The Girl Who Came Home to Cornwall

by Emma Burstall

  It was completely spontaneous, born out of relief and, frankly, desperation, because Rick had been getting heavier by the minute. If the walk had lasted much longer, she feared that he might actually have lunged at her or, even worse, got down on his knees and proposed.

  Simon tensed slightly at first but then relaxed, put his arms around her and returned the hug. As her nose brushed the collar of his shirt and his neck, she became aware of his scent. It was a pleasant, slightly earthy smell, like burning wood or wax myrtle. His body, close up, felt neat, strong and strangely alert, too, as if he were biding his time, waiting for something to happen.

  The moment was only brief, but it was long enough for her to sense a slight shift, as if something between them had almost imperceptibly altered. She didn’t think that she could have been imagining it.

  ‘Erm, mind if I join in the cuddle?’

  Rick’s voice broke the spell. It was supposedly a joke but you could tell that he was miffed and Simon dropped his arms and took a step back.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, reaching over Chabela’s shoulder to shake the other man’s hand. ‘Come on in! I hope you remembered the books?’

  Rick said that he had and soon they were in Simon’s front room, leaning over the coffee table, their heads virtually touching, while Rick flicked through page after page of writing. Every now and then he’d read out little sections and point to photographs of random Cornishmen and women in Mexico, going about their mining work above and below ground.

  Finally, towards the end of one of the books entitled: Cousin Jack: A Brief History of Cornish Miners in Mexico, Rick stopped at a black and white photo of a group of men in football gear, all crouching down, arms around each other’s shoulders, smiling at the camera. Most looked British or European, but there were some darker Mexican faces, too.

  Beneath the picture were the names of each of the men, including one James Penhallow. On seeing it, Chabela’s heart gave a little flutter and Rick nodded triumphantly.

  ‘That’s him.’ Placing an index finger on a small figure to the left of the shot, he glanced sideways at Chabela. ‘There’s your relative. See? I found him for you. What do you think about that?’

  She scrutinised the photo, which was a little grainy, but still distinct. James was in shorts and a striped shirt, like the others, and he had a handlebar moustache, which was fashionable at the time.

  He was probably in his twenties and it was impossible to tell much more from the image, but she did note his smooth, high forehead, straight nose and amused smile. He looked as if he might have had quite a sense of humour and she decided that they would have got on.

  ‘He looks kind,’ she commented, feeling the same catch in her throat that she’d experienced when Simon had told her about James Penhallow’s untimely death. ‘I wish he’d jump out of the page right now so I could talk to him. There’s so much I’d like to ask.’

  Rick puffed out his chest and looked extremely pleased with himself, as if the compliment had been just for him.

  ‘You can ask me anything you like,’ he said, stroking his bushy beard, ‘and I’ll endeavour to find the answer. I’m almost as intrigued about the Penhallows now as you are.’

  They were both distracted by a strange noise – like a harrumph – coming from Simon, and when Chabela glanced around, she could see that he was frowning.

  ‘Aren’t you researching your own family tree, Rick?’ he said. He looked really quite annoyed. ‘I should have thought you’d have enough to do with that.’

  He seemed to have forgotten that it was he who approached Rick for help in the first place, and Rick appeared slightly taken aback.

  ‘Aye,’ he replied, ‘I am, but it’s not every day a charming Mexican lady comes to my village, wanting help, is it?’ He winked at Chabela, but she pretended not to notice.

  ‘My family tree can wait,’ he went on. ‘I’m happy to put myself at the señorita’s disposal while she’s here.’

  And with that, he gave her a sort of mock bow from his seated position, like a true Spanish caballero, which only made Simon’s frown deepen.

  ‘“My” village?’ he echoed, with an uncharacteristic sneer. ‘Since when has Tremarnock belonged to you?’

  There was an uneasy pause, and Chabela chewed on the corner of a nail. Simon seemed to be trying to pick a quarrel with Rick – but why? It crossed her mind that he might just be a teensy bit jealous, because Rick was muscling in on what had been their project.

  The idea amused her but it did seem unlikely. Simon was a loner; he didn’t need people and had only a passing interest in her. But he had pricked her curiosity and now that she might have had a glimpse behind the mask, she wanted to know more.

  ‘Thanks, both of you, for all your help,’ she said quickly, in an attempt to take the heat out of the situation. ‘I’m very lucky to know you.’

  Simon glowered at Rick, but fortunately his skin was thick and the scowl didn’t penetrate.

  ‘Shall I make us some tea?’ Chabela suggested, rising and striding towards the door, without waiting for an answer. ‘I think I know where everything is.’

  She would have loved Rick to decline the offer and leave, so that she and Simon could be alone. Rick, though, had been so helpful that she wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings and she reminded herself to be kind, however annoying he might be.

  When she returned with the mugs of tea, she was relieved that the atmosphere seemed to have mellowed somewhat. The men were talking perfectly amicably about a recent biography they’d both read of Hernán Cortés, the Spanish conqueror who overthrew the Aztec empire in the early sixteenth century.

  Chabela had read it, too, and soon she and Simon got caught up in an involved discussion about the relative merits or otherwise of Aztec law and order.

  ‘Can we talk about something else?’ Rick said tetchily at last, as this was clearly a subject about which he knew very little. Then he turned to Chabela. ‘I love hearing Spanish spoken but I don’t know any myself. This might sound a bit strange but – would you mind reading me a poem? Tell me one you like. I’ll find it on my phone.’

  She could hardly refuse and Rick gazed at her mistily while she recited several verses of Mexican poet Octavio Paz’s ‘Piedra de Sol’ (‘Sunstone’).

  Not to be outdone, Simon got up the minute she’d finished to fetch his guitar. Soon, he was serenading her with several of what he now knew to be her favourite songs while Rick bristled quietly in the corner.

  After that, Rick asked if Chabela would give him Spanish lessons, which he’d be happy to pay for. Before she had the chance to answer, however, Simon snapped back that she was far too busy and what on earth was Rick thinking? She was a university lecturer, not a language teacher, and besides, she already had a temporary job in Tremarnock. One was quite enough for anyone.

  Rick looked daggers at Simon, who pretended not to notice, and as the tension mounted and threatened to become unbearable, Chabela decided that it was time she left.

  Immediately, Rick sprang to his feet and offered to walk with her back to the village.

  ‘I’ll come, too,’ Simon said, quick as a flash. ‘I’ll get my walking boots.’

  Rick looked less than pleased.

  ‘There’s no need—’ he began to say, but Simon interrupted.

  ‘I’ve been in most of the day. I’d like some fresh air.’

  It looked as if there might be a squabble, and Chabela clapped her hands in a bid to break it up.

  ‘Great!’ she said. ‘We can carry on with our interesting discussion as we go.’

  The light was dying as they set off, and the colours of the landscape seemed to have faded into a murky blend of browns and greys. Chabela was careful to give equal amounts of time and attention to both men, so that she couldn’t be accused of favouritism. It was like having to deal with a couple of school kids.

  She couldn’t help suspecting that Simon was only coming along to annoy Rick, but she was grateful, nevertheless. It would
save her from having to fend off any unwanted advances. And perhaps when Rick saw how she treated both men in exactly the same way, he would finally get the message that she wasn’t interested in him romantically – or anyone else for that matter. She fervently hoped so.

  When they reached the bottom of the steps leading down into the village, she looked at each man in turn.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’

  Rick tried to insist on walking her to her car, but she wasn’t having any of it.

  ‘I’m quite capable of getting there on my own. I’m very independent, you know.’

  They exchanged kisses and Rick turned first and started to walk off in the other direction. Chabela caught Simon’s eye and smiled. For one brief moment, she thought that he might be about to ask her something, but he didn’t.

  *

  It was iffy sort of weather the following day: hot and sunny one minute, cloudy and overcast the next. The temperature was high, however, and the lack of constant rays didn’t stop folk flocking to the beach to swim, surf, paddleboard, kayak and windsurf.

  Chabela was rushed off her feet in the café, where she had become a dab hand at making teas and coffees, filling sandwiches, pulling cold drinks out of the fridge, collecting money and chatting to customers, all virtually simultaneously.

  She finished work exhausted but didn’t mind. She knew it meant that she would sleep soundly that night and wouldn’t brood. Indeed, Alfonso’s memory seemed to be fading a little into the background. Every day was so busy and varied and her old life seemed so far away that at times, she could scarcely remember what it was like. This was good, she decided, despite the continuing frosty atmosphere between her, Loveday, Rosie and Rafael. It was what she needed.

  She was driving home one evening along the main road from Polrethen towards Tremarnock when she spotted Liz on the right. She was outside one of the big holiday homes on the edge of the village, weighed down with what appeared to be an enormous bag of laundry. Indeed, she seemed to be having some difficulty trying to heave it into the open boot of her white Audi.

  She didn’t notice Chabela, who would have driven by without any acknowledgment. Just as she passed, however, she glanced in the mirror and saw Liz stagger, drop the bag and the contents spilled out onto the road. Her hands flew up to cover her face, and although Chabela couldn’t hear anything, she was convinced that the other woman was crying.

  They had seen very little of each other since the salsa dancing debacle back in June. To be honest, Chabela was relieved, as it had been so awkward the last time they’d met that she’d done her best to avoid another encounter.

  Nevertheless, she knew that Liz and Robert were having a hard time and hated to see anyone in distress. Noticing a big space in front of the Audi, she slowed down, reversed and got out.

  ‘Can I help?’ she asked, walking back to Liz, who was bent double, stuffing sheets and towels into the laundry bag. She glanced up, surprised, and her face was smudged with dirt and stained with tears.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you!’

  Chabela didn’t reply, but squatted alongside and helped cram the laundry into the giant yellow sack. There were heaps of pillowcases, facecloths and towels, and several bulky duvet covers that had to be refolded.

  It didn’t take long with two of them and when they’d finished, they took a handle each and swung the bag into the boot.

  ‘That’s a lot of washing,’ Chabela commented, thinking that it would take most of the next day to get it cleaned, dried and ironed. ‘Whose is it?’

  Liz wiped the hair off her forehead with the back of an arm. She’d stopped crying now but still looked upset and pale. She explained that she’d got a job with a local cleaning company, which specialised in holiday lets.

  ‘I prepare the houses for new guests and clean up afterwards. I usually go in at least once midweek, as well, just to check everything’s OK and give the place a quick tidy. You’d be amazed how much mess they make.’

  It sounded like hard work and Chabela was surprised. She wouldn’t want to do it. She guessed, though, that the job had something to do with Liz and Robert’s split and resolved not to probe.

  ‘How’s Lowenna?’ she asked instead, and Liz said the little girl was with Tabitha and Oscar.

  ‘It’s lucky the children get on so well. They’re a bit like brother and sister.’

  Sensing that Liz’s hostility towards her had started to fade at last, Chabela decided to try to rebuild some bridges.

  ‘I’ll be seeing Rosie at the café tomorrow,’ she said brightly. Since school had finished, Rosie and Rafael had been working part-time during the week as well as at weekends.

  At that moment, Liz choked and her hands flew up to cover her face once more.

  ‘What is it?’ Chabela inhaled sharply and instinctively reached out to put a hand on Liz’s shoulder. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Liz shook her head, unable to answer, and made strange spluttering sounds. At a loss to know what else to do, Chabela rootled in her bag and pulled out a clean tissue, which she passed across.

  Liz blew her nose loudly and gasped a few more times before finally looking up.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, giving a small, embarrassed laugh. Her eyes were red and her face was still damp. ‘Sorry. I needed that.’

  Whether she meant that she’d needed the tissue, the nose blow or a good cry, Chabela wasn’t sure. In any case, she was clearly in a lot of distress. Chabela didn’t like to think of her driving back alone, perhaps to an empty house and so, having no plans herself, she suggested a drink in the pub.

  ‘Go on. It might cheer you up.’

  She fully expected Liz to say no, but to her surprise and pleasure, she accepted. They went in convoy to the top of South Street, before parking and continuing the rest of their journey to the Lobster Pot on foot.

  Jenny was outside Gull Cottage, chatting to Ruby Dodd. She waved and smiled over Ruby’s shoulder as the other women strolled by, but they didn’t stop. A little further down, outside A Winkle in Time, a group of strangers were studying the menu in the window, but there was no sign of Robert. In any case, Liz turned her head the other way.

  It was a warm, dry evening and folk were spilling out of the pub on to the seafront. They were a colourful sight in bright shorts, dresses and sweatshirts. There was a row of wooden shelves attached to some metal railings in front of the beach, for people to put their glasses on, and quite a few were leaning over the barrier, enjoying the view.

  Behind them, all the chairs around the little round tables were occupied, and more customers were just standing about. Further along, some children were sitting on the sea wall, clutching packets of crisps and fizzy drinks, their bare feet dangling over the sides.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’ Chabela asked, going inside and elbowing through the crowds to get to the bar, while Liz lagged behind.

  They both opted for a gin and tonic, which they carried out again, settling on a public bench, which had recently been vacated, a few metres along from the pub.

  It was almost eight p.m. and the tangerine sun was low in the sky, although it wouldn’t set for another hour or so. It cast a golden glow across the smooth water, and some way off, a couple of dark fishing vessels were chugging slowly and silently towards the horizon. No doubt they wouldn’t be back till morning.

  The children on the sea wall had finished their drinks and the two women watched the bigger ones leap down on to the sandy beach some way below. Soon, they were running around in circles like mad things while their younger siblings looked on enviously. Chabela found herself hoping that they wouldn’t be tempted to jump, too; she didn’t fancy having to rescue them.

  She swirled the chinking ice and lemon around her drink before taking a sip and Liz did likewise, visibly relaxing a little as she did so.

  ‘Thanks for suggesting this,’ she said. ‘I mustn’t be too long, though. I have to pick up Lowenna.’

  Chabela paused for a moment be
fore deciding what to say next. She hoped that Liz would feel able to open up if she wanted to, but was afraid of overstepping the mark.

  ‘It must be tough for you right now,’ she said carefully at last. ‘I’ve heard things are a bit difficult.’

  Liz nodded. Of course everyone in the village knew about her and Robert, so Chabela’s comment wouldn’t have come as a surprise.

  ‘It’s hell, actually,’ she said honestly. ‘Robert moving out was bad enough. I’m devastated. On top of that, Rosie blames me for everything. It’s toxic at home. Half the time she won’t tell me where she is or when she’ll be back. I’m convinced she’s drinking and smoking, I can smell it on her clothes. I’m worried sick about her.

  ‘I’m anxious about the effect it’s having on Lowenna, too. I’m trying to keep things as normal as possible for her, but it’s not easy. I’m sure she picks up on my upset and Rosie’s. She’s not stupid. The other day she refused point-blank to go to Jean’s house. She used to love going there to play, but she clung to me like a baby. She screamed so much I had to take her home. She’s terribly unsettled, poor lamb.’

  Liz’s small hands trembled slightly as she lifted the glass to her lips again. Her situation did, indeed, sound miserable and Chabela wished that she could think of something comforting to say.

  Now that she was more fully in the picture, she thought that instead of avoiding Liz, she should have tried to talk to her sooner. Not that there was anything much she could do apart from lend a friendly ear. Sometimes, of course, people didn’t want to confide anyway. Chabela had rarely shared her feelings about Alfonso, after all.

  ‘Are they seeing much of Robert – the girls, I mean?’ she asked tentatively, and Liz nodded.

  ‘He pops in and out and Rosie goes round to his flat quite a lot, but it’s not the same. Lowenna misses him like crazy. She used to climb into our bed most mornings and they’d read stories together. She still keeps asking where he is, even though I’ve told her lots of times – not the whole truth, of course, a watered-down version.’

  Chabela made a sympathetic noise. Despite having no children herself, she could imagine how hard it must be for Liz, trying to hold everything together for her daughters’ sakes.