One Summer in Cornwall

by Karen King

  Putting on her sandals as soon she left the beach she set off back home. As she approached the row of three cottages, with Fisherman’s Rest in the middle and Mr Obnoxious on the left, she wondered who lived on the right of her. She hoped they weren’t as unpleasant as Mr Obnoxious; one shirty neighbour was enough to contend with. The small front gardens were all surrounded by a low wall with a gate, but that was where their similarity ended. The front garden at Fisherman’s Rest was paved and bare apart from a paint-chipped bench underneath the window and the name plaque of the cottage on the wall. Mr Obnoxious on the left had a lawn on one side of the path and a flower bed on the other, whereas the garden on the right – Primrose Cottage, the name plaque said – was paved, but there were lots of hanging baskets and colourful pots. It looked cared for, so someone must be living there.

  When Hattie had taken her bike around the back before she went to the beach, she’d noticed that all the back yards had a high, shoulder-height wall and padlocked gate. The back yard of Fisherman’s Rest was completely paved, with a shed on the left, and a rusting small table and two chairs on the right. She could soon pretty it up with some colourful pots, she thought, and maybe she could sand the table and chairs down and give them a coat of paint.

  She unlocked the front door and was greeted by a loud ‘Bloody Hell!’ from Buddy when she walked into the lounge.

  ‘Charming!’ she told him, smiling at the way he was glaring at her, as though he was annoyed that she’d disturbed his sleep. He doesn’t remember you, she reminded herself, wondering how often Marcus had come in to look after him. She guessed the poor parrot must have been on his own a lot since Uncle Albert died.

  ‘I bet you miss your owner, don’t you, boy?’ she said softly, going over to the cage.

  The green parrot cocked his head to one side and stared banefully at her with his beady eyes: orange ringed by a circle of black then white. She glanced at his food dish; he had hardly touched the pellets. Maybe he liked to eat later in the day. There must be a supply of food somewhere – she’d top up his food this afternoon and give him some fresh water. She had to admit she was a bit nervous about opening the cage door to do it, in case the parrot either attacked her or escaped. I’ll just have to be careful and make sure all the windows and doors are closed, she thought.

  She made herself another coffee, using one of the sachets she had brought with her, then decided to have a good look around the cottage. She had arrived too late last night to take anything in. She wanted to take some photos to send to her dad, too; he’d asked her to let him know if she thought the cottage could be sold as it was, once it had had a tidy up, or whether it needed some refurbishment. It seemed strange to have so much contact with her dad, when she had hardly seen or spoken to him since the divorce. Her teenage self had resented him going straight off to France to live with Raina, his new love, and her son, Nick.

  The one time she had gone over to spend the summer with her father, she had felt odd, out of place, and Nick had made it clear that he didn’t want her there either. Raina had tried to be welcoming, but the more she had tried the more Hattie had resented her for coming along and splitting up her family. She felt that to be friendly to Raina would be being disloyal to her mum. Then when baby Lacey had come along a couple of years later, Hattie had really felt an outsider; her father and Raina had a new child together, a new family. She’d avoided going over to visit again, not wanting to desert her mother, so her father had come over once a year for an awkward long weekend with Raina, Nick and Lacey and they’d all met for a polite lunch and that was it. By the time Hattie had gone to college to study photography, her contact with her father was reduced to phone calls on her birthday and Christmas. Hattie’s mother, Caroline, had met her partner Howard a few years ago and gone to live in the Algarve, so that was both her parents living abroad. Hattie didn’t really mind; she had a busy life and at least both her parents were happy now.

  Armed with her iPad – far easier to send quick photos to her father that way – and a notebook, she moved from room to room, assessing what needed doing. The kitchen was functional but dated, the dark cupboards making it look rather dingy; the white paint covering the stone walls in both the kitchen and the lounge area needed refreshing, and maybe a new bright carpet, the existing brown patterned one being stained and worn. An hour later, she had completed her tour and jotted down a page of suggestions. Uncle Albert didn’t seem to have done much to the cottage in all the years he’d lived there, but she didn’t think they should modernise it too much; part of its charm was that it was so traditional. She was sure her dad wouldn’t want to spend too much money on it either.

  She tried to log onto the wi-fi to send the notes and photos over to her dad, but the only wi-fi connection available was secured and she couldn’t find a router anywhere to get the password. There was a phone but it was disconnected. She should have realised that Uncle Albert wouldn’t have wi-fi – why would he? She sighed. Well, at least she had an unlimited mobile-data package, so she could just use her phone or iPad for the Internet. It would be a waste of time getting wi-fi installed now, as she would only be here a couple of months and you usually had to sign up for a twelve-month contract.

  She zapped the photos over to her dad, had another cup of coffee and decided to draft a poster to put in local shop windows to see if she could drum up some photography work. Then she went into the back yard to check on her bike, wondering if she should put the cover over it. There were a lot of seagulls about.

  She heard a miaow and saw a big black cat perched on the top of the wall, its intense amber gaze fixed on her.

  ‘Hello, puss,’ she said, walking over towards it.

  The cat glared at her, then scrambled back over the wall as soon as Hattie got closer. She wondered if it was Marcus’s cat. It didn’t look very friendly and that stare could terrify the birds in the trees. Maybe that’s why he had kept Buddy in Uncle Albert’s cottage and come around to feed him rather than taking him home with him.

  Walking over to the bike, parked up by the shed, she looked with dismay at the white splodges on the black leather seat. The bike cover was definitely a good idea. Hearing the gate open next door, she glanced over and saw Marcus walk in, hair wet and tousled, carrying his surfboard. His eyes met hers over the shoulder-high wall, then flicked to the motorbike. She saw the surprise on his face, then he looked away, placed his surfboard against the wall and went indoors. Just her luck to have such a disapproving, up-himself neighbour!

  Chapter Four

  Hattie wiped the bike seat and put the bike cover over, then went inside to take her printer out of the top box in the hall. Placing it on the kitchen table, she booted up her laptop. The lack of Internet was a problem, as her printer usually worked via wi-fi, but luckily she had brought the cable with her so could use that to link the printer to the laptop. Half an hour later, she had half a dozen A5 sized posters printed out with a link to her business Facebook page which featured some of the photos she’d taken. They looked pretty impressive, she thought as she read over one of them. She’d try the corner shop first, she needed some food supplies anyway and didn’t fancy riding out anywhere to get a big shop in yet. She wanted to explore the little town of Port Medden after lunch. So, she popped the posters into a cotton shopping bag then grabbed her shoulder bag and set off up the hill.

  The lady in the corner shop was very friendly. ‘Of course you can put your poster in the window. How long do you want it in there for?’

  ‘Would three months be okay?’ It would take that long to sell the cottage, surely? ‘I need to try and get some photography work to keep me afloat and I’m guessing the summer months are the best time for that.’

  ‘It certainly is. Have you just moved into Port Medden, then?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m here for the summer.’ Hattie sensed that the woman would’ve liked to ask her more, but there was a queue behind her so she had to move onto the next customer. That was a close shave, she ha
d purposely not told her where she was staying as she didn’t want to upset anyone else who thought she’d neglected her elderly uncle and now couldn’t wait to get her hands on his cottage.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Hattie turned around. A middle-aged woman with bleached-blond, chin-length hair, and lips coated in bright-red lipstick, was standing behind her. She smiled, her blue, heavily mascaraed eyes looking warm and friendly. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing that you’re a photographer. I’m Mandy. I work on the reception at Gwel Teg, the hotel up the hill. We’ve got a wedding booked there next Saturday and the photographer has just had to pull out because of a family emergency. Would you be able to cover it?’

  Wow! Her first commission and she’d only just put the poster in the window. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d covered a wedding, either; she’d been asked by a couple of friends to do the photos for theirs – mates’ rates, of course – and they’d been delighted with the results. Thank goodness she had some of the photos on her Facebook business page.

  ‘That’s such a shame and so close to the wedding too,’ she said, sympathetically. Exactly a week today! She bet the bride was panicking. ‘I’d love to take the photographs. Would you like to see some samples of my work? I have some on my Facebook page and could also show you some print samples.’ Luckily, she’d brought her sample album with her.

  ‘Fabulous. I’ll check out your page first. I’m guessing the details are on your poster.’ Mandy smiled. ‘Sue, the manager of the hotel will want to meet you and see samples so it would be good if you could bring some prints then. It’s Sue’s daughter, Ellie, who’s getting married, to Reece, the co-owner of the hotel.’

  ‘Of course. When would you like me to meet her?’

  ‘I’m on the afternoon shift today, so how about you pop in about two thirty? Bring your photos to show Sue and we’ll take it from there. Does that sound okay?’

  ‘Perfect.’ Hattie felt a flutter of excitement. If she got this commission it would look great on her profile and be a big boost for her photography business.

  She went back to Fisherman’s Rest feeling much happier. Things were really looking up.

  ‘Bloody hell. Who is it?’ Buddy squealed as she walked in. That seemed to be his favourite phrase!

  ‘It’s me, Hattie,’ she replied, putting down her shopping and going over to him. He still didn’t seem to have touched his food, she noticed. Well Mr Obnoxious had been looking after him so she was sure he’d had plenty to eat yesterday. ‘Hello, Buddy,’ she said. ‘Do you remember me? Can you say Hattie? Hello, Hattie.’

  Buddy glared at her. ‘Bugger off,’ he replied, then turned his back as if to emphasise that he meant it.

  He was a real ray of sunshine, wasn’t he? Hattie thought with a smile. She remembered that Uncle Albert used to let Buddy out sometimes to fly around, and the parrot would perch on his plate and try to eat his food then the old man would swipe him away saying, ‘Bugger off!’ She guessed that’s where Buddy got his language from. He must miss the old man. Maybe she ought to let him out to fly around, but she was worried she wouldn’t get him back in the cage again. If only Marcus wasn’t such a grouch she would pop around and ask him, but the less she saw of that man, the better.

  I’ll spend some time with Buddy tonight, she decided. I’ll give him some fresh water and food and have a chat to him. He might perk up with a bit of company. She’d do a google on what parrots liked to eat, too; it must be boring for Buddy to eat pellets all the time, and she was worried that they hadn’t even been touched today. Right now, though, she wanted to sort out her portfolio of photos ready to take to Gwel Teg that afternoon.

  By the time Hattie had sorted out her photos and had a bite to eat it was almost time to leave for her appointment at the hotel. She changed into a pair of loose black-and-yellow-print cotton trousers and a yellow cap-sleeved T-shirt and added a touch of make-up to her face, wanting to look casual but professional. Then she googled the directions to Gwel Teg – and, out of curiosity, the meaning of the name, which was ‘Beautiful View’ – and set off for the short walk.

  The hotel was situated halfway up the hill, on the corner. It was very pretty and quaint with its white pebble-dash exterior, colourful window boxes, prime location near to the beach and the glorious view to the sea. What a beautiful place to get married in, she thought. She’d read on the hotel website that Gwel Teg did the whole wedding package, with a dedicated room for the ceremony and reception. How wonderful that the manager’s daughter was getting married there.

  She went inside and spotted Mandy on reception straight away. ‘Hello, Hattie!’ She waved. ‘Take a seat, lovey, Sue will be here in a few minutes.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Hattie sat down on the comfy-but-smart long blue sofa and looked around. The reception was clean, bright and modern. There had obviously been some money spent on the hotel in the last couple of years. The wedding package was new, too, she’d noticed; it was something they’d started this Easter. It was a really good idea, she thought; couples could book into the hotel for the wedding, and have their honeymoon here too. She was sure that would be very popular. It was a beautiful part of the country to get married in.

  ‘Hello, Hattie. I’m Sue Truman, the hotel manager.’

  Hattie looked up at the small, dark-haired woman standing in front of her, holding out her hand. She’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t noticed her approach. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  They shook hands, then Sue sat down beside her. ‘Mandy said you’re a professional photographer and are free next Saturday, so you can take the photos for my daughter, Ellie’s, wedding? I can’t tell you what a relief that is. The other photographer only cancelled this morning – distressing circumstances, so it couldn’t be helped – and I really didn’t want to break the news to Ellie and her fiancé Reece at such short notice.’

  ‘Yes, I’m free and I’d love to do it.’ Hattie paused; she didn’t want to mislead the woman. ‘I’m only a part-time photographer at the moment but am hoping to expand my business to full time. I completed a photography course at college and have been taking photographs for years now, but I had a day job and took photos in my spare time. I have had my photographs published in several magazines, and I’ve photographed several weddings too so I am very experienced.’

  ‘Well, that all sounds very promising. Have you got some samples of your work with you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Hattie opened her portfolio at the wedding-photo pages and showed them to Sue, who seemed very impressed. ‘Do you mind if I look at some of the other photos as well?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ Hattie told her.

  She watched the expression on Sue’s face as she turned over the other pages, photos of young babies, children, family groups then stunning sunsets, moonlit lakes, magical woodlands and forests. ‘These photos are wonderful.’ Sue closed the album and handed it back to Hattie. ‘I would love you to take the photos for my daughter’s wedding, but the final decision will be Ellie and Reece’s. They are coming tomorrow morning; they want to spend the week here, having a relax and getting the hotel ready for the wedding. Could you pop in and meet them tomorrow afternoon? I’m sure they will be as impressed with your photos as I am.’

  ‘Of course. What time do you want me to come?’

  ‘About three thirty?’ suggested Sue.

  ‘Perfect,’ Hattie replied. She just hoped that Sue’s daughter and fiancé would be as impressed with her photos as Sue was.

  ‘Do you live in Port Medden?’ Sue asked.

  ‘Not permanently. I’m here for the summer. My uncle recently died and left his cottage to me and my dad in his will.’

  ‘Albert’s cottage? Fisherman’s Rest?’

  ‘Yes.’ Hattie replied anxiously, wishing she hadn’t mentioned it now. What if Sue thought she was a selfish money-grabber, as Marcus did, and didn’t want to employ her?

  ‘Ah, then you live next door to Marcus, our chef. He’s a lovely man. You’ll meet him
at the wedding – he and Shanise are doing the food.’

  A lovely man! Well, that’s not how she would have described Marcus and she certainly hoped that she didn’t bump into him at the wedding reception. As far as she was concerned, the less she saw of him, the better.

  Chapter Five

  Hattie spent the rest of the afternoon reacquainting herself with Port Medden, which hadn’t changed very much in the years since she’d last visited. Such a lot had happened since then. Hattie had left home as soon as she started work in the insurance office, renting a flat and intending to build up her photography business so that she could eventually leave her job. Then she had met Adam who had moved into her flat a few months later, and there had been little time for her photography, as they set up home together, worked full time and had a busy social life. She really had thought Adam was the one, and it had devastated her when, after three years of living together, she’d discovered that he’d cheated on her. She told him where to go in no uncertain terms and decided from then on, she was going to live her life for herself. That’s when she’d started to build up her photography business again. Now, thanks to her redundancy money, she might be able to do it full time, and thanks to Uncle Albert, she might be able to rent a studio and put a deposit down on a little flat. Things were looking up, especially after this morning. She couldn’t believe that she’d got her first professional photography job in Port Medden. Well, she hoped she had – she still had to meet the bride- and groom-to-be and get their approval.

  When Hattie arrived back home she was greeted by the usual ‘Bugger off’ from Buddy as soon as she walked in.

  ‘Well, you’re a pleasant soul, aren’t you?’ she said, walking over to the cage to see if he had eaten anything yet. The pellets seemed untouched. ‘What’s the matter with you? Do you fancy something tastier?’ she asked.