‘Thanks, love, that means a lot to me, but my niece and the other staff are already here. Even Henry decided to forego a really gnarly day on the water, as he put it, to lend a hand. Bless him. You go and help people who need it more.’
‘If you’re sure. Has Mawgan been round to see the damage? This is her property, after all.’
‘Mawgan? You’re joking, aren’t you? She’s swanned off to Australia!’
‘Australia? On holiday?’
‘To see her mother, apparently. A spur-of-the-moment decision. The woman from The Bag Boutique heard her boasting about how dreadful it had been to try and get some business-class flights at such short notice and how much it had cost her.’
So Mawgan has gone down under with Andi and Robyn. What a turn-up – but how vile for the girls that Mawgan might be with them, even if she is at the other end of the plane. I bet I’ll have loads of emails and Facebook messages about it.
‘OK. Will you be all right? What about Christmas Day?’ I ask Sheila.
‘I was already going to my niece’s. Though my own flat is dry, there’s no power yet. Some people have nowhere to go. What a way to spend Christmas, eh?’
As soon as I’m certain that Sheila doesn’t need my help, I leave her with a promise to return on the day after Boxing Day, and I head back to the community centre, which is acting as the hub of the rescue and salvage efforts. There are about a dozen older people, and a couple of young families, sitting on chairs or on the floor. The Rev Bev, wearing a snowman jumper, dog collar and reindeer ears, is behind the serving hatch, simultaneously trying to hand out cups of tea, soothe a distressed toddler and answer her mobile. Other people bustle in and out – the RNLI in their orange dry suits, the fire service, police, fishermen, traders, coastguard volunteers. Everyone has rallied together to help each other.
Cal walks in, his arm around the hulking inked owner of the tattoo parlour who’s in bits after his place was flooded. ‘Come on, mate, let’s get you a cup of tea and we’ll arrange a team to start clearing your shop.’
Cal mouths, ‘Everything OK?’ to me and I nod back, but there’s no time to chat. We both have work to do.
‘What can I do?’ I ask Rev Bev when she disentangles herself from the toddler and the phone. She isn’t wearing her make-up so I know things must have been bad.
‘Anything and everything,’ she says. ‘We’ve plenty of volunteers, but they’re all out clearing up shops and businesses at the moment. Would you be an angel and take charge in here? We desperately need someone to run the kitchen and do hot food and drinks. Some of the emergency services and volunteers could really use a break and a hot drink. There’s food and coffee in the kitchen that’s been donated from locals, but we haven’t had time to unpack or prepare it yet.’
‘No problem. I can start a pop-up Demelza’s if you like. I’ve brought some supplies of my own in the Land Rover.’
Rev Bev throws her arms around me. ‘What a relief! That would be fantastic.’
Half an hour later, I’m back, lugging packets of biscuits, tea, coffee and milk and all the mince pies I could spare from the Land Rover. A couple of ladies from the St Trenyan’s voluntary guild join me and immediately spring into action, along with some guests I recognise from Kilhallon. They’re the family who have rented Poldark Cottage for Christmas and I’m a bit surprised to see them in here. They arrived in a brand-new Range Rover and I’d expected them to be drinking champagne in front of a log fire by now instead of hanging round the emergency centre.
‘Oh, hello, Mr and Mrs Tennant. Is everything OK up at Kilhallon?’
‘Oh yes, it’s fine, and please call me Emma,’ says the woman, an expensive-looking brunette in Cath Kidston wellies who I’d pegged as a pampered yummy mummy. ‘Will’s the leader of a mountain rescue team in the Lake District and I volunteer out in the control room, so we thought we might be of some use to you. You can tell us to go away if you want.’
‘How can we help?’ Will Tennant asks in his rugged northern accent. He’s about the same age as my dad, with thick dark hair greying at the sides, but still handsome. He looks like he has stepped out of an ad for North Face. My mum would have probably fancied him rotten. Their twin daughters stand by their mum’s side. One of them seems overawed while the other can’t keep her eyes off the RNLI men in their orange outfits.
‘Will we need to captain the lifeboat?’ the lively girl pipes up.
‘Sorry, Lizzie, but not this time,’ her mum replies while the quieter sister rolls her eyes.
‘As if they’d let you in a lifeboat,’ she says and gets a poke in the side for her sarcasm.
‘Now, Nell, that’s not kind and both of you can behave or you can’t stay and help,’ Emma says firmly and turns to me again. ‘Just tell us what to do. Anything at all.’
‘The reverend’s coordinating everything, but we need help making some hot drinks for the lifeboat teams and rescue workers. You girls could hand out mince pies and biscuits to the RNLI, if you like, even though I can’t guarantee a boat ride.’
‘Cool,’ says Nell.
Lizzie pushes out her lip in disappointment then nods. ‘OK, as long as we can eat some too.’
‘If your mum says it’s all right, you can.’
Emma sighs. ‘We have to leave some food for all the people who are flooded and those who’ve been rescuing them.’
Nell folds her arms. ‘Told you, Lizzie.’
‘We can have some though,’ Lizzie flashes back. ‘So, nerghh.’
‘That will do, girls!’ Emma says and the girls subside. ‘Sorry, I promise they’ll behave if we keep them busy. They can be really helpful when they want to be, can’t you, girls?’ At a glare from their mum, the girls nod and start gazing around curiously at the rescuers and rescued filling the hall.
‘Thanks. I’ll sort some jobs for them in a minute. Reverend Beverley – she’s the one in the wellies and dog collar – will take you to the rescue team coordinator.’
While Rev Bev introduces Will to the woman coordinating the incident team, Nell and Lizzie and their mum help me dish up the food donated by the townspeople and local businesses. We’re all kept busy restocking the kitchen, marshalling supplies of food and taking out trays of drinks to those who can’t get to the centre. There’s a constant stream of people queuing for soup and hot drinks; local people forced out of their homes, the emergency services and volunteers. Not everyone is from St Trenyan, either, a few have come in from the nearby coastal hamlets and coves that have also been affected by the tidal surge.
It seems weird to be asked what to do by people of Polly’s age. Some people are putting on a brave face, but a few look totally lost and on the verge of tears. I try to keep smiling, even though I feel so sorry for them. The younger kids are taking it as a huge adventure, running around or building dens on the floor of the centre. Some of the older ones seem as lost as their parents, a few are whingeing and most are twitching with anxiety without their technology. Actually, the parents are twitching too and begging for chargers for their mobiles and tablets, if they managed to save them before the sea invaded.
Gradually, the room thins out as friends and relatives collect their loved ones, or people arrive to offer accommodation to help those in need find places to stay. I’ve not even managed to snatch a couple of words with Cal today. He’s soaked with flood water and grey with exhaustion, but he also seems to be in his element, helping to organise the volunteers. I’d forgotten he used to help run the logistics for a charity. I bet he never expected to be helping out so close to home.
Mid-morning, he walks into the kitchen, followed by Will.
‘Cal, you’re shattered, take a proper break,’ I tell him.
One of the local volunteers waves a pasty in his direction. ‘Take her advice. Have a rest and get some dry clothes on. You’ve had no sleep and we can manage without you for a while.’
‘Yeah, we don’t want any extra casualties,’ says Will, accepting a mince pie from his daught
ers with a smile.
‘But I won’t …’
‘Shut up and eat your pasty,’ I say, shoving a steaming plate under his nose.
He nods and with a sigh bites into the pasty. His face relaxes and he looks relieved to be given permission to have a rest. Emma Tennant also orders me to take five so I grab the chance to have a proper chat with Cal.
We find a couple of chairs in the meeting room. ‘How bad is it out there?’ I say.
‘Not good,’ he says, brushing crumbs from his coat. ‘Lots of places damaged. I doubt if some people will be back in before the end of January. Going to be a very miserable Christmas.’
‘Rev Bev says she’s compiling a list of people to make sure they all have somewhere to stay. Some have spent the night in the community hall and the vicarage, but most have friends and relatives they can stay with.’
‘It’s not the way they imagined spending Christmas.’
‘No. But there could be worse.’
He looks at me intently. ‘Yes, I hate to say it, but there could be even worse places. But then, you know what I mean?’ There’s passion in his voice, and a tinge of sadness, almost regret. He’s thinking of the people he left behind in Syria, I’m sure. I wonder if he wishes he was still there with them, instead of here.
‘I’ve had some less than festive times lately, I must admit. At least no one is hurt. Things can be replaced and we can we make sure everyone is warm and dry. That means everything, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes. It means everything just to be free and safe, Demi. Not that I’d say it to anyone round here who’s just been flooded out of their homes, but there aren’t any bombs dropping, no one trying to kill us and we’ll get things back together eventually. Talking of which …’ With a brush of his lips over mine, he stands up. My lips zing and my stomach flips, but in a good way. This is the first time he’s spoken to me with such warmth and passion since the Harbour Lights.
‘I have to go,’ he says and lowers his voice. ‘Thanks for the pasty. I’ll be dreaming of the moment I can share my bed with you again. It is Christmas Eve and you did promise to spend it with me.’
I feel almost dizzy with relief. He does still want me. We can patch things up. ‘That was a while ago,’ I murmur.
‘I won’t hold you to the promise if you don’t want to join me, but I’d love it if you did. I think we need to try and sort things out between us.’
‘Not only between us.’
He takes a breath. ‘When this is over, I promise we’ll talk properly.’
‘Including about Kit?’
He heaves a sigh.
It’s naughty of me to pin him down now, but I have to.
‘OK.’
Cal finishes his pasty while more people pile into the centre. The hall is decorated with streamers and tinsel, which only makes everything seem even worse. ‘Cal. We can’t go off to enjoy our Christmas and leave everyone, no matter how much we’d like to.’
‘You’re right, but I don’t know what more we can do to help after today. All we can do is evacuate the final few homes and leave them safe until we can clear them up properly.’
‘Cal?’ Will shouts.
At his call, Cal stuffs the final morsel of pasty in his mouth and follows Will into the smaller meeting area off the main hall. I wonder if we will get back to Kilhallon this evening. Some of the emergency services workers won’t get home, and new ones have already started to arrive for their shift. Polly and Mitch will be expecting me, and the guests might need us, but if Cal stays here, I want to too. I think about what Cal told me, about how happy he was to be free and safe and the look in his eyes when he said he still wanted to spend Christmas with me. I think he meant it. He really meant it, and not just because he wants a warm body in his bed.
Gathering up the used crockery, I’m about to head back for the kitchen when a man walks in. He hovers by the door to the main hall. His Berghaus jacket is dripping and his blond hair is damp and tousled. He hesitates, looking around him as if searching for someone, or as if he isn’t sure he’ll be welcome. Abandoning my crockery on a table, I meet him halfway across the room.
‘Kit? What are you doing here?’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
‘I don’t blame you if you throw me out but I saw the flooding on the news late last night. I couldn’t sleep so I jumped in my car and drove. I’ve no idea how I made it. I want to help. Don’t ask me why, but I want to do something. I have to do something.’ Kit says, and licks his lips nervously. ‘I realise I might not be the most welcome of volunteers, but I had to try.’
‘I don’t know what kind of reception you’re going to get,’ I warn him, which is the understatement of the year.
‘It’s a risk I’m prepared to take. I’ve things I need to do and they won’t wait, no matter what the circumstances.’
‘Maybe we’d better go outside and talk.’
Too late.
From the door of the office, Cal spots Kit. He frowns and with a word to Will, strides over. He’s soaked and there are dark circles under his eyes. His expression is thunderous.
‘Kit came to help.’ It’s all I can think of to say.
Cal’s nostrils flare. ‘We’re fine, so he can turn around and go back,’ he says, not bothering to lower his voice. A couple of heads turn in our direction. Any distraction must be welcome at the moment.
‘Come and talk about this in the kitchen,’ I say, holding Cal’s arm.
Taking the hint, Will leaves us. ‘I’d better get back to the emergency committee meeting. See you later, Cal.’
Kit nods at the kitchen. ‘Please hear me out. If you still don’t want me around, I’ll head straight back to London and I won’t darken your doorstep again. All I ask is five minutes.’
Cal hesitates then grinds out a reply. ‘You can have two.’
He strides off into the kitchen, leaving Kit and me in his wake.
‘I hope you haven’t come to make trouble,’ I say to Kit as we follow. Cal is standing by the sink, his arms folded. But before Kit can reply, Cal barks, ‘Right, say your piece.’
‘I came back to help. Trust me on that.’
Cal laughs out loud. ‘Now you have to be joking.’
I’m the referee at a boxing match. ‘Should I go?’ I ask, having no intention of leaving if I can help it. This kitchen has a lot of things that could be used as weapons.
‘No.’
They both speak at once. Cal glares at Kit for daring to voice an opinion.
I close the door.
‘Believe it or not, as soon as I heard the news, I decided to set off. I want to do something to help. St Trenyan’s become my second home and I swear I’m not here to make things worse for anyone. You’ve got my word on that.’
Cal’s intake of breath is faint and he shakes his head slightly.
‘I wouldn’t be here if I wanted to make trouble. I’d have already made it.’ Kit glances at me. ‘I’ve done some hard thinking and now I see things in a different way.’
Cal snorts. ‘Oh, really?’
‘Is it so hard to believe?’
‘It is after what you said to me at the Harbour Lights’
‘I’ve decided against …’ He glances at me again. ‘Doing what we discussed after all.’
Cal stares at him, but I see him swallow hard. ‘What we discussed?’ he snorts in derision. ‘And am I supposed to be grateful for that?’
‘No. I don’t want you to be grateful to me for anything. Now’s not the time, but I think we should talk, and I mean talk, not try to beat the crap out of each other. I realise that now is probably the worst time to discuss this, and I do want to talk, but I’m guessing that we have work to do first.’
‘You guessed right,’ Cal says sarcastically. God, I hope he doesn’t ruin things by riling Kit now.
‘Like I said, I’ve come to help not to make stuff worse than it is.’
Cal snorts then shakes his head. ‘You can make things as bad for me as you want. I don�
��t care, but if you hurt the people I love, I won’t forget it. Understood, bro?’
I’m in agony and longing to know what the hell is going on between them, but realise they won’t tell me. I’ll just have to wait until Cal’s ready.
After a few seconds, Kit nods. ‘Received, loud and clear. Now, can I help?’
Cal hesitates, then a wicked smile crosses his face. ‘If you insist. We need all the help we can get and I’m sure I can find you something backbreaking, cold and wet to do.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Christmas Eve, morning
It’s Christmas Eve in St Trenyan. The sea laps the jetty softly, a little higher than usual, but nothing to worry anyone who’s lived here as long as we have. Someone has put up a temporary tree by the harbourmistress’s office and topped it with a bright yellow star. The shark-shaped light display, along with the other damaged decorations, have been carted away to a lock-up behind the community centre to be repaired ready for next year. It’s going to take a lot of money to restore the lights to their former glory, but I know we can do it.
Many businesses are boarded up and hoses still pump out of flooded homes and properties. Rev Bev meets me at the community hall. There are now half a dozen sleeping bags on the floor, along with children’s toys, a travel cot and dozens of bags-for-life. It’s a good name for them since they really do hold people’s lives: the treasured possessions and memories they managed to save before the sea invaded their homes.
Bev takes the fresh supplies from my arms and gestures me into the corner of the kitchen.
‘How’s it going?’ I ask.
‘We’re coping and the last high tide was a close call, but didn’t make things any worse than they are so I’m very thankful for that.’ She sighs. ‘It’s not great. Some people will be out of their homes for weeks, and we have to get through this Christmas first. Most people have gone to relatives but there’s a couple of families who don’t have anyone and the hotels are almost all full. We’re phoning round, trying to find places, but it’s very difficult with it being Christmas Day and Boxing Day. After the holiday, most can probably make other arrangements or find somewhere temporary, but it is difficult.’
Christmas at the Cornish Café Page 23
