by Liz Eeles
‘Bills to pay, Annabella. Lots of bills,’ she murmurs when I poke my head round the door. She’s writing cheques with a fountain pen and refuses my offer of help even though her hand is shaking and smudging blue ink across the paper.
When I wander back into the kitchen I notice a pair of green wellies tucked away down the side of the fridge. After upending them to check for spiders – Maura swears she found a false widow inside her trainers – I slip my feet inside and decide to have a go at tackling the garden. Is gardening even a thing in winter? I’ve no idea, having grown up with tiny backyards filled with communal dustbins, but how hard can it be? If it looks like a weed, pull it up; if it doesn’t, leave it. Alan Titchmarsh, eat your heart out.
Unfortunately, Alice’s garden doesn’t so much need a spot of gardening as a full-scale rescue. Scrubby shrubs edging the lawn have grown together in a tangle and everything has been battered by vicious winds. It’s hard to know where to start so I pull up a brown Triffid that looks weed-like and some dead grass curling round the base of a plant with tall, spiky fronds. As I crouch over, scrabbling about in the earth with the pale sun warming my back, I start to feel more positive about the whole staying-in-Cornwall-for-a-while thing. Maybe I can treat the next few weeks as a working holiday and learn some useful gardening skills along the way. Skills I can use to cultivate the balcony tubs at the flat which, last time I looked, contained bare soil, a crushed Coke can and the stub of a marijuana joint.
The sun is high in the sky and shadows thrown by the cliffs have long disappeared when I stagger to my feet two hours later, stretch my back and survey my handiwork. The garden isn’t that different from when I started but there’s a satisfying pile of weeds that I drop into the plastic bin by the back door. Gardening is good fun, I decide, putting my hands on my hips and smiling contentedly – apart from the backache and the ravenous appetite it induces. Fortunately, it’s almost time for lunch.
Back in the kitchen, I catch sight of myself in the polished steel splashback and do a double-take. I look different, with glowing, flushed skin and bright eyes. I look outdoorsy and healthy, and it suits me. I steal a few more glances while I’m making sandwiches for myself and Alice, and refuse to calculate how many extra wrinkles I’ll have in ten years’ time thanks to my morning outside.
I’m planning to carry on with the gardening after lunch but an icy wind has picked up so I pass the time by clearing out the kitchen cupboards instead. I was going to wait until Serena arrived and rope her in to help me but she’s cried off with a cold so I get stuck in on my own.
‘Some of the food may be slightly out of date,’ warns Alice, finding me a black bin liner. ‘It’s hard to get out of the village when the weather’s very bad so I like to make sure I’ve always got enough in to keep me going.’
As it turns out, there’s enough in Alice’s cupboards to keep a rugby team going for a month. But they’d all die of food poisoning. The bin liner is soon half-filled with rusty tins of tuna and ham, bricks of ancient sugar, congealed spices from the Millennium and a bag of unidentifiable yellow powder that’s gone mouldy. Once the food cupboards are empty, I wipe down the wallpaper-lined shelves and refill them with everything still in date.
Then I tackle the cupboards crammed full with mismatched crockery and the drawers almost overflowing with saucepans. I don’t throw anything away but, by carefully rearranging the stacking system, the cupboards gradually become more ordered and tidy.
‘That’s wonderful,’ declares Alice, coming to inspect the kitchen towards the end of the afternoon. She opens and closes the same cupboards several times as though she’s expecting them to change back. Then she pulls two small steaks from the fridge.
‘You deserve a treat for all your hard work today, Annabella, so let’s have a special tea.’
Two hours later, full of fried steak and tomatoes, we’re watching Coronation Street when a car pulls up outside.
‘That must be Toby. He’s early.’ Alice tweaks aside the curtain. ‘He’s made very good time, and the big case he’s getting out of his boot must be yours.’
The man pulling a huge case up the garden path is younger than I was expecting. I pictured Toby as a pudgy middle-aged man in a suit and tie but I’m way off beam. The man turning puce with the exertion of hauling my case is only a few years older than me and wearing cords, a tweed jacket and what looks like a cravat. Maybe that’s to let everyone know he’s arty. He’s also got a brown hipster goatee and there’s no hint of a paunch. I draw back behind the curtain so he won’t see me ogling him. That wouldn’t be a good start.
While Alice goes to let him in, I turn off the TV and arrange myself by the fireplace, unnerved by the double whammy of meeting two new relatives within a few days.
‘Toby, how lovely to see you.’ Alice’s voice, floating in through the open sitting room door, is slightly obscured by a loud thud as my case hits the hall floor.
‘Hello Alice. Looking gorgeous as ever.’ There’s no trace of a Cornish accent. In fact, Toby sounds rather posh which makes me even more jittery because posh people have that effect on me. It’s very annoying. I rest my arm on the mantelpiece and try to look natural because that always works.
‘You must be Annabella. How marvellous to meet you.’ Toby breezes into the room with his hand outstretched, oozing confidence. ‘I didn’t realise that Alice had been hiding a relative. What else have you been hiding from me, Alice?’ He gives a short laugh and raises his tidy eyebrows.
‘It’s Annie,’ I say, moving forward and shaking his hand which is soft and cool. ‘It’s good to meet you too. And thank you so much for collecting my case. I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience.’
‘Not at all, though I think your flatmate – Amber, is it? – has filled it with bricks.’ His hooded grey eyes flash with irritation but then he grins. ‘I managed to get away from work at lunchtime as it’s Friday so I was grateful that Amber was at home and had the case ready.’
‘She’s a student.’
‘I thought as much. She asked me to tell you that she lost your list so she used her initiative about the clothes you might need.’
That sounds ominous. Knowing Amber’s predilection for micro-minis and crop tops, she’ll have packed my shortest dress and skimpiest T-shirts. Which means I’ll have to prance round Cornwall like an ageing pole dancer until I die of hypothermia without ever seeing the Shard again. I suddenly ache with longing to see that amazing glass pyramid spearing the clouds above London Bridge station.
Toby’s giving me an odd look so I beckon for him to sit down.
‘I’m sure what she’s packed will be fine, and thanks again for bringing it with you.’
‘Don’t mention it. We are family after all. But how strange that we’ve never met before, and Alice tells me you’d never met her either until a few days ago.’
‘It’s strange but marvellous.’ Alice turns on the lamp and floods the room with more light. ‘Toby, you can chat to Annabella while I get you some food. You must be exhausted after your long drive.’
‘It was a killer but worth it for you, Alice.’ Toby settles back against the chair and kicks off his tan brogues while I perch self-consciously on the arm of the sofa. ‘So tell me all about you, Annie. Alice tells me that you live in London. I expect you’ve got a boyfriend up there you’re keen to get back to, haven’t you?’
His personal question knocks me off-guard and my face flushes.
‘Not at the moment. I mean, there was someone but’ – a vision of Stuart’s head popping up over the back of his sofa floats into my mind – ‘we recently decided to go our separate ways.’
‘That’s a shame.’ Toby kicks absently at fluff on the Persian rug. ‘Still, I’m sure a girl like you won’t have to wait long for the next boyfriend.’
Is he flirting with me? It’s hard to tell if Toby Trebarwith is implying I’m a drop-dead gorgeous man-magnet or a total slapper. His poker face is giving nothing away.
‘And what about y
our job, Annie. What do you do?’
I shuffle nervously, finding it hard to shake the feeling that I’m being interviewed. ‘I’m between jobs right now but I usually work as a PA.’
‘Really? That’s fascinating.’
‘Not as fascinating as your job. Alice tells me you work for an antiques business.’
‘That’s right. I’m an associate partner at Fulbright and Linsom in Islington. We handle sales worth millions of pounds every year.’ He smooths down the lapel of his jacket. ‘It’s hard work but interesting. You never know what you might discover when people bring things in to be auctioned.’
‘What’s the most surprising thing you’ve ever found?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Toby looks out of the window and exhales slowly. ‘Probably a rare 18th century diamond necklace that the owner bought at a car boot sale from someone who believed the stones were paste.’
‘Wow, that’s amazing.’ I’m desperate to ask how much it sold for but worry that might come across as vulgar.
Toby gives me a dazzling bleached smile. ‘Amazing is the right word. It was champagne all round that day. But,’ he drops the smile, ‘what’s money? Family is what matters which is why I take time out to come down from London and keep an eye on Alice.’
‘How often do you get down to Salt Bay?’
‘As often as I can manage.’ Toby shifts in his chair, looking ill at ease for the first time since he arrived. ‘It’s quite a drive, you know.’
‘I can imagine. It took hours on the train.’
‘Public transport is appalling and I never bother with it now I’ve got the Beamer. Perhaps I could drive down again next weekend and give you a lift back to London. You’ll never manage on the train with that heavy case.’
‘That’s kind of you but I’m sure I’ll be fine, and I’m likely to be in Salt Bay for a few weeks anyway.’
I don’t explain further because I’m not sure how much Toby knows about Alice’s health and he doesn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he steers the conversation towards London and we’re debating the merits of Stratford versus Islington – obviously the Olympic Park trumps the Regent's Canal – when Alice pops her head round the door to say Toby’s tea is ready.
He eats rare steak and oven chips in the kitchen, gamely admiring the tidy cupboards that Alice shows off, and telling us between mouthfuls about an important auction that’s planned for next week. Detailed information about porcelain is interesting at first but, as someone who doesn’t know her Ming from her Meissen, my concentration soon starts slipping and I desperately want to yawn.
The urge to yawn gets worse when he and Alice start discussing various people I’ve never heard of, until in the end I plead tiredness so I can leave the two of them to talk freely without me.
‘Good night, Annie, it’s been good to meet you,’ says Toby, breaking off from discussing some man whose wife has had a tummy tuck. ‘I’ll see you in the morning and we’ll have to make sure we stay in touch when you’re back in London, seeing as we’re long-lost family.’ He sounds rather sarcastic but, when he smiles broadly and gets up to give me a hug, I put it down to my oversensitivity after having no family for so long.
My case is sitting in the hall and can stay there tonight because it’s too heavy for me to drag upstairs. But, curious to see what Amber has packed, I unzip it and sit back on my heels as knickers and tights burst out and scatter across the floor. The girl has gone mad! Almost every piece of clothing I own is crammed in, along with shoes, books and my alarm clock. The only thing missing is a banner saying ‘Don’t hurry back’. Sighing, I root through the clothes mountain until my fingers close round the photo of my Mum. At least Amber packed the only thing I really need to make me feel more at home.
Chapter 13
One thing that drives me nuts is people who are cheerful first thing in the morning. It takes half an hour for my brain to kick into gear and silence aids this process immeasurably. Alice seems to understand and doesn’t talk too much at breakfast, but Toby belongs to the chirpy brigade.
‘Good morning, Annie,’ he booms when I stagger through the kitchen door, still semi-conscious. He’s ditched his cords for navy chinos and a pale pink shirt with a button-down collar. ‘It’s a beautiful day out there and your timing is excellent.’ He slides a spatula into a frying pan and plops a fried egg onto a plate already piled high with bacon, sausages, tomatoes, fried bread and baked beans. Then he puts the plate on the table and gestures for me to sit down. ‘You can’t beat a full English to get the day off to a good start. Bon appetit.’
Good grief! Wisps of steam are rising from the cholesterol-laced food mountain.
‘Is that all for me?’
‘Of course. I’ve already had mine and Alice declined and had toast. She’s very good at looking after herself.’ He glances at me sideways. ‘Anyway, you look like the kind of girl who enjoys a good fry-up so I thought I’d go the whole hog.’
Again, it’s hard to read Toby – he’s either being very kind or implying that my arse is the size of a small country. But I give him the benefit of the doubt and pop a square of fried bread into my mouth. Warm fat oozes from the bread, coating my tongue and sliding down my throat.
I’m not much of a breakfast person, even in Salt Bay, but I do my best and polish off two-thirds.
‘Is that all you’re going to eat?’ Toby sounds irritated, though he cheers up when I praise his culinary skills and launches into a long description of the lessons he’s taken with some cordon bleu chef in Mayfair.
‘He says I have a natural talent and should be running my own restaurant; maybe one day, when I’ve got the funding for it.’ He takes my plate and scrapes the leftovers into the bin. ‘Alice is going for a stroll this morning so I thought you and I could walk into the village.’
‘Shouldn’t we go with Alice, to make sure she’s OK? And I’ll do the washing up, by the way; it’s the least I can do after you made me breakfast.’
Toby hands me Alice’s rubber gloves without complaint and moves away from the deep enamel sink.
‘Alice is very independent and enjoys walking on her own. Plus she’s so slow these days, walking with her would drive us mad.’ A bead of fat rolls lazily down the front of the Aga and Toby chases it with a piece of kitchen roll. ‘What you have to realise, Annie, is that Alice managed fine until you got here and she’ll be fine when you leave.’
‘I suppose so.’ I plunge my hands into the dirty water in the sink and start pulling out the used pans while Toby goes in search of his jacket and shoes. The washing up takes ages because it’s so greasy but, at last, clean pots and plates are piled up on the draining board.
‘You’re doing a grand job,’ says Alice, popping her head round the kitchen door and waving goodbye with her walking stick. ‘Don’t worry if I’m late back; I might walk as far as Zencor Head if my legs will take me.’
Zencor Head sounds high up but I advise her not to overdo it and hope for the best.
The morning air is chilly and carries a faint aroma of fish as Toby pulls the garden gate closed behind us and we head towards the village. His shiny black Puffa jacket squeaks with every swing of his arms.
‘Did you grow up around here?’
Toby looks at me as if he’d forgotten I was there. ‘Yeah, my parents lived in the next village.’
‘Is that where they still live?’
‘No, they died a few years ago. They were quite old when they had me.’
‘I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to be without parents.’
Toby nods curtly at an elderly man walking past and pulls sunglasses from his trouser pocket. The sunglasses are dead posh – the logo says Prada – but he still uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe the lenses.
‘Alice said that your mum had died. So what about your dad, then? Is he still alive?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m not in touch with him.’
‘That’s a shame. Where does he live?’
Memories o
f school friends asking me the same awkward questions stir in my mind. ‘I’m not sure about that either. I’ve never met him.’
‘Really,’ says Toby without surprise, almost like he knew the answer before asking the question. ‘Maybe he’ll suddenly turn up out of the blue as well. More long-lost relatives – wouldn’t that be lovely.’
Hmmm, I’m not getting good vibes from Toby, who appears to be skilled in the art of making passive-aggressive comments.
‘Who’s the vicar at Salt Bay church?’ I ask, keen to change the subject.
‘No idea. I’ve lost touch with what goes on around here. You’re not a Christian, are you?’
‘More a confused agnostic.’
‘I thought as much.’
I’m not sure whether that’s insulting or not and we walk in silence for a while until I blurt out, ‘You didn’t fancy staying here, then?’
‘Good God, no. I escaped as fast as I could and now London’s home. I expect you miss the city, don’t you? The vibrancy and amazing people and fantastic urban landscapes. Without hordes of blessed seagulls shitting all over the place.’ He sidesteps a pile of bird droppings but not before a creamy dollop has stuck to the side of his shiny shoe.
‘London has a lot more crime, though.’
‘I’d rather face burglars and muggers than the nosy lot round here.’ Toby gestures for me to sit next to him on a low wall near the river. ‘Talking of the locals, I wanted to get you on your own, Annie, to say you mustn’t let Alice force you to give up your life in London by playing the illness card.’
‘That’s not what she’s done and I’m not giving up anything. I wasn’t sure that you knew about Alice’s situation.’
‘I’d guessed something was wrong and she told me properly last night after you’d gone to bed. But she’s a stubborn old bird and perfectly able to look after herself.’
‘Not according to Dr Rivers. Alice isn’t too bad at the moment but he thinks she could deteriorate rapidly.’
