by Liz Eeles
‘Old Rivers? Pah, you don’t want to take much notice of him. He’s an idiot; a small-town doctor who couldn’t cut it in the big city.’
In the distance, two men are standing in the pretty little river and I crane my neck to see what they’re doing.
‘He’s sure that Alice needs help in the house or she might have to move out before too long.’
‘He’s being overdramatic. Alice won’t move out and she’ll be able to get the help she needs locally without you having to give up everything.’
‘To be honest, I don’t have much to give up at the moment – no job and no partner.’ I puff out my cheeks and push my hands into the pockets of the warm jacket that Amber packed. She also packed my denim jacket, my thin cotton jacket and a green jacket with a skull and crossbones on the back that I’ve never seen before.
‘You won’t find a job or a partner in this rundown place and Alice will be fine so there’s no need to sacrifice yourself.’
‘But what if she falls and’ – I stumble over the word – ‘dies?’
Toby takes off his sunglasses and frowns. ‘I don’t mean to sound harsh, Annie, but if Alice falls and dies at Tregavara House, so be it. That’s what she would have wanted.’
Wow, that’s a bit heartless! I must look taken aback because Toby smooths down his tidy goatee and has another go. ‘What I mean is, Alice will never sell Tregavara House or leave Salt Bay so it’s best that she’s carried out of the village in a box one day. In the meantime, it’s up to her to organise local help and it’s selfish to expect you to look after her.’
‘Maybe you and I could help with the cost of getting local carers in?’ I’m willing to chip in with what I can because I feel I should. And Toby seems well-off if his brand new car, sunglasses and Gucci watch are anything to go by.
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ blusters Toby, his face flushing. ‘Alice might go on for years and she can afford all her own care, if that’s what she wants.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Absolutely! She’s probably got thousands stuffed under her mattress. Anyway.’ He stands up and brushes his trousers down. ‘Have a think about what I said about going back to London, there’s a good girl.’
Passive-aggressive and patronising too. My cousin is turning out to be quite the charmer.
‘I'll think about it,’ I promise, not convinced Toby has grasped how poorly Alice could become and not about to tell him I’m only staying because she reminded me of my mum. Shielding my eyes, I point towards the figures in the river who are hauling something out of the water and onto the bank.
‘What are those men doing over there? It’s too cold for paddling.’
‘No idea. Let’s walk past and take a look and then I’ll show you the local sights, such as they are.’
‘Kayla gave me a whistle-stop tour the other day but I’m happy to have another wander round.’
‘Kayla?’
‘The Australian girl who’s here on an extended gap year.’
Toby frowns. ‘Nope, don’t know her. What the hell is an Aussie doing in this shithole, anyway?’ Without warning, he stops as we get closer to the men in the sparkling water and his body stiffens. ‘I don’t bloody believe it,’ he mutters, putting his head down and marching off with me running behind.
‘Is that Toby?’ calls one of the men, waving at us. ‘Toby Trebarwith? Hey Toby, it’s good to see you. Come and say hello.’
‘Hello Jack.’ Toby waves back reluctantly and wanders over to the men. They are both in thigh-high rubber waders. I don’t recognise Jack, who is bald with round John Lennon glasses. But the other man, I realise, is a bare-chested Josh Pasco, looking like a Cornish pirate with a striped black and white T-shirt tied around his waist. Dark hair flops over his eyes as he shakes his head and looks at us in dismay. Wow, he’s really pissed off to see me, or maybe it’s Toby he’s glaring at.
‘What are you doing, Jack?’ Toby ignores Josh, who is holding a huge net of dripping stones.
‘Clearing the river bed. The storms we’ve had lately have washed lots of stone downstream that blocks up the channel and makes it more likely to flood. Poor Enid is frightened to death that she’s going to drown in her bed so I got Josh here to give me a hand – it's a young man’s work really.’
We all turn towards Josh and I try really hard not to stare at his smooth chest which is glistening with either sweat or droplets from the river. Either way, it’s very distracting especially when the muscles in his shoulders ripple as he twists and drops his net onto the bank.
‘Does the river ever flood?’ Now everyone is looking at me. ‘It’s hardly a river really; more a large brook.’
Josh folds his arms across his very bare chest. ‘It’s not the mighty Thames but appearances can be deceptive.’
‘If there’s a lot of rain up on the moors, the river can swell to three times its normal size,’ butts in Jack, looking me up and down. ‘Is this lovely lady your girlfriend then, Toby?’
‘No!’ Toby and Josh declare at the same time, as though I’m a right minger.
‘This is Annie, Alice’s great-niece who I thought was going back to London.’ Josh steadies himself in the fast-flowing current and pulls his waders higher up his thighs.
‘My plans have changed.’ And there’s no reason why I should tell you about them, Josh Pasco.
‘I thought as much. So you’re the famous Annie, Joanna’s daughter,’ chuckles Jack. ‘Your fame has spread around the village and beyond. I know all about you though I don’t live in Salt Bay.’
Toby casually brushes the side of his nose and glances at me as if to say ‘I told you so.’
‘I’m Jack and this is Josh, who you seem to know already, and of course you boys know one another. Are you staying in Salt Bay for a while, Toby?’
‘Until this afternoon, then I have to get back up to town to prepare for an important auction. It’s worth hundreds of thousands of pounds and involves a great deal of work but my commission makes it all worthwhile. What about you, Josh? Still teaching teenagers to say their times-tables?’
His smile looks more like a sneer and Josh sneers back, not bothering to try and disguise it.
‘I’m helping young people grow up to be decent, hardworking adults who care about their local community and the people in it, if that’s what you mean.’
There’s definitely bad blood between these two but Jack, stooping to pick up gleaming stones from the riverbed, seems blissfully unaware of the atmosphere.
‘We’d better get on, Toby.’ I pull at his sleeve, keen to drag him away. ‘Especially if you have to head back to London later.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’ Toby and Josh are still staring and sneering. It’s like a scene from the Cornish version of The Sopranos, with one hoodlum standing half-naked in a river and the other in expensive chinos and a shiny Puffa jacket. Toby walks backwards so they don’t break eye contact until I grab hold of his arm and pull him round.
‘Come on,’ I hiss, dragging him along until we’re out of earshot. ‘What was that all about?’
‘Do you know him?’ sulks Toby, looking back over his shoulder.
‘I’ve bumped into him a couple of times.’
‘Unlucky! I’d try to avoid him in the future if I were you. I was a few years above him in school and he was like it even then.’
‘Like what?’
‘Violent,’ whispers Toby close to my ear. ‘He assaulted me a few years ago for no reason. Punched me in the face and deviated my septum.’ He rubs his finger down the bridge of his long, straight nose. ‘He’s a fucking maniac.’
‘That’s terrible. Did you report him?’
‘He’s such a no-hoper I felt sorry for him, so I let it go.’
‘That was fortunate for him because a criminal conviction would have scuppered his teaching career. But if he’s so awful I’m surprised you speak to him at all.’
‘I don’t want to be petty,’ sniffs Toby. He point
s ahead of us. ‘Heavens, look at that seagull over there. It’s eating a crisp packet.’
I know a deliberate change of subject when I hear one. So I don’t ask any more though I’d love Toby to dish more dirt on Josh – and anyone else in Salt Bay who’s bashed him in the face.
Toby’s lost any enthusiasm for our walk and whizzes me round the village at breakneck speed before taking me back to Tregavara House. The views of a churning indigo sea stretching to the horizon are pretty awesome but Toby is mute and uninterested.
Back home, he goes upstairs to read a book, not even appearing when Alice gets back from her stroll, still upright and in one piece. Alice entices him down to have some lunch an hour later but he picks at his fish finger sandwich and says very little.
He doesn’t mention meeting Josh and neither do I because I’ve got a funny feeling about the whole thing. Obviously I’d never condone violence but, having known my cousin for less than a day, I doubt that Toby was whiter than white before Josh took a swing at him.
All in all, I’m glad when Toby decides to head back to London just after four o’clock.
‘You came a long way to check up on me. You’re a good boy,’ says Alice, patting his arm as though he’s seven and giving him a cheese sandwich wrapped in greaseproof paper for the journey.
‘I know, that’s why I’ve always been your favourite.’ Toby plants a kiss on her cheek and throws his Ferragamo duffle bag into the boot of his BMW. He wipes his mouth while Alice is shuffling back to the front door and gestures for me to come over. ‘Don’t forget what I said,’ he murmurs. ‘Get yourself back to London as quickly as you can, before this place and these people drain the life out of you.’
His car smells of expensive leather when he opens the door and gets in.
‘I might be able to find you a job if you get stuck. You’ve got my mobile number so give me a call.’
As Toby zooms off, I’m tempted to run after him and beg for a lift back to London in his flash car; away from this place where everyone knows your business and the wind never stops blowing. But I made Alice a promise so I grit my teeth as Toby takes the bend in the road on two wheels and disappears into the distance.
Chapter 14
I’m getting rid of trip hazards in the house and singing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ when Alice calls up the stairs the next morning, ‘Annabella, there’s someone here to see you.’
I’ve rolled the rug on the landing into a long sausage and I shove it under my bed before coming down. Alice will moan but it may as well have ‘Trip Hazard’ plastered across it in big letters. I’ve already moved a frayed mat from the back door, swept the garden path of stones and found a rubber mat that goes in the bath. Alice Gowan is not going to fall on my watch. Truth be told, it’s good to feel useful again even though looking out for Alice has brought back bittersweet memories of caring for Mum.
When I get downstairs, Kayla is standing in the hall with a wide smile that reveals the slight gap between her top front teeth. ‘G’day Annabella,’ she sniggers.
‘Hi there. How did you know that I’m still here?’
‘Word gets around, and don’t forget that I work in the pub. I know everything about everyone. Ev-er-y-thing!’ She stresses each syllable and wrinkles her nose. ‘More than I want to know sometimes. Anyway, talking of the pub, I’m not working for a few hours so I wondered if you’d like me to take you for a drive and show you something amazing.’
I don’t have high hopes of Kayla’s ‘something amazing’ but it would be lovely to escape this claustrophobic community for a while.
‘Would that be OK?’ I ask Alice, who is rearranging jackets on the coat stand in a blatant attempt to listen in.
‘Of course,’ she harrumphs. ‘You’re not a prisoner here.’
‘Would you like to come too?’ I ignore Kayla’s wide eyes and her look of relief when Alice declines my invitation and encourages us to raid the fridge to make a picnic.
Ten minutes later, we bundle out of the front door with a hastily prepared lunch and Alice’s warning about unstable cliff edges ringing in our ears. Outside, there’s a tatty Ford Ka that can only be described as vomit-green.
‘Is that yours?’
‘Nah, I’ve borrowed it for a few hours from Roger’s girlfriend.’
‘Roger has a girlfriend?’ There’s no reason why he shouldn’t have but I’m surprised nonetheless.
‘Yeah, Short Sharon from Botallin.’ Kayla tugs on the passenger door which opens with a rusty creak. ‘Short Sharon has loads of dogs so I hope you’re not allergic.’
The cloth seats are festooned in dog hairs and a rancid smell of kennel hits me when I get in and put my feet on the newspaper lining the floor. Winding down the window as far as it will go, I ferret in my handbag for an antihistamine tablet.
‘Are we going far?’
‘Just up onto the moors. You’ll love it,’ says Kayla confidently, pushing the car into first gear and setting off slowly. ‘So your real name is Annabella then.’
‘Afraid so. It’s actually Annabella Sunshine Trebarwith.’
‘You have got to be kidding me!’ Kayla snorts. ‘That is terrible. What was your mother thinking?’
‘She was a bit of a hippy at the time and doing the rounds of music festivals so it could have been worse – Annabella Ban-The-Bomb Trebarwith would be even more embarrassing.’ I pull fluff off the antihistamine pill I’ve found and pop it into my mouth. ‘What’s your middle name?’
‘Dorothy. Kayla Dorothy Corrigan. What can I say? My mum’s favourite film is The Wizard of Oz. I must have seen it, like, a hundred times growing up and my nightmares are still riddled with tin men and witches.’ She laughs and pulls hard into the side of the road to let a tractor trundle past.
‘Where are we actually going?’
‘To a place on the moors that’s magical,’ says Kayla enigmatically, crunching the gears and pulling out into a spray of mud from the tractor’s back wheel.
‘Is it a Cornish Costa?’
‘Even better than that. It’s nature and everyone loves nature, right?’
‘Right.’ Though I can’t remember the last time I opted to spend time communing with ‘nature’. The Olympic Park probably doesn’t count with its hum of traffic and people everywhere. Although it does have a river. And ducks.
We drive for ages, way above the village and along narrow, winding lanes, until Kayla pulls onto a grass verge and switches off the engine. We haven’t passed another car for the last ten minutes.
‘Come on, out you get.’ She jumps out and strides off while I step out more gingerly and look around. We are in the middle of freaking nowhere. Around me there’s scrubby ground, a few windblown dwarf trees and huge, grey stones scattered everywhere. The milk-white sky, scoured by thick clumps of cloud, looks enormous as it arcs to meet the sea at the horizon.
Kayla has reached a small hill dotted with golden-yellow gorse and is waving at me. To the left of the hill and close to where the land falls into the sea are the stark ruins of a building with large glassless windows and one tall, pale chimney.
‘That’s an old tin mine,’ shouts Kayla, coming back to collect me. ‘Like in Poldark on TV. There used to be loads of them all down this coast but all the tin’s gone now or it’s too tricky to get it out of the ground.’
‘Apparently my great-great-great-great-grandfather made lots of money from tin.’ It feels strange to be talking about a member of my family who’s not Mum.
‘That’ll explain why you live in the poshest house in the village.’ Kayla’s trainer has come undone and she stoops to tie her laces. Straightening up, she gestures for me to follow her. ‘Come on, there’s something I want to show you.’ She scampers off with her red hair flowing behind her, looking like Kate Bush in the ‘Wuthering Heights’ video.
When we get close to the tin mine, Kayla stops near a tower of huge stones that have been piled up on top of one another. They’re so finely balanced a strong gust of wind might sen
d the whole lot crashing down.
‘Come and stand here with me.’ Kayla jumps onto a flat stone slab and spreads her arms wide into the breeze. ‘Come and listen.’
I join her on the stone and hold out my arms in case that’s what’s expected.
‘I can hear the wind and some birds. And that plane.’ I nod towards a light aircraft droning high overhead.
‘Shush! Just wait and really listen.’
There’s nothing and still nothing and then I hear it – a dull bang and a louder thud from underneath us. Deep in the belly of the earth, something is shifting. I glance at Kayla in alarm but she grins. ‘Just wait.’
There it is again. A louder thud and a groan as if the rocks below us are sighing.
‘What the hell is that?’
‘Amazing, isn’t it? The locals call it Karrek something or other, some old Cornish words that mean “the devil’s rock”. I think it’s the old mine workings that have been flooded by the sea.’
‘So that noise I can hear—’
‘—is the tide rushing in through the tunnels where the miners used to work. Maybe some of them are still down there. Woo!’ She waves her arms in front of me like a ghost.
‘Is the ground up here safe?’
Kayla shrugs. ‘I think so, and it’s pretty cool, right? Nature is awesome.’
Kayla’s right, it is awesome, but the thought of all that water rushing through the blackness and pounding the rocks beneath us is also disconcerting.
Kayla’s clearly not spooked because she spreads out the picnic rug we found in the boot and plonks herself down. ‘Let’s have our lunch here.’
‘Is it warm enough to have a picnic outside? Maybe we could eat in the car,’ I say hopefully, but Kayla’s having none of it.
‘Eating outside in a place like this enhances the whole Cornwall experience. Cornwall is very mystical, you know, and full of folklore. Everyone believes in pixies.’
‘Come off it, I can’t imagine people like Josh Pasco believing in magic.’
‘Ah yes, lovely Josh Pasco with his bonzer backside,’ muses Kayla, taking the picnic bag from me and pulling out apples and cheese sandwiches.
