  Well, it was none of Hugo’s bloody business and Maisie was determined not to share his ridiculous accusations with anyone, least of all Patrick. She’d simmered down a bit by the end of the evening, laughing at Patrick’s funny slides of wallabies, koalas and various exotic creatures. The hot and sunny land he’d shown in the slides seemed impossibly far away, and even though the audience had been small, Maisie could tell they’d enjoyed some light relief from the gloom outside.

  She joined her parents for breakfast, debating with them whether to post a notice on the Driftwood website announcing the following day’s barbecue was cancelled, when she heard a boat engine. She ran outside to see the Kraken puttering past the pub, transporting Hugo to the main island. She may not have been pleased to see Hugo, but she was delighted to see that the weather seemed to have suddenly cleared up for Patrick’s party. As if he was glad to be free of the fog too, Basil barked joyously from the stern of the boat, but Hugo was inside the cabin and, much to her relief, didn’t even glance at the pub from what Maisie could tell.

  The wind was blowing again and above her invisible hands were tearing apart the veil of fog to reveal pale blue patches. Maisie felt as if she’d landed in the Technicolor land of Oz after two days in monochrome Kansas.

  Patrick walked onto the terrace. ‘Game on again?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Abso-bloody-lutely,’ said Maisie.

  He rested his arm around her back and squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’d love to celebrate properly. It’s driven me nuts being stuck round here with you so close but not being able to do anything.’

  ‘Your Australian slides went down well while we were all stranded during the fog.’

  ‘With ten people, three of whom were me, Bev and you.’

  ‘Una and Phyllis enjoyed your cute wallaby shots.’

  ‘I’ll let you in to a secret. Those wallabies were in a wildlife park.’

  ‘Oh, you cheat!’

  ‘What they don’t know won’t hurt them. Anyway, let’s get cracking. We have an Aussie barbecue to organise and I’m expecting a delivery from the supply boat now that the fog’s lifted.’

  To Maisie’s relief, there were no more gales or mists on the morning of the barbecue. In fact, the skies were as clear and blue as midsummer: a perfect December Saturday. Maisie wondered if any other place in the UK could possibly hold an Australian barbecue under such clear skies. They were wrapped up in fleeces and coats of course but Patrick still declared that he might have been back in Melbourne.

  Humming along to a Christmas mix on Maisie’s iPod, Maisie and Hazel were busy preparing food in the kitchen all morning. The Aussie Party was a chance to bond further with the neighbours and talk about their plans in a relaxed atmosphere. Maisie was proud of how people had rallied to
the idea and was eager to show her appreciation with the party. Ray had decided to go fishing after helping Patrick start to set up the barbecue. When Maisie finally got outside to the terrace, her jaw dropped.

  Two gazebos were pitched, both with green and gold tinsel entwined up the poles. The pub BBQ stood next to a half oil drum affair. Aussie-flag bunting had been strung between the pub and gazebos and flapped defiantly in the wind. Crowded House’s ‘Take the Weather with You’ screeched out from speakers set up on one of the patio tables.

  Patrick was stationed behind an oil drum barbecue, his hands black with charcoal. He was wearing a leather stockman’s hat and an elf apron and was singing – Maisie used the term loosely – along to the song.

  He hadn’t noticed her yet so she savoured the sight for a few seconds longer, hoping her eardrums wouldn’t be perforated in the meantime. Never mind, that hat was very cool and the elf apron was kind of cute too.

  ‘Take the weather with youuuuu!’

  Maisie winced. Mercifully, Patrick started to whistle the chorus. Thank God for that. His whistling was in tune.

  The Crowded House track finished and a new one started. Maisie recognised it from the first few bars and rolled her eyes. Men at Work … ‘Down Under’.

  Patrick had thrown himself headlong into the spirit of things. What next? ‘My Boomerang Won’t Come Back’?

  She hurried towards him, trying to keep the grin off her face. ‘You really have gone for it, haven’t you?’

  Spotting her, Patrick grimaced. ‘Just you wait. We’ve got Slade next, then Mariah Carey and Wizzard.’

  Maisie stuck out her tongue in disgust. ‘I had to listen to blinking “I Wish It Could be Christmas Every Day” a hundred times a week from mid November in the King’s Head. I think I might chuck myself off Hell Cove cliff if I hear it one more time.’

  Patrick wagged a charcoal-blackened finger at her. ‘Now now, that’s not the spirit. Give the customers what they want, although my Oz-Pom Christmas mix is on a one-hour loop. Everyone might be ready to jump off a cliff by the end of the day.’

  ‘If you plan on singing along, they’ll be queuing up to leap.’

  Patrick feigned a hurt look, which Maisie found annoyingly sexy. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss, but secretly you’re impressed by my grotto. Why don’t you come and sit on Santa’s knee and tell me what you really want for Christmas?’ His eyes sparkled wickedly.

  Resisting the urge to drag him into her room, Maisie cleared her throat. ‘Where did you get all this bunting from?’

  ‘Had it shipped in from Melbourne specially.’

  ‘No. How much did that cost?’

  ‘Oh, loads … Actually, it was lying around under the stage in the sports clubhouse in Hugh Town. The cricket club had an Ashes victory party a few years back and forgot about it, but Will came across it when he was hauling out the spare tables for an OAP’s Christmas lunch. Took me bloody ages to untangle it and hang it up. Do you like it?’ He planted his grubby hands on his hips and stood back to admire his handiwork.

  ‘I’m … speechless.’

  ‘That would make a change.’

  ‘You cheeky sod.’

  Without warning, Patrick scooped her into his arms. ‘Yeah, but you like me.’

  Momentarily breathless by being swept into his embrace, Maisie was filled with delighted horror at the pressure of his charcoally hands on her bottom, but still made no effort to push him away. ‘Your hands are filthy,’ she croaked.

  ‘They’re not the only thing … If you could see what I’m thinking right now …’ He dived in for a long, hot kiss that set every nerve tingling deliciously.

  Eventually he ended the kiss but still kept hold of her.

  ‘Watch it. Someone might see us.’ Her protest was decidedly wimpy.

  ‘No chance. I thought you said your mum had popped to the Post Office and your dad’s still wrestling with Jaws by the look of it.’

  ‘Yeah, but the hills still have eyes. I want to be careful.’

  ‘OK.’ Patrick dropped her like a hot potato and reached for the matches. ‘You’re right. There’s no time for bed, we’ve got a cheesy Christmas party to organise.’

  ‘Woo hoo!’

  They both snapped to attention at the sound of a woman’s voice. Maisie recognised it instantly. ‘Phew. It’s only Jess.’

  Patrick waved his BBQ tongs in greeting to Jess who was laden with carrier bags, a cool bag and a rucksack. ‘Wish I hadn’t let you go now. Jess knows all our secrets,’ he said to Maisie.

  ‘Too many. God, she looks like a packhorse. Look at all those bags.’

  ‘Yes. That’ll be your ’roo steaks,’ said Patrick.

  ‘Wait there! I’m coming to help,’ Maisie called and ran to intercept Jess before she toppled over.

  Maisie helped unpack the meat and load it into the meat fridge at the pub kitchen. She was relieved to find they weren’t actually ’roo steaks, but beef and lamb steaks, burgers and sausages from the farm on St Saviour’s. Jess had insisted on bringing them herself.

  ‘There you go. Extra burgers, sausages, and steaks. Should be enough to go round with your other supplies,’ she said.

  Having washed his hands, Patrick joined them.

  ‘Great. Thanks for doing this. I already have the prawns on ice. Scilly Seafood delivered them yesterday,’ said Patrick.

  ‘Are you sure we’ll need all this stuff?’ said Maisie, delighted to see the food but also worried that there would be waste.

  ‘I didn’t want to run out and we can freeze the rest for other events,’ said Patrick. ‘Now it’s stashed away, I need to get some prep done for the veggies.’

  As lunchtime approached, it was all hands to the pump. Ray was back from his fishing trip with Javid, bearing half a dozen sea bass, which he and Javid were busy gutting in the kitchen. Hazel was chopping lemons and limes and restocking the ice bucket. Patrick had been busy whipping up his ‘secret’ Fingle BBQ sauce, and was now presiding over the barbecue, keeping everyone else away like a faithful dog guarding its master. Maisie and Jess had helped with salads and were just finishing stacking Christmas paper plates, cutlery, baps and hot dog rolls on the table next to the barbecue. Hazel was in charge of serving up the wine, none of it crap, despite Patrick’s jokes. He’d used a merchant on the mainland and had had it shipped over.

  The barbecue was soon dying down to the embers ready for the meat to go on. ‘What’s that noise?’ Maisie asked, hearing singing from the direction of the jetty.

  Patrick listened and shook his head. ‘I have an idea. Bloody hell …’

  ‘Waltzing Matilda! Waltzing Matilda … ’

  The singing swelled in volume and Patrick and Maisie ran to the path. Around the corner from the jetty, a party of guys marched along.

  Patrick groaned. ‘You have got to be kidding me.’

  He shot a glance at Jess who was convulsed in giggles. Maisie held out her hands in amazement just as a band of rag-taggle men from eighteen to sixty marched around the corner. They were all wearing hats with corks attached, most of them homemade – an assortment of trilbies, cowboy hats and even a pink straw boater. Will was at the head of them followed by most of the Scilly Pirates and Corsairs.

  ‘You blokes are seriously in need of help,’ Patrick shouted.

  The guys sang louder. Maisie started laughing. Patrick was shaking his head. Will was grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘No one wears a cork hat, mate. Like no one but a dork of a tourist. And we don’t sing “Waltzing Matilda” at Christmas. Or ever, if we can help it.’

  ‘Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me!’

  Will grabbed Patrick and danced him round to roars of laughter and whoops of encouragement.

  Despite his groans of embarrassment, Patrick let Will steer him about the terrace for a few seconds more before escaping behind the BBQ.

  ‘We had to look the part. Make you feel at home.’

  Patrick shook his head and laughed.r />
  Patrick was popular. Will liked him, the guys liked him. Maisie could tell. He was one of the boys, that was for sure. Will wouldn’t have organised such a jokey entrance if he hadn’t approved of Patrick.

  Will rubbed his hands. ‘That smells good. Where’s this food? We’re starving.’

  Maisie weaved her way in and out of the bar and terrace. There must have been forty people inside and out and many more had come and gone or were arriving. It was a great turnout for a tiny place like Gull. The food was disappearing as fast as Patrick could slap it onto the coals. Ray had joined him. Maisie’s dad seemed well enough and he was certainly in his element, clad in a Santa apron, wielding the tongs.

  Maisie saw the vicar headed for her, burger in hand.

  ‘Hello. How are you?’ Rev Bev said. ‘This was a great idea. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks, but it’s Patrick’s baby really.’

  Bev smiled. ‘I thought he might have some hand in it, but you’ve all made it happen. The slide evening was fun too, even if there was only a small crowd.’

  ‘He’s turning out to be a regular pillar of the community,’ Maisie joked as Patrick handed out hot dogs to a queue of eager punters.

  ‘He is. And to donate all those slates to the Bartons was beyond the call of duty.’

  Maisie did a tiny double take. ‘Patrick donated the slates?’

  ‘Hasn’t he confessed yet …’ Bev winced. ‘Oh dear. Sugar. I didn’t realise you didn’t know that he paid for them.’

  Maisie turned her slack jaw into a broad smile. ‘Oh, he did. I’d just forgotten.’

  Bev sighed with relief. ‘Phew. I was worried I’d put my foot in it there. It was very generous of him, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Very. Um … You’ll have to excuse me, Bev. I can see Dad signalling. I think we need more burgers.’

  With her mind working overtime on Bev’s revelations about Patrick paying for the roof, Maisie fetched the remaining stock of meat from the fridge and took it to the barbecue before seeking out Will.

  He’d just bitten into a large hot dog when Maisie beckoned him to the side of the pub.