The Girl Who Came Home to Cornwall

by Emma Burstall

  She tried to attract his gaze, but couldn’t, and for a moment, she was overwhelmed by the urge to run into his arms, forcing him to focus all his attention on her. But then she reminded herself that he and she were separated and it was her fault, and she managed to hold back.

  ‘Hello!’ she said, giving her daughter a kiss on the cheek as she pushed past and dumped her bag on the bottom stair. Then, to Robert, ‘Come in!’

  At first it looked as if he would refuse, but then he changed his mind.

  ‘Just for a moment,’ he replied, tersely. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’

  It sounded ominous, and Liz led him into the kitchen where he settled slightly stiffly on a wooden chair around the old pine table, scored with marks through years of use. Rosie had already gone upstairs.

  ‘Tea?’ Liz asked, pointing to the kettle, but he shook his head, so she pulled out a chair opposite and sat down herself.

  ‘How’s it going tonight?’ she asked, meaning the restaurant. ‘Are you full?’

  She was hoping to lighten the atmosphere but he ignored her small talk, running a hand through his messy hair and frowning.

  ‘I think you should know, Rosie’s asked if she can come and live with me.’

  His words went off like an explosion in Liz’s head and seemed to bounce around the four walls and ricochet from corner to corner. She stared at him blankly and her stomach rocked and rolled, making her feel sick and dizzy.

  ‘I explained to her why that wouldn’t be a good idea,’ he went on, still avoiding eye contact and focusing on the darkened window behind his wife instead. ‘I’m not around much and Lowenna would miss her.’

  Liz couldn’t seem to process what he was saying.

  ‘Anyway, there’s more room here and she’s got all her things…’

  His voice tailed off and Liz felt herself sway. Had it really come to this? Never in a million years would she have believed that her beloved girl would want to leave home so young. The sense of rejection that Liz experienced in that moment was so strong that Rosie might just as well have stamped in hobnail boots on her face.

  Her mind darted back to their earliest days together: Rosie’s difficult birth, the joy of holding the tiny bundle that was her for the first time in her arms, those worrying days and weeks when it became clear that something wasn’t right, Greg’s abandoning of them, the move to Tremarnock and that unbreakable bond between mother and daughter that had sustained them through so many trials and tribulations. What had happened? Where had it gone?

  ‘Are you all right?’ Robert’s voice brought her back to the present and she realised that she must be pale. Her forehead and upper lip felt sweaty, too.

  ‘Yes, yes I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Can I have some water?’ She didn’t want to risk trying to stand herself.

  He fetched a glass and filled it up from the tap before passing it to her. After a couple of sips she felt a little better and he returned to his seat. This time, however, he leaned across the table and looked into her eyes.

  ‘She’ll be OK, Liz,’ he said seriously. He was trying to reassure her, which she appreciated, but there was only anger, regret and pity in his gaze, not love. ‘She’s really upset about us and she’s a teenager, which makes everything seem much worse. But she knows we love her and she loves us. She needs time to adjust to the new situation, that’s all. She’ll calm down.’

  Liz nodded miserably. The sweat now drying on her skin made it prickle and all of a sudden she felt deathly cold. Robert must have noticed her shivering, because he gave her the pink sweater lying on the seat next to him, which belonged to Rosie.

  ‘Thank you.’ Liz pulled it on and crossed her arms over her chest, as if that would warm her more. The situation felt unreal, as if she’d made a mistake and walked into someone else’s life. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

  ‘Did Rosie agree to stay here?’ she asked now. She was frightened of the answer; she almost didn’t want to hear it.

  ‘Grudgingly,’ Robert replied. ‘I suggested she could maybe spend weekends at the flat and stay here during the week. But I said I’d talk to you first. I won’t do anything about the children without running it by you beforehand. I trust you’ll do the same with me.’

  He fixed her with a piercing look, the kind that means business, which made her shiver again.

  ‘Of course,’ she said quietly. Were they really behaving in such a cold, formal way with each other? This must be what divorce was like, when love had flown and all that was left was anger, hurt and grim practicalities.

  ‘Does that mean she’ll spend every weekend with you?’ she asked now, trying to imagine how it would feel, saying goodbye to her eldest on a Friday afternoon and perhaps not seeing her again until Sunday evening. Robert would be out working much of the time, Rosie would have free rein and Liz would have no control over her bedtimes or homework.

  Far more importantly, however, she’d miss her.

  ‘I guess,’ said Robert, and then, as if reading Liz’s thoughts, ‘We’d better have a conversation about curfew times and so on. She can’t stay out till all hours just because you’re not watching over her.’

  This reassured Liz somewhat, and they agreed that they’d discuss it more the following day.

  ‘I-I wanted to ask you something as well, actually,’ she stuttered, feeling as shy and unsure of herself as if they’d only just met. ‘It’s not really relevant now, though.’

  She was thinking about Mexico, but regretted her words almost immediately, wishing that she could take them back. It was foolish even to mention the idea, under the circumstances. Of course Rosie wouldn’t want to go; she didn’t even want to live with her mother any more.

  However, Robert wouldn’t let it drop. ‘Go on,’ he insisted, ‘it’s better to air things straight away.’ So Liz explained about the meeting with Chabela.

  ‘I thought it might be good for Rosie’s Spanish. And I’ve always fancied going there myself. It wouldn’t work, though.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Liz swallowed. ‘Well, for a start Rosie will say no. And Tabitha’s offered to have Lowenna, but—’

  ‘I’m her dad, Liz,’ Robert interrupted, sounding slightly exasperated. ‘If anyone’s going to look after Lowie, it’ll be me. I’ll take some time off. I’m due a break. I might need a bit of help from Tabitha, but not much. The staff will manage without me; they’ll have to.’

  His comments came as a surprise to Liz, who thought he’d never trust anyone but himself to run the restaurant and café, although it would be October by then when things would have quietened down.

  ‘Rosie—’ she started to say, but he stopped her again.

  ‘Leave it with me, I’ll have a word with her. She won’t say no, trust me. It’ll do her…’ he paused, ‘it’ll do you both good.’

  Liz was touched. Perhaps he did still care about her, just a little, anyway, and it was so typical of him to put others first. He’d always been kind and unselfish; it was one of the reasons why she’d fallen in love with him.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she said, but then she frowned. ‘It’s not right, going away now. Not with all that’s happening. Even if Rosie agrees to come, we wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Robert was adamant. ‘You’ll have a great time. But seriously,’ he said more softly, ‘life has to go on, you know. Just because…’

  She glanced at him and he looked away.

  ‘Just because we’re not together any more doesn’t mean we can’t do things. We just have to learn to do them separately. We must.’

  He was right, of course, but still the idea of split parenting and divided holidays sounded horrible. A painful lump appeared in Liz’s throat, which she tried to swallow down.

  ‘Use the credit card to book the flights,’ Robert went on, matter-of-factly. They had identical cards attached to their joint bank account, and the bill was settled each month by direct debit.

  Given the circumstance
s, he might have told her to use her own money, but Liz knew that this wasn’t his style. His generosity made her guilt even sharper; it hurt almost like a physical pain. When she told him that she intended to use her savings, he shrugged, as if it didn’t matter either way. They had never argued about money; they hadn’t needed to.

  ‘Leave Rosie to me,’ he repeated, ‘and don’t mention anything till I’ve spoken to her.’

  There was silence for a short while then Liz again offered him something to drink. She was hoping to detain him but he wouldn’t be persuaded, and he rose and said goodbye.

  She wanted to follow but he wouldn’t have it.

  ‘I’ll let myself out.’ He didn’t wish her goodnight.

  When he’d gone, he seemed to have left behind a cold, empty space. Alone at the kitchen table, Liz felt chilly and desolate and had to remind herself once again that she was strong; she was a survivor and a grafter and it wasn’t in her nature to give up.

  Otherwise she might have curled herself into a little ball in the corner of the room and cried herself to sleep.

  *

  Something pinged against her window, and then again, only this time louder. Liz kept her eyes shut, thinking that she must still be dreaming.

  Then there was a shout – ‘WAKE UP!’ – followed by a deafening thud overhead and a loud squawking.

  ‘WAKE UP!’ the person called again from outside in the street, and this time, Liz’s eyes sprang open. She’d know that voice anywhere – it belonged to Jean.

  The alarm clock by the bed said that it was 6.17. No wonder the first flush of light was only just beginning to peep through a chink in the curtains.

  Jumping up, Liz hurried to the window and peered out. At first, she couldn’t see anyone but then, as she lowered her gaze, she spotted Jean’s blonde head and familiar round face. She was standing in the centre of Liz’s tiny front garden, staring up at her with a clenched fist and one arm raised, clearly about to throw something.

  ‘STOP!’ Liz cried, quickly pushing up the sash window and leaning out. Luckily, Jean lowered her arm, opened her fist and a pile of gravel fell out. That explained the pinging, anyway.

  ‘What’s happened? Are you all right?’ Liz called now.

  Straight after, there was a flurry of wings and feathers and two fat gulls flew down from the roof, virtually hitting her on the nose as they flapped past.

  They landed in the corner of the garden near Jean’s feet, soon to be followed by two more birds, then started hopping around, screeching aggressively.

  Puzzled, Liz glanced at Jean again and it was only then she noticed that her friend was rather oddly dressed, in wellington boots, though it wasn’t raining, and a large beige mac.

  ‘A baby’s fallen out of your nest. It’s right there,’ Jean hollered, pointing to where the gulls had congregated. Her mac flew open to reveal a floral nightie underneath. She’d clearly dressed in a hurry.

  Liz tried to see the chick through the throng of adult birds, but couldn’t.

  ‘Oh dear!’ she cried, wondering how on earth she could help. ‘Hang on a moment! I’m coming down.’

  She was about to abandon her spot at the window when she saw another neighbour, Debs, leave her cottage, followed by her husband, Des. They were both in nightclothes, too, but hadn’t bothered with the mac and wellies.

  By the time Liz had thrown on her dressing gown and flip-flops and joined the others, four more folk had appeared, including Tony and Felipe, inexplicably, as they lived in the parallel street behind Humble Hill. They couldn’t possibly have heard the commotion from there.

  They all gathered around, keeping a safe distance from the adult birds, which looked big and very fierce. It was hard to spot the chick, cowering beneath a butterfly bush, but Liz did eventually, and she could tell that it was still quite young. From her limited knowledge of all things avian, she guessed that it was probably a nestling, partially covered in splotchy grey feathers while the rest was fluff.

  It couldn’t yet fly, it seemed, but at least it appeared uninjured and fairly robust.

  ‘It’ll die! It’ll get eaten by a cat!’ Jean said, pulling a distraught face. ‘What can we do?’

  Liz thought of Mitzi, whom she’d last seen indoors, curled up at the foot of her bed. She’d looked a picture of soft, furry innocence then, but she’d be licking her lips if she knew about the chick; in fact it was a wonder that she wasn’t prowling around already, waiting to pounce.

  ‘We could try to put it back in its nest?’ Tony said doubtfully. He’d gained even more weight recently and was bulging out of his navy tracksuit top and jogging bottoms. He didn’t look fit for scrambling up ladders. ‘Felipe can do it, he’s very agile.’

  Tony was good at nominating his partner for tasks that he didn’t fancy doing himself and normally Felipe didn’t seem to mind. Now, he looked doubtful, though.

  ‘I do not know if that is the right thing,’ he said, in his strong Brazilian accent. ‘I do not think the baby’s parents will like it.’

  At that moment, one of the adult birds opened its large wings and took off with a screech, making everyone jump back in surprise. It flew above their heads and circled around a few times, before landing right on the edge of Liz’s roof, from where it stood surveying them menacingly.

  This alone was enough to make Liz think that it would certainly be difficult, if not impossible, to get to the chick now, without risking serious injury and possible hospitalisation oneself.

  ‘Why don’t we give it something to eat? It might be all right,’ said Debs, a large lady in her sixties who had moved to the village with her husband a couple of years ago when they both retired.

  Tony rubbed his unshaven chin. ‘I think I’ve read somewhere that parents come down and feed chicks that have fallen out of the nest. Maybe it’s best if we don’t interfere.’

  He popped the brown paper carrier that he’d been holding on the floor and Liz saw that it contained some milk and a newspaper, no doubt just purchased from the village store; he was probably keen to get home and read it.

  Jean, however, was having none of it. ‘That’s a terrible idea!’ She looked outraged. ‘It won’t last five minutes out here on its own. We’d be condemning it to a horrible death!’

  They were in danger of having a row, but luckily Felipe had the bright idea of checking the Internet for advice on what to do in a situation like this. Before long, the group were chewing over the relative size and maturity of the chick, its percentage of fluff to feathers and the likelihood of its parents being able to fend off predators like Mitzi if it were to remain on the ground.

  In the end, it was agreed that if they possibly could get the creature back in its nest, this would be its best chance of survival. However, they would have to wait till the parents flew off before attempting any sort of rescue mission, or someone might get seriously hurt.

  Liz was conscious of a certain irony in the fact that not so long ago, Robert was trying to frighten the birds off the roof by firing at them with a BB gun, and what’s more, she’d encouraged him. She wasn’t hard-hearted, however, and now that she’d seen the cute, fluffy chick, she felt just as invested as the others in its survival.

  ‘All right,’ she said decisively, ‘you’d better all come inside. We’ll get out the ladder and take it in turns to keep watch on the baby. When the parents go away, someone can go up on the roof and pop it back.’

  No one replied for a minute and the word ‘someone’ seemed to hang in the air like an armed drone seeking its unsuspecting target.

  ‘I’ll do it!’ Liz had forgotten that Deb’s husband, Des, was a former military man who kept himself in very good nick. There was a collective cheer.

  ‘Good show!’ Tony cried, slapping Des on the back and Felipe looked relieved. He was super kind and helpful and would do anything for anyone, but climbing very tall ladders clearly wasn’t his forte.

  ‘Well done!’ he echoed. ‘I will hold the ladder at the bottom to make sure
it doesn’t wobble.’

  Liz had thought to go somewhere with Lowenna today, maybe to a different beach or to the animal petting zoo five miles away, but it seemed that plans had changed.

  It didn’t really matter, though. On a Tuesday morning like this in term-time, the little girl would be at playgroup. But the days seemed to merge one into another in the holidays and arrangements could easily be altered or abandoned.

  Soon, Liz was filling the kettle and making mugs of tea for everyone. Lowenna came downstairs in her pink pyjamas and was delighted to discover that they had a houseful. Liz didn’t dare risk showing her the chick in situ, in case its parents launched an attack, but Jean found some pictures of baby gulls on the Internet and pointed through the window to the spot where it was hiding.

  ‘Poor baby,’ the little girl said several times. She seemed to find the idea of a chick separated from its mummy deeply distressing. ‘Baby go back to its nest.’

  By the third mug of tea as well as toast and jam for everyone, also made by Liz, there was quite a jolly atmosphere.

  ‘It must have been like this during World War Two,’ Debs said brightly from her spot on the sofa. ‘Everyone huddling in an air-raid shelter, cracking jokes and keeping up the Dunkirk spirit.’

  ‘We’re not being bombed, my dear,’ Des replied slightly tetchily.

  ‘No,’ said his wife, ‘but we’ve battened down the hatches, haven’t we? It feels like we’re under attack, only not from bombs but belligerent birds!’

  ‘Do you think they know what we’re up to?’ Jean asked nervously. ‘They might be plotting something, too.’

  For the next hour or so there was quite a lot of activity in the garden as the chick’s parents flew back and forth. Eventually, however, they got bored, hungry, tired or all three, and when Liz glanced out of the window for the umpteenth time, she noticed that the chick was finally on its own.

  ‘Quick!’ she hissed, rising as quietly as she could, for she didn’t want to alert the feathery squatters on her roof. ‘Des, the parents have gone. Now’s your moment.’