Why was Penny flirting so outrageously with him, anyway? Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Dylan? The girl was married, for God’s sake. Did she keep forgetting that, or was she just plain greedy? Layla would give anything to be loved the way Penny was. Richard adored her; it was obvious. Well, obvious to everyone but Penny. Yes, they’d hit a glitch, it couldn’t be denied, but with a bit of effort on both their parts, they could clamber onto safe ground again. She had hurt him because of Dylan, and she ran the risk of hurting him again if she took things too far with Joseph. On holiday she might be, but she wasn’t at liberty to have a holiday romance. Layla would have to remind her of that. As for Joseph, he knew Penny was married; she had mentioned it several times. What was he doing encouraging her? It didn’t say much for his sense of honor either.
As they reached the cottage, Layla’s anger was at boiling point. Joseph and Penny were still linked together and looking unbearably smug.
“Come on,” Layla said. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Okay, come on, Joe. I think we’ve still got some wine left from earlier.”
“No,” interrupted Layla. “I meant just you and me, Penny. It’s time to call it a night.”
“Oh, come on,” Penny moaned. “The night is young, and so are we.”
“It’s okay,” said Joseph, gently disentangling himself before Penny could say anymore. “I need to get back. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
“You can spare another hour at least,” implored Penny. “If Layla insists on being a bore, that’s up to her. We’ll go back to yours.”
“Another time you’d be welcome, but not right now. I’ve got to get some sleep.”
“When can we meet again, though?” she asked, her voice petulant like a small child’s. Nodding at Layla, she continued, “I need to have fun with someone around here.”
“Whenever you like.” He laughed. “Pop down to the workshop tomorrow, say hello. Layla will tell you where it is.”
Oh, will I indeed! thought Layla, grabbing onto Penny’s arm, bidding Joseph a terse goodnight and pushing her through the door, all in one swift move.
As the door banged shut behind them, Penny rubbed at her arm. “Crikey, Layla, take it easy, will you? What’s your problem?”
“My problem?” roared Layla in disbelief. “I’m not the one with the problem. You’re the one making a fool of yourself.”
“Hey,” countered Penny, “I am not. I’m just having a good time. You remember that, don’t you, what it’s like to have a good time?”
“Of course I do, but you don’t need to get quite so drunk to have a good time, you know. I don’t know what everyone must have thought.”
“If by everyone, you’re referring to Joe, he thought I was great, actually. He told me so. In fact, we were getting on really well until you showed up and spoilt things.”
“He was probably making the best of a bad situation,” snapped Layla. “After all, you launched yourself at him like a space missile. He couldn’t exactly escape.”
Penny looked visibly hurt at this. Her brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s the matter, Layla? Why are you so angry? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You’re married, Penny,” Layla continued, deep inside hating how self-righteous she sounded. “You seem to forget that. I’m sure Richard would be ecstatic to know you’re throwing yourself at another man.” Then, almost against her will, she heard herself say, “Again.”
Penny stared at her, her blue eyes glittering dangerously. There was no trace of drunkenness in her voice now. “How dare you! I was not throwing myself at him. I was being friendly. He understood that, even if you can’t. As for Dylan, you know why that happened, how lonely I felt.”
“All I’m saying,” replied Layla, more warily now, “is that acting the way you do after a couple of drinks around the male half of the human race won’t improve your situation. If you even hint to Richard you’ve spent the evening with someone else, he’ll fly off the handle. Trust is a big issue between you now. Face up to it.”
“Face up to it? Me? What about you?” Penny yelled. “You ran away from your job, your home, and your friends because you couldn’t face up to things. You didn’t have the balls to stay and make Alex pay for what he did.”
“I didn’t just leave because of Alex—”
“Yes, you did! You liar,” interrupted Penny. “You’ve got a bloody cheek, standing there preaching to me. But, hang on…this isn’t all about Alex, is it?”
“What are you talking about?” snorted Layla derisively.
“Has something happened between you and Joe?”
“Me and Joe? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It has, hasn’t it? Something’s happened. And you’re jealous, jealous he spent time with me tonight instead of you. Have you got some kind of crush on him? You never stop talking about him, after all.”
“No, I have not. He is not my type, and you know it.”
“Oh, yeah, what am I thinking? Of course, he’s not your type. If he’s not old enough to be your father, you’re not interested.”
“What!” Layla exploded. “What has my father got to do with this?”
“That’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it? A sugar daddy, someone to take care of you, because you don’t think you can take care of yourself? Guys your age don’t stand a chance.”
Rendered speechless at her words, Layla could only stare at Penny in complete amazement. The look on her face brought Penny to a halt, too. The girls rarely argued, and if they did, it was just over petty things, like why Layla hadn’t saved enough money for a taxi home when it was her turn to pay or why had Penny swiped Layla’s best sparkly top when she knew she was planning on wearing it herself—minor misdemeanors that could be resolved in minutes, if not seconds. This time, however, harsh truths had hit home and in the most brutal of ways.
“I think you’re right,” said Penny at last, her voice catching in her throat. “I have had too much to drink.”
“And I probably haven’t had enough.” Layla tried to smile but couldn’t.
“Look, it’s late. Let’s talk about it in the morning. I think we both need to get some sleep, to calm down.”
“Okay.” Layla felt tears running down her cheeks as she watched Penny leave, going to her own room no doubt. There’d be no sharing of beds tonight.
Slumping into a chair, she made great attempts to keep her sobbing quiet, even though she felt like wailing from the rafters. She couldn’t believe what they had said to each other, how they had used each other’s private sufferings to inflict pain. Besides, it wasn’t true what Penny had said: Layla wasn’t looking for a sugar daddy. She’d never heard anything so ridiculous. There’d been Adam briefly a couple of years ago, in case she’d forgotten. He was only six years older than her and had worked as a postman—hardly “sugar daddy” material. God, she missed her father, though; he seemed such a distant figure now, kept alive only by a few well-thumbed photographs and cherished memories. He had been so loving, so strong and capable. A rock. As strong and permanent as Gull Rock. Although not so permanent as it had turned out. It was a tragedy that he had been killed in his prime, taken out by some young and reckless driver.
In the bleak months and years that followed, it had been him Layla had longed for whenever she was feeling down, not her mother, and her mother knew it. And now was no different. Sitting in her kitchen, all alone, she wanted him and only him. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her as he used to so often once upon a time and tell her everything was going to be okay. No, Penny was wrong; she didn’t want to replace her father. Nobody could. She just wanted to be loved as he had loved her—unconditionally. She wanted to feel special again.
Chapter Twelve
“HEY, GIRLS, READY FOR A BIT OF SIGHTSEEING?”
Hannah looked at the two swollen and miserable faces in front of her. Hmm, maybe not. Realizing she needed to buy herself time in order to assess the situation, she shifted her focus from P
enny and Layla to the kettle instead, staring at its tarnished silver exterior as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world whilst waiting for it to boil.
Yep, definitely a frost in the air, she decided as she rummaged around the cupboards for a mug. What the hell’s gone on here?
She took a few sips of her herbal tea, swiveled round on her heel, and endeavored to inject some lightheartedness into the atmosphere.
“I thought Port Isaac for lunch and Boscastle for a cream tea?” she ventured. “With a walk over the headland in between to burn off any excess calories. Is that okay?”
Penny gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head, whilst Layla merely grunted in reply. Clearly whatever had happened had been serious.
She had seen them leave the party early last night, with Joe in tow. As she’d waved goodbye to them from the kitchen—not even sure if they’d seen her—she had wondered why they were leaving so soon. It hadn’t even been midnight, for heaven’s sake. And why had Layla looked so thoroughly pissed off? Two questions she still had no answer to.
She had noticed the tension between Joe and Layla earlier in the evening too, but Layla had insisted all was well. It wasn’t though; she could tell. Joe had been off color these past couple of days, sitting morosely round at their flat the night before the party, beer can in hand, looking like he’d been hit with the news that his favorite aunt had died.
Jim hadn’t noticed, of course. He and Curtis had been busy working on lyrics for a new song, but she most certainly had. When it came to Joe, she noticed everything.
Had the girls fallen out because of him? Layla had looked less than pleased when Penny carted him outside last night. Perhaps she was jealous? After all, she and Joe had been spending quite a bit of time together lately, another thing that hadn’t gone unnoticed. And why had Penny monopolized him, anyway? She was married, wasn’t she?
Starting to feel pissed off too, she swiftly halted her train of thought. Adding to the sulk-off was not going to help. Today was meant to be a good day, a fun day, and fun they would have. She placed her mug on the counter, clapped her hands, and said in a voice she hoped emulated the no-nonsense tone of her old Brownie leader, “Right, girls, chop, chop. Let’s get going.”
Incredibly, it worked. Layla and Penny stood up, albeit rather reluctantly, scraping their chairs loudly against the flagstone floor. Then, with eyes downcast, they obediently followed her to the door.
Outside, Hannah threw a surreptitious glance at Joe’s cottage, wondering if she might catch a glimpse of him. What she hadn’t bargained for, though, was the others doing exactly the same and looking just as furtive about it as she felt.
Slightly miffed but striving to keep her voice neutral, she turned to Penny and asked, “Is it still okay to go in your car? I don’t think you’ll appreciate a ride in my old banger when you’re used to such luxury.”
“Of course,” muttered Penny, climbing into the driving seat.
Layla immediately got into the back, pointedly so, leaving Hannah no option but to occupy the seat beside Penny.
“Right,” she said as brightly as she dared under the circumstances. “Let’s head south.”
“Pull in over there,” said Hannah, pointing to Silvershell Road. “It’s easier to park up here. The harbor’s not far away, just down the hill.”
It had been an awful journey, every one of its twenty minutes painful. As Penny had never been to Cornwall before, Hannah had tried pointing out various landmarks to start up conversation. But nothing, not even the famous Delabole Quarry or the Butterfly Farm, had elicited more than a few mumbled words in response. She had even resorted to saying how nice the weather was, more like a day in June than early April, but that too had been met with zero enthusiasm. Eventually she had conceded defeat and turned the radio up, listening to a rockumentary on bands from the eighties as they sped along.
Beginning the descent into Port Isaac, Hannah was dying to say something—Okay, girls, I realize something’s up between you two, but whatever it is, let’s put it behind us and enjoy the day—but she couldn’t. Maybe over lunch she’d pluck up the courage.
As they walked into the village proper—one of the most beautiful in North Cornwall—Penny cracked at last.
“This really is lovely, isn’t it? Like on that program, Doc something? You know, the one with Martin Clunes.”
“Hardly surprising,” said Hannah, hugely relieved that one of the silent duo had spoken properly at last. “Doc Martin is filmed here.”
“Really?” Penny said in astonishment. “I love that series.”
And with that she was off, wanting to explore every narrow, winding street, marveling at how tiny the ice-cream-colored cottages were, and popping into every last gift shop to wade through acres and acres of souvenirs. Her enthusiasm was catching; even Layla ummed and aahed at various junctures. Maybe lunch wouldn’t be so bad after all.
After an hour or so of admiring just about everything Port Isaac had to offer, they settled themselves at The Galleon for lunch. A delightful sixteenth-century pub right on the harbor’s edge, it had once been the haunt of smugglers and big buxom serving wenches. They were lucky enough to be able to eat outside, bagging one of only two tables on the terrace, their view of the harbor itself dotted with colorful fishing boats and young families searching amongst the rocks for creature the sea had left behind.
Penny opted for the crab salad, Layla for Atlantic prawns, and Hannah for the smoked fish platter—all wonderfully fresh ingredients from the fish cellars just opposite the pub. A fish cellar Mick and his father often provided for, Hannah told them. Lots of home-baked crusty bread accompanied their meal, with a glass of chilled wine for the non-drivers and a Diet Coke for Penny.
As they tucked in, Hannah noticed both girls were looking slightly more relaxed. Well, mainly Penny who seemed truly knocked out by her beautiful surroundings. Layla was definitely still not her usual self.
Attempting to re-start the conversation which had stalled again, Hannah asked, “Has Layla taken you to visit the castle in our humble village yet?”
“No, she hasn’t.” Penny was amicable enough. “Can we do that today?”
“Yeah, sure after lunch, we could—”
“It’s hardly a castle,” Layla interrupted. “It’s just a few tumbled down walls dotted here and there.”
“Ah, but it’s the history that counts,” continued Hannah, undaunted. “It dates back to ancient times, you know. Back to the Dark Ages, they think.”
“Wow!” said Penny, impressed again. “Let’s go and see it. I love anything historical.”
Making eye contact with Layla for the first time that day, she added, “And so do you, Layla. Don’t lie.”
“Humph,” replied Layla, slathering butter on a hunk of bread and shoving it in her mouth.
“Right, that’s settled. We’ll head back to Trecastle to see the sights before pushing on to Boscastle.” And with that, Hannah finished her glass of wine, glad of its slightly fuzzy effect.
The sun continued to shine upon them as they explored the castle and coastline, Hannah explaining to Penny how she played amongst the ruins as a child.
“But it’s so precarious,” said Penny, referring to its cliff-top location. “Even dangerous, I’d say.”
“I know what you mean,” Hannah conceded, “but when you grow up with this type of landscape, you quickly learn every one of its pitfalls and how to avoid them.”
“Not everyone,” Layla pointed out. “What about that man on the news yesterday? The one from Bude. Lived all his life in Cornwall but still got caught out by the tide. He drowned.”
“True.” Hannah nodded her head in grave agreement. “Mostly learn to avoid them, I should say.” At least Layla was talking again, even if it was about a drowning man.
“Speaking of the tide,” said Hannah, pointing to the beach below, “it’s out. Let’s go and explore.”
The pathway down to the beach from the cliff top was steep
in places, and Penny tripped over rocks and stones a couple of times, her much-loved pink Converse boots not lending themselves too well to the terrain. Layla was just as bad, letting out a squeal every now and then as she lunged forward. Both girls expressed disbelief at Hannah’s effortless negotiation of the path, running on ahead as though she were part of the landscape itself.
“I told you,” she called back happily. “I’m used to it.”
The tide was far out and looked as though it were still receding. All three ran up to the water’s edge and immediately started splashing each other with ice-cold water, thoroughly soaking themselves but laughing all the while, laughter that was music to Hannah’s ears.
Deciding she was wet enough, Hannah started running back toward the cliffs, both girls following in her sandy footsteps.
“You ready for this, Penny?” she teased as they ventured closer.
“You bet,” replied Penny excitedly. “Lead the way.”
This was the deepest cave on the beach, known locally as Merlin’s Cave, although there were Merlin’s Caves aplenty in these parts, some on the coast, some on the moors. Dark Age history was everywhere. Hannah had never been all the way in, not even when armed with a flashlight. It got decidedly murkier and scarier the further you retreated from civilization.
They were only at what she considered the halfway mark when Penny piped up, “It stinks in here. Can we leave now?”
“Just a few steps more,” said Hannah, noticing that Penny was holding onto Layla’s arm and that Layla was letting her.
Passing the halfway mark, they heard a big boom. Penny had clearly had enough. She let out an ear-piercing scream before turning round and beating a hasty retreat, followed swiftly by Layla and Hannah.
The Runaway Year Page 10
