The Girl Who Came Home to Cornwall

by Emma Burstall

  ‘You mean they gobble up flies and mosquitoes?’ Liz shivered. ‘I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather have gnats than bats.’

  Esme was pondering a suitably witty riposte when she remembered something else.

  ‘I say! It’s good news about Max, isn’t it?’

  Liz’s stomach did a sickening flip. An image flashed into her mind: Max at a fireworks party last November. His lips on hers, his hand between her thighs.

  ‘What?’ Her mouth felt dry and it sounded odd and rasping.

  She’d wanted him so badly yet been horrified at the same time. She and Robert had been going through a bad patch. It was no excuse but… After that kiss, she’d told Max never to contact her again.

  She tucked her hands under the table so that her friend wouldn’t see them shaking.

  ‘You haven’t heard?’ Esme helped herself to a chocolate finger biscuit, holding it up and examining it between thumb and forefinger before popping the end in her mouth and snapping it off with her teeth.

  Liz was grateful for the pause. She became transfixed by Esme’s lips, moving in and out, the muscles in her cheeks flexing and extending, the jaw clenching and relaxing. The sound of crunching seemed unnaturally loud, like ice cracking underfoot. Such a lot of effort for one small bite.

  When she swallowed at last, Liz did the same, wincing slightly because it hurt.

  ‘Heard what?’ she said now. Her heart pitter-pattered in her chest.

  ‘The plaque unveiling next month. Max is coming after all.’

  The blood seemed to drain from Liz’s head, making her dizzy. She was tempted to use an excuse to leave the room.

  Max, from Germany, had visited the village after Rosie had discovered a message in a bottle from his grandfather, who had been a prisoner of war in Tremarnock during the Second World War.

  Much to the villagers’ delight, Max had stepped in to save the local playground from developers who wanted to turn it into a housing estate.

  There was to be a grand ceremony in two weeks to commemorate his grandfather, who had remained grateful throughout his life to Tremarnock’s inhabitants for the kindness they had shown him. But after what had happened with Liz, he had said that he couldn’t make it.

  ‘Audrey told me,’ Esme went on. The remaining portion of her finger biscuit was still suspended rather elegantly between her fingers.

  Audrey owned a dress shop and a bed and breakfast in the village. She also ran a small but thriving catering business, which delivered food to their rental properties, sometimes for up to twenty people. Her boeuf bourguignon was a particular favourite, as was her luxury Eton mess, made with local strawberries and clotted cream from the nearby dairy. She always seemed to know everything about everyone.

  ‘That’s nice! I wonder what made him change his mind.’ Liz tried her best to sound pleased but she must have done a bad job because Esme fixed on her with her clear grey eyes.

  ‘I thought you’d be happy. You and he got on well, didn’t you?’

  ‘I haven’t spoken to him for ages, to be honest. I’ve almost forgotten what he looks like.’

  Esme’s gaze remained steady. ‘He’s not staying with Audrey this time. She’s a bit put out, to be honest.’

  Liz recalled an amusing conversation between her and Max when he’d complained about Audrey’s nosiness and incessant talking. It had made her giggle. Later, they’d kissed, and it was after this that he’d spoken of his strong feelings for her.

  She hadn’t forgotten his features at all, of course; she could picture him here right now, standing before her, his face close to hers. His short dark hair, tinged with silver, his close-cropped beard, broad, athletic shoulders and wide neck, those intense blue eyes…

  That kiss was never supposed to mean anything, but somehow it had.

  ‘I expect he’s found a nice hotel,’ she said, pulling back her shoulders and attempting to gather herself together. ‘More up his street than a B and B.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’ Esme’s gaze shifted at last and she took another sip of coffee. ‘Anyway, it’ll be good to catch up with him. I’ll certainly pop along to the unveiling ceremony.’

  There didn’t seem to be much to say after that and there was silence for a few moments while the two women watched Lowenna build a tower of bricks, which soon toppled down.

  When the hush started to feel awkward, Liz racked her brains for a safe topic and settled on Esme’s latest commissions. It seemed that she was in the process of making a set of urns for a wealthy client with a weekend home in Fowey.

  ‘I’d better get back to my studio,’ she said at last, rising and pushing back her chair, one leg of which almost skewered Lowenna, who was sitting right behind. Esme was always doing things like that, not deliberately, of course, but she tended to forget about the presence of children.

  Once she’d left, Liz tidied away their mugs and plates and fetched Lowenna’s jacket and shoes from the hallway. There was just time for a short stroll before lunch.

  As she slipped the little girl’s feet into her red sandals, she found her mind drifting back again to Max and anxiety, guilt and fear nibbled at her insides.

  Robert, of course, knew nothing of what had occurred at the party. There used to be no secrets between them and now, it was as if she had buried a body in the sand, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the wind and tide would inevitably expose it.

  After all, it hadn’t been just a kiss for her either, had it? She’d been so drawn to Max and had felt a connection so powerful that from the moment she’d picked him up from the airport, it was almost as if she’d known him all her life.

  And yet she loved her husband and the family that they’d created together and dreaded the thought of hurting him. So what on earth had been the matter with her? And why did her stomach still do somersaults at the mere mention of Max’s name?

  She’d been planning on going to the plaque unveiling, believing that he wouldn’t be there. But now, as she walked with Lowenna into the hallway and started to unfold the pushchair, she found herself inventing reasons not to show up.

  Illness? A visit to her father and stepmother in London? It really didn’t matter, so long as it worked and she never saw the German again.

  It was the only reasonable course of action open to her. It was the only way that she could be one hundred per cent sure of staying safe.

  Chapter Seven

  As she stepped out of the cottage and bumped Lowenna and her pushchair down the doorstep, Liz was startled by a tremendously loud shriek. Glancing up, she saw the underside of a large, feathery gull just above her head.

  Ducking instinctively, she caught a glimpse of the bird’s pink webbed feet and fearsome talons as it swooped up, up and away, carrying something in its razor sharp beak.

  Her heart was hammering and blood whooshed in her ears; the creature couldn’t have been more than a foot from her scalp and three feet from her daughter’s precious knees; definitely too close for comfort. She couldn’t help thinking that it was no accident and that she’d been the target.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  She straightened up and turned around to find a dark-haired woman standing in the road just outside her gate.

  Liz didn’t recognise her but she looked friendly, her big greenish-brown eyes wide with concern.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Liz patted the top of her head just to make sure it was still there. ‘That’s never happened before. They don’t normally attack unless you’ve got food.’

  ‘I think they’re building a nest on your roof.’

  The woman indicated with a forefinger. She sounded foreign and looked it, too, with her dark, wavy hair, olive skin, slim, pointed nose and wider than usual nostrils.

  ‘Really?’

  Liz swivelled around and looked skywards, shielding her eyes with a hand to protect from the glare. When she couldn’t spot anything, she left the pushchair, stepped into the road and stood on tiptoe, craning her neck to try to see
beyond the wonky gable.

  Two big herring gulls were perched on her chimney pot, and two more on the slate tiles around it, seemingly surveying the scene. That in itself wasn’t unusual; the birds were as much a part of the fabric of the village as the inhabitants themselves and landed whenever and wherever they pleased.

  What was out of the ordinary, however, was that a fifth gull – perhaps the one that had almost dive-bombed Liz – appeared to have a pile of twigs, grass or leaves in its bill. It vanished behind the chimney for a few minutes, then reappeared with an empty beak and flew off again, to a cacophony of squawks and stamps from the other birds.

  ‘Cheeky thing!’ cried Liz. She could swear that the remaining gulls were mocking her. ‘You never asked my permission!’

  The stranger laughed. ‘I think you’ll be sharing your home with some feathery friends for a few months, whether you like it or not.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Liz wasn’t altogether keen on the idea, but suspected that there was nothing she could do about it. She knew that it was a legal offence to injure or kill any wild birds or interfere with their nests or eggs. Perhaps Robert could frighten the mother and father off before it was too late. She’d have to talk to him about it later.

  ‘Well,’ she said, turning back to the stranger, ‘that explains all the loud noises this morning. I thought there was an elephant in the attic.’

  After that, it seemed rude not to introduce herself and the other woman did likewise, adding that she was on her way to the local restaurant, A Winkle in Time, to see if the owner, a man called Robert, needed any temporary staff. She’d heard that his business did very well, especially in the tourist season.

  ‘That’s my husband!’ Liz replied, pleased. ‘He should be there now. I’ll take you.’

  Soon, they were walking side by side up Humble Hill, past the rows of brightly painted cottages, all with their own names, that Liz had come to love.

  Chabela explained that she was staying at Polgarry Manor, and that it was the owner, Bramble, who had suggested speaking to Robert about employment. Before leaving Mexico, Chabela had gone to the trouble of obtaining a one-year business visa, which would allow her to undertake academic work in the UK. Although she had no idea how long she’d want to stay, it had seemed like a sensible precaution. Now, she was rather hoping that the visa would come in handy for working at the café. If Robert were worried about being prosecuted, they could always say that she was doing some research for a book and who knew? Perhaps one day she would write about her experiences here so they wouldn’t be telling a lie.

  ‘I originally thought I might only be in Tremarnock for a few weeks, but I’ve decided to stay for the whole summer now, if I can. It’s such a lovely village.’

  She didn’t say what had made her change her mind, but Liz felt herself increasingly warming towards the stranger, who seemed lively and easy-going. She also appeared to be single and, perhaps, a wee bit lonely, just as Liz had been when she’d first arrived in the village with a then very small Rosie.

  With this in mind, she resolved right there and then to persuade her husband to find Chabela a job; it shouldn’t be too difficult, after all, with the summer season fast approaching.

  ‘Here we are,’ she said, feeling a shiver of pride when they finally stopped outside the restaurant at the bottom of South Street. ‘Welcome to the best fish joint for miles around!’

  The place certainly looked smart and attractive, particularly in the morning sunshine, painted white, with bright blue shutters across the windows and its name – A Winkle In Time – emblazoned in swirly white letters on a matching blue board above the door.

  The building was once a well-to-do sea captain’s home and the restaurant itself was on the ground floor, while the top floor had been converted into a flat, owned by a wealthy couple from Truro.

  They normally rented it out and Robert had the keys and kept an eye on it for them. It rarely caused him any problems, although he had once had to complain about some tenants who were dumping their rubbish in the street. The roof had also leaked when no one was living there and caused a mini waterfall in the restaurant kitchen.

  Liz wheeled the pushchair inside and Chabela followed. It was quite dark within, owing to the low, oak-beamed ceiling and the dinky, lead-framed windows that looked out on to the narrow, cobbled street.

  Two of the eight stripped wooden tables were occupied by early lunch guests and Robert was standing behind the bar at the back, tea towel in hand, polishing glasses.

  He looked surprised and not altogether pleased to see his wife and daughter arriving unexpectedly, and he quickly ushered them and the stranger into the busy kitchen at the back, so as not to disturb the diners.

  When Liz explained their mission, however, his eyes lit up.

  ‘It must be fate!’ he said, smiling at Chabela and shaking her by the hand. In his enthusiasm, he leaned back against the stainless steel worktop, only for one of the staff to yell at him not to upset the freshly prepared plates of salad that were waiting to be taken into the other room.

  ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender. Then he focused again on the foreigner, who was hovering just behind Liz, looking slightly overwhelmed by the noise, smells, heat and general hubbub.

  There were four members of staff in there, not including Robert, so with Chabela, Liz and Lowenna, that made eight – far too many bodies in such a small space.

  ‘I’m going to need extra people to run my beach café, the Secret Shack,’ Robert explained, fixing Chabela with an appraising eye.

  Liz could imagine what he was thinking – smart appearance, tick; attractive smile, tick; fit, healthy and on the ball, tick. So far so good.

  ‘It’s an upmarket snack bar, essentially,’ he went on, ‘and it’ll get very busy. I think I can rotate my existing chefs. My teenage stepdaughter, Rosie, and her friend, Rafael, will also help out at weekends and in the school holidays. They can wash up and clear the tables and so on, but I need a manager. Do you have any experience?’

  ‘Not really, no.’ Chabela sounded confused. ‘I’m really a university lecturer, you see—’

  ‘She’ll be a quick learner,’ Liz interrupted. ‘I don’t mind giving her a hand to start with and showing her the ropes.’

  She hardly knew the woman, of course, but could see that Robert’s eyes were already starting to glaze over and he was losing interest.

  He ran his fingers through his messy brown hair and frowned. Liz knew that look. He was so generous and kind, his instinct would always be to help out if he could. But he was in charge of two businesses, about which he worried constantly, and he couldn’t afford to employ time-wasters.

  Liz had a hunch, however, that Chabela would be quite capable of rising to whatever challenges he set her.

  ‘You could take her on for a trial period,’ she suggested in her sweetest voice. Then, turning to the Mexican: ‘You wouldn’t mind doing, say, a week for starters, would you? Just to see how you get on?’

  Chabela nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Sounds all right in principle,’ said Robert, still frowning.

  There was a crash, which made them all jump. Jesse, the blond, curly-headed sous-chef, had dropped a large china bowl and an extremely rude word burst from his mouth.

  ‘Sorry, guv,’ he said, noticing Robert’s glare, before bending down to pick up the pieces of broken crockery.

  ‘Can you come back tomorrow morning around ten?’ Robert asked, turning back to Chabela. ‘Bring your CV and we’ll take it from there.’

  It was clear from his expression that the interview, if you could call it that, was over and besides, Lowenna had started complaining and it was only a matter of time before she would explode.

  As she pushed her daughter back out into the sunshine, Liz found herself wondering if her husband would find some excuse tomorrow not to employ Chabela after all.

  There were always plenty of local people without visa problems looking for work �
�� students home for the summer holidays as well as those who relied on seasonal jobs to top up their meagre earnings the rest of the year.

  ‘Tell him you worked in bars and cafés when you were younger,’ she whispered to her new friend, pulling a little box of raisins out of her handbag to give to Lowenna.

  ‘But I didn’t!’ Chabela looked alarmed.

  ‘Did you help your mother prepare meals?’ Liz asked now, and Chabela nodded.

  ‘And clear up the dishes afterwards?’

  Another nod.

  ‘And do you sometimes cook for friends, as well as for yourself?’

  ‘Of course!’ came the reply.

  ‘Well then,’ said Liz triumphantly, ‘you do have experience. Running a café isn’t rocket science, you know. You’ll pick it up dead fast.’

  Chabela wrinkled her brow. ‘Why are you helping me like this? You hardly know me.’

  Liz thought for a moment before replying.

  ‘Because you’re alone in a strange place and for whatever reason, you want to stay. That’s enough for me.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Chabela was smiling now. ‘If I get the job, I’ll prove that you’ve made the right decision. You won’t regret it.’

  After that, they parted company. Chabela said that she was going to walk along the cliffs to explore in a new direction, while Liz took Lowenna to the play park. They didn’t last long, though. There was no one for the little girl to play with and she soon started getting tired and whingey. Liz decided to cut her losses, thinking that it was a good thing it was almost time for her daughter’s afternoon nap.

  They strolled slowly home, stopping once to stroke a fluffy white cat that curled itself around Liz’s ankles. Lowenna watched, transfixed, until it tried to jump on her lap, causing a shriek of dismay.

  ‘Off!’ said Liz, gently shooing away the animal, which slunk off behind some bins where it sat, examining them sulkily through narrowed eyes.

  As she picked up the pace again, watching out for cars and potholes in the road, Liz became aware that her most pressing problem right now was what to cook for dinner. Spaghetti carbonara or mushroom risotto? Rosie would prefer the former and Lowenna wouldn’t mind either way. Robert, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t want anything.