Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop: The heart-warming, romantic read we all need right now

by Ali McNamara

  I bet that was Ophelia, I think. Stupid stuck-up—

  ‘And that’s when my mother truly lost it,’ Susan continues, before I have time to finish my thought. ‘She turned from inconsolable to incensed in seconds. She started shouting about how this guy’s paintings were stolen and that they weren’t by him, that they were by this Freddie again. We could barely control her. Like I say, it’s not my mother’s body letting her down at all – she’s still very strong. Eventually my daughter and I managed to calm down both her and the gallery staff, and we were escorted from the building.’

  ‘Did your mother say anything else?’ I ask. ‘About Freddie?’

  Susan shakes her head. ‘She’s barely said a word since. She’s retreated back into her own world. She hardly communicates with us. It’s heartbreaking, and I know it’s something to do with this Freddie person, but she won’t talk to us about it. When we ask she just clams up, so when you phoned me out of the blue and mentioned his name, I knew I had to come and find out what you knew – to see if we could piece this mystery together between us.’

  ‘I think we can do better than that,’ I tell a distressed-looking Susan. ‘I think we might be able to solve the mystery and put right a wrong that’s been kept secret for far too long.’

  Thirty-five

  ‘Thanks for driving,’ Jack says, as we travel together down towards Penzance in my battered old Land Rover. ‘I’ve not got around to getting myself a permanent car yet, and as you can imagine it has to be a special one.’ He rolls his eyes as he says the word special.

  ‘That’s okay,’ I tell him, ‘I don’t mind. I don’t really drive all that much either. This poor thing sits in a locked garage most of the time. Cars aren’t really necessary when you spend nearly all your days in a little seaside fishing town like we do.’

  ‘No, that’s true. I guess that’s why I haven’t really needed one yet. Luckily all my stock is delivered to me, and the public transport around here is quite good if you need to travel further afield.’

  ‘How do you get on with that?’ I ask, overtaking a slow-moving tractor and trailer. ‘Public transport, I mean?’

  Jack shrugs. ‘Okay, it can be a hassle if you have to ask for ramps and the like on trains and taxis, but a lot of buses have steps that lower automatically these days, so that’s a bonus.’

  I nod. ‘I expect it’s the things you don’t think about that are the hardest.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Like when you turn up somewhere and there’s no lift, or you have to go up steps to get in.’

  ‘Yes, that can be annoying, but I rarely go anywhere without checking out how accessible it is first. That’s one thing my life is definitely lacking these days – spontaneity. I have to plan everything in advance. Especially trips to somewhere I haven’t been before.’

  ‘It must be tough.’

  ‘You get used to it. You’ll get used to it too if you intend on spending any length of time with me.’ He glances across at me, but I pretend to be concentrating on the road.

  ‘Who’s looking after your shop today?’ I ask. ‘Ben again?’

  ‘Ben and Bronte. What about you?’

  ‘Sebastian and Anita are both in. Luckily Sebastian is eager to amass as much money as he can this summer. I’ve had to call on him a lot just lately when we’ve been dashing here, there and everywhere.’

  ‘You haven’t asked Molly then?’

  ‘On occasion, yes, but she’s too young to be left on her own with the shop. Sebastian and Anita need to be there with her, so it’s not always feasible when it comes to breaks and stuff.’

  ‘It’s good our two kids are getting along,’ Jack says. ‘I’m really pleased about that.’

  ‘Molly thinks Ben is great. It’s like he’s the big brother she’s never had.’

  ‘Ben is fond of Molly too. I think it might have been a bit awkward to begin with, but once Molly realised he was gay their relationship changed for the better.’

  ‘He’s a handsome young man. Hot, like his dad.’

  I glance across at Jack.

  ‘It’s a while since anyone called me that,’ he says, looking ahead at the road with flushed cheeks.

  ‘Just as well, otherwise I might not have had the chance to.’

  ‘I’m serious, Kate. My track record with women hasn’t been exactly great since I had my accident. I mean, who would want to go out with me?’

  ‘I assume you’re talking about your sometimes uncouth and often forceful manner?’ I retort flippantly. ‘And not your physical attributes or lack of them?’ I glance over at him to see how he’s taken this.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Jack says seriously. ‘I’m a burden to whoever I’m with.’

  ‘Did you get out of bed the wrong side this morning?’ I ask. ‘Or have you taken a poor me pill? You’re feeling very sorry for yourself today.’

  ‘It’s you I feel sorry for, hooking up with me. You could do so much better than a cripple.’

  ‘Right, that’s it!’ I say, and I swerve into the forecourt of a petrol station we’re about to pass.

  ‘Whoa!’ Jack says, grabbing on to the dashboard as I brake hard in the area for filling tyres with air. ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘Because I’m not going any further until you tell me what’s wrong?’ I say, turning off the engine.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Why the pity party?’

  ‘I was just thinking last night about you and Julian, that’s all.’

  ‘What do you mean, me and Julian? There isn’t a me and Julian.’

  ‘He obviously likes you still or why would he do everything he’s done for us regarding Maggie?’

  I sigh. ‘If Julian likes me in any way other than as a friend then it’s his issue not mine. I’ve made it very clear to him that’s how I feel. I thought you knew that?’

  ‘I do. It’s just that he’s a fit, able-bodied man – rich, too. You’d be much better off with him than with me. I’m only going to hold you back.’

  I grab hold of the steering wheel and bang my head against it a couple of times, but I’ve forgotten that the horn is in the centre of the wheel so it beeps a couple of times too.

  Jack and I both laugh.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ I say, taking hold of his hand. ‘Jack, you know how much I care for you. I’ve told you, haven’t I?’

  Jack nods. ‘But—’

  ‘No buts,’ I say, putting my finger on his lips. ‘I care about you, Jack! Not about your ability to run a marathon or sprint up a flight of stairs. I don’t want your legs. I want you! Why can’t you see that?’

  Jack takes hold of my other hand and pulls it gently away from his mouth so he’s now holding on to both of my hands.

  ‘I don’t deserve you,’ he whispers. ‘I really don’t.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ I tell him. ‘Even if I am quite the catch!’ I lean in to him and we kiss, and as always when I kiss Jack in that moment I forget everything else that’s going on around us. On this occasion, however, the fact that we’re sitting in the middle of a petrol station doesn’t fade out for too long as a car behind us toots its horn.

  I pull away from Jack and turn towards the car behind us. ‘All right!’ I call through the open window. ‘Some of us are having a romantic moment here!’

  ‘Get a room then, love!’ the driver calls back.

  ‘Oh, I intend to,’ I tell him, as I start the engine again. ‘Don’t you worry!’

  I pull out into the traffic again, and I glance at Jack. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile quite so much as he is right now.

  ‘Hi, again,’ I say to Susan, as we stand on her daughter’s doorstep waiting to go inside.

  ‘Hello, Kate. Hi, Jack,’ Susan says, standing back to let us pass. ‘Thank you for coming. We’re just through here.’

  We follow her through the hallway of the Victorian terrace house towards a living room at the back.

  ‘Now,
I can’t guarantee this is going to help,’ Susan says, stopping just short of the entrance. ‘Like I’ve warned you before, Mom can be … difficult to communicate with on her best days.’

  ‘We can only try,’ I say gently.

  Susan nods, and we follow her into the room.

  Sunlight streams through two tall French windows at the end of a large bright sitting room. It’s furnished in a comfortable yet modern style and dotted about with artistic touches. A large sofa and two armchairs bathe in the natural light, and sitting in one of the chairs is a young woman, and in the other a much older one.

  I pause as we enter the room. I knew coming here today and meeting the Maggie from our pictures for the first time was going to be slightly odd, but what I hadn’t banked on was also seeing someone who looked just like her.

  Susan’s daughter stands up to greet us. It’s truly amazing – she looks exactly how I’d imagined Maggie would when she’d grown up. She has the same eyes, the same pale complexion and the same jet black hair that our Maggie had so often tied into pigtails, but that this Maggie has pinned up into a loose bun.

  ‘Hi, I’m Maggie,’ she says, coming over to shake our hands. ‘Thank you so much for coming today. This is my grandmother … What do you wish to be called today, Granny?’ she asks in a clear voice.

  The older woman, who doesn’t appear to have even noticed us as we enter the room, stares up with confusion at her granddaughter.

  ‘We have visitors, Granny,’ young Maggie says again. ‘Would you like to be called Peggy or Maggie today? She changes her mind on an almost daily basis,’ she explains to us. ‘Don’t you, Granny?’

  The old woman turns towards us now, but she doesn’t say anything. She just looks intently at us with the same eyes that her granddaughter has – first at me, and then at Jack.

  ‘You’re in a wheelchair,’ she says. ‘I was in a wheelchair once.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Jack says, pushing himself over towards her.

  ‘Your chair is a lot fancier than mine was. I had to be pushed around by my mother, and that wasn’t fun for either of us.’ She grins at Jack.

  ‘I can imagine,’ Jack says. ‘It’s bad enough having to push myself about.’

  This is progress already,’ Susan whispers to me. ‘She doesn’t usually say anything to strangers.’

  ‘My name is Maggie,’ this older Maggie says, making her choice for the day and she holds her hand out to Jack. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘I’m Jack,’ Jack answers, taking her delicate hand in his strong one, ‘and this is Kate.’ He gestures to me, and I move forwards, but Maggie only has eyes for Jack right now.

  ‘You were a soldier,’ Maggie says, as a statement rather than a question.

  ‘Yes, I was. How do you know?’

  Maggie points to one of Jack’s tattoos peeking out from the sleeve of his T-shirt. ‘Military.’

  ‘That’s right, it is.’

  ‘My father was in the army,’ Maggie says. ‘The US Army … maybe you knew him?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Jack says diplomatically, ‘I was in the British Army.’

  Maggie nods. ‘Yes, that would make sense. Were you at Normandy for the landings? My father was at Omaha. He was injured but he survived.’

  Jack shakes his head. ‘No, that was a bit before my time, I’m afraid.’

  Maggie seems to accept this and nods again.

  ‘Mom, these nice people have come to talk to you today about when you used to live in St Felix with your mother and Arty,’ Susan says gently. ‘Do you remember?’

  ‘Of course I remember, girl. I’m not infirm, even though you all treat me as though I am most of the time.’

  Susan turns to me and grimaces. ‘Good luck.’

  I sit down in the armchair next to Maggie, so she is now in between Jack and me.

  ‘Who are you?’ Maggie asks.

  ‘I’m Kate,’ I say. ‘Pleased to meet you, Maggie.’

  I hold out my hand but Maggie turns towards Jack. ‘Is this your sweetheart?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes,’ Jack says smiling at me, and I feel my cheeks flush. ‘She is.’

  ‘Pity,’ Maggie says. ‘Not often a handsome soldier comes to visit me.’

  I nod encouragingly at Jack. It was obvious he was going to get further with Maggie than I was.

  ‘Maggie,’ Jack says softly. ‘We wanted to talk to you about Freddie.’

  Maggie’s slightly vacant expression suddenly sharpens. ‘Did you know him?’ she asks immediately.

  ‘Sort of,’ Jack says. ‘We know that you used to paint with him.’

  ‘I did,’ Maggie says in a forlorn voice. ‘But then he left me, like everyone leaves me eventually – my father, then Freddie, then my mother, then Arty, then Susan. They all go eventually.’

  ‘Mom, I’m not dead,’ Susan protests.

  ‘Might as well be living with the Yanks. My father was a Yank,’ she tells Jack again. ‘He was in the army, you know?’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Jack says gently. ‘We were wondering though whether you and Arty ever found out what happened to Freddie’s paintings? They went missing, didn’t they?’

  Maggie shakes her head sadly. ‘No, Arty searched and searched for them, but he never found them.’

  ‘Did he have any idea where they went?’ Jack asks. ‘Any clues?’

  Maggie again shakes her head. ‘No, they just disappeared, and with it Freddie’s name. No one remembers him now. Only me. He was a great painter, you know, and a lovely, lovely man.’

  Maggie looks so desolate now that I’m starting to feel bad we ever came here and disturbed this old lady’s memories.

  ‘Did you know him?’ she asks Jack again. ‘Freddie?’

  Jack shakes his head. ‘No, sadly not, but we’ve heard a lot about him and we wanted to help find his lost paintings. We knew you knew him and we hoped that you might be able to help us.’

  ‘Mom, if this is too upsetting for you, then Jack and Kate can go?’ Susan asks, looking with concern at her mother.

  ‘No!’ Maggie says in a stern voice. ‘I don’t have much left that’s mine these days, but I do have my memories. You can’t take those away from me.’

  ‘No one wants to take your memories away from you, Granny,’ her granddaughter says gently. ‘No one can or wants to do that.’

  ‘Not now I have them hidden in my room, you can’t!’ Maggie says cryptically. She nods and folds her arms across her chest.

  ‘You’re getting confused again, Granny. Your memories are kept up here.’ She points to her head, and then her heart. ‘And here.’

  I look at Jack. Exactly like Clara, her great-grandmother, had before her …

  ‘No, you silly girl!’ Maggie says crossly. ‘I mean my real memories. I have my box.’

  Susan looks at the younger Maggie and mouths silently, ‘What box?’

  Her daughter shrugs and shakes her head.

  ‘You see,’ Maggie says, patting Jack on the hand and grinning. ‘They think they know everything about me, but they don’t.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Mom?’ Susan asks. ‘What box?’

  ‘If you’d care to go to my room, Susan, you’ll find a tin box hidden under my bed. Please bring it back here to me immediately.’

  Susan, looking puzzled, does as she’s asked, while her mother sits back in her chair with her hands in her lap and patiently waits for her daughter to return.

  ‘Would anyone like some tea?’ Maggie’s granddaughter asks. ‘I meant to ask you when you came in, but completely forgot. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Tea!’ Her grandmother snorts. ‘These people haven’t come here to drink tea. They’re professionals doing an important job.’

  I would have quite liked a cup of tea, but now I don’t dare say anything.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on anyway, Granny. Professionals or not.’ Her granddaughter smiles at us. ‘They still get thirsty.’

  Maggie shakes her head as the young woman disappea
rs into the kitchen. ‘They have no idea,’ she says, addressing me for the first time. ‘They think I’m completely doolally. I’m not, of course, I’m just a little forgetful sometimes.’

  I nod.

  ‘I don’t forget the important things though – the things that matter. Did you know my mother?’ she asks me. ‘You remind me of her.’

  ‘Not really, no … but I’ve heard she was a fine lady.’

  ‘She was. Very fine. She liked to sew, you know?’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘She made clothes at first, then she got more adventurous when the sixties came and began to stitch felts with her machine. She embroidered them on to skirts and dresses, and then eventually started to create her own pictures with them. Arty would paint and she would sew. We were quite the artistic family. Did you know I nearly went to art college? I wasn’t too shabby … But then I had Susan and all that was forgotten about.’

  ‘That happens sometimes when children come along,’ I tell her knowingly. ‘Your dreams get pushed aside.’

  ‘They do indeed.’

  ‘Is this what you’re talking about?’ Susan asks, coming back into the room clutching a tin box about the size of a large biscuit tin.

  ‘Yes, that’s the one,’ Maggie says, taking it from her. ‘You didn’t know I had this, did you?’ she says cunningly to Susan. ‘I smuggled it in with the few things I was allowed to keep from my house before you sold them all off.’

  ‘Mom, now you know that’s not how it was,’ Susan says, shaking her head. ‘Stop exaggerating.’

  ‘That’s how it felt,’ Maggie says, clutching the box tightly to her chest, ‘but you didn’t get this one, did you? No, I made sure of that.’

  ‘Right, that’s the kettle on,’ her granddaughter says, coming back into the room. ‘Oh, you found it then? What’s inside, Granny?’

  Maggie looks conspiratorially around at all of us, as if she’s weighing up whether she can trust us with the contents of her precious box. ‘Inside here are my memories,’ she says quietly. ‘When I can’t remember, I look in here and it’s all there for me so I don’t have to try too hard.’

  She carefully prises open the lid of the tin, and lifts from it a few photos.