The Girl Who Came Home to Cornwall

by Emma Burstall

  As he hurried away to fetch a dustpan and brush from the cupboard, it dawned on Chabela that her worst fears had probably come true: it must be because of her that Rafael and Rosie had fallen out; Rosie was upset with him for salsa dancing, which meant that her mother was too, and also with Chabela by association. Loveday was furious with her as well, because Jesse had been showing off in front of her.

  None of it was her fault, but no one would believe it. How on earth could she remedy the situation?

  In normal circumstances, she would have hurried over to help Rafael clear up the mess he’d made, but she feared it might only cause further trouble. And she was scared of looking at Robert with Liz close by, so she stared at her feet instead.

  To add to her woes, Audrey and Rick returned dripping wet from their swim and Rick seemed absolutely determined to attract Chabela’s attention.

  ‘Señorita Penhallow!’ he said, in a voice so loud that neither she nor anyone else could ignore him. ‘You should have come in with us! The water’s gorgeous!’

  She felt obliged to give a weak smile in return, which unfortunately, he seemed to interpret as encouragement.

  ‘Next time!’ he added, with a wink. ‘I look forward to it!’

  Loveday made a scoffing sound, Liz narrowed her eyes again and Audrey growled like a cat with a mouse in its sharp little teeth.

  ‘Oh dear!’ Chabela muttered under her breath, wondering which way to turn. ‘Everything’s going wrong. I wish I was back in Kittiwake with Simon!’

  *

  Rosie was weepy and distressed when she returned from her shift at the Secret Shack and claimed that she couldn’t go to school the next morning.

  Despite all Liz’s best efforts to dissuade her daughter from being too hasty, she’d gone ahead and dumped Rafael by text before work, and then they’d barely exchanged so much as a glance all day.

  Rosie said she couldn’t face seeing him at school or having to tell friends that they’d split up.

  ‘Why don’t you call him and suggest going for a walk or a coffee?’ Liz said reasonably, as they sat at the kitchen table eating supper. ‘Go on. Do it now. Wouldn’t it be better to talk things through?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to him,’ Rosie replied miserably. ‘I never want to see him again. I thought he really liked me. I really, really liked him. Everything’s ruined.’

  Before Liz could reply, her daughter got up and half limped, half ran upstairs and slammed her bedroom door shut.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Liz was on the bottom step, clutching the handrail and staring helplessly after her daughter. That saying – you’re only as happy as your unhappiest child – never rang more true, because right now, she felt truly and utterly dejected.

  Instead of going to bed, she paced around the cottage late into the evening, waiting for Robert to return. She wanted him to listen and be comforting, not to solve her problems, but he was weary after his long shift and tried to brush off her concerns.

  ‘Rosie’s overreacting,’ he said, bending down to take off his shoes in the hall before giving his wife a kiss. ‘She’s a teenager. That’s what they do. It’ll blow over.’

  His face was pale, almost grey, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He worked so hard. Liz knew that what he needed now was sleep, but she had needs, too, which weren’t being met.

  ‘That bloody woman,’ she said viciously, meaning Chabela. She was being deliberately provocative but couldn’t seem to stop herself. ‘I wish she’d never come here. She’d probably be gone by now if you hadn’t given her a job.’

  By now, they were in the kitchen. Robert had his back to Liz, pouring a glass of water from the tap, and he swivelled around, eyes flashing.

  ‘So it’s my fault now, is it? And who was it who introduced her to me, exactly?’

  Normally even-tempered, he was running on empty tonight.

  ‘I didn’t interview her, though, did I?’ Liz bit back. ‘I suppose she pulled the wool over your eyes and charmed you silly, just like she does with everyone.’

  The implication that Robert had been hoodwinked by a Jezebel type seemed to annoy him even more, but still, he did his best to try to defuse the situation.

  ‘Look,’ he said quietly, ‘it’s late. You’re tired and down because Rosie’s in a bad patch. Don’t take it out on me.’

  He tried to walk past her with the glass in his hand, but short as she was in height, she managed to bar the way.

  ‘Why is it always me who has to pick up the pieces? I feel like I’m a single parent most of the time.’ She could hear the resentment and self-pity in her voice and hated herself for it.

  He reeled, as if he’d been punched in the solar plexus.

  ‘Do you?’ he said. ‘Do you really?’

  She wanted to tell him no, it wasn’t true. He was always there when she needed him most; it’s just that he worked slavishly hard and worried about his businesses. He had such a deep fear of financial insecurity, which probably went back to childhood, and providing for his family was his main priority. Rather than berate him, she should try to help him find more balance.

  Even as all this whizzed through her mind, a set of very different words were taking shape in her mouth. It was as if all the fear, excitement, guilt and confusion that she’d been feeling over Max these past few months had suddenly crystallised into a giant, multi-surfaced glass ball.

  This wasn’t to do with Rosie and Rafael any more, or Chabela. It wasn’t even to do with Robert’s long absences at the restaurant. It was about them as a couple, their marriage and whether they were meant to stay together.

  ‘We need to talk,’ she said heavily. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

  Her mouth felt dry and a sense of dread crept through her body, from her toes right up to the top of her head. Robert could clearly tell that she was serious, because he slumped down on a kitchen chair, his back rounded and shoulders hunched.

  ‘What?’ he asked in a dull, anxious voice.

  There was still time to row back; she could have made something up, anything to avoid the inevitability of what was to come. But she didn’t.

  ‘I-I think I might be in love with someone else,’ she stammered. ‘At least, I’m attracted to him – and he is to me.’

  The air between and around them seemed to freeze. Nothing moved. Their chests stopped rising and falling with their breath; they scarcely blinked. It was as if time stood still.

  Then all at once Robert put his head in his hands and groaned, long and loud. It was an animalistic sound, primitive and scary.

  ‘What do you mean, Lizzie?’ he asked. ‘What are you talking about?’

  She couldn’t look at him, she just stood there beside him and told him about Max, about how they were just friends at first, but how over the course of the last few months, their feelings had deepened into something more.

  ‘I didn’t want it, I still don’t,’ she said. ‘I told him not to contact me when he went back to Germany the last time. I wasn’t even going to go to the playground ceremony, but then Jean roped me in and I felt I couldn’t say no.’

  Tears sprang from her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away.

  ‘Part of me never wants to see him again…’

  Robert looked up at her now, with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. His face seemed to have deflated, like a beach ball.

  ‘And the other part…?’

  She swallowed. ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I still love you and want to be with you. Why did I even look at him? It makes no sense.’

  Robert snorted then, a nasty, sneering sound.

  ‘Oh my God! Don’t you think I notice other women? Of course I do. I get attracted to people all the time. It’s normal. The difference is, I value our marriage so I don’t do anything about it. Obviously it doesn’t matter to you the same way.’

  This hurt more than he realised, and she was dreading the next question, which she knew would come.
>
  ‘So, how far has this gone? Have you slept with him?’

  ‘No!’ she cried. That much was true.

  There was a pause and he gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  ‘Do you want to sleep with him?’

  This was more difficult. She didn’t know what to answer so she shrugged and shook her head at the same time.

  He sighed and it was such a sad sound that she wanted to hug him, but she’d forfeited that right. She hated to see her husband in so much pain, and knowing that she was the cause made it infinitely worse.

  ‘What else has happened? You’d better tell me everything. Did you snog?’

  Of course he’d chosen the playground word deliberately, and it worked. She felt foolish, immature and ashamed. She deserved it.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and then he wanted to know the details – such as where it had taken place and when.

  As soon as she’d finished, he pushed back his chair and rose quickly. She had no idea what he was thinking.

  ‘I’m going to get my stuff and sleep at the flat tonight.’

  The two-bedroom apartment above A Winkle in Time, which Robert managed for the owners, was empty at the moment, awaiting a new booking.

  He sounded determined and she didn’t try to argue with him. She didn’t blame him. She deserved to be punished and probably would have done the same to him under similar circumstances. It still hurt, though.

  ‘Can we talk about this properly – another time, I mean?’ she asked in a small voice as she trailed after him up the stairs.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said in a way that made her stomach twist and her legs start to give way, so that she had to hang onto the banisters to stop herself from falling. ‘I’m not sure there’s anything more to say.’

  She should have known that he’d react like this. He was very black and white when it came to relationships. After all, he’d been messed around by a previous girlfriend, his fiancée no less. It had taken him years to believe in love once more, and now Liz had shattered his trust all over again.

  The fact that she and Max hadn’t been to bed together was almost irrelevant. The feelings that she’d admitted to were enough of a betrayal and she wasn’t sure that Robert would ever forgive her.

  Hovering by the window, she watched him as he wordlessly threw his toothbrush and a change of clothes into a backpack before going downstairs and opening the front door.

  ‘What shall I tell the girls?’ she called helplessly after him as he strode towards the gate.

  He stopped for a moment and turned his head.

  ‘No idea. You should have thought of it before you got involved with that man.’

  Straight away, he marched on long legs out of the garden and up Humble Hill towards South Street. There was a lump in Liz’s throat that had become so painful, she could hardly bear to swallow. But she didn’t cry.

  Instead, she stood in the hallway for a few minutes, savouring the bitter and all-too-familiar taste of isolation.

  It had been the same when her previous partner, Greg, had left, and she’d experienced it many times subsequently, when she and Rosie had lived alone. Somehow, though, she didn’t think she’d ever felt quite as bad, or as bleak, as she did now.

  The knowledge that she’d brought it on herself didn’t help, but more importantly, she’d never truly been in love with Greg. Robert was different. When she finally met him, she believed that she’d found her soulmate.

  Panic rose up from her belly into her larynx, causing her to choke. Blind with tears and fear, she stumbled into the sitting room and stood before the fireplace, taking deep inhalations and trying to calm herself down.

  Of course Robert was angry and upset, he had every right to be, but it would blow over. Tomorrow was another day and with luck, they’d both see things more clearly in the cold light of morning.

  But what of Max? Strangely enough, she’d scarcely thought of him for the past couple of hours. He seemed almost an irrelevance. This house, the hearth, her girls asleep upstairs and Robert around the corner, they were what really mattered. How could she ever have thought otherwise?

  Chapter Seventeen

  The drumming of seagull feet on the rooftop sounded positively melancholy when Liz woke at around five the following morning.

  She’d slept on Robert’s side, breathing in his comforting scent on the pillow, but she’d been aware all night of the cold, empty space next to her.

  Now, as she looked at his things on the bedside table – books, mostly, and a wonky glazed pot that Rosie had made for him one Father’s Day – she felt a profound sense of regret and sorrow.

  She could only begin to imagine how much he was hurting and half wished that she could take back what she’d said. Deep down, though, she knew that she couldn’t have lived with her guilty secret for much longer. It had been slowly growing in the dark, like a cancer, and she suspected that only the light of exposure could destroy it.

  Tormented by her thoughts, she decided it would be better to get up and distract herself until the girls woke. She was anxious that Rosie might still be refusing to go to school and decided to try to coax her down by making her favourite breakfast pancakes.

  Fortunately all the ingredients were to hand, and a choice of toppings, including blueberries, raspberries and chocolate spread. Liz also made rolled oat granola with walnuts and seeds, which she toasted in the oven, hoping that the tempting smells would waft upstairs into the bedrooms.

  She wasn’t hungry herself in the least, but she put on the radio and made herself a pot of coffee, all the while hoping that Robert would magically appear at the door, give her a big hug and tell her that she’d just had a bad dream. She didn’t want to call him in case he was still asleep and besides, something told her that it would be wise to let him cool off for a bit longer, though in truth, he wasn’t usually one to fester or hold grudges. He’d come about; he always did.

  This thought kept her going until Lowenna came downstairs at around six thirty with her favourite teddy under one arm and a thumb wedged in her mouth like a cork.

  Her eyes were still sleepy and her dark silky hair was tousled. Feeling a rush of love, Liz picked her up and kissed her on one soft, warm cheek after another. She smelled sweet and faintly grassy, like full fat milk. The scent reminded Liz of wheat fields, of new-born lambs – and heart-breaking innocence.

  ‘Where’s Dadda?’ was the little girl’s first question, while she was still in her mother’s arms.

  The hard, scratchy lump reappeared in Liz’s throat and she put her daughter gently down.

  ‘He’s at work,’ she said, crossing her fingers that there wouldn’t be a tantrum. Lowenna adored her father, she was a real Daddy’s girl, and most mornings they’d have a tickling match, or play ‘thumb wars’ in Liz’s and Robert’s bed.

  Fortunately, the little girl was distracted by the sight of Mitzi poking her round head through the cat flap, quickly followed by the rest of her furry body. She had her eye on her bowl of food, but Lowenna grabbed her before she could get there and hung on tight.

  Mitzi didn’t look too happy. Letting out a pathetic miaow, she struggled a bit and tried to jump down, but Lowenna only tightened her grip.

  ‘Come on, puss-puss,’ she said in a strict, motherly sort of tone. ‘Do you want a nice ride in your pram?’

  It was no doubt the last thing that Mitzi fancied, but the pair disappeared into the front room where Lowenna kept her doll’s pram, and Liz could hear her daughter trying to tuck the poor cat in. It had become a fairly regular ritual, but it never lasted long. Usually, Mitzi hopped out of her blankets the moment Lowenna’s back was turned and made a run for it, scarpering through the cat flap before her mistress could nab her again.

  Rosie appeared with a scowl on her face, but she was dressed in her uniform, her hair neatly brushed, and Liz breathed a silent sigh of relief. She was going to school after all, then. That was one thing to be grateful for.

  ‘How did you sleep?’
she asked her eldest.

  ‘OK.’

  Rosie plonked down on a kitchen chair and poured herself a glass of orange juice.

  ‘Would you like some pancakes? Or I’ve made granola.’

  ‘Pancakes,’ she said, taking a big slurp.

  It was like trying to get blood out of a stone, but Liz didn’t complain. She thought that she could put up with anything this morning, so long as Rosie got to class on time at least.

  Lowenna had playgroup at the Methodist church hall from ten to twelve o’clock. Then, and only then, could Liz start to think properly about how she was going to try to piece her marriage back together.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Rafael?’ she asked Rosie, as she poured some of the pancake mixture into a frying pan and watched it begin to sizzle.

  To her surprise, Rosie revealed that he’d sent her a text late last night.

  ‘What did he say?’ Liz held her breath, fearing a sharp rebuff, but Rosie nonchalantly twizzled a strand of hair around her finger and told her mother that he’d apologised.

  ‘How nice!’ Liz couldn’t disguise her relief and pleasure, which clearly annoyed her daughter enormously.

  ‘No it’s not! He shouldn’t have done it in the first place. Then he wouldn’t need to say sorry, would he?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Liz replied quickly, lowering her head and flipping the pancake over to cook the other side.

  She wanted to ask if Rosie had accepted the apology and if she and Rafael were back together again, but was scared of having her head snapped off. At least the signs were optimistic, though.

  Liz had a feeling that relations between the two would be restored by the end of the school day. She certainly hoped so; they were good together and seemed to make each other happy – most of the time, anyway.

  Rosie left promptly and after dropping Lowenna at the church hall, Liz made her way to A Winkle in Time. Not having heard a squeak from Robert, she decided that the best course of action would be to face the situation head on and request a meeting.

  She was still praying that he’d have softened up and would be keen to sort things out. Her heart sank, however, when she arrived at the restaurant to find the door shut tight and no signs of life inside. Robert usually got to work first, at around nine a.m., unless he had something else to do beforehand, and now it was ten twenty.