by Liz Eeles
‘Kayla is not a good influence on you. Honestly, you can get married in a black bin bag if you like. You’ll still be the most beautiful woman in the church.’
And that’s why I’m marrying him. Here I am, standing on a cliff in my old jeans with spaghetti bolognaise on my top and no make-up on, and he still reckons I’d look good in a bin bag. He’s either the best boyfriend ever or he seriously needs a trip to Specsavers.
Fat seagulls screech and swoop over the waves as I thank my lucky stars I came to Salt Bay last year and stayed. And I send up a special thank you for Alice, whose name is now inscribed in gold on a stark granite tombstone in the cemetery behind me.
Would she rather Josh and I scraped our pennies together in a falling-down house or sold it to Toby and moved on? I’d give almost anything for her advice and for her to be guest of honour at my wedding. If only she’d put off dying for one more summer.
Blinking in the breeze, I link my arm through Josh’s and run my thumb along the silver band on my fourth finger.
‘Tregavara House means the world to you, doesn’t it, Annie?’
‘It’s the first place that’s ever really felt like home.’
‘And Alice knew that. She knew you loved the place and she left it to you so we’ll see what we can do to make it work.’
‘Like what?’ I ask, squinting as the sun peeks through a gap in the clouds and blinds me.
‘I have no idea but Alice left Tregavara House to you for a reason and Toby has the painting so he’s not exactly hard done by. For now, let’s just enjoy getting married.’
* * *
The heat builds and thunder rumbles far out to sea in the early hours while I lie awake with Josh snoring gently beside me. Please don’t let a storm roll into Salt Bay. I cross my fingers under the duvet and think about London Annie, who would never have lost sleep over the course of a thunderstorm and the efficacy of a roof repair. My mum wouldn’t have either. She dealt with problems by running away from them, but it didn’t do her any good in the end, nor me. Staying and sorting stuff out is what being grown up is all about. I drift back to sleep as lightning arcs above the sea and the thunder rumbles on.
Thirteen
Letting Toby stew is all very well but it’s me who seems to be going crazy. I’m expecting Toby’s written proposal to land in my inbox the next day, but nothing arrives then or the day after. And the postman only brings his usual haul of charity letters, bills and holiday brochures.
I’m not planning to accept Toby’s offer. There’s no way I want to let Tregavara House go but it’s unfinished business and he’s got under my skin.
‘What’s up with you?’ asks Storm, watching me flick through the post in the sitting room and throw it into a pile on the floor. ‘What are you expecting?’
‘Nothing,’ I lie because there’s no point in worrying or unsettling her. She’s still more subdued than usual following Alice’s death.
Storm rips open an envelope adorned with an animal charity logo and hoicks out the pen inside. ‘I’ll have that, thank you very much. Have people replied to those lame wedding invite cards you and Josh posted round the village?’
‘Some have sent acceptance cards, but most people just say yes when we see them in the pub. Actually, talking of wedding invitations, I’ve got some cards left and could—’
‘Nope! I’ve already told you there’s no way I’m inviting my mum to come and see me in some sad dress and spend time in the same church as Barry. The last time they got together she threw a pint of beer down his sweatshirt.’
‘I’m sure they could behave like adults on my wedding day.’
‘You have no idea,’ mutters Storm. ‘But she wouldn’t come anyway.’
‘She might if she was invited by you. What about when you next see her? It’s not long until you’re off to Richmond so could you raise it with her then?’
‘Yeah, OK, I’ll ask her.’
That was far too easy. I know Storm has no intention of mentioning it to her mother and she knows I know but it’s an efficient way of bringing the discussion to a grinding halt. Accusing her of being economical with the truth would only herald the onset of World War III and my nerves are frazzled enough.
Storm wanders off to have a shower and douse every available bathroom surface with water while I fetch the remaining invitation cards and envelopes from the bureau.
Mr Joshua Pasco and Miss Annabella Trebarwith invite you to their wedding at St Piran’s Church, Salt Bay at 11.30 a.m. on Saturday, September 22nd. A reception will be held at Tregavara House. RSVP to Tregavara House, Salt Bay. No gifts required.
The glossy cards with navy blue edging were ordered online and didn’t cost much. But seeing the details of our wedding in black and white is a thrill every time. Would it be such a bad idea to send one to Storm’s mum behind her back?
I pop an invitation into an envelope and pick up the charity pen that Storm left on the sofa. But I know deep down that I can’t address it and put it in the post. Storm’s trust has been hard won and would be easily lost. It looks like I won’t be the only one missing her mum on my wedding day.
* * *
Toby’s offer for Tregavara House arrives via email two days later.
‘He’s offering how much?’ Josh squints at the laptop screen and sucks air in through his teeth. ‘Oh, that’s clever. Very clever. He’s offering just over the market value, when you take into account the thirty grand he’s deducted for a new roof, so that we’ll sell to him rather than someone else.’
He takes another look at the email just in case the figure being offered has magically changed.
‘Perhaps he really is missing Alice and has feelings for the old place. He’s not all bad, you know, and he’s trying very hard with Freya.’
‘But he still always puts himself first so why do you want to defend him?’
‘I dunno. He’s the only member of the Trebarwith family I’ve got left and I’d rather he wasn’t a sleazeball, I suppose.’
Pulling my sleeve over the heel of my hand, I rub a viewing circle in the steamed-up windscreen. We’re crammed into Josh’s battered old Mini because we needed somewhere private to talk. We told the girls we were going to Tesco in Penzance and have driven up onto the moors instead. But Storm presented me with a shopping list before we left so I guess we’ll have to traipse round the supermarket once this is resolved.
‘So what are we going to do about his offer?’ asks Josh, cracking open his window. Rain is drumming hard on the roof and the sweet summer smell of hot, damp earth floods the car.
‘Presumably you want to tell him where to stick it.’
‘Oh, yeah and I’d be happy to help him do it.’ He leans forward and peers through the windscreen at a blur of green moor and grey sea. ‘But we need to be realistic, Annie, and accept that we might need to let Tregavara House go.’
‘You said we could make it work.’
‘I said we’d see if we could make it work but things aren’t improving, are they?’
He’s got a point. My boss Celia called a meeting at work yesterday and warned us that ‘the funding situation going forward is rather challenging’, which Gayle and Lesley later informed me is corporate code for ‘we’re screwed’. At the moment Josh and I are managing to pay off the mortgage and his loan and put a bit aside for the wedding and the roof fund but if I lose my job, our finances will be well and truly shafted.
‘So are you saying we should sell Tregavara House to an outsider?’ I can’t help shuddering.
Josh laughs and closes the laptop lid. ‘We wouldn’t be handing over the house to an alien, Annie. It would go to someone who’d probably love it like we do but could give it the money and attention it needs. And don’t forget you were an outsider in Salt Bay not so long ago.’
It’s true that I felt like an outsider at first. But it didn’t take me long to realise I was more of an outsider in London where I’d lived all my life than in Salt Bay. Alice took me in, filled in the g
aps and gave me what I was missing. And now I miss her.
‘I can’t,’ I say in a small voice. ‘I know you think it’s crazy and I’m letting my emotions win but if we sell to anyone it has to be Toby because he’s—’
‘A Trebarwith. I get it.’
‘And I can’t let Alice down. Are you fed up with me?’
‘Not with you, just the situation. We should be looking forward to our wedding and celebrating having the house but it’s all a bit of a mess at the moment.’ Josh swivels his backside round towards me and curses when his knees hit the handbrake. ‘Actually, I admire your family loyalty because I’d walk through hell and high water for mine. Mind you, they’re not duplicitous toerags.’
‘Perhaps Toby isn’t either. Maybe he’s changed.’
‘And maybe I’ll be invited to take part in the next series of Strictly.’
‘Cor, you’d look gorgeous in sequins doing a samba with your chest out.’
We both laugh which helps to ease the tension that’s started threading through our relationship. It’s hard when your boyfriend is ruled by his head and insufferably sensible whereas you appear to have morphed into a quivering blob of heart-led irrationality.
But we both want the same thing – the best for all of us. I take a deep breath of damp air and curl my hands into fists. ‘I’m so fortunate that Alice left me the house and I feel terrible selling it, but Toby’s offer is the best compromise. We could stay in Salt Bay, pay Toby rent and invest the money from the sale. It makes sense.’
‘Believe me, the thought of Toby as our landlord doesn’t fill me with joy and we’d need to get things in writing. But this way would give us breathing space to sort out what to do next. I love living in Salt Bay too, Annie, and want you to be happy.’ Josh nudges me with his shoulder and grins. ‘We could spend more on the wedding and get some of those doves Kayla was going on about.’
‘And fireworks. And a ginormous cake with gold flakes. But we wouldn’t have to sell until after the wedding, would we? It feels important that the house is mine when we hold the reception there.’
Ugh, irrational feelings again. My eyes are filling with tears and Josh squeezes my leg.
‘We don’t have to do anything right now. Selling is a huge decision and the thought of Toby getting what he wants is killing me so let’s sleep on it. No decisions today, OK?’ He winds his window down further and pokes his head outside. ‘The rain’s stopped so we could have a quick walk and get some fresh air before we hit Tesco. What’s Storm put on her list?’
I fish the crumpled paper out of my pocket and scan down it. ‘Just the usual. Crisps, white bread for toast, chocolate milkshake and ice cream. Good grief, the girl’s a nutritionist’s nightmare and I’m supposed to be in loco parentis.’
‘You’ve got a lot on your plate, Annie. Though not as much as Storm, obviously,’ he sniggers.
It’s a terrible joke but I love my strong, sensible boyfriend for trying to cheer me up. He deserves more than me moping about all over the place.
‘Come on,’ I say, giving my door a hefty kick because it’s the only way to get out of this rust bucket. ‘Let’s walk to the old tin mine and make out.’
Fourteen
The next morning I take a walk into the village. The ground’s damp from the overnight rain so the cliff path will be too slippery and treacherous. It’s cooler today and still overcast, though the sky is light grey rather than the bruised-purple clouds that bunched over the sea last night.
‘Morning, Annie. Not so many emmets about at the moment,’ calls Cyril as I’m walking past the village green. The river that cuts across the open space is lower than usual in spite of yesterday’s rain and the water is swirling and eddying around stones on the river bed.
‘That’s because the sun’s disappeared for the last few days, Cyril.’
I sit beside him on the bench where he’s resting his legs. The hem of his trousers is frayed and there are breakfast stains down his shirt but it’s good to see him out and about. Before he joined the choir, Cyril was the village recluse and still grieving the loss of his wife. I understand that – shutting yourself away when the safe world you know crumbles around you. But it’s not healthy to keep yourself apart, not in the long run.
‘You look tired, girl. Are you off work because you’re ill?’ Cyril stares at me without blinking.
‘No, I’ve taken a day’s leave to catch up on stuff. I’m not sleeping too well at the moment but I’m fine.’
‘Why aren’t you sleeping? You’re not having second thoughts about young Josh, are you? He’ll do you right.’
‘I know he will.’ I pat Cyril’s arm, which feels insubstantial beneath his cotton shirt. ‘But I’m missing Alice, and Emily’s still looking for a job and Storm can be challenging sometimes and the house is lovely but quite a responsibility and, to be honest, we’re considering selling it to Toby.’
Eek, I didn’t mean to say that. One question and it all came burbling out, which only goes to prove I’d be the worst spy in the world. ‘Tell me all your secrets, Mr Bond.’ ‘Uh, OK.’
‘Toby Trebarwith? That’s interesting.’
What sort of interesting? ‘What a fantastically good idea’ interesting or ‘you’ve clearly lost your mind and Alice would be appalled’ interesting?
‘Only the house would have gone to Toby anyway presumably if I hadn’t been around and the roof’s dodgy and there are bills to pay and we could probably pay rent and stay on in the house anyway and… I’m burbling. Sorry. But what do you mean by interesting?’
‘Just that Toby Trebarwith is local Cornish but he doesn’t fit in round here.’
‘So you think selling to Toby would be a bad idea.’
Cyril places his cool, veiny hand on top of mine. ‘You don’t want to take advice from an old codger like me, Annie, and I’d never make a fuss but I know some folk who would if Toby took over Tregavara House.’
Great. It seems I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
‘Sorry, Cyril. I didn’t mean to load all my worries onto you.’
Cyril gives a gappy grin because he’s forgotten to put his false teeth in again. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve been useful so load away! And if you want my opinion, a young girl like you should be all excited about her wedding, not being dragged down by responsibilities. You need a break, Annie. Somewhere you can get some peace and quiet, away from work and calls on your time and this social media stuff that’s addling people’s brains.’
‘I’m fine, honestly, and where in the world is more peaceful and gorgeous than Salt Bay?’
Ahead of me, pretty cottages are clustered along the valley which rises steeply away from the sea. The air is fresh with salt and ozone and there’s no need for Cyril to worry about frazzled brains because my social media consumption has plummeted since I arrived in Salt Bay. The Internet disappears into a black hole around here and now I don’t much miss it. All that Facebooking and tweeting to convince everyone that my life was perfect turned out to be exhausting.
So Cyril’s wrong. I don’t need to go anywhere else. In fact, people would pay to change places with me.
Whack! That’s the sound of a Brilliant Idea slapping me around the chops. What if I could give people the opportunity to enjoy what I have here – sea air, huge arcing skies, a community choir, real-deal Cornish pasties? Tregavara House would be a fabulous venue for a B&B.
My brain starts whirring while Cyril and I sit on the bench in companionable silence. A B&B would bring in money and help Tregavara House pay its way. And Emily could run it with some help from the rest of us – she told me once she was interested in the hospitality trade and this would give her brilliant experience.
‘Are you all right, dear?’ asks Cyril, patting my knee. ‘Only you’ve gone a funny colour.’
‘What about a B&B?’
‘Eh?’ He squints at me and rubs the white bristles on his chin.
‘I was thinking that we could maybe turn Tregavar
a House into a B&B and that would help to pay for its upkeep so we could hang onto the place and not sell to Toby.’
‘A bed and breakfast establishment in Salt Bay? I suppose it’s about time we had one of those.’
‘But please don’t tell anyone about it.’
I’d better discuss what might be a madcap scheme with Josh before my idea is talked about in the pub and Jennifer’s saying a five-star hotel’s planned. Some of the locals are set in their ways and might not like outsiders ‘invading’ the village. Mind you, according to Cyril they’d also freak at the thought of Toby owning Tregavara House.
‘Don’t worry, I’m the soul of discretion and can keep a secret,’ says Cyril, tapping the side of his nose. ‘I’ve never told anyone what Arthur got up to in Rhyl.’
What on earth did upright, uptight Arthur get up to in Rhyl? All kinds of scenarios are running through my mind – Arthur rat-arsed in a gutter, Arthur off his head on E in a night club, Arthur having it away with a stranger behind Rhyl Bus Station.
I’m tempted to beg Cyril to spill the beans but can’t really, seeing as I’ve just asked him to keep a secret for me.
So instead I ask him: ‘What do you reckon Alice would think about me opening a B&B?’
‘She always was a very practical woman and it’s better than you selling the house to Toby. If she’d wanted him to have it, she’d have left it to him. You need to do what’s best for you and that young man of yours and those girls you’ve taken in. And if that means turning the house into a bed and breakfast establishment, so be it.’
* * *
I can hardly wait to run my idea by Josh and pounce on him the minute he comes in from the summer school he’s helping to run during the holidays.
‘Slow down – slow down,’ he laughs, pushing me onto a kitchen chair. ‘Do you really think people would pay to stay here? It’s not exactly The Ritz, is it.’
