One Summer in Cornwall

by Karen King

  ‘There’s one in the town, we can take everything there,’ Hattie called from inside.

  So they are chucking it all out. Well, they weren’t taking his painting to a charity shop, no way! He’d ask for it back and hang it on the wall himself, it would be nice to have something to remember Albert by. He’d been like a substitute grandfather to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hattie came out then, carrying a tall lamp that had seen better days.

  ‘Hi. You been painting?’ she called over the wall to Marcus.

  ‘Obviously,’ he said curtly – why else would he be wearing his old paint-spattered clothes? – then saw her frown and wished he hadn’t sounded so off. He swallowed. ‘You’ve started clearing the house out, then?’

  ‘Yes, Nick’s only here until the weekend so we need to get done as much as we can before he goes.’ She thrust a floppy strand of hair back off her face. ‘There’s such a lot to do.’

  ‘Well, don’t throw that painting out – I’ll take it.’ There he was again, sounding all huffy and abrupt.

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘Oh . . .’

  ‘If it’s not a problem?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, of course not.’

  Nick looked over at her. ‘I thought you—’

  ‘No, it’s fine, let Marcus have it. He painted it, didn’t you?’

  So, she knew that and was still going to dump it? ‘I did.’ He walked over to the wall. ‘I’ll take it now, if that’s okay?’

  Nick shot Hattie a glance.

  ‘Of course.’ She picked it up and passed it over the wall. ‘It’s a good painting.’

  Not good enough to keep, evidently. ‘Thanks.’ He took it off her and carried it into the house.

  Well, the closeness of yesterday was well and truly gone. To think he’d been planning on cooking her a meal, spending the evening – and maybe the night – with her. But now her long-lost stepbrother had showed up, all she could think of was selling Fisherman’s Rest.

  They need the money from the cottage. And it isn’t just her decision, he reminded himself.

  Even so, she could have kept some of Albert’s stuff, and the painting had looked good over the fireplace, given the cottage’s character. He expected that they wanted it to look bland though, and that the painting and Uncle Albert’s things would all look out of place in the modern home Hattie would be buying for herself.

  He studied the painting. It needed a clean, the frame was filthy and the painting itself was smoke-stained – Albert had been far too fond of that pipe of his, to the detriment of his health, but whenever Marcus, or the doctor, had suggested he cut down, he’d always said, ‘When your time’s come, it’s come. Until then, I’m going to make the most of the few pleasures I have.’

  Marcus welled up as he thought about the old man. He put the painting down by the side of the sofa. He’d clean it later. Right now, he needed to grab something to eat then go back up to the attic to continue painting. Yesterday’s garden party had led to talk of another couple of commissions and before they got finalised he wanted to finish the painting he was working on.

  Half an hour later, a mug of coffee in his hand, he climbed the narrow steps to the attic. The painting was of a woman dressed in black leather astride a motorbike, her white-blond hair blowing in the wind. Bike Rider he’d called it but he might as well have called it Hattie, because that’s who the woman was. He’d copied it from the photo he’d taken of Hattie that day at Thomwell Manor, obliterating the background. It was as if Hattie was looking out of the painting at him. She was laughing, her eyes sparkling. She was alive.

  This was one painting he had no intention of selling.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell him that you were keeping that painting?’

  Hattie shrugged. ‘He painted it. And he spent far more time with Uncle Albert than I did, so I think he deserves it more.’

  ‘The thing is, I think he got the impression that you were dumping it. And as he painted it, that probably bugged him.’ Nick leant back against the sink and folded his arms. ‘Are you two an item or what? You seemed pretty close on Sunday night but now you seem a bit edgy around each other.’

  ‘No, we’re not. He needed someone to partner him to a garden party so I agreed to do it.’ She told him about the painting he’d been commissioned to do for Lord Thomwell’s birthday. ‘He’s a really talented artist.’

  ‘I can see that by the fishing boats painting he did for your uncle.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘So, you’re not interested in him, then?’

  ‘A romance with my next-door neighbour is the last thing I need right now,’ she told him. ‘Now, how about helping me with these boxes instead of speculating on my non-existent love life?’

  He grinned and did a mock salute. ‘Your wish is my command.’

  Hattie smiled. Nick hadn’t even been here twenty-four hours but already they had slipped into an easy familiarity. It was nice to have an older stepbrother, she decided, especially right now when she was trying to get the cottage sorted to put on the market.

  By the end of the day, the back yard was so full they could barely move, but the lounge was completely empty bar a couple of chairs and the heavy wall unit. They scrubbed the doors and walls first intending to get up the next morning and start painting.

  ‘I hope it will all be safe out in the back yard,’ she said. ‘There’s no forecast of rain so it should be dry enough, and surely no one will want to pinch old stuff like that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t think so.’

  ‘Now, how about we pop out for a walk along the harbour and a drink?’ Nick suggested. ‘I think we deserve it after all our hard work.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ she agreed. She’d found it quite sad sorting through Uncle Albert’s things, and although she didn’t admit it to Nick, she was disappointed that Marcus had asked for the painting back; she’d wanted to keep it as a reminder of her uncle, and of Marcus. How could she deny Marcus it, though, when he had painted it? And been like a son to Uncle Albert? She could see how all this must look to him – no one had been to see Uncle Albert for years and now here she and Nick were going through the cottage quicker than you could say ‘inheritance’. They must look like a right pair of vultures.

  She hated this feeling guilty all the while. And she was far too bothered what Marcus thought of her. He really was getting under her skin. The sooner the cottage was sold and she was away from him the better.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Straight after breakfast the next morning, Hattie and Nick both donned the overalls they’d bought yesterday, and got ready to start painting the lounge.

  Buddy was watching them beadily from his cage. He must be wondering what’s going on, Hattie thought. All these people coming and going – her, Mali and Lou, and now Nick. And all this upheaval. Then another thought struck her.

  ‘Do you think Buddy will be okay with the paint fumes?’ she asked worriedly.

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. We could put him in the back garden while we paint,’ Nick suggested.

  Hattie shook her head. ‘I don’t trust Marcus’s cat, Mr Tibbs. He sneaked in yesterday when we had the back door open to carry the stuff out, and I had to shoo him off. He stalks Buddy if he gets the chance. Marcus said Mr Tibbs even jumped on the cage once when he was looking after Buddy, that’s why he brought him back to Fisherman’s Rest and came in regularly to feed and check on him instead.’

  Maybe she should put Buddy up in the attic – at least he would be out of the way of any paint fumes there, or of Mr Tibbs if he sneaked again, and it was a lovely bright room.

  She mentioned it to Nick. ‘Marcus has a small travel cage. I’ll ask him if I can borrow it to carry Buddy up to the attic in. We’ll struggle trying to carry that big cage up the two flights of narrow stairs and it could unsettle Buddy.’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea, if you can transfer him without him flying off.’

  ‘Marcus can, he’s used to it
. He’s probably back from surfing now. I’ll pop around and ask, I’ll only be a few minutes.’

  She went around next door and knocked loudly, knowing that Marcus was often up in the attic painting. She actually felt a bit awkward seeing him after how close they had been at the weekend, and then the business with the painting yesterday.

  ‘Coming!’

  Marcus opened the door, his hair dishevelled, T-shirt paint-stained as though he wiped his brushes on it, and in cut-off denims and bare feet.

  ‘Sorry for disturbing you . . .’

  ‘It’s fine. It looks like you’re busy too.’ His eyes lingered on the overalls she was wearing.

  ‘Actually, we’re just about to start painting and thought we should move Buddy up to my room because of the paint fumes.’ She paused. ‘I was wondering if I could borrow your travel cage and if you could help me get him into it?’

  Marcus ran his hand through his hair. ‘The fumes could be bad for him, yes. Look, why don’t you leave him with me until you’ve finished? He might be better off here.’

  Hattie shook her head. ‘It’s kind of you to offer but Mr Tibbs sneaked in yesterday and I had to shoo him away from the cage. And I really would like to keep him with me. I don’t want to unsettle him any more than we have to.’

  Marcus nodded. ‘Point taken. Well, give me a few minutes and I’ll bring the cage around.’

  ‘Thanks so much.’

  Marcus shut the door and went back inside, leaving Hattie to turn and walk away wondering why he hadn’t asked her in and how they’d got so formal all of a sudden when at the weekend they’d been laughing and dancing together.

  True to his word, Marcus came around ten minutes later, now with trainers on his feet and carrying the travel cage and a banana.

  ‘All right, mate?’ Nick looked up from the dust sheet he and Hattie were spreading over the unit that had been too heavy to carry out.

  ‘Just come to move Buddy.’ Marcus looked over at Hattie. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

  ‘Sure.’ She eyed the banana. ‘I’m guessing that’s to tempt him into the smaller cage?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Hello! Hello!’ Buddy squealed excitedly as soon as he saw Marcus. ‘Where you been?’

  ‘Hello, Buddy.’ Marcus went over to the cage and Buddy whistled loudly, then climbed down the bars as Marcus put his face to the cage.

  ‘Well, he sure loves you. That’s the chirpiest I’ve seen him,’ Nick said.

  ‘He’s got to know me over the years. I used to pop round most nights after work. Albert was in the habit of sitting up late and liked me to join him for a chat and a drop of whisky,’ Marcus said. As before, Marcus used the banana to tempt Buddy into the smaller cage. Then he quickly pushed the cage door shut.

  ‘Want me to carry him up to the attic for you?’ he asked.

  ‘It might be best, then I can open the doors for you, I don’t want to make him jittery,’ Hattie said, leading the way out into the hall.

  ‘I’ll get cracking with the painting then, while you two move the bird and settle him in.’ Nick grabbed one of the big tins of paint and a roller.

  Marcus carried Buddy, talking reassuringly as he walked up the two flights of stairs.

  Thank goodness she’d made her bed that morning and not left any underwear lying around, Hattie thought as she opened the attic door. ‘Shall we put him on that chest of drawers by the window? It’s nice and light there,’ she suggested.

  ‘Good idea.’ Marcus walked over and gently put the cage down. ‘There we are, boy. You’re staying up here for a while,’ he said.

  Buddy was sitting on the perch, head to one side, staring at him. Marcus took the other half of banana out of his pocket, opened the cage door slightly and dropped it in. ‘Have another treat,’ he said.

  Buddy hopped down, grabbed it, and carried it up to the perch where he balanced on one leg, held the piece of banana with his other claw and nibbled it.

  They both watched him in an awkward silence and Hattie wondered if, like her, Marcus was remembering the last time he had been in her bedroom. When he had helped her home drunk from the wedding reception and she had stripped off and got into bed, too drunk to care that he was there. Was it really only a few days ago? How had they gone from that to being so self-conscious around each other.

  ‘He seems happy enough here,’ she said to break the silence.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Marcus said as they both walked out of the room.

  Hattie carefully closed the door behind her.

  ‘Nick seems okay, how are you both getting on?’

  ‘Good. Better than I thought we would. He’s given me a different insight into my dad. I think I might have been a bit harsh on him.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure your dad understands. Divorce is never easy, especially for the children who feel they’ve been left behind by one of the parents.’

  ‘Yes, that’s how I felt. I never thought about how it was for Nick, having his father replaced. I’m going over to France for a visit when the cottage is sold.’ They were down the stairs now and, as they walked into the kitchen, Hattie saw that Nick had made a start on painting the lounge ceiling and was singing along to a music station on the radio.

  ‘You stopping for a bevvy, mate? There’s some cans in the fridge if you want one,’ he called to Marcus.

  ‘Thanks but I need to get back.’ Marcus thrust his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ve got Thursday evening off, though, why don’t you two come around for a meal? It’s probably going to be difficult for you both to cook while you’re decorating and stuff.’

  His offer took Hattie by surprise. ‘That sounds great, doesn’t it, Nick?’

  ‘A chef cooking for us? Nice! Count me in,’ Nick agreed. Then he paused, paintbrush poised, and glanced at Hattie. ‘Unless you’d prefer a cosy evening for the two of you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Hattie said quickly, even though she would have liked that. A lot. ‘You must come too.’

  ‘That’s settled then. See you about seven?’ Marcus said.

  ‘We’ll be there. Thanks,’ Hattie told him. ‘I’ll see you out.’

  ‘It’s fine. I know the way. You’ve got enough to do here. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t have preferred a meal for two?’ Nick asked as they heard the front door close behind Marcus. ‘I’m happy to have a pub meal on my own. I don’t want to play gooseberry.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I told you we’re just friends.’

  ‘Yep. You told me that, but your face when you see him tells me different. And I can tell he feels the same about you. Still, I’m not about to turn down a free meal.’ He dipped his roller in the tray he was holding. ‘How’s this looking?’

  ‘Good. I’ll start on the walls.’ Hattie picked up a paint tray and poured some of the white emulsion into it, then grabbed a roller and started on the long lounge wall.

  They worked side by side, singing along to the radio, all morning. By the time they stopped for a late lunch, the lounge was almost done.

  ‘It really makes a difference, doesn’t it?’ Hattie said as Nick put the kettle on and she made them cheese and ham sandwiches.

  ‘Yep, I reckon this place will be snapped up.’ Nick put two mugs down on the table. ‘I’m sorry I can only stay until Saturday, but hopefully it will all be done by then.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’m really glad of your help. I’ll go to the market on Saturday and pick up some colourful curtains and cushions. I’ll send you some photos of the finished look. I’ll be sending some to Dad too.’

  After lunch, they painted the kitchen then moved the furniture back inside.

  Then they had a shower and went out for a pub meal.

  ‘Thanks for coming down to help me. The cottage looks much better already,’ Hattie said as they tucked into their sausages and mash.

  ‘You’re welcome. I’m pleased that I could help,’ Nick said, swallowing a spoonful of mash.

  Hattie spear
ed a sausage and took a big bite out of it. ‘So am I,’ she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  By the time the plumber arrived with the bathroom suite early on Thursday morning the living room and kitchen were looking clean and tidy, the hall, upstairs landing, and the bathroom walls had been painted and Nick and Hattie were cleaning down the doors upstairs. It took most of the day for the plumber to take out the old suite and fit the new one – Nick helped a bit. Hattie tidied up Uncle Albert’s bedroom, shoving things into the cupboard and wardrobe until she had time to sort them out. All that mattered at the moment was that it looked clean and tidy for the photographs, and for viewings.

  Although it was only a basic white suite, with the new shower and a clear screen it really looked good.

  ‘This looks so much better. I’ll get a new blind and light shade too and a colourful bathmat.’ She was already imagining the colour scheme, coral and white she thought, with a heated towel rail with a fluffy towel hanging on it, a cheerful coral bathmat, a cream roller-blind . . . Then she remined herself that Jonathan had told her to keep the colours neutral.

  ‘Good idea.’ Nick surveyed the room thoughtfully. ‘It could do with retiling and new windows ideally, but the new buyers will probably sort that out.’

  ‘There’s such a lot of potential here, isn’t there?’ Hattie said. ‘A bit of money and TLC and it could make a lovely home.’

  ‘You’re right. Not my cup of tea, though, I prefer something more modern. And with central heating. I bet it’s freezing in the winter. I’m amazed the old guy didn’t freeze to death.’

  Hattie hadn’t thought of that. She’d guessed Uncle Albert hadn’t wanted the upheaval of having radiators fitted. Or hadn’t got the money, she realised. According to Albert’s will, apart from the cottage, there had only been a couple of hundred pounds in his bank account that he’d left to the RNLI. Maybe he’d been living hand to mouth, huddled around a gas fire in the lounge, and only the gas heater in his bedroom upstairs. How did he manage when he had a shower? she wondered. The thought made her feel sad and once again she felt a twinge of guilt that she had lost touch with him.