A Good Catch

by Fern Britton

  The roar and rumble of the throaty engine bounced off the shed walls. Greer and Loveday, squished into the back, were forced backwards as Jesse put his foot to the floor and shot the little car out of the shed and off down the lane towards the harbour.

  *

  ‘Cheers, Edward.’

  ‘Cheers, Bryn.’ The two men clinked their glasses of ale at the pub and supped contemplatively for a moment before Bryn spoke.

  ‘My Greer’s back from up country today. Got her exams and ’ome for good now.’

  ‘She done well up there. I ’eard from Jan. What she planning on doing now?’ Edward asked cautiously.

  Edward knew what Bryn was likely to say, but there was still a part of him that hoped Greer Clovelly would decide that the bright lights of Surrey had more to offer her than her home town of Trevay.

  Edward Behenna and Bryn Clovelly eyed each other along the bar of the pub.

  ‘Like I said, she’ll be ’ome for good now, be ready to settle down and start a family, I reckon.’

  ‘What about her qualifications? She’ll want to put them to good use, won’t she?’

  Bryn blew out a cloud of smoke dismissively and gave a firm shake of his head. ‘That decorating course is just a Mickey Mouse qualification. Kept ’er happy for a couple of years and she got to see a bit of life, but it’s kids and family that will be the making of her.’

  Edward stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘She might ’ave ideas of her own.’

  ‘All she wants is to marry your Jesse, and that’s what I want for her as well. Don’t you think it’s time you told ’im about our little arrangement?’

  Edward had been dreading this moment. He and Bryn had put the final touches of their merger together and all the papers had been drawn up and signed in triplicate. It was a done deal. The Clovelly Fisheries Company now owned a controlling share in Behenna’s Boats. The future of the company was secured and Edward Behenna had a seat on the board. But there was one clause that didn’t appear in the reams of papers that he’d read through in the offices of his Trevay solicitors, Penrose and Trewin: what would happen to Jesse’s inheritance – the one that both he and his father had spent their lives trying to ensure? One fail-safe way that Jesse could guarantee his share and carry the Behenna name into the future was by marrying into the Clovelly family.

  He rubbed his chin and creased his brow, anxious about how he was going to break the news to Jesse.

  ‘Come on, Edward. Your Jesse will see sense – he’ll have money in his pocket and a beautiful girl for ’is wife. For God’s sake, what’s to decide? Come on, here’s to our future and that of our grandkids!’ He clanked his pint against Edward’s again. But Edward found it hard to raise a smile, let alone his glass.

  *

  When Greer got home that evening her parents were waiting up for her.

  ‘Can I get you anything before bed?’ asked her mother.

  ‘No, thank you, Mum.’

  Bryn folded his paper and got out of his armchair. ‘How was Jesse?’

  Greer, already pinkened by two glasses of white wine, coloured a deeper shade. ‘Fine,’ she told him, before kissing her parents goodnight.

  Bryn gave his wife a knowing look, which she returned as they watched their daughter retreat to the childhood bedroom she hadn’t slept in for two whole years.

  *

  ‘How was Greer?’ asked Jesse’s father.

  ‘Fine, I think.’

  Jesse stepped over his father’s outstretched legs in an attempt to get to the stairs and the safety of his bedroom before Edward could ask any more questions.

  No luck.

  ‘Hold on, boy. I want to talk to you.’

  Jesse’s shoulders dropped but he put on an innocent smile and said, ‘What’s that then, Dad?’

  ‘Come and ’ave a seat, lad. Want a snifter?’

  Jesse’s father indicated the bottle of whisky from which he’d just poured himself a generous measure.

  ‘Not really, Dad.’ Jesse thought his dad had already had enough.

  ‘I want to ’ave a proper talk with you, it’s about your future.’

  Jesse knew his father was about to launch into his usual sermon about the future of Behenna’s Boats and him marrying Greer Clovelly. If he’d heard it once, he’d heard it a million times – especially when his dad was in his cups, like now.

  ‘Dad, can we talk about this tomorrow? It’s late and we’ve an early tide.’

  Jesse made another attempt to get to the stairs but his father was out of his seat and put his hand out to hold Jesse back.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Sit down, son,’ his dad said firmly.

  Jesse could see something in his father’s eyes that he hadn’t seen before. It stopped him short.

  ‘What’s happened, Dad?’ Jesse asked, taking a seat opposite his father.

  Edward steeled himself and took another mouthful of whisky. ‘I’ve sold Clovelly Fisheries a share of Behenna’s Boats. We’re now one company.’

  ‘What?’ Jesse felt the news wash over him like a bucket of cold water. ‘But what does that mean? Are we out of a job?’

  ‘No!’ Edward almost shouted. Then more calmly, for fear that he was losing control of the conversation, ‘No, son, this is a good thing. I had to make sure you had a business to inherit. Things have been more of a struggle than you realise over the last few years. Bryn’s paid a good price and we’re out of the danger zone. Clovelly Fisheries will open up new markets for our fish and all of our jobs are safe. The company will carry on as we always have – for now, anyway.’

  ‘What do you mean “for now”?’ Jesse asked stiffly. He couldn’t believe that his father had actually gone ahead and done this. He knew that his father and Bryn Clovelly had been cooking up some stupid plan between them, but for his father to actually sell some of their assets off … ‘How much ’ave you sold him?’ he asked coldly.

  Edward paused. ‘Fifty-one per cent.’

  ‘Fifty-one per cent?’ Jesse exploded out of his chair. ‘But that means they own more than half – Behenna’s Boats isn’t yours any more – isn’t ours. They can do whatever they want with us.’

  Edward held his hands out to Jesse in a placating gesture. ‘Of course they can’t. I’ll sit on the board with the other members. And as part of the deal, I’ve acquired a small share in the Clovelly Fisheries. I’ll have a say, like all the other members, and we can’t be railroaded into anything.’

  Jesse felt a well of emotion rise up in his throat. All his life he knew that his future lay with his dad on the boats. It had been his granddad’s, then his dad’s, and one day it was going to be his. Of course he wanted to see the world, but he always knew he’d come back for the boats one day. But now … now they belonged to the Clovellys.

  ‘You’ve sold our birthright.’

  This time, Edward was out of his chair again, his face almost purple with emotion. ‘No, no! It’s the opposite! I’ve saved your birthright. If things had carried on as before, there might have been precious little to leave you, and what would you have said about me then? I’ve done this for you, Jesse, for you and for your kids. I can’t rely on Grant, can I? I have to do what I think is right for you.’

  Father and son faced each other across the living room, their chests heaving with emotion. Edward rubbed his hands across his face.

  ‘Listen, Jesse, this is the way to survive. We’re bigger and better like this … believe me.’

  Jesse slumped down in his chair, unable to look his father in the eye. ‘What will happen to the business when you’re gone?’

  ‘Well, my share will go to you.’ Edward hesitated. ‘But there is one way you can guarantee that the business will stay in the family …’

  Jesse looked at his father, knowing exactly what he was going to say, but this time the words took on a whole new meaning.

  9

  December 1992

  It was the Tuesday after Christmas and Truro was in the grip of the cold
est winter in years.

  ‘I’m gonna feel a right prat dressed up like a tailor’s dummy.’ Mickey was standing in the changing room of the gents’ outfitters in just his boxer shorts and socks.

  Jesse, in the cubicle next door, agreed. ‘But it keeps the girls happy.’

  ‘Aye,’ sighed Mickey. ‘You sure that’s what you want, Jesse?’ Jesse never talked of it, but anyone with an ear to listen and eyes to see couldn’t but notice how much Edward Behenna had interfered in his son’s life. Not for the first time, Mickey felt relief that his own father seemed to want only his son’s happiness, rather than talk of dynasties and building the future.

  Jesse didn’t answer for a moment and Mickey heard only the rustling of clothing as Jesse undressed.

  ‘I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted,’ Jesse replied flatly.

  The dapper sales assistant returned with an armful of garments on hangers.

  ‘Now then, sirs, here we are.’ He passed over matching pinstriped trousers and tailcoats to the young men. ‘If you’ll just slip those on for size.’

  After quite a lot of fitting and twirling, even Jesse and Mickey liked what they saw in the mirrors.

  ‘Now have you thought about what collar you’ll be wearing? Wing or regular? Of course it would depend on the neckwear – cravat or the traditional tie? Also, would you be wanting a handkerchief in the pocket or would that be too much if you are sporting a bloom in your buttonhole?’

  What seemed like hours later, Jesse and Mickey emerged from the shop carrying their hired finery. ‘Goodbye, gentlemen, and may I extend every good wish for the future.’ The shop assistant smiled benignly and closed the door behind them, with a last admiring glance of their tightly muscled backs as he did so.

  *

  It was already dark outside and the Christmas lights swagged across the street were blinking merrily. Jesse and Mickey pushed open the door of the nearest pub. It smelled comfortingly of tobacco and beer, accumulated over many years. Large paper snowballs dangled from the ceiling, paper chains connecting them in a maze of loops. Only one other customer was in the bar and he was playing the fruit machine; a bored barmaid sat on a stool smoking. She stubbed out the cigarette and walked round behind the bar as Jesse and Mickey ordered two pints.

  ‘I didn’t know what to say when he asked if we were sporting a bloom in our buttonholes!’ Jesse laughed as the two propped up the bar.

  Mickey started sniggering. ‘I didn’t dare look at you. But ’e knows his stuff, though. You can’t deny ’e’s made a couple of silk purses out of our sow’s ears.’

  Jesse cupped his hands round his crotch. ‘’E’s not touching my sow’s ears.’

  Mickey grinned, then started mincing up and down the bar, imitating the salesman’s melodious voice. ‘Would sirs prefer a stiff or soft one? Tie that is …’ as Jesse brushed away tears of laughter.

  ‘Stop it, Mickey, you idiot!’

  Jesse grabbed his pint and turned to see that the salesman had entered the pub; his face made it clear that he’d seen Mickey’s imitation. Jesse and Mickey stood stock-still, horrified.

  ‘I saw that you sirs had come for refreshment. I had forgotten to give you the receipt you will require for returning the suits. This is proof of your hire agreement.’ He handed over the receipt to Mickey with dignity.

  Mickey didn’t know what to say, so he blurted out, ‘Thanks and … well, thanks.’

  ‘It’s been my pleasure.’

  The assistant turned to leave but Jesse stepped towards him. ‘Can we buy you a drink?’ he said quietly.

  The assistant thought for a moment then looked at his watch. ‘I shut the shop in twenty minutes, after which time, if you gentlemen are still here, I should love a drink. A large gin and tonic should suffice. My name, by the way, is Bill.’

  It was one of the funniest evenings Mickey and Jesse had ever spent. Bill told them stories of his life as a tailor, and of his brief marriage to a girl he had truly loved – but not in the way that either of them had wanted.

  ‘I have a son who I dote on, and he and his mother and I have an excellent relationship. I even helped to choose her dress when she remarried. A lovely man. Just like you two young gentlemen. He laughed at me behind my back, too, but I won him round.’ Mickey and Jesse felt ashamed.

  ‘I’m really sorry …’

  ‘No need to apologise. I have grown a very thick skin. Now, tell me all about the young lady you are to marry. New Year’s Eve, did you say?’

  *

  Greer’s mother was having trouble getting the zip over the gathers of the waistband. She gave it a tug.

  ‘Ow. That’s my skin.’

  ‘It’s not bleeding. Now breathe in.’

  She worked the zip all the way to the top.

  ‘There now. Turn round and let me look at you … oh, you look like a princess.’

  ‘Really? It feels a bit tight.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The waist, under the arms, round my boobs.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve only just had lunch. No supper tonight and it’ll be fine.’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘Once your hair’s up and you’ve got the white silk poinsettia in, your neck will look longer and you’ll look taller.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’ Loveday’s mother turned towards Greer, who was standing next to her. ‘Greer, you’ve chosen her a beautiful dress for the wedding.’

  Greer smiled warmly at Loveday in her bridesmaid’s dress. ‘You look amazing. Peach is so the right colour for you.’

  Loveday lifted her arms as far as the dress would allow and hugged her best friend. ‘Thank you, Greer. I’m so proud to be your bridesmaid.’

  ‘Loveday, who else would I ask? Now, the hairdresser is coming at nine thirty tomorrow morning. You’re first, while I have my make-up done, and then we’ll swap. You’ve got to be at the church for one forty-five and wait for me to get there at two. I’ve told Jesse to be there before one thirty. I don’t want him hanging around the Golden Hind with Mickey getting him drunk.’

  *

  Jesse was at home with his mum. She was ironing her best dress.

  ‘What you thinkin’ about, young Jesse?’ She turned the dress half a circle on the board and continued with a good jet of steam.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Her mouth made a firm line. ‘You can tell me.’

  ‘Nothing, honest.’

  ‘You’re getting married tomorrow. No one thinks of nothing the night before they get married.’

  Jesse shifted in his chair. His mind was racing with the thought of marrying Greer tomorrow. He was 21 years old and he was getting married. He wanted to run away, or get drunk, or both.

  ‘Nothing, Mum.’

  ‘If you’re marrying the wrong girl then it’s not too late to back out,’ she said, concentrating on a difficult pleat. She had decided that she wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly again if she didn’t speak up. Jesse kept his feelings to himself but, as his mother, she saw more than most.

  Jesse shut his eyes tight for a moment. ‘Greer and I will be a good team. Dad’s happy, ’er dad’s happy. Greer’s happy.’

  ‘And you’re not.’

  Jesse didn’t answer. His mum scratched her throat, then resumed her ironing as she told him quietly, ‘There’ll always be a bed for you here.’

  The door swung open, bringing with it the chill of a frosty night and the stamping of two sets of feet.

  ‘Bloody ’ell, it’s as cold as a witch’s tit out there. ’Ello, Ma.’ Grant Behenna stood in the small kitchen in the full uniform of a Royal Marine, proudly wearing his green beret.

  His mum put the iron down and gasped. ‘You got it. The beret. You’re a commando?’

  ‘Yes, Ma. Proud of me?’

  She went to him and put her hands on his shoulders. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hello, little brother.’ Grant looked at Jesse. ‘Ready like a lamb for the slaughter?’

  Ed
Behenna finished hanging his coat up on the pegs by the door and went to the kettle.

  ‘Don’t start on him. Commando or no, you’re not too old for me to give you a good hiding.’

  Grant smirked, ‘Wanna take me on, do you, Dad? I’m trained to kill a man with my bare hands.’

  Jan let go of her elder son and gave him a stern look. ‘We don’t want any more trouble, Grant. Promise me.’

  He laughed and hugged her. ‘Why would I give my old mum any trouble? I’m a changed man. I’m one of the Queen’s élite soldiers now. I fight only for her and my country. No one else.’ He looked over at Jesse. ‘The condemned man’s allowed a last drink, isn’t he? Why don’t I take my little brother down to the pub?’

  Jesse had known his brother would be coming back for his wedding and there had been precious little he could do about it. You could hardly not invite your brother to your wedding, though he had resisted pressure from his mother to ask Grant to be his best man. Grant hadn’t ever been a brother he could rely on; Mickey was his best man and that was that.

  ‘Cheer up, little brother.’ He attempted to grab Jesse in a headlock, which Jesse deftly sidestepped.

  ‘Watch it, Grant,’ he warned.

  Grant laughed, a little too loudly. ‘Just messing, little brother. I know you didn’t want me to be your best man, but I’m over it! Let me look after you tonight.’

  Jesse couldn’t think of a worse person to spend his last night of freedom with, but he was struggling to say no in a way that wouldn’t offend his mother, his brother – or both.

  Ed was pouring boiling water into an old brown teapot. ‘You’ll stay in and have a cup of tea and an early night if you know what’s good for you.’

  Grant turned towards his dad with a familiar air of menace. ‘You got what you wanted when you sold the poor beggar down the Swanee. It’s the night before he gets married, ’is last happy night and I’m taking him for a drink. Any objections?’

  Ed took a step towards Grant but Jan stood between them. ‘One drink won’t do no harm. Let them go, Ed.’

  *

  The Golden Hind was as welcoming as it had always been for the centuries of fishermen it had served. Grant was greeted with respect, but no warmth, as he shouldered his way through in his uniform.