by Liz Eeles
‘I was running the auditions with Kayla and Roger.’
‘Oh for f—’ Josh screws up his eyes and sighs. ‘I might have guessed a Trebarwith would be involved.’
‘Involved in what, the choir? Did you want to join?’
‘Do I look like I want to join the choir?’
‘Not really.’ Josh Pasco doesn’t have the demeanour of a man who wants to be judged while singing Michael Bublé slightly out of key. ‘Ollie was at the audition but he left a while ago.’
‘I’m not looking for Ollie.’
I like enigmatic men; I really do. It gives them a beguiling air of mystery but it can also tip over into being frickin' annoying. And Josh Pasco has crossed that line.
‘So tell me why you followed me?’ I snap. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘No, you don’t, but that doesn’t stop you leaping in where you’re not wanted.’ Josh scowls and rubs his hand across the dark stubble on his chin. ‘Anyway, I thought you were leaving Salt Bay.’
‘I am, soon.’
‘So what’s the point of reviving the choral society?’ Light glints on his thick black hair. ‘You city types are all the same. Like that idiot Toby, you bowl in here from London, turn things upside down and leave us to pick up the pieces.’ His lip curls and he shoots me a daggers look. ‘Who the hell do you lot think you are?’
Bastard!
Did I say that out loud? Hopefully not, because this man has a reputation for violence. Though that’s only hearsay from Toby and I get the feeling he has an agenda of his own. For goodness’ sake, this village with its swirling undercurrents is doing my head in.
Pulling myself up to my full height of five feet five inches – still only Josh Pasco nose-height – I try to push past him.
‘Please get out of my way. I’m going home.’
A muscle in Josh’s jaw is tensing and his eyes are narrowed as though he’s about to go the whole Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
‘You can’t just walk away without sorting this out,’ he growls, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards him.
There’s a weird jolt when he touches me, like static electricity. Which would make sense if we were in the nylon-carpeted back room of The Whistling Wave but I’m standing on tarmac and I’m pretty sure Josh is ankle-deep in mud on the soggy green. It’s all getting a little too X-Files for me.
‘I’m leaving right now because you’re frightening me.’ All pretence has gone because I want to go home, back to Tregavara House where, I realise with one of those weird shifts of perspective, Alice makes me feel safe.
Josh squelches farther back onto the muddy green. ‘I didn’t mean to do that. I’ve been away for a few days on a school trip and only found out about the auditions when I got back an hour ago. It came as a shock.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way but you’re overreacting,’ I say as calmly as I can while my brain whirrs through the list of people who drowned in the Big Storm. There was no Pasco among them, I’m sure of it.
‘Maybe.’ Josh looks more sad than scary now. He shakes his head and holds his hands up in front of him, palms towards me. He has the most amazing long fingers, like a musician. ‘I apologise for frightening you, I’m not that sort of bloke. But you don’t know what you’re doing and the memories you’re stirring up.’
‘I don’t mean to upset people by setting up a choir. That’s not my intention.’
‘I don’t suppose it is and my coming here was a mistake.’ Josh turns without another word and almost canters towards his Mini which is the only car in the pub car park. As he reaches it, Roger turns out the lights spilling from the pub windows and Josh disappears into the darkness.
Chapter 17
The argument with Josh has freaked me out but I can’t discuss it with anyone. Kayla is working all day, I’ve stopped mentioning the choir to Alice because it makes her think I’ll stay longer and Maura is up to her ears in soiled nappies. Eew, that’s not a nice image. Which means there’s only one person I can consult about all this weirdness: Salt Bay’s biggest gossip, who knows everything about everyone.
Jennifer is chasing small boys out of her shop when I arrive the next morning, only ten minutes after she’s opened up.
‘Little horrors,’ she hisses, shooing them outside. ‘They wander round like butter wouldn’t melt and steal sweets when they think I’m not looking. I’ve told their parents but they don’t care because they’re not true Cornish folk.’
‘I’m sure it’s not the case that all non-Cornish people approve of shoplifting.’
‘Maybe not but lots do.’ Jennifer ties the bow that’s come undone at the neck of her cream blouse. ‘Cornwall for Cornish folk is what I say.’ Which sounds like a bid for Cornish independence.
‘Of course, I don’t mean you, Annie,’ adds Jennifer, backpedalling like crazy. ‘I’m sure you’re not a shoplifter or indeed a criminal of any kind. You’re a good Cornish girl and have every right to live here.’
Hoo-feckin-ray! Though I’m only half Cornish; don’t forget that my dad is a cool, Nordic god who cycles round Copenhagen when not solving grisly murders.
‘Anyway, what can I get you so early in the morning?’ Jennifer sorts the Daily Mails into a nice, neat pile. ‘Alice’s magazine hasn’t arrived yet.’
‘I’m not here for that. I wanted…’ Oops, I haven’t thought this through properly. I peer round the shop for something cheap. ‘… chocolate. I’m horribly hormonal.’ Too. Much. Information.
‘What sort?’ asks Jennifer, waving her arm at the vast array of chocolate bars on offer. I pick up the first one I see – Snickers, though I hate peanuts – and scrabble in my pocket for a two-pound coin.
While Jennifer is ringing up at the till, I say casually, ‘The auditions went well last night.’
‘Mine went exceedingly well though I can’t say the same for some of the others I heard through the door while I was waiting. One word – Ollie.’ She wrinkles her nose as if there’s a bad smell. ‘I don’t know how people can be tone deaf and unaware of it when it’s so offensive to a musical ear like mine. But at least he won’t be in the choir with a voice like that.’
‘Um, probably not.’ I shove the Snickers into my pocket. ‘I bumped into Josh Pasco after the auditions and he didn’t seem too happy about it all.’
‘That makes sense.’ Jennifer slams the till shut and hands me my change. ‘How’s Alice doing these days? Has she found someone else to help her now her health is going downhill so quickly? It’s sad to see such a proud woman in decline.’
Typical. The one time I want Jennifer to dish the dirt, she changes the subject.
‘Alice is OK and still looking for a more permanent helper.’ I pause and bite my lip before blurting out in a jumbled rush, ‘So you think it makes sense for Josh to be unhappy about the choir?’
Jennifer looks at me blankly. ‘Well it would do, wouldn’t it, what with his dad running the old choir and drowning in the Great Storm when Josh was a teenager.’
‘There’s no Pasco on the list of drowned men.’
‘There wouldn’t be. Ted Pawley was Josh’s stepdad but the lad worshipped him. He was cut up about it for ages and had to step up and take on responsibility for the whole family. A tragedy like that makes you grow up quickly and you never forget.’
Oh God, I should have listened to my misgivings about the choir. Just because Marion Pawley is OK with it doesn’t mean that her children are. And it’s just my chuffing luck that they happen to be Josh and Serena.
‘Are you all right? You’ve gone horribly pale.’ Jennifer leads me to the wooden stool behind the counter. ‘Why don’t you sit down? Are your hormonal problems’ – she silently mouths the next word – ‘menstrual?’
‘Yes,’ I lie, preferring that Jennifer thinks I’m having a heavy period rather than putting my foot in it big time with the Pasco-Pawley family.
Shivering up on the cliffs later, gazing at the coastline that jags and twists towards Land’s End, I rea
lise there’s only one way out of this mess. And I’m not going to like it. My penance for being a blundering idiot is apologising to Josh face-to-face and explaining why I was planning to bring the choir back to life. He might be arrogant, boorish and annoying. In fact he is arrogant, boorish and annoying. But I’ve been insensitive and need to put things right.
While Alice is upstairs having a lie down after lunch, I riffle though the address book next to her phone and find a Pawley/Pasco family living at Bell’s Hark Cottage, Seagull Lane, Trecaldwith. That must be them, although the address sounds more Homes and Gardens than Josh’s rusty car would suggest.
Alice comes downstairs mid-afternoon while I’m putting my shoes on and I almost tell her where I’m going because isn’t that what families do – tell each other stuff? But I don’t feel a true Trebarwith, and though I’ve warmed to Alice that has nothing to do with her being my great-aunt. I’d like her even if she was some random woman who appeared out of the blue. Which, thinking about it, describes our relationship perfectly. So instead I tell her I’m going for a run – I might have got carried away and claimed I was in training for a marathon – and take the hourly minibus to Trecaldwith.
The bus trundles slowly along the coast, picking up locals along the way, and drops me at the edge of town. Houses on the outskirts are more modern than in Salt Bay and Trecaldwith School in the distance is an unremarkable glass and brick cube surrounded by playing fields. But the roads narrow the farther I walk into town and near the harbour they’re cobblestoned and lined with centuries-old cottages. There’s a tiny tourist information office set back from the quay, but it’s closed so I take a chance and guess that Bell’s Hark Cottage will be within spitting distance of the church.
I’m right! Bell’s Hark Cottage is opposite the weathered church in a small terraced row of stone cottages, with several plant pots providing a splash of colour outside the front door. When I knock, the door is yanked open within seconds.
‘Forgot your key again, pillock? Oops, sorry, I thought you were Josh.’ Serena peers at me and pauses for breath. ‘Why are you here? Is Mrs Gowan all right?’
‘She’s fine.’ I’m touched by the concern on Serena’s face though I have a sneaking suspicion she’s more worried about losing her job if Alice drops off the perch. ‘I wanted to have a quick word with your brother but it sounds like he’s not in.’
Serena smirks. ‘What do you want Josh for?’
‘It’s private.’
‘I bet,’ she murmurs, pulling the door wide open. ‘You can come in and wait if you like. He’ll be home any minute.’
She stands back as I step into the cottage and straight into the living room. An old-fashioned gas fire is blazing on one wall and there’s a sofa with a cheerful coral-pink throw across it. Family photos are hanging on the magnolia walls and in the corner there’s a pretty pink doll’s house which has turrets and bow windows.
‘Do you want to sit down?’ Serena moves a magazine off the sofa and puts it on top of the school books piled up on the coffee table. ‘Maths homework,’ she grumbles. ‘Like I care what a square root is. Do you want a cup of tea or something?’ Before I can answer, an attractive woman with grey streaks in her dark hair bustles into the room. ‘Mum, this is Mrs Gowan’s niece Annie who I told you about.’
‘How lovely to meet you. I’m Marion, Serena’s mum.’ She wipes her hands on her navy apron, leaving a white trail. ‘I’ve been baking and don’t want to cover you in flour.’ She grasps my hand tightly and shakes it. ‘We’ve heard such a lot about you.’
‘Not really,’ mumbles Serena, going pink and burying her head in her maths book.
‘It’s lovely to meet you too and I’m actually Alice’s great-niece.’
‘Alice told me all about you when she rang a couple of days ago. Oh—’ Marion frowns. ‘I hope you’re not here with bad news about Alice.’
‘She’s fine,’ interjects Serena. ‘Annie’s here to see Josh.’
‘Is she, now?’ Marion smiles and blows a strand of hair which has escaped her bun and flopped across her forehead. ‘That must be him coming in now.’
Josh barrels into the room and drops a battered leather satchel onto the floor.
‘I thought I’d never get home. There was an accident on the top road and—’ He stops mid-flow when he spots me. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Josh, don’t be so inhospitable. And why is it so hot in here, Serena? Our gas bill will be enormous. Put another jumper on if you’re chilly.’ Marion clicks the fire off and gives her daughter a playful swipe across the back of her head. ‘Annie’s come to see you, Josh, so why don’t you get her a cup of tea.’
What I really need is a stiff brandy with a vodka chaser for Dutch courage.
‘I don’t need a drink, thanks. Just a quick word with you, please, Josh.’
‘Why don’t you go into the kitchen anyway,’ suggests Marion, ushering me and Josh towards a low doorway at the back of the room.
‘Or your bedroom,’ mutters Serena, sitting back on her heels with her arms folded and a huge grin on her face.
Josh ignores her, bends his head to get through the doorway and takes me through a narrow corridor that leads into a small, square kitchen. The air is thick with the smell of warm bread and there’s a floured board on the worktop, above shaker-style cupboards painted soft dove-grey.
‘You’d better sit down.’ Josh closes the door and gestures towards a wooden chair with a padded cushion in bright blues and greens. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a cup of tea?’
‘Definitely, completely, absolutely sure.’ I perch awkwardly on the edge of the chair and swallow so loudly I’m sure he must have heard.
‘Up to you but I’m going to have one.’ Josh takes his time filling the kettle and switching it on before turning to face me. ‘So why are you here?’
Blimey, Josh Pasco is a man of few words so there’s no point in me beating about the bush. Let’s get this over with.
‘I don’t want to intrude or take up your time but I want to apologise for not speaking to you about the choir. Alice spoke to your mum about it so I expect she thought you’d discuss it. And I didn’t know Ted Pawley was your stepdad.’ Josh’s stiff body language is giving nothing away. ‘So what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry if I was an insensitive moron.’
‘You’re not a moron.’ A faint flicker of a smile flits across Josh’s face and he sits opposite me at the small oak table.
‘Insensitive, though.’
He doesn’t disagree so I plough on, determined to get it all off my chest. ‘Kayla and I thought setting up the choir again would be a good idea because Salt Bay seems so silent and sad and music makes everything better. Like therapy. And I also wanted to do something to stop me from going mad while I’m here. Not that I have mental health issues. Though everyone has some mental health issues and if they say they don’t, they’re lying. There’s no shame in it.’
Good grief, I’m so nervous I’m burbling. And Josh is frowning at me like I’m one of his difficult students.
‘Anyway.’ I pull myself together. ‘I did try to check with local people who were directly affected by the tragedy and I should have made sure I checked with you too. But I didn’t and for that I’m sorry.’
There! That feels better.
Clouds of steam start pouring from the kettle but Josh doesn’t move. A wet fog is settling under the ceiling but he sits there silently until I can’t stand it any longer.
‘Please say something. You look stunned.’
‘I’ve never heard a Trebarwith say sorry before,’ he mutters, moving at last to switch off the kettle and open a window to let the steam out. Cold, salty air rushes in while Josh pours boiling water onto a teabag and brings his mug back to the table. He places the steaming cup between us and leans forward. ‘What people like you don’t realise is that, though the storm was a long time ago, people don’t forget what happened.’
People like me? He really is insuf
ferable but I try not to let my annoyance show.
‘I realise that and it must have been awful for you all.’
‘It was, at the time.’ Josh is staring at the wall behind my head. A muscle is twitching in his jaw as though he’s trying to hold in his emotions and, even though he’s a right royal pain in the arse, I get a strong urge to stroke his face. I don’t do it, obviously, because – well, just because. Instead, I shove my hands under my thighs so they can’t get me into trouble.
‘How long did your stepdad run the choir?’
‘About four years.’ Josh nods at a photo on the windowsill of a bearded man with rough, red cheeks and laughter lines round his eyes. ‘He loved music – everything from Beethoven and The Rolling Stones to The New Seekers and Motörhead; he had eclectic tastes. Look.’ Josh stands abruptly and starts pacing across the slate tiles. ‘It was a shock when I heard about the choir being resurrected and I was away so didn’t know your great-aunt had spoken to Mum about it. If she’d spoken to me, I’d have said it was a bad idea that rakes up too many memories and it shouldn’t go ahead.’
‘If you feel that strongly about it, we can forget the whole thing.’ Giving up on the choir would have filled me with relief a few days ago, so I’m surprised by a pang of disappointment. And I don’t rate my chances of survival once Kayla finds out I’ve scuppered Operation Shag Ollie.
Josh sits again at the table and regards me coolly over his mug of tea.
‘Unfortunately it’s not as easy as that because my mother thinks the choir should go ahead. In fact she’s delighted because she sees it as a memorial to her husband.’
‘Which it would be,’ I insist. ‘Mr Barnley in Salt Bay feels the same way and he lost two grandsons.’
‘Cyril, really?’ Josh murmurs almost to himself, ‘Perhaps I am overreacting.’
‘That’s easy to do when you lose someone,’ I say softly. ‘My mum died three years ago of cancer so I know how it can mess with your head for ages…’
