The Girl Who Came Home to Cornwall

by Emma Burstall

  She was silent as she drove the group back to their small hotel, reflecting on the strange paths down which life could take you, the curious twists and turns of fate. Rosie fell asleep on Rafael’s shoulder and Liz looked out of the window, gazing at the sun sinking slowly over the baked hills and fields of cacti.

  They had supper in a traditional, family-run Mexican restaurant with yellow tablecloths and wooden beams, which had once been a grocery store selling pastes and home-made bread. Afterwards, they went for a drink in an old-fashioned cantina with wood panelling and saloon bar doors, which sold every type of tequila under the sun.

  By the time they returned to their rooms, they were so tired they could barely speak. Chabela hopped into bed and was about to turn out the light when her phone, which was on charge, pinged on the table beside her.

  Immediately, she jerked upright and her tummy fluttered. Simon? She’d sent him one of the photos of herself by James Penhallow’s grave from the restaurant. She’d had a feeling that he was waiting for her to contact him, rather than the other way around, but it was the first time that she’d felt like doing so all week.

  To her dismay, the name that flashed up on the screen wasn’t Simon’s, and her heart started to thump and the veins in her temples throbbed.

  Should she answer? She was under no obligation, but she knew that she was going to and gave a silent groan.

  ‘Alfonso?’ she said, after swiping right. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Chabelita,’ came the velvety reply. ‘A little bird told me you’re in town. I have to see you. Can I come round now?’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The cheek of it, the sheer nerve! After all that had gone on between them, she couldn’t quite believe it. If he thought that he could click his fingers just like that and she’d come running, he was very much mistaken. He’d nearly broken her heart but she’d picked herself up and dusted herself off. She wasn’t the same person that she’d been before she left Mexico. Tremarnock had changed her and she’d moved on.

  ‘I’m not in the city,’ she said coldly, ‘I’m in the country. And don’t call me Chabelita.’

  ‘Whereabouts are you?’ he asked, ignoring her last comment.

  Once again, she bristled. He had no right to ask such a question; it was none of his business. She nearly told him so, but then his tone changed.

  ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he said plaintively. ‘I wanted to call you. I picked up the phone every day when you were away and started to ring your number, but somehow I always managed to stop myself. I didn’t think it would be fair.’

  ‘How uncharacteristically kind of you!’ she said sarcastically. ‘Where’s your wife, then? Is she better now?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she lied. ‘Perhaps a change of air will sort her out. Have you bought your luxury retirement villa in Mérida yet? When do you move in?’

  She hated the sneer in her voice but couldn’t help it; hurt could come out in a myriad different ways.

  ‘I’ve made an offer,’ he replied heavily, ‘but it might all fall through. You know how these things are.’

  ‘Not really, no. Why would I?’ She wanted to remind him that she had no husband with whom to buy a gorgeous pad by the beach, that she’d never have one, probably, because she’d given her best years to a married bastard. She didn’t, though.

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ he said. ‘Look, I know you’re angry, you have every right to be, but can we at least talk – please?’

  She was sitting on the edge of the bed now, her feet resting on the cool floor. She didn’t realise that she’d been biting the nail on her right thumb but when she looked down, she saw that it was ragged and torn.

  ‘What’s there to talk about? You told me you’ll never leave Pilar. End of…’

  To her dismay, there was a wobble in her voice and a lump appeared from nowhere in her throat. She hated him for upsetting her, and hated herself even more for letting him do it. She should never have answered his call.

  ‘You know it’s more complicated than that,’ he persisted.

  ‘Is it?’

  A sob escaped from her mouth and her hand flew up to her chest, to where her heart was. She hadn’t wanted him to know that she still had feelings for him, but it was too late.

  ‘I wish you were here. I want to hold you and comfort you.’

  ‘Well I’m not – and you can’t,’ she snapped, suddenly jolted out of sorrow and into anger. Childish wasn’t the word for the way it came out, she thought; she sounded like a baby.

  He sighed. ‘Oh, Chabela.’ And then she heard a noise, which sounded to her very much like a snuffle or a moan. Was he crying? In all the years that they’d been together, she’d only ever seen him do it once, when his mother died.

  She could feel her defences weaken, her resistance start to crumble. She should have hung up there and then and she knew it.

  ‘Please can I come and see you when you get back? Just one more time. I won’t stay long, I swear. Call it closure, if you like. We finished in such a bad way. We never even properly said goodbye.’

  She thought of Simon and Kittiwake, of his guitar playing and his cooking, of the lovely evenings they’d had together and all those glorious snogs. He kissed like Romeo and made love like Casanova, but he hadn’t been in touch, even just to see how she was. He couldn’t feel the same way about her as she did him; not really.

  ‘All right,’ she said, squeezing her eyelids tight to shut out the lamplight’s glare. ‘I’m back tomorrow night but I’ve got guests staying. I’ll meet you in the bar just across from my apartment. Eight p.m. If you’re late, you’ve had it. I won’t be waiting around for you. I’m not doing that ever again.’

  *

  She didn’t say anything to Liz about the phone call when they met for breakfast the following morning. Deep down, she suspected that Liz would only tell her to cancel the arrangement with Alfonso, and she knew that she wasn’t going to do it.

  Rosie and Rafael were subdued as they ate their huevos divorciados (divorced eggs), which consisted of two fried eggs served on a flour tortilla topped with red and green sauce. They both complained of being tired, and Liz looked weary, too.

  ‘Shall we have an easier day today?’ Chabela suggested, and everyone agreed. It was decided that they would pay a visit to the historic Acosta silver mine, which was built in the typical style of Cornish mines and was now a museum. After that, they would make their way slowly back to Mexico City, perhaps stopping to buy food en route that they could prepare and eat at home.

  Chabela explained that she would have to go out briefly later to meet a work colleague, and no one asked any further questions.

  ‘I imagine I’ll be back by about ten. You could watch TV if you like. It’d be good for Rosie’s Spanish.’

  It was interesting to go down the mine, which was so similar in many ways to the one that Chabela had visited with Rick. The British-built engine house and high chimneys seemed to preside over the surrounding lush green countryside, acting as a powerful reminder of Cornish influence in the area.

  Meanwhile, black and white photographs displayed the smudged faces of Cornish miners, side by side with their Mexican counterparts. Any one of the fair-skinned men could have been the young James Penhallow, before he made his fortune, but they were unnamed and Chabela would never know the truth.

  All day long, her thoughts kept returning to last night’s conversation, though she tried to hide her distraction as best she could. In her mind’s eye, she had an image of herself in the bar, looking perfectly composed as she told Alfonso that she was over him, and there was no going back.

  ‘You could have had all of me, everything,’ she would say. ‘I was completely and utterly in love with you. But you’re not the man I thought you were.’

  His face would fall as the devastating realisation of what he’d lost sank in. He would be thinking that from now on and for ever more, his fate would be to
dwell on what he’d lost. Trapped with his shallow wife, Pilar, inside their luxury villa, he would be like a bird in a gilded cage, condemned to spend his remaining days gazing wistfully out of the window, speculating on what might have been.

  She took time to get ready that evening, having a shower, washing her hair and putting on the red dress that she knew he’d always liked her in. When she checked herself in the mirror, she was quite surprised by the strong, confident woman who stared back. Her eyes seemed to burn with anger and determination, but then she touched the gold earring in her left earlobe and realised that it had been a gift from him.

  All at once her self-belief seemed to trickle away, like water from a sponge, and she had to take a deep breath to shore herself up again.

  ‘You can do this,’ she told herself. ‘Go there, see him for half an hour, say what you have to say, then leave.’

  ‘You look lovely,’ Liz commented when Chabela emerged from the bedroom and she smiled gratefully; she needed that boost.

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied.

  She looked left and right as she crossed the street, half expecting to see strangers watching, as if the world somehow knew that she was on a vital mission that would change the course of her life. But it was getting dark and folk were going about their business quite unaware of her movements, wrapped up in the drama or boredom of their own existences. No one knew how nervous she was feeling, and probably no one cared. She was on her own.

  Alfonso was sitting at a small wooden table with his back against the wall, facing the door. He spotted her immediately and she him, and their eyes met in recognition and apprehension. He looked intelligent, handsome and for once, slightly unsure of himself. She felt her knees wobble as he rose to greet her and she hurried to the chair opposite, anxious to sit before she fell.

  ‘Hello, Chabela,’ he said, leaning across the table to kiss her lightly on one cheek.

  She felt the slight pressure of his hand on her shoulder and caught a whiff of his aftershave, but it wasn’t the same as the one she remembered. He must have changed brands.

  He had already ordered her a drink – a margarita made with tamarind, which he knew was her favourite.

  ‘How have you been?’ he asked, as she took a sip.

  She opened her mouth to launch into the speech that she’d prepared in her head, but to her surprise, something quite different came out.

  ‘All right, pretty good, I suppose, all things considered. What about you?’

  ‘An absolute mess.’ He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, leaving red rims around the edges. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he went on, ‘I’ve made a terrible—’

  ‘Don’t!’ she interrupted. ‘Don’t you dare pull that one on me. I’m not going to fall for it again.’

  She sounded more certain of herself than she felt and he looked deeply uncomfortable, running a finger around the edge of his glass and frowning.

  ‘I know I hurt you,’ he said quietly, ‘I’m desperately sorry. I wish I could turn back the clock. I was confused. There was so much going on with the kids, Pilar being unwell, my work. I thought I was ready to retire. There were a lot of problems in the department, some of which you know about and some you don’t. But they’re sorted now and I realise I’m not ready to leave my job; I love it too much.

  ‘In short, Chabela, what I’m trying to say is…’ he looked at her now, his brown eyes pleading, ‘I want you back. I need you, I love you. I can’t do without you. Please,’ he went on, reaching over to touch her hand, which she quickly slid away, ‘at least consider it. Give me a second chance.’

  She was shocked, dumbfounded and, for a moment, lost for words. His speech was eloquent and he seemed genuine. Perhaps it was all true; maybe he had had second thoughts.

  But then she remembered the estate agency details about the house in Mérida and something in her hardened again.

  ‘What about Pilar?’ she said coldly. ‘I thought you could never leave her and she’d fall to pieces without you.’

  His face looked odd, slightly red and blotchy and he nodded his head sadly.

  ‘I just can’t do it to her, it’s hard to explain. I don’t love her but I feel responsible. She’s always been a bit vulnerable, as you know. Before we married, I promised her parents I’d look after her. For a long time when I was with you, I thought I would be able to leave her eventually, but then I realised I couldn’t. We’ve been together so long and she’s the mother of my children. What kind of shit would leave his wife of thirty-odd years when she’s unstable and can’t take care of herself properly?’ He sighed. ‘I’m trapped. I found the love of my life – you – but I can’t be with you. It’s hell.’

  His eyes filled with tears and his hand trembled as he raised his glass to his lips and took a sip. Seeing him like that made Chabela’s heart hurt but still, she needed to protect herself.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ she asked. ‘As soon as you’d made the decision to stay with her? Why did you string me along, allowing me to believe we’d be together eventually?’

  He placed his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands, as if it were too heavy to support unaided.

  ‘Fear,’ he said sadly. ‘I was scared of losing you; I didn’t think I could live without you. I’ve made such a mess of things,’ he went on, staring hard into the distance. Then he laughed humourlessly. ‘So you see, I’m not the great professor after all. I’m just a weak man, groping around in the dark like everyone else looking for answers.’

  She was silent for a moment, processing the information. Finally, it all seemed to make sense. She’d held him on a pedestal for so long and then he’d toppled from it spectacularly. He’d gone from angel to devil in her mind in the space of a few short hours and yet, in truth, he was neither. He was somewhere in between.

  Alfonso wasn’t all good or all bad. Just as he said, he was flawed, like most people, a typically imperfect example of that great species, homo sapiens. It was as if a veil had slipped from her eyes and she had him right-sized at last.

  ‘I do really, really love you,’ he repeated in a small voice, reaching out again for her hand across the table. This time, she left it there, allowing his fingers gently to caress hers.

  Inside, an internal battle started to rage. She could feel Tremarnock – and Simon – pulling her one way, while Mexico and Alfonso dragged her the other. She’d worked so hard to get over her obsession with him and she’d almost succeeded; it would be madness to slip backwards. And yet…

  The prospect of one more night with him was hard to resist. She felt some guilt about Simon, but his failure to contact her seemed to outweigh this; it had made her doubt him and the future of their fledgling relationship. Plus, there was unfinished business with Alfonso. She needed closure and she deserved it, surely, after all those years of waiting for him? This time, she would be calling the shots; she’d be the one finally to walk away.

  Over another drink, they talked about the university, his latest book and her time in Cornwall. He wanted her impressions of the place and people and she told him how much she loved being there and about the Penhallow link. She was careful not to mention Simon, though.

  Afterwards, they went out into the darkened street. It was almost eleven p.m. and the streetlamps had been lit. The air was still warm and she felt more relaxed than she had been all evening, all day, even. Ever since he’d phoned, she’d been on edge, but now she felt as if she had a handle on things.

  ‘So, is this really goodbye then?’ he asked softly.

  ‘I guess so.’

  He pulled her gently towards him, putting his hand around the back of her neck, beneath her hair. It felt very intimate but still, she wasn’t sure when he placed his face close to hers if he intended to kiss her on the cheek or the mouth.

  In any case, this time it was going to be her decision and she raised her chin and kissed him hard instead, like she really meant it. Out of the corner of her eye, she checked her apartment wi
ndows and could see that the lights were off.

  ‘One more night,’ she whispered, taking his hand firmly in hers and leading him back across the street towards home. ‘For old times’ sake.’

  He laughed softly. He was putty in her hands.

  ‘For old times’ sake – if you insist,’ he replied.

  *

  There was nothing wrong with their lovemaking but when she woke to find him in her bed and saw him again in the cold light of day, she knew that it really was over.

  He was still asleep. Propping herself up on her elbow, she gazed at his peaceful, familiar face and grief hit her again, but it was a longing for what had been, not for what they might have had in the future. And mixed with loss was a sense of relief, because she felt as if the slate really had been wiped clean. Now, her life was a blank sheet of paper to fill with whatever she chose.

  This time, she was gentle and not angry when they said goodbye.

  ‘I wish you well, Alfonso,’ she murmured, as he got dressed. ‘I really do.’

  ‘Can’t we at least see each other when you get back again?’ he asked, zipping up his trousers. ‘Just as friends, if that’s what you want.’

  She was certain that he believed he’d be able to win her around again, no problem; she knew him so well.

  ‘Maybe – as friends,’ she replied, and she noticed him smiling to himself as he laced his shoes, and he was cheerful when they kissed goodbye.

  ‘See you at Christmas,’ he said, sounding very self-assured. ‘Enjoy the rest of your sabbatical.’

  ‘Goodbye, Alfonso,’ she replied, watching as he entered the elevator and waiting until the doors swished shut. There was a whoosh as the lift went down and she heard it ping at the bottom. Over and out.

  As soon as she was sure that he’d left the building, she went back inside, picked up her mobile and rang Simon. It was three in the afternoon there and she had no idea what he’d be doing or whether he’d even have his phone with him, but he answered almost straight away.

  ‘Chabela!’ he said eagerly. ‘It’s so good to hear you! I loved that photo you sent me. What an amazing discovery! How are you? What else have you been up to?’