‘I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself,’ he commented. ‘I hope it’s not been a waste of time?’
‘Oh no!’ Chabela meant it. She mightn’t have learned anything new about the Penhallows, but she had a more general feel now for the lives of migrant miners.
‘I’ll do some more digging around for you,’ Rick promised. ‘See what I can come up with. It’s a shame Pat’s gone. She was the village’s oldest inhabitant. Lived in The Nook on Humble Hill. If anyone had any knowledge of a family named Penhallow, it would have been her. She’s dead now, more’s the pity. Wonderful woman, she was. There’s a gravestone for her in the Methodist churchyard.’
By the time they got up to leave, it was almost six o’clock and they were virtually the last visitors remaining on the site.
Rick suggested stopping off for a pub supper on the way home. Chabela was quite hungry but said no, not wishing to send out wrong signals.
‘It’s been a wonderful afternoon,’ she said, when he drew up outside the manor.
She could see Maria through the ground-floor kitchen window, watering plants on the sill with a little copper can. The old woman looked up briefly when she heard the car, then turned away without acknowledgment.
As soon as the engine was off, Rick hopped out and hurried around to Chabela’s side to open the door for her.
‘Thank you so much.’ She put out a hand to shake his, but he ignored it.
‘It’s been my pleasure,’ he replied, bending down to plant a whiskery kiss on her cheek instead. ‘I hope you’ll allow me to take you out again?’
‘I’d like that,’ she said, ‘but I’m going to be doing long hours at the Secret Shack. I don’t think I’ll have much free time.’
Rick waved a hand in the air as if he were swatting away a fly.
‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,’ he said airily. ‘I’ll have a word with Robert, tell him not to overwork you.’
Chabela frowned. The last thing she wanted was Rick interfering with her schedule, however kindly meant. He might put up Robert’s back and besides, she liked working at the café and didn’t particularly want to reduce her hours or go out with Rick again for a while.
She was about to say something of the sort, as diplomatically as possible, but he turned on his heel and got back in his car before she had the chance.
As he started to reverse, checking in the mirror to see what was behind, she caught his eye by accident and his bushy brows shot up in a rather suggestive manner.
She frowned a little and gave a polite wave back.
*
‘Gerroffof me! Shoo! Arrgh!’
Liz was rounding the corner out of South Street when she heard someone shouting at the top of his voice.
The noise seemed to be coming from the other end of Humble Hill. Startled, she quickened her pace and soon, a very tall man came into view, waving his long arms in the air and hopping from one foot to another, as if he were stepping on hot coals.
He was right outside Bag End, and above his head was a circling seagull.
‘Robert!’ Liz cried, hurrying down the hill and hanging on tight to Lowenna’s hand. ‘What is it? What’s going on?’
The sight of her father in such apparent distress was too much for Lowenna, who started to howl.
‘DADDEEEE!’ she screamed, breaking away from her mother and racing towards him as fast as her legs would carry her.
She was wearing pink shorts and white sandals and Liz’s heart was in her mouth as she followed on helplessly, praying that her daughter wouldn’t fall and cut her knees or stub her toes.
At the sound of the little girl’s high-pitched voice, or perhaps it was at the sight of her bright pink shorts, the seagull appeared to reconsider its position. After hovering for a moment, perilously close to Robert’s scalp, as if preparing to dive, it began to flap off.
Liz breathed a sigh of relief, but then it appeared to have second thoughts, flying back towards Robert, who took off a leather shoe and threw it as hard as he could in the bird’s general direction.
This seemed to do the trick. The gull swooped up, up and away, landing on the rooftop of Bag End, from where it surveyed them smugly.
‘It’s all right, darling,’ Robert said, wrapping his arms around Lowenna as she flung herself towards him, and lifting her up. ‘Daddy’s OK. Daddy’s not hurt.’
But as soon as Liz was alongside, his tune changed.
‘They’ve got it in for me,’ he muttered ominously. ‘Those bloody birds. Ever since I used that BB gun, they’ve been lying in wait for me. They watch until I get right up close to the garden gate, then pounce.’
He pointed towards the offending gull and shook his fist.
‘That one would have attacked me if you hadn’t come. I’m sure of it. It knew exactly what it was doing. I could have been seriously hurt.’
‘Oh dear!’ Liz was concerned for her husband but couldn’t quite believe that he’d been deliberately targeted. ‘I don’t think it’s got a personal grudge. It was probably protecting its nest. Maybe it thought you were a predator or something. I wonder if there are any eggs yet.’
Robert growled. Needless to say, his attempt at frightening off the birds had failed dismally. Not only were they still in residence, they also seemed determined to cause as much inconvenience as possible. Every morning at daybreak, they’d wake up Liz and Robert with their drumming feet, and she could no longer hang washing in the garden, in case they pooed on it.
‘I’ll ring the council in the morning, without fail,’ she said, cursing herself for not having done so sooner. ‘I’m sure they’ll help when I tell them the birds are getting vicious.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it.’ Robert kissed the top of Lowenna’s dark head and frowned. ‘From what I hear, gulls have more rights than humans. It’s absurd!’
He picked up his shoe, unlocked the front door and they all went indoors. It was only then that Liz thought to ask why he’d come home at all; she hadn’t expected to see him until the restaurant closed.
It seemed that Jesse had accidentally tipped hollandaise sauce on his boss’s trousers, which needed to be changed. Being reminded of this, though, only seemed to put Robert in a worse mood.
‘He smashed some plates last week and now look what he’s done,’ he grumbled, taking off his baggy trousers in the middle of the kitchen, scrunching them up and flinging them through the utility room door. ‘He’s getting careless. I need to have a proper word with him.’
Robert seemed completely unaware of how funny he looked, standing there in nothing but a cream shirt, brown socks, one shoe and his red and white striped boxers.
Liz raised an eyebrow. ‘D’you need to change your underpants, too?’ She took a step forwards. ‘Shall I take them off for you?’ She was hoping to make him smile, but it didn’t work.
‘No,’ he snapped. ‘There’s nothing wrong with them.’
And with that, he stomped off upstairs. He never used to have a foul temper, Liz reflected. She blamed overwork. She’d begged him not to buy the Secret Shack but he wouldn’t listen to her. Now look at him! He could do with a month off, but there was no way that he’d take even a week.
She turned to Lowenna, who was plonked on the floor with her thumb in her mouth, staring into space. The poor little thing was obviously exhausted. She’d been with Liz this evening to the penultimate choir rehearsal prior to the plaque unveiling ceremony on Saturday.
For an hour and a half, the little girl had sat, good as gold, on a beanbag in the church hall, watching the older children practising their sea shanties. Then, right at the end, when Liz had said they could all leave, she’d gone quite mad, giggling hysterically as she raced around the hall and the garden outside, chased by some of the other children. It seemed that they were all full to bursting with pent-up energy that needed releasing somehow.
No wonder Lowenna looked now as if she were ready to fall asleep right there on the floor.
After a quick bath and
a story, Liz tucked her youngest into bed with her favourite teddy bear, and she’d drifted off before her mother had even left the room.
Robert was long since gone again. He’d called a hasty ‘bye’ before slamming the door. Liz imagined him running for his life down the garden path like an ambushed soldier, his arms over his head to protect it from flying bullets or, in his case, dive-bombing seagulls. She hoped that he’d made it safely.
Tiptoeing next door into Rosie’s room, she was dismayed to find her eldest glued to her laptop, watching an episode of her favourite reality show.
‘Have you done your homework?’ Liz asked rather sharply, and immediately wished that she hadn’t.
‘Nice to see you too, Mum,’ Rosie replied sarcastically. Then she softened a little. ‘How was the rehearsal?’
‘Good,’ came the reply. ‘Or good enough, anyway. We’ve only got one more practice session, so it’ll have to be.’
Back downstairs, Liz put on a wash and tidied away the remains of what must have been one of Rosie’s snacks. She was very health conscious these days, and went in for things like hummus, chopped up carrots and wheat-free crackers, the remains of which were sprayed across the worktop.
Once all the jobs were done, the light outside had faded and shadows had started to dance across the walls and floor, Liz realised that she could put it off no longer. Sitting at the kitchen table, she opened up her laptop and logged on.
Ever since agreeing to be choir mistress for the plaque unveiling ceremony, she’d known that she must write to tell Max that she would be there after all. It was only fair to give him time to prepare. It would be far worse just to turn up; he mightn’t be able to hide his surprise, or someone might notice a funny atmosphere between them and make comments. Her stomach fluttering at the mere thought of his name, she typed an email.
Dear Max, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be there on Saturday after all. I was asked to lead the choir so I’ll be there just for the ceremony, then I’ll have to leave…
She stopped short and erased the last sentence. No need for lengthy explanations or excuses. Keep it simple.
I hope you have a good flight. See you at the ceremony.
Love, Liz x
She reread it once to check for mistakes, then pressed send. At least now she could turn up with her head held high, knowing that she’d been as straight and honest with him as possible. He couldn’t ask for more than that.
Chapter Twelve
The sun was shining and there was barely a cloud in the sky as scores of villagers left their cottages and started to make their way slowly from all directions along the narrow, cobbled streets of Tremarnock to the playground.
It was eleven thirty a.m. and Liz was holding Lowenna with one hand, while her other arm was linked through Rosie’s. Just ahead, at the bottom of Humble Hill, they could see Jean outside Dynnargh, waiting for Tom, who was fiddling with the latch of their white picket gate.
In front of them, a gaggle of children in blue and white striped sailor outfits were starting to disappear around the corner. The choir. Some were singing raucously while others pushed and jostled with each other. They weren’t exactly an orderly bunch and Liz hoped that they’d calm down in time for their performance.
She was feeling nervous and wished in some ways that Robert were at her side. He’d kindly drafted in temporary staff to cover the lunchtime shifts at his two establishments, so that his regular employees could attend the ceremony. But he himself was to remain at A Winkle in Time until the very last moment.
He might only catch ten minutes or so of the fun at the end, he said, but it would be better than nothing, and Liz had decided not to put up a fight.
Whilst she would have liked his support, she was also quite relieved that he wouldn’t be there to witness her reunion with Max. She wasn’t at all sure that she was going to be a good enough actress to conceal her sense of unease, which, of course, Robert would pick up on immediately because he knew her so well.
Rosie would be meeting Rafael there and she was looking very pretty in blue jeans and a skimpy white top with spaghetti straps. Her long fair hair was newly washed and hung, thick and glossy over her thin shoulders. Liz had always loved her daughter’s hair; it reminded her of a horse’s mane.
Liz herself had chosen a simple navy cotton shirt dress with a tie at the waist, and her black Birkenstock sandals, while Lowenna had on a pink, sleeveless A-line dress, white sandals and a cream cardigan.
Her dark hair, the exact same colour as her mother’s, was tied up in two pigtails, which looked incredibly cute, while Liz had a ponytail. Strangers would often smile as the pair went by and say they looked like twins. Although Liz couldn’t see it herself, she did understand why, for they were both small and slight with big, round brown eyes and black lashes.
As they turned left into Fore Street, they heard a shout. Spinning around, Liz saw Tabitha and her partner Danny, sporting a beard and a man bun, with Oscar on his shoulders.
Tabitha waved and Liz, Lowenna and Rosie waited for them to catch up. Behind them were John and Jenny Lambert with Sally on a lead, and even further back was Rick, in a bright red flannel shirt. Beside him was Audrey. You couldn’t miss her either because she was almost as tall as Rick and broad, too. Her dark hair, cut pixie-short and artfully mussed, was tipped with platinum streaks, which seemed to twinkle in the sunshine.
She had on a striking sugar pink and white striped top and big gold earrings, and she was peering down and talking animatedly to a much shorter woman, whom Liz didn’t recognise.
‘Hello, friend!’ Tabitha said to Liz, once she’d caught up properly. Meanwhile, Oscar bobbed up and down on Danny’s shoulders, grinning at Lowenna and pulling on Danny’s man bun until, wincing, he told the boy to keep still or he might fall.
‘Looks like there’s going to be quite a crowd,’ Tabitha commented, and indeed, there was a queue for the car park at the top of the road and several drivers appeared to be rather stressed, winding down their windows to shout at the vehicles in front and beeping their horns.
In the field opposite, in the middle of which the play park was situated, folk were already milling around, chatting amongst themselves and setting up portable chairs in what they hoped, no doubt, would be prime viewing positions.
They were a colourful sight, in summer blues, white, pinks and yellows and someone was selling metallic gold and silver helium balloons, which bobbed gaily in the breeze.
Dotted around the perimeter were several blue and white striped canvas gazebos as well as white plastic chairs and tables. There was to be food and drink available after the ceremony, which Barbara had been charged with organising, assisted by, among others, her son, Aiden.
If it had been raining, they’d planned to move everyone into the Methodist church hall for the reception but luckily, the weather was set fair. An al fresco feast was what the whole village had been hoping for and their wishes, it seemed, were about to come true.
Beneath a very large oak tree on the far side of the field stood the village brass band, complete with trumpets, trombones, tubas, drums and euphoniums. What the players lacked in skill, they made up for in enthusiasm, and they struck up just as Liz and crew wandered through the main gate.
Instantly, Lowenna’s hands shot out to cover her ears.
‘Ouch!’ said Liz, feeling her daughter’s pain. ‘That’s a bit shrill. I hope they warm up!’
The playground itself had been recently renovated, thanks to Max’s generosity, and the council had installed new swings, a climbing frame, assorted roundabouts, a sand and water area and the pièce de résistance – a large, thrilling, wood and stainless steel structure resembling an ocean-going ship.
This had two slides, a scrambling net, a sort of suspension bridge, a tempting bright blue talking tube and a big red ship’s wheel. It was the first time that anyone had been allowed anywhere near the new equipment, and Lowenna’s eyes were on stalks.
‘Me, me!’ she sho
uted impatiently, pointing at the galleon, but the gate into the asphalt-covered area was locked and no one was allowed in until Max had officially cut the ribbon.
Some children in leotards from a local gymnastics club were limbering up on the grass outside, doing stretches and handstands in preparation for their demonstration. Even they hadn’t yet been permitted into the enclosure, and one or two were poking their noses longingly through the gaps in the green bow-top fencing, their fingers curled around the metal bars.
Liz glanced around, scanning the sea of faces for Max, but there was no sign of him. She guessed that he would probably arrive with Reg Carter, the pompous leader of the parish council.
Reg had been dead keen on selling the land to housing developers, right up until the moment when Max had stepped in. After that, Reg had swiftly changed his tune, pretending that he’d been rooting to preserve the playground all along.
No one was fooled, but as he lived in the village and was constantly in and out of the local shops, it seemed easier just to suffer him and try to turn a blind eye rather than engage in an unpleasant, long-running dispute.
Nevertheless, he rarely got invited to people’s houses these days and few offered to buy him drinks in the pubs. Liz was almost starting to feel a little sorry for him, though he was so thick-skinned that he didn’t seem aware of the hostility.
Rosie had wandered off, presumably to find Rafael, and soon Esme trotted over to say hello. She was smiling widely and Liz noticed that her eyes were particularly bright.
‘You look—’ she started to say, but Esme interrupted.
‘Guess what?’ she cried breathlessly, grabbing Liz’s upper arm and squeezing tight.
She wasn’t much given to public displays of emotion and Liz felt slightly anxious.
‘Helen’s had her baby – it’s a girl!’
‘Oh that’s wonderful!’
Esme’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Liz became giddy with delight.
‘Are they both OK?’
Esme nodded happily.
‘Does the baby have a name yet?’
The Girl Who Came Home to Cornwall Page 15
