by Kitty Wilson
Now, though, it was Monday evening and Pippa was sat inside The Smuggler’s Curse with her family and a whole host of regulars, giggling with the choir before they started their performance properly. This was one of Pippa’s favourite nights of Feast Week, steeped in history, tradition and Roger’s hooch. She steered clear of the latter, experience having taught her that this week was a marathon not a sprint, and as always it would culminate in an It’s-a-Knockout tournament that took place on the school field followed by spectacular fireworks over the cliffs.
She sat there happily, chatting away to Ethel as her mum and dad nattered together. Ethel was telling Pippa the story of when she had driven through Paris in a white, open-topped sports car in the Sixties with two strangers she had met in a bar, when the door opened and, as per usual, everyone turned around to see who had entered. The general feel was a little friendlier today. During Feast Week strangers were almost welcome into The Smuggler’s Curse as long as they showed the correct deference, i.e. let anyone local get served before them without kicking up a fuss.
Pippa was slow to turn with everyone else, her mind still busy whizzing past the Eiffel tower, hair streaming, and Ethel shrieking with laughter in an Aston Martin, so it took her a second or two to process that it was Kam who had just walked through the door.
He stood, as if unsure, looking around the inside of the pub to see someone he recognised. Pippa waved, her mind immediately a-boggle as she realised that now, formally and officially, they didn’t work in the same classroom any more. That changed the whole dynamic of their relationship, surely?
With him getting the job in Sarah’s class, they would still be colleagues but not in such a strict sense. It also meant that his five-year plan was not only on track but going faster than he had expected, which would have boded well for her, had he stuck to the romantic plans they had made that fateful weekend. If the reason their relationship had fallen to pieces was because he was concerned about protecting their professional reputation, now it was the summer holidays and they were a lot freer than they had been this time last week. She shot a grin at him but he had already been enveloped into a giant bear hug by her dad, her mother having nipped off somewhere. Pippa decided she had better rescue him before he was subjected to the topic of how he should have replaced his car by now with something Japanese and reliable.
‘Ah Pippa, now I know you know this young man.’
‘Yes, Kam’s my colleague.’ There was a split-second silence where both she and Kam realised what she had said. Not friend. Colleague. Ouch. Pippa wished for all her life that she could take it back as she saw the hurt flash in Kam’s eyes. Jim steamrollered on, unaware of any undercurrent.
‘Not if your mother has her way.’ Her father smirked at the two of them, both so embarrassed by this point that they looked at everything but each other. Kam seemed suddenly interested in the beer taps and Pippa studied her toes with the intensity of a podiatry PhD student.
‘Who’s taking my name in vain?’ Jan rejoined them but not quickly enough to prevent Jim’s initial embarrassing statement. Or to stop him compounding it.
‘I was just telling Pips and Kam that you had high hopes for them romantically’. Pippa heard someone groan, loudly and with feeling and then realised it was her.
‘Oh no! You’re mistaken. You know that I’ve promised Pippa I’ll no longer interfere in her love life. She’s a big girl. I’m sure she can sort it out on her own.’
‘But you said that you and Kam’s mum had been talk—’
‘Who wants a drink then?’ Jan’s tone was loud, and smacked of forced cheerfulness and Jim let out a yelp before leaning over to rub his foot. Pippa fixed her mum with her fiercest what-on-earth-are-you-up-to-now glare, which bounced off her like lambs in springtime.
‘Ooh, and look the choir is about to start.’
At this point Kam stopped looking as if the Carlsberg and Korev pumps were the secret of all knowledge and smiled wanly at Pippa. She smiled tentatively back. If nothing else she knew Kam understood what it was like to have a mother who was sure she knew best and constantly interfered.
The singing began and the rousing sound of Trelawney rang through the pub. As the drums began to swell so did every Cornish heart, and most of those sitting stood to their feet. The song roused such a strength of feeling one would have been hard pressed to find a Cornishman or woman not stirred into action or emotion by this song. Pippa stood facing the choir and knew that the love she felt for her county was beaming from her face, as it was from the faces of the majority of those in the room as they all joined in with the chorus ‘here’s twenty thousand Cornish men shall know the reason why.’
It was a song that they grew up with, and one that took pride of place in all Cornish choirs. It told the story of the imprisonment of a Cornish bishop. Pippa knew that the men did not actually march upon parliament as the song suggested, but she also knew no one in the pub gave a sod about historical accuracy in this case. It was all about the feeling.
The choir moved seamlessly onto Robbers Retreat, another Smuggler’s Curse favourite, and Pippa looked over at Kam gripping one of those little pamphlets that the choir had put on the bar, with all the lyrics written down for those who may not know them but wanted to sing along with the locals.
She stood watching him for far longer than was polite as he tried as hard as he could not to spend too much time looking at the words, fixing his eyes on the choir and singing loudly, trying to gauge the tune and what was coming next.
It made Pippa sigh; he was so beautiful, inside and out.
She didn’t like people who didn’t sing with the full force of their being. Teachers and teaching assistants by the very nature of their job tended to sing loud and proud. Even if, as in Kam’s case, they didn’t really have a clue what they were singing. Her eyes caught on the line of hair running from his hairline down the back of his neck and her tummy flipped as she remembered running her hands through his thick hair as she pulled his head down towards hers with an urgency that was now trickling back and beginning to swirl around in the pit of her stomach, spreading a tingle all the way across her body. The day and night they’d spent together had been so great, everything she had dreamed it would be. Sometimes you could get on brilliantly with someone, have so much in common and yet not be sexually compatible. This had not been the case between her and Kam. They had matched each other move for move, the desire of one mirroring the other’s. She could imagine, and unfortunately right now was, making love for a lifetime and never ever getting bored.
Maybe now that they had the holidays stretching in front of them, she could try and speak to him again. See if they could resolve their issues and go back to that weekend and start afresh. Tonight could be the night. Maybe any minute now.
For goodness sake, woman! Where is your dignity, huh? Have some self-respect. Her inner voice kicked in, its tone dripping disapproval and disappointment. Yes, his hair may curl oh-so-beautifully over his collar; yes; he may have been the best sex, the most meaningful sex, you have ever had and yes, it’s a shame it’s not going to be repeated. But it’s not. This man was charm personified, your new best friend until you slept with him and then, for no reason, after a couple of days back in school, became awkward, cold and detached.
She remembered the sting of rejection so harshly that it almost put paid to the lust currently coursing through her body. Not completely though, so she determinedly dragged her eyes away from his frame – they had moved from his hairline towards his shoulders, across his chest and then down a bit, the entire time she had been telling herself off – and fixed them firmly on the choir in front of her. If she stared at Mr Gwynn long enough, who very definitely still had some of last night’s supper stuck in his limp and sticky handlebar moustache, that should cool off any further sexual desire her disobedient body may feel. If it got really tricky, there was always Roger. To put her off! she quickly clarified in her mischievous, revolted mind.
Once she had regaine
d control of her body, (which was a desperate relief, as she feared she had been barely a step away from grabbing her ‘colleague’, hurling him over the bar and straddling him there and then) she took a look around. The pub was absolutely rammed, with all available spots full, with the exception of one stool at the bar. It took her back to Kam’s first night in the pub, and sure enough, as if she were psychic, Flynn the dog pushed his way through the open door and the throng of people and hopped up onto his seat. Kam stopped singing for a minute to watch Flynn jump up, and then turned to look at her with an expression that said he hadn’t forgotten the fun they had had that night either.
Dignity. Self-respect. Dignity. Self-respect. If only he hadn’t frozen her out, they could be starting out together now and living the romantic dream. Dignity. Self-respect.
She could not help but grin back though. It felt so good to be back on friendly terms again. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she tried to spend some time with him over the summer. If she could get their easy-going friendship back then that would be enough. Not perfect – true – but pretty damn good. Perhaps she could talk to him later. Or even better, text him tonight as they used to. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with a possible rejection face to face, watch his face fall and the freeze set back in again. A freeze that she was worried even the July heat would be unable to melt. Yes, that was what she would do, text him later. For now, she would just sing standing next to him, loving the season, loving her county and loving the family and friends around her.
Chapter Forty-four
As the choir finished their last song and were standing at the front beaming at the rapturous applause, Kam turned and thanked Jan for her invite.
‘I’ve had a brilliant evening. This has been fab. Thanks ever so much for inviting me to join you all. I’d love to stay but I need to get home. I’m helping my friend with breakfast tomorrow. It’s crazy busy now the holidays have started and he’s a bit short staffed.’
‘Of course, I’m so glad you could join us. Will we see you about this week?’
‘For sure. I’m part of the carnival parade along with Pippa, and I’ve heard that the It’s-a-Knockout competition and the fireworks are not to be missed.
‘That’s the truth. We shall look forward to seeing you then, then,’ Jim jumped in. ‘Won’t we, Pippa?’
‘Of course we will. I’ll see you on the Thursday.’
‘You’re on.’ Kam shook Jim’s hand and gave Jan a kiss on the cheek, and then turned to Pippa and bent down and repeated the gesture. Pippa couldn’t control the grin that spread across her face as she felt his lips brush her cheek and wondered whether if he went to kiss the other cheek could she move her face quickly and catch his lips with hers? Then she realised that the middle of The Smuggler’s Curse was not where she wanted to stage her get-her-tongue-down-Kam’s-throat-again plan. Plus, that smirk on her mother’s face was really annoying.
As she watched him go, she spotted Sheila bustling through the crowd and heading her way.
‘Hey Sheila, how are you?’
‘Aren’t they fabulous? I love hearing the choir sing. Quite magical. They hit me right here.’ She touched her heart and Pippa grinned in agreement. She was right; there was something that uplifted the spirit and soothed the soul, when the community got together and sang. ‘Anyway, dear, that’s not why I came to say hello, I was hoping to see Kam as well. I’m so pleased he has Sarah’s job, such a cheerful addition to the team.’
‘He is.’ Pippa deliberately didn’t look at her mum or dad.
‘Yes, but look, here.’ Sheila rifled in her bag. ‘I don’t know if it’s important but I found this on my desk when I went in to school this weekend for my big end of term tidy up. I thought I’d best get it to you. I don’t know how I didn’t realise before.’
Pippa took the slimline envelope that Sheila held out to her and instantly recognised Kam’s handwriting on the envelope where her name was scrawled.
‘Thanks, Sheila. I have no idea what this could be.’
‘Well, open it and find out, love,’ her dad chipped in with his ever so wise advice.
‘I will do.’ Pippa smiled and ignored him, slipping the letter into the bag. It could just be a note about timetables or curriculum, but she didn’t know and Kam hadn’t mentioned it, so there was no way she was going to open it in front of the entire village. No. If Kam had put something in this envelope that wasn’t school-related, she wanted to be alone when she opened it.
Pippa left the pub and wandered down to the beach. It was a place she went to, like most of the locals, for anything that could be vaguely emotional. There was nothing as grounding as the smell of the ocean and the rhythmic smash of the waves on the shoreline, and at night it was particularly magical, especially if there were any boats far out and lit up, bobbing on the waves.
Today she headed for the cave on the right side of the beach. As she reached it, she sat down in front of her favourite Penmenna rock (she had one for each local beach), which having been smoothed over the years by the sea provided the perfect place to rest, although right now it felt cold against her back.
She moved the crunchy dried seaweed from around her and pulled the envelope out of her bag. She was going to feel like a right tit if this was more literacy work.
She lifted the sticky envelope flap and took a deep breath. As she unfolded the paper inside she could see by the dim light of the half-moon that it was a letter, but she couldn’t quite make out the words. Pulling her phone from her bag she flipped the torch on and braced herself for whatever it was she about to read.
It didn’t have a date on the top but as she scanned down it became clear that he had written it shortly after their weekend together.
Dear Pippa,
That was the most amazing weekend ever. I decided that I was going to write you a letter, so I could stop ranting at Ben about how I feel about you and tell the person in question instead. By doing it this way you aren’t forced to give a polite-to-my-face, in-the-moment answer to my question. You can pack your bags, flee Penmenna and rue the day you agreed to stay at mine. Or just ignore the letter, behave as if it had never been written, and I will know, wordlessly, to back off.
I figure I can be honest in a letter, and by doing that we won’t have the misunderstandings and the miscommunications that plague so many friendships and relationships.
Here goes.
This weekend was awesome. I may have said that already, but it bears repeating. I would like to have more weekends like it, lots more like it. And preferably before July. I know that pretending nothing has happened until the end of term was what we agreed, and you’re right: it’s very sensible. But you know what? I want to stamp on Very Sensible, ball it all up and hurl it over a cliff. I want to do Not Very Sensible, I want to shout from the rooftops about our weekend and I don’t want to spend the next six weekends of term wishing you were here with me, or I was there with you.
I want to be with you properly. I want to be in a relationship with you and I would love that to start now. I don’t want to miss out on any time we could spend together. You’ve told me how you want your Happily-Ever-After to be forever, and I think you and I could be that. Really, I do. This letter is to ask if you do too?
This may sound like it’s come out of the blue, like the ravings of a madman. The latter may be true but the former definitely isn’t. From the day of my interview when I met you in the car park all big bunny paws and fluffy tummy, I was a bit smitten. That morphed into a massive crush. Why?
Because I love the way you light up every room when you enter it; the way you tackle everything life throws at you with tenacity and a never-ending cheerfulness; the way you sing all the time as you work – loudly and very very off-key – and are completely unaware you’re doing it, lifting everyone’s hearts as they hear you; the way you crinkle your nose when you laugh and the way every emotion you feel is displayed all over your face. I love that you are utterly true to yourself and at the same time cher
ish and protect those around you. And I swear there is no one on the planet who rocks spandex with the verve that you do. This list could go on forever but I don’t want to freak you out more than I already am.
So, it would seem that I am a hopeless romantic and one who is hopelessly devoted to you – yes, I wrote that so you could sing it. We both know you just did. And I am really, really hoping you feel the same about me.
So I leave you some choices: you can ignore all of this and I shall back-off, understanding that you do not feel the same and are mortified at getting this letter, or you can find any way you like (words, semaphore, face paints) to let me know that you are quite keen to spend a lot more time with me before the end of term and very definitely outside of work, and if some of that involves stripping me naked and doing bad things then know I am here and I am keen.
Pippa, you are ace.
All my love,
Kam.
Breath seemed to have left Pippa’s body as she read through the letter. Once she had finished it she sat there, back still against the rock, waves still breaking on the beach, trying to catch a breath, any breath. It was as if it had all been taken from her and she was in shock. There was such a swirl of emotions whirling around her head, around her whole body, that she didn’t know what to do, how to respond. She lay her phone down on her lap and on top of the letter and found she was now gulping great big breaths of air.
