by Fern Britton
24
Ella woke up to a showery day. The billowing clouds Sennen had seen the day before had poured their heaviest rain in the night and were almost spent.
Kit slumbered quietly next to her, giving her time to think about the day ahead. At least her hair was done.
She ran through her wardrobe rail in her mind. Not trousers, maybe a skirt – but what would she wear on top? Perhaps a dress would be better? Not too formal or too casual, something that was just her. In that case, it was a choice between the pale cream shift dress with lily-of-the-valley print or the black linen.
Black? Too funereal. She went for the sprigged shift. Demure but strangely sexy and very daughter-like – whatever that was. With her denim jacket over the top and heeled boots she should look just right.
She slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen to make a tray of tea.
‘Kit?’ She put the tray down on the blanket box at the end of the bed. ‘Tea?’
‘What time is it?’
‘Six thirty.’
He groaned. ‘Why so early?’
‘I couldn’t sleep and I’ve been thinking about meeting my mum today.’
‘Oh,’ he said without opening his eyes.
She went to the wardrobe and pulled out the chosen dress. ‘How about this? With my denim jacket? I thought the black suede ankle boots would be good or do you prefer the nude strappy sandals?’
‘I like them both.’ Eyes still closed.
‘But with this dress?’
‘Boots.’
‘I was thinking the sandals might be better.’
‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘Kit, this is important to me.’
He surfaced from the duvet and opened his eyes. ‘Babe, you look great in both.’
‘Hopeless,’ sighed Ella, ‘but thank you for trying. Ready for tea yet?’
They had both drifted off back to sleep, wrapped around each other, when the doorbell rang.
‘Who the bloody hell is that?’ Kit groaned.
Ella got up and went to the window. ‘There’s a taxi driving away, without a passenger.’
The doorbell rang again. ‘Okay, I’m coming.’ Ella reached for her silky dressing gown and went downstairs.
‘Hi,’ said Henry from the doorstep.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Ella suspiciously.
‘Can I come in?’
‘It’s half past seven in the morning.’ She stood back to let him in.
‘I got the sleeper from Paddington.’
She smiled. ‘Granny’s favourite.’ She closed the door. ‘Want some tea?’
‘I’ll make it.’ Henry put his bag down and looked up the stairs. ‘Kit here?’
‘Yeah, but Adam’s at some conference. It’s just us.’
Terry and Celia came from the kitchen, stretching their legs and yawning. ‘Hello,’ said Henry bending down to give them a friendly pat. Terry stuck his nose straight into Henry’s crotch and Celia went round the back and did the same to his bum. ‘Charming. Thank you.’ He extricated himself as Ella went to put the kettle on.
‘So why are you here?’ she asked him again, reaching for the tea bags.
‘I told you I wanted to come.’
‘I also said that I would call you.’
‘But you didn’t.’
Ella stopped finding mugs and faced him. ‘I want to see Mum on my own.’
‘But why? We should be a united front.’
‘But we are not united, are we? You don’t want to hear what she has to say and I do.’
Henry rubbed his stubbled chin to think of an answer, but there was no answer. ‘True.’
‘So, I’m going to see her by myself. With Kit.’
‘Well, that’s not by yourself, is it?’
‘No, but at least he’s not emotionally involved.’
She poured hot water onto the tea bag and squidged it around in his mug. She hooked the bag out with the spoon and poured some milk in.
‘Here you are.’
‘Thank you.’ He took a sip. ‘That’s bloody hot.’
‘It’s just come out of the kettle, hasn’t it?’
‘Don’t be sarcastic.’ She raised an eyebrow then went to the larder and took out a box of cereal. ‘Want some?’
He shook his head. ‘So where are you meeting her?’
‘If you mean our mother … at the Starfish. For afternoon tea.’
He blew on his mug. ‘Nice.’
‘Yes.’
‘What time?’
‘Teatime.’
‘You really don’t want me there, do you?’
‘After the other day when you were so rude? No.’
‘I promise I’ll be nicer.’
‘No.’
‘Please?’
‘No. Let me build some bridges, then maybe.’
They heard Kit’s tread on the stair. ‘Hey, Henry, what you doing here so early?’ he walked in to the kitchen and hugged his future brother-in-law. ‘Hey, buddy. Come to give your sister support today?’
Henry looked at Ella pleadingly. ‘I’d like to.’
She turned away and began to unload the dishwasher.
‘Well, that’s great,’ smiled Kit, sensing the atmosphere.
‘He’s not coming,’ responded Ella, her back to them. ‘And that’s that.’
Henry sensibly backed off the subject and the morning was spent walking the dogs on the beach. There were a handful of surfers out catching the waves, their sleek wet suits gleaming in the water.
‘I haven’t surfed for years,’ said Henry wistfully.
‘Are you any good?’ asked Kit.
‘Used to be, but,’ he patted his slight belly, ‘not as fit as I was.’
Ella scoffed, ‘Soft Londoner.’
‘Oh yeah, and when were you last in the water?’ Henry bridled.
‘Ah. Good point. I honestly can’t remember.’ She pushed her red curls out of her eyes. ‘Tell you what, I’ve got a deal for you. You can see Mum with me today if – and it’s a big if – you stay calm and are nice. If you can do that, we’ll swim at the weekend. If not, no swim.’
‘I’m not six.’ Henry gave her a disgusted look. ‘I can swim when I bloody well want.’
‘Okay,’ Ella said airily, ‘in that case you can’t see Mum today.’
He glared at her for a moment, weighing the situation up. ‘Okay. It’s a deal. I’ll button my lip.’
Sennen was trying on her new jeans. She was going for the straight-legged pair, with a white cotton shirt she’d got in a market in India years before. In front of the mirror she turned from her right side to her left. For years, the climate – and the modesty required of being Kafir’s wife – had meant she had always shrouded herself in loose clothing. She picked up the hand mirror on the dressing table and looked at her rear view, and was more than pleased with the power of Lycra. Her hips were slim, her bottom lifted and her long legs looked longer than ever. She slipped on the new white sneakers. She’d do.
She walked from White Water to the old hotel that stood tall just above the harbour. In her youth, she had gone there for the occasional Sunday lunch with her parents and remembered how high the ceilings were and the great sea view from the dining room windows. Then it had been past its Victorian heyday, when holidaymakers would make the tiring train journey from London to Cornwall and spill out on to the platform of the long-gone Trevay station.
Now, with the harbour behind her, she looked up at it. The beige pebble dash she remembered had been given a sparkling coat of white paint. Every one of the myriad of windows was gleaming and the steps, once chipped and dirty, were now smooth granite. Twenty-five years ago she had stood here with Henry in her arms to find Ali. And now she was here with her heart in her mouth to get her children back.
St Peter’s clock struck the half hour. It was time.
The young woman at the reception desk looked up from her computer terminal. ‘Good afternoon. Welcome to the Starfish. Can I he
lp you?’
‘Yes, I’m having tea, a family tea.’
‘That will be in the bar. Can I have the name?’
‘Oh, I think it’ll be booked under …’ She didn’t know. Would it be Tallon? Or Deborah’s name. She was saved by a hand on her shoulder.
‘Sennen, have I kept you waiting?’ It was Deborah.
Relief flooded Sennen. ‘I’ve only just got here.’
Deborah spoke to the receptionist. ‘I’ve booked tea for three of us. The name is Palmer. Have the other guests arrived yet?’
‘Not yet. Perhaps you’d like to wait here?’
Sennen was embarrassed. ‘I’ve invited an old friend, a bit of moral support, so there will be four of us. Is that okay?’
‘No problem,’ said the girl behind the desk.
Sennen checked with Deborah. ‘Do you think it’s okay to have my friend with me? Do you think Ella will mind?’
Deborah took Sennen’s arm, which she noticed was trembling, and led her to one of the enormous white sofas in the reception hall. ‘We could check with her first?’
‘Okay, yes.’ Sennen bit her lip nervously. ‘Or Rosemary could always wait for me here.’
‘Indeed,’ smiled Deborah taking a seat. ‘You look very nice,’ she remarked.
‘Thank you,’ Sennen said, looking down and reminding herself of what she was wearing. ‘I haven’t worn jeans for over twenty years. Are you sure they look okay?’
‘Absolutely.’
Sennen smiled gratefully and began to absorb her surroundings. The squashy sofas, colourful rugs, tall candles in huge bell jars, the assortment of beach shoes, buckets and spades for anyone who wanted to use them by the front door. ‘Gosh, this has changed.’
‘I believe it’s been a very recent thing. It was becoming almost derelict, but a businesswoman from up country saved it. Apparently, she used to come here with her family in the sixties.’
‘She’s done a good job.’ Sennen had her own final memory of the hotel. She looked at her hands, damp with perspiration.
Deborah spoke. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Nervous.’
‘It won’t be as bad as the other day. Ella on her own will be a different Ella to the one with Henry.’
‘I hope so.’
There was activity at the door. Sennen looked up as Ella came in. Kit was by her side and Sennen automatically got to her feet. ‘Ella.’
Ella spotted her and smiled warmly. ‘Mum, hello. I’ve brought a surprise with me.’ She stood aside and Henry came in, looking anxious and, Sennen was astounded to see, a little sheepish. ‘Hi,’ he said.
Sennen was thrilled. ‘Henry, I am so glad.’
There was a moment’s unease as to what should happen next before Ella stepped forward and kissed Sennen with a hug.
Henry, after a short hesitation, followed suit.
Kit thought he’d better do the same.
Sennen felt dizzy. The closeness of her children, the smell and feel of them, was overwhelming.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Ella taking her mother’s hand. ‘You look a bit shaky.’
‘I’m fine. So lovely to see you.’
Rosemary arrived. ‘Sorry, am I late?’
‘Rosemary, perfect timing.’ Sennen introduced her: ‘This is my oldest friend, Rosemary. Would you mind if she joined us for tea?’
Ella and Henry exchanged glances. ‘This is family business,’ Henry said.
‘Of course it is.’ Rosemary’s easy smile was charming. ‘I shall wait out here. I can make myself cosy with a glass of wine and people-watching.’
Sennen shot her a thankful look. Rosemary responded with a supportive wink.
The bar was quiet; only two other tables were taken which meant the waiters were able to be very attentive. Deborah had booked the best table overlooking the sun terrace and the harbour.
The business and flurry of getting everyone seated and the ordering of the tea was a welcome respite from the overpowering sense of occasion.
As usual, Deborah set the ball rolling. ‘After our initial meeting a few days ago, may I thank you for taking the time to proceed with the matter at hand?’ She reached for her bag on the floor and began to pull out an A4 wallet of paperwork. Sennen stopped her.
‘Maybe we should start with just talking to each other?’ She directed her attention to the children. ‘I’m sure you have lots of questions to ask me?’
Ella and Henry exchanged glances, then Ella plunged in, ‘Well, the one thing we really want to know is, who is our father?’
‘If he’s the same person,’ Henry muttered under his breath.
Deborah sat back and started to click the top of her pen.
Kit gripped Ella’s trembling hand.
Sennen took a deep breath. ‘Yes, Henry, you have the same father.’
‘I knew it,’ said Ella with satisfaction. ‘Who is he?’
‘I have never told anyone until now. I think I always knew you had to be the first I told.’
The table held its collective breath, all eyes on Sennen.
A waiter sashayed past, holding his pen and pad to his chest. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Bugger off,’ growled Henry. He did.
Sennen gathered herself. ‘He was a bit older than me, in his late twenties. He worked at the Pavilions Theatre where I had a holiday job. I fell in love with him, but when the holidays ended he had to leave. I was very upset.’
‘Where did he go?’ asked Ella.
‘He had to go back to London. We lost touch.’
Henry had his arms folded tightly across his chest. ‘But he’d got you up the duff by then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he know you were fourteen?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t suppose you wanted to keep me?’
Henry’s words were like a slap in the face. ‘Of course I wanted you.’
‘Until you didn’t and walked out on us.’
Ella glared at him. ‘Henry!’
‘It’s okay.’ Sennen gave Ella a gentle smile. ‘Really. It’s okay.’
‘What did Granny and Poppa say?’ Ella asked.
‘After the initial shock they couldn’t have been kinder. Granny was with me when you were born, Henry. Poppa was out in the waiting room and she called him in to see you.’ Sennen’s memories flooded back: ‘He – he held you and t-told you that you were very welcome.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘He wanted to call you Mabwyn.’
Henry glowered at her.
‘It’s Cornish,’ Sennen went on. ‘It means child of a child, I think.’ She looked at Deborah for back-up.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ Deborah said, ‘but I can check Google.’ She turned to her phone.
‘So why Henry?’ asked Henry, feigning boredom.
‘It’s a king’s name,’ she told him.
Henry rolled his eyes, ‘Oh please. I was hardly your little longed-for prince, was I? What was the bloke’s name?’
‘Your father’s name was …’ She coughed, her throat suddenly dry. ‘Is, I suppose, Alan.’
Henry leant back and looked at the ceiling. ‘Thank God for small mercies. I’ve never liked that name. Did you tell him about me?’
‘I tried to. I came here, to this hotel, with you in my arms. He was staying here. But he’d already gone on to another job.’
