A Cornish Summer

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘Really? I thought you liked him?’

  She’d wrinkled her nose over her muesli. ‘Bit too Fisherman’s Friend and Aran jumpers for me. Too much of a Barnacle Bill. I’m more of a Larry the Lounge Lizard girl. Can’t really see him at the Donmar, can you? I might pop along later, but don’t wait if you’re going out to eat. I might still be at my canvas.’

  I told this to the others now. The last bit, about not waiting. Not the Barnacle Bill, obviously.

  Babs smiled into her drink. ‘Sensible girl,’ she murmured.

  I frowned. ‘Why?’

  She widened her eyes innocently. ‘Making the most of being down here. You don’t get that view in London, do you? Why waste it? Anyway, Flora, what have you been doing today?’

  I had an idea she was up to something, but Babs was always up to something, so I told them about going into Truro for lunch, and my astonishment at its total transformation from my youth. How old I felt suddenly. Then I told Babs about Shona, filling Ted in on what she did and how influential she’d become. ‘She might be reading the autocue in a smart suit but she’s still very much the investigative reporter with the social conscience,’ I told him. ‘She’s like a bloodhound, always has been.’

  ‘Love Shona,’ enthused Babs, who was wearing a very chic denim jumpsuit together with pink canvas shoes. ‘I bet she sorted you out.’ Her blue eyes twinkled at me above her gin.

  ‘We had a delightful lunch, thank you,’ I told her evenly. ‘And how exactly did you fill your day?’ There was more than a touch of thrust in my retort, slightly bored as I was with the whole world jumping on my case and not necessarily examining their own ostrich tendencies first. Mum said Babs had been left so much money by Filippo that she never had to do anything, but she always claimed to be frightfully busy. Never a spare moment in the day. She ignored my dig.

  ‘Ted and I went to Porthchapel, didn’t we, darling?’

  Ted rolled his eyes. ‘Babs maintains I give Cornwall a bad press and wanted me to see a pristine, plastic-free beach. She says the problem is not home-grown at all, and it’s all to do with the Mexicans. Which of course is bollocks.’

  ‘Except where we went today was indeed litter free, agreed?’ she insisted.

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Because it’s in the thermal tide surge, which means that any debris comes from the UK – i.e. none. Whereas Portethal, for instance, where you’re mostly working and finding all that crap, takes in the current from the Gulf of Mexico. They’re absolutely dreadful about chucking their tacos wrappers about. A crisp packet from Guatemala was washed up the other day – imagine! So irresponsible. Tell me I’m wrong,’ she demanded.

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ he agreed. ‘And that story was indeed reported in the Daily Mail recently, that great oracle of truth. But without wishing to be patronizing, the oceanography is a great deal more complicated than that and it’s got nothing to do with the thermals. Oh, hello there.’ He broke off to greet a couple of students who’d come up to say thanks for the drink. I watched him joke around with them, well liked beyond his wallet, clearly. A couple more drifted across to join in and Babs and I stepped back to accommodate them. He threw back his head and roared at a joke.

  ‘Frightfully attractive, isn’t he?’ murmured Babs, following my eyes.

  I shrugged. ‘He’s all right.’ I sipped my drink.

  She was about to object, when suddenly she grabbed my arm. ‘Oh darling, do look over there,’ she hissed. ‘There’s Peter, with that lovely Janey.’

  I glanced across to a table at the far end of the terrace, where Peter and Janey were indeed perched on the edge, having a drink.

  ‘Oh great! I’ll go and say hi.’ I made to go.

  ‘No, no,’ Babs whispered, keeping her hand on my arm. ‘He’s having a lovely time, leave him. Been sailing with her all day, just the two of them in the Wayfarer. I saw from the beach. Lovely.’ She smirked.

  I laughed. ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Babs. She’s in her thirties! He’s seventeen!’

  She made her famous face: the one with the arched eyebrows and the dancing, irresponsible eyes. Lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘What’s age got to do with anything? I went out to dinner with a very young man recently.’

  ‘You’re turning into Emma Woodhouse,’ I told her, as Janey, having spotted us, came weaving across.

  ‘Your son saved me from a very tiresome day today,’ she confided when we’d greeted one another. ‘Your ex-mother-in-law wanted me to make up a bridge four, which I have to say, did not have me salivating at the mouth. Happily, Christina fell on her sword, and Pete and I vamoosed and went sailing. He’s great company. You’ve done a terrific job, Flora.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I beamed. ‘What about the others?’

  ‘Tommy and Hugo were holed up all day in his study, can you believe it? On a day like this! We’re supposedly meeting them in the Lobster Pot later for supper, but I’m not holding my breath. And I say “we”,’ she glanced behind, ‘but Pete’s just met some of his buddies. So now I’ve probably lost him, too.’ I looked across to where Peter was standing up and chatting animatedly to some boys his age, his cheeks flushed. I recognized one from school. ‘Can I persuade you two to come along instead?’ She leaned forward conspiratorially, including Babs with her darting eyes. ‘If I’m honest, I’ve got the most horrific cabin fever. If I have to stay in that house another night for dinner, I swear to God I’ll top myself. I was tempted to look you up, Babs, see if you fancied another ride.’

  ‘Oh, any time. I’m your girl. And frankly I’m astonished you can stay in that woman’s house at all.’

  Janey laughed. ‘Oh, woah, I didn’t quite say that. And anyway, it’s Roger’s, too, surely?’

  ‘Well …’ Babs needed no further prompting. In my peripheral vision, I saw Ted rolling his eyes at me in despairing apology, trying to disentangle himself from the young, so I left Babs and Janey to it. I was reasonably sure Janey had deliberately asked a leading question and wanted all the dirt. Those two were not dissimilar. I made my way towards him.

  ‘I’m besieged!’ Ted wailed as we moved along the wall and found a quieter spot.

  ‘It’s Goodbye, Mr Chips all over again,’ I told him. ‘You’ve lost all authority and become one of the gang. Slippery slope, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Not entirely sure that’s what happened to Mr Chips, but I know what you mean. Trouble is, I find them much more entertaining than some of the fossils in my department.’

  ‘That’s because the fossils have all got spouses and children and you’re still living the single life, like this lot.’ Ah, clever Flora. Investigative stuff. Shona would approve.

  He made a face. ‘Up to a point. I was married, actually.’

  ‘Oh, right. I’m sorry. Ended in tears?’

  ‘Sadly, yes.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘Both.’ He hesitated. ‘But hers mainly, I guess. I mean, obviously I was sad. But I just wasn’t ready. We were students together. Got married far too young.’

  ‘Yes, me too, I suppose.’ I realized it was the first time I’d admitted it might have been a mistake. Both to myself and someone else.

  ‘You regret it?’

  ‘Well, I certainly don’t regret Peter.’ I nodded across the sea of heads in his general direction. ‘Tall, blond, stripy blue shirt.’

  He followed my gaze. Then his eyes widened. ‘God, you did marry young.’

  I laughed. ‘He looks older than he is. He’s only seventeen.’

  ‘Still. Don’t know what I’ve been doing with my life.’ He sank gloomily into his beer.

  ‘None in your camp, then?’

  ‘No, thank the Lord. I mean, not that I don’t love children. But it does rather complicate matters.’

  Peter had intercepted my glance and was coming across.

  ‘Hello, darling. I see Tom’s here?’

  ‘Yeah, and Adam,’ he nodded at a tall, dark-haired boy, ‘who I was telling you about.’
/>   ‘Well, this is Ted Fleming. He’s a marine biologist.’

  ‘More of an environmental scientist, actually, but I’ll take that. Hi.’ They shook hands.

  ‘Oh, right, that’s what my friend Sam wants to do, when he goes to university,’ Peter told Ted.

  ‘Oh, OK. Where’s he applied, d’you know?’

  And off they went; waffling on about courses and different degrees and what have you, and I noticed how well Ted clearly got on with young people. Well, he worked with them, for God’s sake. It would be like me not getting on with a paintbrush. But also how, a few minutes later, when they’d finished their academic man-chat, and Ted had offered to have a word with Sam, and Peter had thanked him effusively and then gone back to join his mates, having shaken Ted’s mighty paw heartily, Peter had given me an admiring look. A look that clearly said, Much better, Mum. Go for it.

  I hoped to God Ted hadn’t seen it, but there’s precious little subtlety about a seventeen-year-old. I became absorbed with my drink, pretending it was absolutely crucial to extract my lemon and give it a little suck, something I can’t imagine was that attractive to witness.

  ‘So are you Lobster Potting with the Bellingdon crew?’ he asked, when I finally dared to drop my lemon and meet his eye, which, annoyingly, was amused.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. It’s horribly expensive.’ It was, but Peter would no doubt be paid for by his father if he turned up, and Janey, who’d invited him, if he didn’t. ‘Anyway,’ I lied, wishing I hadn’t mentioned money, ‘I see enough of them during working hours, as you can imagine.’

  ‘Fisherman’s Retreat?’

  ‘Oh – you mean …?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Gosh. Quite the discerning local. How d’you know about that?’ The Retreat was a closely guarded secret. Tucked away down a side street, it was in a deceptively grotty part of town.

  ‘Babs took me.’

  ‘Ah, yes. She would.’ I hesitated, glancing about. ‘It’s just … I’m a bit worried about Celia. She said she might come down later, but—’

  ‘She’s over there.’

  He pointed through the crowd towards the pub. Celia was indeed standing talking to Babs and Janey, smiling and laughing. She saw me, waved and grinned. Phew. I was relieved.

  ‘OK,’ I agreed. I put my glass down on the wall. ‘Lead on, Macduff.’

  He scratched his head and looked perplexed. ‘Ah. Well. There you have me, I’m afraid. I talk a big locals’ game, but I’m not entirely … up the high street, peel off left somewhere and head back along the cliff?’

  I laughed. ‘Not even close. Why would we go into town to get back to the coast, Mr Seashore Man? Follow me.’ I vaulted, rather neatly, I thought, over the low sea wall to the beach, and brushed off my hands on my jeans. After he’d followed suit – almost as neatly – we strode off along the beach together, into the gently gathering gloom.

  I’m not entirely sure we needed two bottles of wine at supper, one with the prawns and one with the steak, but, as is so often the way when you first meet someone and sit down to break bread together, it oiled the wheels. I was also quite pleased to see he seemed – not nervous, that’s the wrong word – but as apprehensive as I was. Not a seasoned dater, I’d hazard. For a date, I’d realized as I sat down, this surely was. At Peter’s age, and for some years beyond, the same scenario can easily be interpreted as a casual supper with a new mate. But when two people of a certain age sit opposite each other at a small table, so small their knees are almost touching, in a candlelit, crowded restaurant – he’d clearly booked – and share their past, their chequered histories, and are open and frank with one another about their mistakes, their disappointments, their failings, as well as their successes and sources of happiness, it comes under a more intimate heading. On the success and happiness front we both reaffirmed that we’d been lucky enough to have fulfilling, absorbing careers that we adored, and whilst I admitted mine had occasionally given me an excuse to withdraw from the evolutionary struggle, he told me his had very definitely contributed to the break-up of his marriage.

  ‘Jilly asked me one morning, as I set off for the Summer Isles for the third time that year, if I preferred them to her.’

  ‘Oh. And?’

  ‘I had to admit, I did. She said she thought she should leave and waited for me to say “Please don’t.” I didn’t exactly pack her bag but I certainly didn’t dissuade her. And I remember feeling …’ he hesitated.

  ‘Relieved?’

  ‘Yes, relieved. When she left. Sobbing. Awful.’ He did look thoroughly ashamed as he wiped a chip gloomily around his plate.

  ‘Not awful, you can’t help how you feel. I’m sure Hugo felt exactly the same when he finally told me he was leaving me for Christina. And I’m not convinced she should have asked you to choose like that. It’s not an either–or situation.’

  ‘Except I was secretly pleased she’d made it one. And she knew I was. She was the one with the courage, eventually.’

  ‘Ah. Yes. I see. And I wasn’t. I knew, too, you see. And I didn’t give Hugo an out.’

  ‘You had a baby.’

  ‘Not when I knew for the first time, I didn’t. When he first met her.’ Sailing across a river on a rope. Wide smile.

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  I looked over his shoulder at the bar: people were perched on stools with late-night cocktails. My eyes came back to him. ‘In fact, in the spirit of full disclosure, Ted, I’m not sure I’m a very nice person.’

  He laughed. ‘And I’m not sure you can be the judge of that.’

  ‘No, but it’s true. Jilly called time and gave you your freedom. She wasn’t grasping and greedy, like me. Hanging on in there.’

  ‘Which could also be interpreted as desperately in love and frightened to death.’

  Our eyes locked. It was the last word that had done it.

  ‘Yes. I was.’

  ‘But you never …?’

  ‘Only on one occasion. When I was driving. Peter was in the back and a wall loomed up suddenly around a corner. I remember thinking, I could just drive into that, very fast. But no. It was a moment. Nothing more. Painting saved me. And Peter.’

  ‘Whereas Jilly had nothing,’ he said sadly. ‘Oh, she worked in a marketing consultancy, but it was a job. She didn’t love it.’

  I could hear both of us wondering whether that made us more compatible: because we both had absorbing careers. Whether I’d say ‘yippee’ if he went to the South Pole for months on end, whilst I holed up in the attic with my easel and plenty of canvases. Yes. Probably. In fact, definitely. The cogs were whirring too loudly, though, and in another moment, I’d instinctively shied away. Found myself looking at my watch. I think he might have been about to suggest a cocktail at the bar but instead he said:

  ‘Time to go?’

  I was relieved but cross with myself. Come on, Flora. Join in. Lovely man. Unattached, clearly likes you, very attractive, too, as Babs had so succinctly pointed out. In fact, as he paid the bill, it struck me rather forcibly that I wasn’t at all sure I would mind him kissing me. I inwardly boggled as he smiled up at the waiter, pocketing his credit card. Lordy. Had I really thought that? This was surely progress.

  As we wandered outside into the cool night air, a canopy of stars twinkled down from above. The estuary glittered with lights from the boats. Suddenly I was bold enough to say:

  ‘Walk along the beach?’

  He’d been looking around futilely for a taxi, but he glanced down at me, delighted.

  ‘Capital idea.’

  Yes, lovely man. He could easily have suggested it himself, but was taking his cue from me, not pushing anything. I liked that. I realized that if I was attracted to men at all these days, it was men like this, who didn’t push, and who let me slowly come to them. And there was plenty of time, I reasoned. The winged chariot was not at our backs, if neither of us wanted it to be. When we reached the beach, and walked down the steps on to the sand, he put his hands
in his pockets and didn’t even attempt to take my hand, or even my arm. As we chatted and meandered along the seashore, laughing as we stopped occasionally to skim stones, or as a wave nearly reached our feet and we had to hop out of the way, it occurred to me, that since I was here for the duration of the summer, and he was going nowhere, we really did have world enough and time. And that gentle consideration and slow progress were not, for once, a prevarication. A stalling of real life. But a luxury I could, and should, afford.

  16

  As Ted and I rounded the corner to where the rocks crept in towards the sea, we both saw the camp fire ahead of us at the same time. Flames leaped into the night sky and snapped and crackled in the darkness. A party was in full swing around it. Silhouettes of darkened figures surrounded it, and music was playing, no doubt from an iPhone, but pretty loudly. People were sitting or standing, swaying or half dancing, glasses or bottles in hands, cigarettes glowing.

  ‘Is that still allowed?’ I asked in surprise as we made our way towards it.

  ‘What, the fire or the music?’

  ‘Both, I suppose.’

  Ted shrugged. ‘I imagine the music is fine until someone complains, and the fire is OK unless the beach is privately owned. Which I gather has always been the Bellingdons’ bugbear.’

  I caught the satisfaction in his voice and glanced up at him. ‘I’m a Bellingdon.’

  He smiled down at his shoes. ‘Yes, OK. Point taken. I’m being chippy. But they must be sore as hell they sold it.’

  ‘Actually, Roger’s grandfather donated it to the village; he was quite the philanthropist. But no, I don’t imagine Belinda’s ecstatic about it. Iris told me she never comes down because it grates too much. If she did own it, of course, it would gleam like a new pin. She’d have the Hoover out twice a day, no litter at all, so maybe private ownership is a good thing?’ I ventured mischievously.

  He grinned good-naturedly. ‘And she’d sit on her pristine beach in splendid isolation with not a hint of hoi polloi in sight. Speaking of which, don’t we know those two reprobates?’