Trenouth

by Bea Green

  Tony gave her a puzzled look and waited patiently while Elinor asked the barman for a gin and tonic. He ordered another non-alcoholic beer.

  ‘Why aren’t you having anything to drink? Are you a teetotaller?’ asked Elinor, curiously.

  ‘No, I’m not teetotal actually. I just have to be careful on a Friday night because I’m on dawn patrol.’

  Elinor stared at him.

  ‘Dawn patrol?’

  ‘Sorry. That’s surf speak again. I’m going surfing first thing in the morning, so I need a clear head. Look, what you just said about not being good enough is complete and utter rubbish. You heard Mick. He thinks you’re ready to try the waves at Constantine.’

  ‘I know, it was nice of him. But in reality I’m so clueless and fearful. I’ll just have them all mocking me, like they were mocking that other guy tonight.’

  ‘So? Why should you care what they think?’

  Elinor gave Tony a steely look.

  ‘It’s easy for you to say that when you surf as well as any of them.’

  ‘We all started as newbies. All of us.’

  ‘They certainly don’t behave like it,’ said Elinor, indicating their table with her thumb.

  ‘You know, one of the things you need to be able to surf well is balls. If you’re going to join us, you’re going to have to forget about your fear and what people think of you, and just go for it.’

  ‘That’s just it. You don’t understand,’ said Elinor, sensing herself getting lightheaded and looser in tongue with every passing minute but somehow unable to stop herself. ‘I’m afraid of everything. Every single little thing... I’m on the highest dose of Sertraline you can be on, all because I’m afraid of everything. I’m a total coward, in fact.’

  Tony watched her avidly, as though she was a rare species of bird that had suddenly landed in his back garden.

  ‘Don’t you get it?’ said Elinor, annoyed by his silence, and talking louder and louder in her vehement effort to be understood. ‘That’s why I’m so fascinated with surfing and with you surfers. I envy you all that freedom and fearlessness. I’ve been a prisoner to my anxiety for over a year now. It feels like it’ll never leave me. And with all the encouragement your friends give to people who aren’t as good as them, what chance have I got? I’ll always be a nervous wreck no matter what I try and do.’

  Tony cleared his throat.

  ‘Despite what you’re saying, I still think you should keep at it, Elinor. You’ve put so much work into surfing.’ He glanced at her glass, with a look that said he was starting to guess she was getting tipsy. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you do a dawn patrol with me in a week’s time? Weather permitting, of course. There’s rarely anybody else there at the crack of dawn on a Saturday.’

  While Tony calmly polished off the remains of his beer Elinor thought about his suggestion, moving her fingers up and down her glass meditatively. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Leo making his way towards her, torch in hand.

  She smiled to herself. Only Leo would think it normal to turn up at a pub with a torch. When she saw Tony peering at Leo’s torch with a bemused eye she started to giggle.

  ‘Elinor, how are you doing? Alastair’s ready to go now and take us home. Are you coming with us?’ asked Leo jovially.

  ‘Leo, this is Tony Reece.’

  ‘I gathered that,’ said Leo complacently, shaking hands with Tony. ‘She’s told me a lot about you.’

  To Elinor’s annoyance she felt herself begin to blush.

  ‘All good, I hope!’ joked Tony, looking amused and flattered at the same time.

  ‘Oh yes! Absolutely,’ said Leo, wilfully ignoring Elinor’s frantic and pointed glare. ‘She has a thing for surfers, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.’

  ‘Leo, please don’t let me hold you back. I’ve still got a drink to finish. I’ll catch a taxi and meet you back at the house,’ said Elinor, talking rapidly, striving desperately to find a way to shut her outspoken uncle up.

  ‘Don’t worry, we can wait for you to finish your drink,’ said Leo obstinately, clearly reluctant to let Elinor come home on her own.

  ‘Leo, I’m very happy to drop Elinor off,’ offered Tony, intervening in what was becoming a fraught conversation between the two of them. ‘I’ll be going soon anyway and it’s not far out of my way. I know the roads around here like the back of my hand. It’s the least I can do after subjecting Elinor to my friends tonight.’

  ‘Well that sounds like an offer we can’t refuse, doesn’t it?’ replied Leo, with what Elinor thought was a crass wink. ‘OK, I’ll leave you two to it, then. See you back at the house, Elinor.’

  Leo turned and walked back to his table where his friends were all unabashedly staring with interest at Tony and Elinor.

  31

  ‘That’s the problem with a small provincial place like this. Every little thing becomes of interest,’ muttered Tony as he turned to face the bar again.

  He called across to the barman for a packet of crisps, and when they were given to him offered some to Elinor. Elinor grabbed a handful, glad to have some stodge to soak up some of the alcohol swilling about inside of her. She crunched her way through her little pile of crisps, thinking regretfully she was going to have to go for a run in the morning.

  ‘He’s very embarrassing,’ said Elinor after a minute, feeling she was simply stating the obvious.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. He’s blunt, certainly,’ replied Tony, not pretending he didn’t know who she was talking about.

  ‘Yes, well, he likes to wind me up. He’s got a mischievous soul, my uncle does. I don’t think he’s ever grown up, really.’ Elinor popped another crisp in her mouth and continued to talk with her mouth full. She’d given up caring about the way she looked. ‘He’s obsessed with finding hidden tunnels near our house, and then when he does find one he can’t let it go. He’s convinced there are some shenanigans going on with it. It’s like living with a character out of Treasure Island.’

  ‘Barbara speaks very highly of him,’ said Tony, as if this was all there was to be said.

  ‘Yes, and what is it with you and Barbara?’

  ‘Me and Barbara?’ repeated Tony, looking thoroughly surprised.

  ‘Yes, you and Barbara,’ persisted Elinor, latching on to the topic that had been bugging her for a few days. ‘She seems to know everything about you. Like you’re lifelong friends or something. And I got the impression you’ve both been talking about me?’

  Tony started to look embarrassed, giving credence to Elinor’s suspicions.

  ‘I’ve known Barbara for a long time. She’s probably already told you but I was friends with her partner,’ said Tony quietly, adroitly circumventing Elinor’s question. He started to fidget with a couple of beer mats, balancing them on top of his empty glass.

  ‘Yes but why would you talk to her about me?’

  Tony looked at her exasperatedly.

  ‘Why do you think, Elinor? I’d told her a while back that I’d suggested you look her up and then I found out later on you were painting with her in the studio. Barbara’s very picky. She doesn’t let just anyone paint with her. So yes, we were chatting about you. There’s no crime in that.’

  ‘I know that. But Barbara’s almost as bad as Leo at teasing me and I’m getting fed up with it all to be honest with you.’

  ‘She’s teasing you about me?’

  ‘Yes, she is. The last time I was there she was saying she was going to invite me round the next time you brought her some fresh fish.’

  Tony chuckled.

  ‘Those two should set up a dating website. That would keep the pair of them gleefully occupied. They’re an absolute hoot.’

  Elinor, slightly miffed, didn’t say anything. She was suddenly starting to feel extremely tired and her bed was becoming an attractive prospect. She looked at her watch an
d saw it was close to eleven o’ clock.

  She wondered if Tony would be willing to leave soon. If he was going to get up for the ‘dawn patrol’ tomorrow he’d have to go home before long.

  She was lucky. Tony, who didn’t seem to miss much, had seen her looking at her watch and got off his stool, suggesting they head home. Fifteen minutes later she waved Tony off from the doorstep at Trenouth and then disappeared inside the house, calling out to Leo to let him know she was home at last.

  32

  It was a bright sunny morning in Wadebridge. As they’d crossed over the bridge spanning the River Camel, the river had been shining in the sunlight with a mass of silver points, looking like the reflective scales of an enormous blue fish curling away into the distance.

  Elinor was intrigued as to why a Cornish river would be called Camel but Leo had explained to her that the Cornish name for the river was Dowr Kammel, meaning crooked river. So there was no association with camels of any sort, much to Elinor’s disappointment.

  Leo told her that Wadebridge used to be called Wade because people and livestock used to cross the river at low tide. There used to be a chapel on either side of the river, the King’s Chapel on the north side and St Michael’s on the south side. People would pray for a safe crossing at one chapel and then when they had safely waded through to the other side of the river they would give thanks at the other chapel.

  In the end a bridge was built because a vicar, distressed by the number of animals and people who died trying to cross the river, planned and raised the funds for its construction. From then on Wade became Wadebridge.

  Elinor and Leo were making their way to Molesworth Street to collect Elinor’s Frankenstein book from the antiquarian bookseller. Leo had dropped off the book for repair on one of his many visits to the shop and Mr Ashcroft had phoned Leo a week ago to say it was ready for collection. Intriguingly, Mr Ashcroft had apparently been very eager for them to drop by early, before the shop became busy. He didn’t mention why.

  Leo stopped at an old, peeling, pale blue door on Molesworth Street. It looked a little incongruous amongst the smart, well-tended shop fronts. He pushed it open and walked down a narrow, dark alleyway to a little square courtyard at the far end. There was an unobtrusive shop on the right hand side of the courtyard, with ‘Back Lane Rare Books’ written at the top of it, in gilt letters against a dark blue shop front.

  The shop had one of the strangest windows Elinor had ever seen. The front window was made of mottled glass except for the centre where there was a small square of clear glass. Behind this clear glass there was a solitary book perched on a miniature shelf with a light shining on it from above.

  Elinor stood up close to the window and looked at the book, interested to find out its title. It was The Adventures of a Treasure Hunter by Charles P. Everitt.

  ‘He has a sense of humour, Stephen does,’ commented Leo, waiting patiently by the shop door as he noticed Elinor inspecting the book in the window. ‘That book is a memoir of a lifetime in the rare book trade between the late 1800s and 1940s. It’s apparently full of humorous insights into the history, practices and mindset of book dealers from an earlier age. Full of history and gossip, apparently. Not my taste, though.’

  Leo pushed open the shop door, setting the bell above it to clang loudly. Elinor, who was following Leo into the shop, wondered if Mr Ashcroft was a little deaf. She would hate to have to work with that thunderous bell ringing out all day.

  The inside of the bookshop initially looked to be completely deserted. Its ceiling was preposterously high. It was evident someone had knocked through the flat above the shop to create extraordinarily tall shelving. Hundreds of books were stacked neatly on wooden shelves stretching up to the ceiling.

  Elinor caught sight of a ladder on the right hand side of the shop and, stretching her head back, saw an elderly man with a mop of unruly white hair slowly climbing down its precarious rungs. Not wanting to startle or distract the old man on his perilous descent, Leo and Elinor said nothing as he made his way down the ladder, taking his time.

  Finally, after a few minutes, the old gentleman reached the ground and approached them with a welcoming smile on his face.

  ‘Hello, Leo! I’m so glad you came. I was going to call you again to remind you to pop in. Is this your niece Elinor?’

  As Leo nodded, the old gentleman shook her hand enthusiastically. He had a surprisingly youthful face with black button eyes and a large patrician Roman nose. A pair of half-moon glasses were perched midway down his nose.

  ‘I’m Stephen Ashcroft. I’m honoured to meet you. Come into my back office, both of you, and I’ll show you what I’ve discovered about the book you left with me. It’s very interesting.’

  Mr Ashcroft went to the shop door and locked it shut, putting the closed sign up on the outside before he did so.

  He then led them to the back of the shop and pushed against what looked to be a wall of bookshelves, but which in actual fact turned out to be a false door with wooden books and shelves carved into it.

  Elinor shook her head in disbelief. This was taking eccentricity to a whole new level.

  33

  Mr Ashcroft led them down a short corridor into a small office. While Leo and Elinor sat themselves down he disappeared out of the room with a kettle to make them a cup of tea.

  Elinor looked around curiously.

  Mr Ashcroft’s office also had shelves on all three walls but they weren’t as full of books as the shop had been. Large empty gaps, like missing teeth, appeared between collections of books. Unusual granite bookends, in the shape of gargoyle-like mammals and birds, kept the books upright.

  Little coloured papers attached to the shelves seemed to be linked to whatever work was associated with the books above them. On the papers were written bizarre instructions: ‘Alkaline buffer’, ‘Backing’, ‘Complex paper tears’, ‘Heat-set tissue’, ‘Hinging in’, ‘Rebacking’.

  One of the shelves behind the desk had a miscellaneous collection of items: pens, paperweights, diaries, what looked to be an antique red glass decanter and a large circular pottery bowl. With a start, Elinor realised there was fur protruding from the top of the ceramic bowl.

  Standing up slightly from her chair Elinor took a closer look and saw there was a large ginger cat curled up inside the bowl, seemingly fast asleep.

  Mr Ashcroft burst into the office, carrying three mugs of tea. Once he’d given Elinor and Leo their mugs and put his down on the desk, he reached up to the shelf that said ‘Rebacking’ and carefully pulled Elinor’s Frankenstein book out of its section.

  He then sat down behind his large kneehole desk, pushing his glasses up his nose.

  ‘Right, then,’ said Mr Ashcroft, his black eyes seeming to shine with interest as he looked down at the book in front of him. ‘This book you’ve brought to me for mending is very intriguing, Leo. Fascinating, in fact. Firstly, do you have any idea where the poetic lines written in the front of it are from?’

  Leo and Elinor, in synchronisation, shook their heads.

  ‘“To see a World in a Grain of Sand, And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the Palm of your Hand, And Eternity in an Hour.” Those are words from William Blake’s Auguries of Innocence. A very famous poem of his.’

  Mr Ashcroft placed a proprietary hand on the book, considering his next words carefully.

  ‘I’d better give you both some background to this book. Mary Shelley, the author, was the daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft. Mary Wollstonecraft is nowadays considered the founding member of the feminist movement. A very able writer in her own right too, of course, but she’s not remembered so much for that.’

  Leo and Elinor listened politely, wondering where all this was leading them. Elinor struggled to believe Mr Ashcroft would have the leisure or time to discuss every book in depth with all his customers. He was clearly going somewhere with this, th
ough what Mary Shelley’s mother had to do with anything was a bit of an enigma.

  Mr Ashcroft cleared his throat.

  ‘Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Shelley’s mother, knew William Blake. I would even go so far as to say they were not just acquaintances but friends, although this isn’t certain. What is certain, though, is that William Blake illustrated Mary Wollstonecraft’s Original Stories, a children’s book of moral education. And it’s generally assumed that Mary Wollstonecraft’s writing influenced some of William Blake’s work.’

  Mr Ashcroft picked up the book and turned the pages until he got to the poetical lines inscribed at the front of it.

  ‘Blake agreed with Mary Wollstonecraft’s views. Personally, I think William Blake was a very modern man for his time, advocating for the rights of married women and believing in sexual equivalence in marriage. But that’s beside the point. The important thing is he had a relationship of sorts with the author’s mother and that’s what’s important regarding this specific book.’

  At this point in Mr Ashcroft’s monologue, the ginger cat in the bowl behind him lifted up its head and stared across at them with unblinking piercing green eyes, as though weighing up if the strangers in his master’s room were trustworthy or not. Elinor tried not to get distracted from Mr Ashcroft’s discourse, which was hard when she was yearning to get up and stroke the furry bundle watching her so avidly.

  ‘Have either of you heard of fore-edged painting?’

  ‘Sorry, what was that again?’ asked Leo, puzzled by the sudden change of subject.

  ‘Fore-edged painting. Spelt F-O-R-E.’

  Again Leo and Elinor silently shook their heads.

  ‘A fore-edged painting is a painting that is found hidden inside the gilt edges of rare books. You can only see a fore-edged painting when you fan the book, otherwise it isn’t visible. I think I can tell you why the spine of your book was so damaged, Elinor.’

  Mr Ashcroft bent the book rigorously so the pages fanned out at the opposite end to the spine. He then gripped the book tightly and turned it round to show Elinor and Leo.