by Nancy M Bell
Out of habit, Laurel started to defend Gramma Bella, but then stopped. Sarie was right, she realized. And so was Dad. She guessed she owed her father an apology when she got home. He’d tried to tell her and she just hadn’t wanted to listen.
“She’s pretty certain she wants to stay with him. But how is that possible? She’s mortal, Vear Du will outlive her.”
“If she stays in the other world she’ll age much slower than a regular mortal. Because time runs differently there it affects how she ages,” Sarie explained.
“But still…”
“Shouldn’t you just be happy that she’s happy?” Coll suggested.
“I guess you’re right.” Laurel wrestled with feelings. She wanted Gramma Bella to be happy where Laurel could be with her, not in some nebulous other world.
Chapter Seventeen
Sarie parked as close to the house as she could. Laurel and Coll dashed through the pelting rain to the mud room door. Sarie joined them seconds later. The lights of Emily’s car danced up and down as she negotiated the laneway. The wind howled through trees, the sound sending shivers down Laurel’s spine.
Emily parked beside Sarie. The night seemed much darker without the benefit of her head lamps. Laurel and Coll stepped back to make room for Emily and her passengers to come in the narrow door.
“The BBC said on the radio the waves are swamping the Promenade down in Penzance. The water is coming right up to the Lugger.” Emily reported while she removed her rain gear and shook the excess water from it.
“If the water’s that high, the road by Marazion might be dangerous or impassable. Why don’t you all stay here tonight, where it’s high and somewhat dry?” Sarie said.
“Aisling, you better ring your folks and tell them where you are so they won’t worry,” Emily said.
“Mum won’t be pleased, but Da will understand,” Ash said and pulled her mobile from her jacket pocket. “Bother and damn, it’s dead.” She glared at the blank screen.
“Try the land line,” Sarie suggested. “It might be out too, what with this weather.”
Aisling went to use the phone while Laurel trailed after the rest of them into the kitchen. Sarie and Emily soon had a good feed of sandwiches and biscuits on the table along with more tea and coco by the time Aisling returned.
“I got through before the line went dead,” she announced. “It looks like there’s a message on the machine. The light’s blinking,” she added.
“I wonder who on earth that could be.” Sarie bustled out into the hall to check. She came back a few minutes later with a huge smile on her face. “It was your mum, Laurel—”
“Is everything okay at home,” Laurel interrupted her.
“Everything’s fine, child. She called to say that her and your dad are coming to England for Christmas. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Dad’s coming here?” Laurel squeaked.
“He is. Their flight gets in early tomorrow. All things being equal, they should be here tomorrow evening around six-thirty. They plan to catch the last direct train from Paddington. We’ll meet them at the station in Penzance.” Sarie rubbed her hands together in excitement.
“This is just brill, isn’t it just?” Aisling said. “I get to meet your mum and your dad.” She gripped Laurel’s hand.
Laurel glanced at Coll who was shovelling food into his mouth. And Dad will get to meet Coll. “I wish Gramma Bella had come back with us. I just know I can get Dad to forgive her if he’d just talk to her and let her explain.”
“Sometimes it’s best to let the hare sit,” Sarie said.
“Is that like letting sleeping dogs lie?” Laurel asked.
Sarie nodded. “Now where are we going to put everyone?”
“Mom and Dad can use the spare room across from mine,” Laurel said. “Ash can sleep with me until her auntie leaves, and Coll and Gort are at Emily’s.”
“Where shall we have Christmas supper, your place or mine?” Emily asked.
“We could do Christmas morning at Emily’s with the presents and breakfast, and then here for dinner,” Laurel suggested. “Ash can come over to Emily’s after she’s done presents and stuff with her family and then come with us out to the farm. Will your mum be okay with that, do you think?”
“She might let me miss the family dinner if I’m there for the morning. I’ll talk to Da first and get him to make her see this is important to me,” Aisling said.
“I have to go buy more presents,” Laurel exclaimed. “I haven’t got anything for Mom and Dad. I left their stuff at home. I brought gifts for you guys, I was gonna give them to you tomorrow before I left.”
“If the storm lets up you can shop in the high street when I run into the market in the morning. I’ll need to pick up some things too,” Sarie said.
“Aisling can help me find what I need.” Laurel linked arms with her friend.
“Emily can drop us off at the Wharfside Shopping Centre, by the Animal Charity Shop, we can start there,” Aisling said.
Sarie turned on the wireless to listen to the BBC news. The storm was expected to ease off in the morning, although the seas would still be abnormally high and caution was urged in coastal areas.
“I hope the weather will hold for Tom Bawcock’s Eve,” Coll said.
“Oh that’s right! It’s tomorrow night, isn’t it?” Gort said.
“How wonderful! Colton and Anna will be here in time to enjoy it,” Sarie said.
“What’s Tom Bobcock’s Eve?” Laurel wanted to know.
“Bawcock,” Aisling said with a laugh, “Tom Bawcock’s Eve, it’s a huge celebration at Mousehole harbour. Lots of food and fun and carry on.”
“Who is Tom Bawcock? Is he a war hero or something?” Laurel wondered.
“No, I don’t think he was ever in the war. Tom was a local Mousehole lad, according to legend. Back in the late nineteenth century, so the story goes, there was a very stormy December and the fishing boats couldn’t leave the safety of the Mousehole harbour. Things were very hard in the village, food was scarce and Christmas was just around the corner. On the afternoon of December twenty-third, even though the sea was still raging at the harbour walls and Mount’s Bay was churning like a washer woman’s tub, your man Tom Bawcock set out to sea. Some of the men folk tried to talk him out of going, and the women stood in the lee of the buildings crying and wringing their hands. No one wanted to mourn a lost fisherman so close to Christmas Day. Tom, he just smiled and cast off his lines and headed out into the storm with his crew. It was getting dark and there was still no sign of his boat coming back into the harbour. Shaking their heads, the men folk retired to the Ship Inn to drink to Tom’s health and mourn his supposed demise. A few women kept vigil, those who had lost their men folk to the sea in earlier storms. Just when all hope was lost a great cry went up and Tom Bawcock’s fishing boat battled its through the waves and gained the safety of Mousehole harbour. His boat was full to the gunnels with fish and many hands helped him moor his boat and unload his catch. There was plenty for everyone and ever since the people of Mousehole celebrate his bravery with a huge celebration on December twenty-third,” Sarie said.
Emily laughed and swatted Sarie on the arm. “You’re a good storyteller, my heart. But do remember that there are those who claim the owner of the Ship Inn created the story to boost his custom sometime in the nineteen-fifties.”
“Go to sea, you. Robert Norton-Nance wrote about the celebration in nineteen-twenty-seven. It was in the Old Cornwall magazine, I think I still have a copy of my mum’s upstairs somewhere. He speculated the name actually came from the French beau coc, he said the cock was a herald of new light in pagan times and that’s where the tradition began,” Emily said.
“Who cares about all that old rubbish? What’s important is the party!” Coll exclaimed.
“What kind of party, like dancing and stuff?” Laurel’s interest was piqued.
“There’s a lantern procession down to the harbour, and they turn on the Christma
s light display in Mousehole harbour. It’s brill, and people come from all over now to see the lights and eat Star-gazey Pie.” Aisling danced around the kitchen.
“Star-gazey Pie?” Laurel looked around at her friends for an answer.
“Star-gazey Pie,” Gort giggled, “is a pie made only for the festival. It’s usually a huge thing in a massive dish. It’s made with fish, egg, and potato, with the fish heads sticking up out of the crust. There’s even a book about it called The Mousehole Cat by Antonia Barber,” Gort explained.
“There’s a light display of the Star-gazey Pie down on the sand of the harbour above high tide mark,” Ash added.
“We should teach her the song,” Gort suggested.
“A song? Nope, not a chance, I can’t sing to save my life,” Laurel protested.
“No need to worry about that, the noise is loud. Nobody will hear you anyway and it’s fun to be part of the fun,” Coll assured her.
“Do we have to do it tonight?” Laurel yawned.
“It is getting late.” Sarie glanced at the clock.
“Oh, come on, Laurel. It’s an easy one to learn,” Aisling urged her.
She stood up and motioned Coll and Gort to stand with her. She counted down and they began to sign loudly, swaying from side to side.
“This is the chorus,” Coll shouted. “Merry place you may believe, Tiz Mouzel ‘pon Tom Bawcock’s eve. To be there then who wouldn’t wesh, to sup o’ sibm soorts o’ fish.”
“First Verse,” Aisling called. “When morgy brath had cleared the path, Comed lances for a fry. And then us had a bit o’ scad and Starry-gazie pie.”
“The chorus,” Coll shouted. They sang the chorus again at the top of their lungs. Sarie and Emily joined in.
“Second Verse,” Gort called. “As aich we’d clunk, E’s health we drunk, in bumpers bremmen high. And when up caame Tom Bawcock’s name, We’s prais’d ‘un to the sky.”
“Chorus again,” Sarie called. The kitchen rang with their voices and Laurel joined in, stumbling over some of the unfamiliar words.
They finished with a rousing cheer and Laurel dropped down into a chair, holding her sides from laughing so hard. “What kind of a song is that?”
“Morton-Nance wrote it back in the nineteen-twenties. I think that’s why some of the words are so odd,” Emily said after she caught her breath.
“I think this calls for some tea.” Sarie set the kettle back on the hob and emptied the tea pot before putting in fresh leaves.
“Mom will love this,” Laurel said. “She really gets into local customs and stuff. She’s always writing down bits of stuff she finds interesting. Says she’s going to use it in a book someday.” The mention of her mom made Laurel think about her dad and Gramma Bella. Foreboding replaced the hilarity of a moment ago. “When do you think we’ll hear anything from Gramma Bella and Vear Du?” Her words sobered the people at the table.
“I’m sure Gwin Scawen will show up the minute anything is decided. He promised me he’d come straightaway once the decision is passed down,” Aisling said.
“Do you think they’ll come to see us?” Laurel fretted. “I really want Dad to make peace with his mom.”
“I think that might be a tall order,” Sarie cautioned. “Just because we want something to happen doesn’t mean it’s the best thing for the people involved.”
“If he’d just talk to her and let her explain…” Laurel protested.
“Don’t you think she tried to do that when everything came out when you were a child? Colton is as hard headed and stubborn as Bella, he had no interest in her explanations. All he could see was that she lied to him. Your father loved D’Arcy Rowan very much. He was the only father Colton ever knew, so he felt betrayed on two levels. He was angry for D’Arcy and for himself,” Sarie continued.
“Did she lie to Grampa D’Arcy too?” Laurel struggled with what she knew was right and her feelings for Gramma Bella.
“No, to her credit, she told D’Arcy the truth. She was pregnant when she landed in Halifax and took the train out here. Bella wrote me soon after she arrived. She was so homesick and pining after the selkie. But she at least had the common sense to tell D’Arcy the truth before she married him. The man was a saint, if you ask me,” Sarie explained.
“He was a great grandfather. I miss him so much. I guess I can understand a bit how Dad is so mad at Gramma for lying to him and now running off to be with another man. It’s like an insult to Grampa D’Arcy…” Laurel’s voice trailed off.
“Why don’t you wait until your parents get here and see how it goes? There’s no sense in getting in a barney with your Da over something you have no control over,” Gort suggested.
“You’re probably right. Mom always says I need to be more patient. Just because I think something should happen, doesn’t mean it’s meant to be that way. She says sometimes I remind her of Gramma Bella when I get my mind set on something,” Laurel agreed.
Emily stood up and gathered the mugs from the table and carried them to the sink. Sarie stood as well and wiped the table with a wet cloth.
“Time for bed. Morning comes early and we’ve a big day ahead of us tomorrow what with Anna and Colton coming and the hooley over in Mousehole later,” Sarie declared.
Laurel and Aisling went up the stairs side by side behind the two boys. She stopped on the landing, the boys blocking the way. Gort sidled over to Aisling and kissed her cheek.
“Night, Ash,” he whispered so low Laurel almost didn’t hear him. His face flushed red and his eyes were bright. “Happy almost Christmas.”
“Night, Gort,” she replied and kissed him lightly on the lips.
Laurel smothered the urge to laugh when bright flags of colour appeared on his cheeks. She turned to follow Aisling into their room when Coll’s hand on her arm halted her. She looked up at him in surprise. His back was to the hall light, his face falling into shadow. She held her breath as he leaned closer, drawing her nearer with the hand on her arm. “Coll?” she whispered, forgetting Gort and Ash were watching. Her vision narrowed until all she could see was Coll’s eyes gleaming in the dim light. She took a step closer and tipped her head back as his lips came nearer. He hesitated, his mouth hovering so close she could feel his breath on her skin. A sensation she couldn’t identify sent mouse paws skittering down her spine. She stretched up on tip toe to close the gap between them. His lips were softer than she expected but the beginnings of whiskers on his chin pricked her skin. She moved to wrap her arms around his waist in answer to her desire to be closer to him. Her heart leaped in her chest at the touch of his tongue on her lower lip. Gort coughed loudly and Aisling bumped her with her hip.
“Quit it you two, you want Sarie to catch you snogging in the hall?” Gort whispered loudly.
Coll drew back. Laurel experienced a sharp sense of loss, as if something important was missing as he withdrew. He kept hold of her hand and smiled at her. She smiled back and then bolted into her room at the sound of Sarie’s voice at the foot of the stairs.
“Night, Laurel,” Coll’s voice came through the door.
She pressed her fingers to her lips and stared at the closed door. “Night, Coll,” she whispered.
Aisling caught her hand and pulled her down on the bed. “What was that all about?” she demanded. “When did you and Coll get all intense and into copping off in the hall? C’mon, spill.”
Laurel put her hands to her hot cheeks. “I have never in my whole life been kissed like that,” she exclaimed. “Holy crap, I didn’t even know you could feel like this. Is it like that when you and Gort are making out?”
“Is it like what?” Aisling tipped her head to the side and giggled.
“I don’t know…like your mind blanks out and you just want to crawl into his skin to get closer to him…” she trailed off.
“Oh Laurel, you’ve got it bad.” Aisling laughed. “It’s nice when Gort and I snog, but so far the earth hasn’t moved. He acts like he’s afraid I’ll break or something.�
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“Maybe you need to take the lead more,” Laurel suggested, happy to have the conversation turn away from her feelings for Coll.
“Mmm, maybe.” Aisling got into her nightie and slid under the covers.
Laurel got changed as well and turned out the light before getting into bed. In minutes Aisling’s even breathing told her she was asleep. Laurel lay for a long time listening to the wind and reliving the incident at the top of the stairs.
Chapter Eighteen
The wind had dropped in the morning when Laurel woke up. She rolled over in bed and kneeled to look out the window. The sky still threatened rain, but only thick mist blanketed the house at the moment. Ash sat up beside her rubbing her eyes. “Is it still storming?”
“Seems to have stopped for now,” Laurel told her.
“Brill, we should be able to get our shopping done.” Aisling got out of bed and disappeared down the hall to the bathroom.
“The WC is clear if you want to use it before the boys get in there,” she said gaily when she re-entered the bedroom.
Laurel stepped out of bed and hopped down the hall, the floor freezing on her bare feet. Coll pounded on the door just as she finished washing up. She opened the door and slipped by him without meeting his gaze.
“Morning, Laurel,” he said as she passed.
“Morning,” she mumbled and fled to the safety of her room. In the cold light of day the intimacy of the night before was oddly embarrassing.
The girls dressed quickly in the early morning chill and went down to the kitchen to see about breakfast. Emily was already frying rashers of bacon at the Aga while Sarie scrambled eggs beside her.
“Set the table, would you girls?” Emily said over her shoulder.
“Are those slug a beds up yet?” Sarie asked.
“Do I smell bacon?” Gort asked as he preceded Coll into the room.
“My fav breakfast ever,” Coll enthused.
“So the plan is this. Emily will run the girls into town after breakfast and the chores are done and drop you off by the Wharfside Shopping Centre. You can find something on the high street if you don’t find what you want there. I have some messages to run, but I’ll drop Coll and Gort off at the house,” Sarie outlined the plan.
