The Girl Who Came Home to Cornwall

by Emma Burstall

  There was no separate entrance to the flat and Liz didn’t have a key anyway, so she had to ring the bell. Presently, Robert opened the inner door that led from the apartment into the restaurant. When he saw his wife peering through the bevelled glass, he hesitated for a moment before opening up.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Liz asked, noticing how pale and drawn he looked. He clearly hadn’t shaved or combed his hair either.

  He stood aside to let her pass and then she waited, expecting him to lead her upstairs. Instead, however, he pulled out a chair for her at one of the wooden tables and took the seat facing it himself.

  ‘Why have you come?’ he asked, scanning around the room as if he were searching for something, before resting his gaze on an invisible spot on the wall.

  It wasn’t a good start and it knocked her off balance, but she mustered all her courage and asked if they could please talk about what happened last night.

  ‘Go on, then,’ he replied, still refusing to meet her eye. ‘What do you want to say?’

  ‘I-I’m so sorry,’ she stuttered. She wasn’t used to this new, hard, unflinching Robert. It threw her completely.

  ‘Sorry for what?’ he said coldly. ‘For falling in love with another man, or for telling me about it?’

  ‘Darling—’ She was hoping to take the edge off his pain, to soothe the troubled waters, but it didn’t work.

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ he snapped, quick as a flash. ‘I’m not your darling any more.’

  Tears sprang to her eyes and she found that she couldn’t speak, so he filled the silence.

  ‘I’m going to stay here for the time being,’ he said heavily. ‘I’ll come round later to pick up some stuff. You’d better tell the girls we’ve had an argument, you don’t need to say what it’s about. I’ll visit them every day and Rosie can call at the flat whenever she wants. I’ll get an extra key cut for her. I want her to feel she can come and go.’

  A sense of dread settled in Liz’s stomach, like murky, stagnant water. He’d clearly thought it through; he probably hadn’t slept all last night for planning; he looked exhausted.

  ‘Won’t you—’ she pleaded, but he shook his head and raised a flattened palm.

  ‘Stop!’

  She’d been poised to beg him to come home, but he halted her in her tracks.

  ‘Would you consider going for some marriage counselling?’ she tried now. ‘I’ve heard it’s really helpful.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  Feeling beaten and desperate, she lowered her head and picked at the corner of a fingernail.

  ‘When will you be willing to discuss it?’ she went on, in a small voice, and his look made her insides shrivel.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I’ve got no idea. Quite frankly, right now I just want you to go away and leave me alone.’

  *

  What to do? Where to go? For a while Liz wandered around the village in a sort of trance. She ended up on a bench on the seafront, staring out at the glassy ocean and wondering how her life had come to this.

  The sun was shining, which seemed like an affront, when her carefully constructed world was falling down around her. For a split second, she contemplated walking out to sea and never coming back, until she thought of her girls and knew that she couldn’t do it to them.

  There was still an hour to go before she had to pick up Lowenna, and all of a sudden, Tabitha popped into her head and she knew that she had to see her.

  Tabitha, Oscar and Danny had recently moved into a cottage close to where Tony and Felipe lived with Rafael, and Liz made her way there as quickly as she could, hoping that she wouldn’t meet anyone she knew on the way.

  Fortunately Tabitha was at home, watching the clock. Like Liz, she didn’t want to be late for playgroup pick-up time, as Oscar went there, too.

  ‘Come in!’ she cried when she saw her friend on the doorstep. ‘You look terrible!’

  This made Liz, who was already fragile and slightly nauseous, immediately feel ten times worse.

  The tiny two-up two-down cottage was only rented, as Tabitha and Danny were looking around for somewhere to buy. You walked straight into the sitting room, which was pleasantly furnished with modern, Scandinavian-style furniture, wooden floors and brightly coloured rugs and cushions, while the newish, mainly white kitchen was at the back.

  Although most of the furniture belonged to the owners, it still had Tabitha’s stamp on it. She’d finally put a few of her own colourful pictures and prints on the wall, which Liz recognised from the previous home she’d shared in the village with her ex.

  There was also an eye-catching, zebra-print throw on the sofa now and a dusty pink velvet chair with a scallop-shaped back, that looked as if it had come straight out of a nineteen thirties silent movie. In fact it probably had. Tabitha loved buying old furniture and getting it restored, especially anything art deco. In a perfect world, she’d probably sing professionally and own an antiques shop on the side.

  The women sat side by side on a boxy blue sofa, facing a bay window that looked out onto the narrow, cobbled street, and Tabitha asked what was the matter.

  It didn’t take long for Liz to fill her in on everything that had been happening, including her feelings for Max and the terrible bust-up with Robert.

  Tabitha listened quietly, without showing any emotion, right up until the moment when Liz told her that she thought she and Robert might be getting divorced.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Tabitha said, giving her friend a spontaneous hug. ‘He must be really, really hurt, but he adores you. Everyone’s allowed one mistake. You just have to convince him you’re completely over Max. He needs to be sure you bitterly regret it and it’ll never, ever happen again.’

  Her words brought some comfort, but she wasn’t letting Liz off the hook entirely. Tabitha said in no uncertain terms that Liz had been a fool, and she had to agree.

  ‘Why on earth would you risk your marriage?’ Tabitha asked incredulously. ‘You must have known you were playing with fire?’

  Liz bit her lip. ‘I know it sounds mad, but I didn’t think it through. I suppose I got swept away in all the excitement. I really did like Max; it wasn’t just some silly crush. I know he has strong feelings for me, too.’

  Tabitha looked unimpressed. ‘I had a hunch something was going on. I wish you’d talked to me sooner. What did you imagine the outcome would be? A quick shag with him? Then what? You didn’t really imagine you’d have a future together, did you?’ She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and frowned. ‘Sure, he’s cute-looking, but you live in different countries and you’re from completely different backgrounds. Besides, you don’t really know him. Not properly. If you spent any time together you might find you don’t have that much in common, really.’ She fiddled with the corner of her sleeve. ‘Does he have other girlfriends?’

  Liz’s eyes opened wide. ‘I haven’t asked him.’ She realised that this sounded silly, but it was the truth.

  ‘Well you should,’ Tabitha went on firmly. ‘He doesn’t strike me as the type of man to be on his own for long. Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a bit of a player.’ She peered at her friend critically. ‘Surely you didn’t think you’d walk off into the sunset with him, hand in hand?’

  Liz shrugged, and Tabitha let out an exasperated sigh.

  ‘Well that’s never going to happen!’

  Liz swallowed nervously. For some strange reason, the thought that Max might be a smooth operator had simply never occurred to her. He’d always seemed quite serious and genuine, rather than flirty, and she’d been so anxious not to mess him around that it had never crossed her mind she might be vulnerable to being treated badly herself.

  ‘I don’t think he’s a womaniser,’ she said quietly, but Tabitha had cast doubt in her mind and Liz knew now that she’d have to ponder the matter further.

  A tinkling sound outside the window made them both glance up as Nathan, the postman, cycled past, giving a cheery wav
e. A few minutes later, a pile of mail plopped through the letter box and landed on the doormat.

  ‘He’s late today,’ Tabitha commented, getting up to fetch the mail and putting it on the little table beside her. Then she examined Liz again.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked seriously. ‘I don’t mean about Robert. I mean, how are you going to occupy yourself while he’s away? You need to find something to get your teeth into, otherwise you’ll over-think things. I know what you’re like, you’ll go mad.’

  Liz knew that her friend was right. Moping around wasn’t an option, she’d be better off upping her hours at the South East Cornwall Five Fishes Project, which used volunteers to provide hot meals for the poor and vulnerable, or looking for paid employment.

  ‘I’ll get a cleaning job,’ she said suddenly. She didn’t fancy trying to resurrect her own business right now; she’d rather work away from home and not have to think too much, either. ‘It shouldn’t be difficult at this time of year.’

  Tabitha raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? That sounds a bit grim. Isn’t there something else you’d rather do?’

  Liz shook her head. ‘I like cleaning. I’m good at it. I find it therapeutic.’

  She paused for a moment and took a deep breath.

  ‘You know, it’s ages since I had a proper job. I never imagined I’d be a kept woman, but that’s what I’ve become. It’s not good for me, I don’t think. It’s time I got out and earned a living again. I need to stand on my own two feet.’

  ‘Well done!’ Tabitha said with a smile. ‘I’m sure Robert will respect you for it. I can always have Lowenna, if needs be. Oscar will be delighted.’

  The church clock chimed three times, indicating a quarter to twelve, midday. The time had flown. Tabitha rose, smoothing her white top as she did so. ‘I need the loo, then we’d better get going. You know what they’re like if we’re late.’

  They strolled side by side towards the Methodist hall, commenting on their favourite cottages as they went. Most had hanging baskets and window boxes stuffed with glorious blooms – red and white geraniums, midnight blue lobelia and trailing pink fuchsia. In fact the entire village was a riot of colour now, thanks also to the jolly summer bunting strung across lamp-posts and attached to shopfronts in the main streets.

  The recent rain, followed by hot sunshine, had turned the lawns particularly lush and green, and daisies poked their heads through the blades of grass while bees hummed around purple stocks and lavender bushes.

  Quite a few folk passed by in the other direction and nodded or said hello. Liz didn’t recognise everyone and guessed that some were holidaymakers with grown-up children, perhaps, taking advantage of the relative peace and quiet before the schools broke up and the place became jam-packed.

  As they continued up the hill, heading out of the village in the direction of Polrethen, in the distance they saw a very tall man with dark brown hair leave someone’s house and start to climb into his car.

  Liz’s heart skipped, because for a moment she thought it was Robert. But then she realised that this man was chunkier and he was wearing shorts and a dark green T-shirt that she didn’t recognise. Besides, Robert didn’t know anyone in that cottage and didn’t drive an electric blue car either.

  She realised with a stab that she was missing her husband already and the reality of her situation hit her once more like a juggernaut.

  Lowering her head against a powerful, imaginary force, she told herself that this wasn’t the first time she’d faced a crisis and most likely it wouldn’t be the last. She’d made it through before and somehow she’d survive now, too. She’d have to.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The summer season started fairly slowly, but Tremarnock began to fill up in early July and by the end of the month, it was heaving. Come early August, all the bed and breakfast accommodation was taken, and the nearby camp and caravan sites were packed.

  Often, the same families would come back year after year and they knew exactly where to go, how to behave and which places to eat in. It was the newcomers, however, that you had to watch out for. Unused to local ways, some of them strode around as if they owned the place, parking inconsiderately, talking in loud voices, dropping litter and generally drawing attention to themselves.

  Most of the villagers managed to tolerate these ill-manners, knowing that without the ‘emmets’, as they called them, and the cash they brought in, the village would surely die. Some, however, made a habit out of sitting and watching their antics from a distance with either amusement or horror, depending on the circumstances, rather as if they were animals in a zoo.

  Later, they’d recount to each other what they’d seen over a pint or a half of cider in the pub, keeping their voices low, so as not to be overheard.

  Audrey, in particular, reckoned that she could spot the ne’er-do-wells a mile off. These were the types who would leave the beach with their families at the end of the day looking like lobsters, not having realised how strong the Cornish sun could be, even when the sky was cloudy. Or, even worse, they’d give their children flimsy inflatables to play with in the water, and then express surprise when the wind and tide dragged them out so far that they had to be rescued by the poor, overworked lifeboat men and women.

  Audrey was careful never to offend these hapless holidaymakers to their faces, for fear of putting them off the pricey swimsuits and fancy cover-ups on sale at her clothes shop in South Street. When it came to Chabela, however, she had no such scruples and would happily speak ill of her to anyone who cared to listen. This behaviour had finally caused a rift between Audrey and Rick, who were scarcely talking to each other.

  Rick’s soppy idolisation of Chabela, as Audrey viewed it, absolutely infuriated her, as did his constant search for excuses to get close to the Mexican. He had even put himself in competition with Simon to see who could discover more about her Penhallow connections. Audrey found this pathetic, and wasn’t afraid to say so, but it seemed to have no effect on Rick whatsoever.

  Not that Simon realised it was a contest, of course. In fact, when Rick tracked down and managed to purchase some books about the Cousin Jacks in Mexico, which included several mentions of James Penhallow, Simon said he was delighted because it saved him a job.

  However, Chabela was less than pleased when Simon invited her and Rick over to peruse his findings, though she wanted to see Simon, so she accepted. When Rick suggested that she meet him at his shop and they walk together, she felt that she couldn’t refuse.

  It was a Sunday evening at the beginning of August when she left her car on Humble Hill and strolled along South Street towards Treasure Trove. On her way, she passed by A Winkle in Time and peered through the steamy window. It was humming inside, every table was taken, and loud voices and laughter were drifting through the open door.

  Robert was in his usual position behind the bar; she recognised his tall frame and gave a wave, but he didn’t notice. He was now officially renting the flat upstairs himself and he’d changed so much since the split. Everyone had noticed it, including Chabela, and she felt sorry for him.

  He seemed to have withdrawn into himself and rarely spoke to anyone, other than to issue instructions. He’d got thinner, too, and appeared to have lost interest in the Secret Shack, which he visited far less these days.

  Luckily, Chabela was a quick learner and could pretty much run the business day to day on her own now. This was just as well, because Loveday often showed up late and left early. She and Jesse had recovered from their argument and she was no longer snubbing Chabela, but they weren’t exactly friends. Chabela missed the chats and laughs they used to have.

  Meanwhile, Rosie, too, was still playing it cool. Chabela gleaned that the relationship with Rafael was on again, though not official. He must have been under strict instructions not to look at Chabela, far less engage in conversation, because he avoided getting too close and they barely exchanged a word.

  One afternoon, Chabela overheard Rafael and Rosie
talking in the cloakroom. Rosie was in tears about her parents’ split and he was trying, in his slightly clumsy way, to reassure her that things would work out all right in the end.

  ‘They love each other,’ he said simply, as if that were enough.

  ‘Well, I hate my mum,’ Rosie replied angrily. ‘It’s all her fault.’

  Chabela had no idea what she meant by this and tiptoed away. When she saw Rosie again, she’d calmed down, but the truth was that most of the fun had gone out of the job; it simply wasn’t the same.

  If it weren’t for the fact that Chabela had no desire to return to Mexico City, she might well have booked a flight home. However, she didn’t feel ready to say goodbye to Simon yet, though she wasn’t sure why.

  At the bottom of South Street, she was slightly dismayed to see Rick on the pavement outside his shop with a pink rose in his hand, which he said he’d picked for her from his back garden. She tucked it in her thick hair, pretending to be pleased, but as they set off on their stroll, she maintained a discreet distance and tried to keep the conversation as light as possible.

  When he started to talk about his previous romances, she deftly steered the subject on to her professional relationships with university students. And when he mentioned that his house was a bit big for one person, she extolled the virtues of singledom and insisted that she could never live with anyone else.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t to be put off quite so easily and kept trying to initiate a deeper and more meaningful tête-à-tête, right up until the moment when they reached Kittiwake, some thirty minutes later.

  Grateful to have arrived at last, Chabela marched ahead and when Simon came to the door, in a funny, friendly old checked shirt with a frayed collar, she opened her arms wide and rushed in to give him a big hug.