Summer on the Little Cornish Isles

by Phillipa Ashley

‘Do you need a hand carrying the bedding over to the studio?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh. I’d almost forgotten that.’ She was certain he was only being polite with his offer. Despite his kind words, there was visible tension in his body. ‘No, I’ll be fine, but thanks for the offer anyway.’

  Jake handed her the duvet and bedding, which she squashed to her chest. He piled a small carrier bag on top. ‘There’s a few essentials you might need in there.’ His voice became serious. ‘At least, the essentials I could find in the cottage.’

  She closed her eyes in shame, realising he was referring to the knickers. ‘I didn’t expect you and your grandpa to supply everything. I’d have been a little worried if you had.’

  Jake managed a smile. His arms relaxed by his sides. Either the joke had rebroken the ice or he was more comfortable now she was leaving.

  He opened the front door. ‘See you tomorrow, then.’

  She was barely off the threshold when the door was shut firmly behind her. She walked onto the cobbles of the harbour, clutching the duvet and bag to her chest, and risked a glance behind. The light went out in the sitting room of Archie’s cottage.

  It was a clear night with an almost full moon, which fortunately lit her way to the Starfish Studio, otherwise she’d have had to use her mobile as a torch. She’d forgotten about the lack of street lighting. The masts of the yachts in the harbour clinked together and she could hear water slapping softly against their hulls.

  Shivering, she pulled the zip up higher on her hoodie. Jake had been through a horrendous ordeal: seeing his fiancée disappearing under the waves and not being able to do anything. How terrifying that it could happen in such an idyllic place: a place he had once loved and that had inspired his whole career. No wonder he wanted to leave.

  Once she reached the studio, she deposited everything on the veranda while she fumbled the key into the lock in the darkness. She probably didn’t need to lock the place but it was a habit that would be hard to break.

  In the darkness inside, two yellow eyes glowed back at her. She flicked the light switch and blinked as Leo strolled up to her feet. His orange fur was bright against the starkly illuminated walls.

  ‘Leo! How did you get here without me seeing you? You sneaky little devil. Well, you can’t stay here,’ she said, holding the door open for him to escape.

  Leo blinked, so Poppy made a grab for him, but he shot up the spiral staircase. The cat must have followed her out of Jake’s cottage all the way to the studio and sneaked past when she opened the door.

  ‘I’m not chasing after you all night!’ she called. ‘You’re here until morning now.’

  She collected the bedding from the veranda, locked the door and struggled upstairs with her bundle. She was glad that, earlier, she’d dragged the mattress onto the floor of the sitting area, because she was too knackered now. Leo was lying on the middle of it, as if he owned the place.

  ‘Looks like it’s you and me,’ she said, laying out a sheet, pillow and the duvet next to him. ‘And to be honest, Leo, I’d rather share with you than Dan any day.’

  As for sharing with Jake … she was ashamed the thought had even entered her mind for a nanosecond. Without Dan around, she felt able to admit to herself that she fancied him like mad, but Jake was clearly oblivious to any other woman and still grieving for Harriet. Poppy decided that the sooner he left Scilly, the better, for his sake and hers.

  Chapter 8

  Jake turned off the lights and went upstairs to bed. Leo wasn’t in the cottage, so Jake assumed he’d slipped through the cat flap in the rear kitchen door and gone back to Fen’s. He had to smile to himself at Poppy’s reaction to the cat. She really liked Leo and the feeling was mutual, judging by Leo sticking close to her all evening.

  Jake had been almost jealous of the way Poppy ran her fingers through Leo’s fur as he sat next to her on the sofa. As they’d chatted, he kept imagining himself in the same position and then telling himself off for having such rogue thoughts. She did look lovely, though, with more pink in her cheeks now she was safely on dry land and had had a few hours to rest.

  While waiting for her to arrive, Jake had set up his laptop and worked on the images he’d taken in New Zealand, selecting the best for the magazine that had commissioned him. He didn’t want to be caught out by Poppy in the middle of eating his dinner, so he’d prepared the fish pie but waited before turning on the old electric oven. When there was still no sign of her at past eight o’clock, he’d wondered whether to call at the studio to see if she was OK but decided she might have needed more time to herself. He’d also had to start cooking his dinner.

  He’d taken another swig from the bottle and smelled the fish pie, starting to bubble in the oven. If you’d asked him earlier today, before Poppy had arrived, he’d have been relieved not to have any more contact with his new tenants. So he was surprised to find he felt quite disappointed that she hadn’t shown up.

  His heart had started beating quite quickly when she’d finally turned up at his door and he remembered now how suddenly important it had seemed that she’d accepted his offer of dinner. They’d laughed together – he’d enjoyed her company and looking at her.

  ‘Actually, our meeting brings back the only good memories of that day …’

  This was true … If only she didn’t remind him of that day at all.

  And he’d meant it when he told her that things were getting better for him but recovering from grief – and guilt – was painfully slow. Three steps forward and two back on a good day. Climbing up a ladder out of the pit of despair and emerging into the light before slithering down a great long snake back into darkness. He didn’t want to stay in that dark hole. He wasn’t actively trying to stay there – was he?

  He’d never even intended to talk to her about Harriet’s death, but he’d realised that if he didn’t, someone else would and he couldn’t bear that. Even so, he’d said so much more than he’d planned to … He could kid himself that the beers had given him the courage to tell Poppy the bare facts about Harriet’s death, but he also knew that he’d instinctively felt she was someone he could talk to. Perhaps it was knowing they were two lonely souls and in their own ways, strangers on St Piran’s, but for different reasons.

  He switched on the lamp in the bedroom of the cottage, stared at the packing crate of paintings again. Goodness knows where Archie had found it; it looked like it might once have been used to hold goods from a ship. Most things were recycled on the islands, so it might have had several former owners before Grandpa. It was roughly the size of the modern cardboard packing crates that removals people used, except it was made of old pine. The lid had been tacked down with small nails to keep the contents secure.

  He’d need pliers to open the lid, he thought, when he examined it more closely. The envelope addressed to him had been placed inside a plastic bag – one of those zip-lock sandwich bags – and taped to the top with parcel tape, which was yellowing.

  Should he at least open the letter, to find out what his grandpa wanted to do with them?

  He stared at the crate again.

  If only he’d never found it or come back to St Piran’s, he wouldn’t have been tempted to open it. He shouldn’t open it if Archie really had intended it to be read after his death, but …

  He peeled the parcel tape from the top of the crate, removed the plastic bag and took out the envelope … Why not read it now, while his grandpa was alive? What point was there in waiting until someone was gone to say the things you needed to say? He loved Archie and his grandpa loved him. Why not face up to what was in the letter now?

  He thought back to his conversation with Poppy about Harriet – and hers about Dan – it had been a day of unexpected revelations …

  Jake opened the envelope and carefully drew out the contents.

  There were two sheets of blue writing paper, covered on both sides in his grandfather’s elaborate flowing style. Archie had been brought up in an era where neat handwriting was consi
dered more important than the words you actually wrote. School had stifled his creativity, he’d said, and he’d left the moment he was legally able, at just fifteen. Initially he’d worked in the boatyard next to the studio, which, of course, had still been a boathouse then, and learned to repair and paint the boats. However, art had always been his first love and he’d managed to teach himself to paint and had sold a few pictures until he’d taken the plunge to become a full-time artist. Now, here he was, approaching the end of a long life, about to reveal who knew what to his only grandson.

  The paper trembled as Jake started to read.

  Dear Jake,

  If and when you open this, I’ll have gone to that great gallery in the sky. Actually, I’ll probably be in St Piran’s churchyard, if they’ll have me. Doubt they’ll let me in to the posh seats though, I’ve not been an angel, as you may find out over the next few months.

  Don’t grieve for me, Jake. I can’t bear the thought of you crying over me. God knows, you’ve shed enough tears since you lost Harriet. Sorry if me saying that makes you angry or upset, but you know, it’s been a while now since the poor girl went, and life is very very short. After I lost my dear Ellie, I was the same. I went into a dark place nothing and no one could bring me out of. I neglected your dad and never thought how much he might be hurting too. You can ask him if you like …

  Jake shook his head and dropped the letter on the bed.

  He had tried to get over Harriet’s death. Who had the right to tell him how long he should grieve for? Of course his grandpa knew grief; he had been married to Ellie for twenty-five years when she died from a sudden brain haemorrhage and, yes, it was awful and tragic, but at least they’d had time together and started to bring up a family.

  Jake’s dad, Tom, had said very little about his own mother dying. It wasn’t something they discussed, and why would they? Jake hadn’t known her, sadly, and his father probably found it too painful, especially if Grandpa had withdrawn from him. Maybe Jake should ask his mum more about that time: although she obviously hadn’t known his dad then, he might have talked to her about it. She’d been amazing with him when Harriet died. Three years had enabled him to realise how wonderful and supportive both his parents had been, and many of his friends.

  He read the first few lines again.

  I’ve not been an angel, as you may find out over the next few months.

  What the hell did that mean? And did that mean he wouldn’t find out now, because Grandpa Archie was still alive? He’d like to say ‘very much alive’, but he wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Oh, Grandpa …’ He heaved a sigh. Archie had every right to leave the letter. It had been Jake’s own choice to open it now when it was never intended to be read until his grandad had passed away. Jake had also guessed correctly that the contents would rip open his own freshly healing wounds. He might have known Grandpa wouldn’t mince his words.

  It was too late to put the genie back in the bottle though. He scanned the next few lines, willing himself to stay calm.

  I love your dad and you, and your mum. I’ve been blessed to have a wonderful loving family, but you are my greatest joy, Jake.

  ‘Shit. Grandpa. Don’t do this to me.’ Despite his efforts, Jake’s eyes stung and he had to force himself to read on.

  And so, I’ve decided to leave you some of my favourite pictures. Now, I can see your face. Hear you cursing. Why me? You know why. Because you always understood me. We’re kindred spirits. We’re both creative, and no matter how much I love your dad, he won’t understand like you do. These aren’t my best work – I’ve never flattered myself than any of my work lived up to the actual power of the real place or how I wanted to express it – but they’re pictures that mean a lot to me. I’ve had them kept back from sale for a while now.

  They’re of places that I love the most. Places that have made me feel happy – and sad – places that have reminded me of people I love. I know you’ve fallen out of love with St Piran’s and the isles and I understand why. Harriet lost her life here: now you see only darkness and misery in the midst of beauty. That’s sad, Jake, and I want to help you feel differently about our home again.

  I’m not sure if my plan will work, and I’m sad to think I might be causing you pain, but I have to try. Please take a look at the pictures. You’ll know why I chose them. Smile and laugh, and cry if you have to. Honour Harriet’s memory and then try to move forward, holding her in your heart – and me too if you can. Think of me with affection and forgive me. And, if you can, forgive our Little Cornish Isles.

  With love,

  Grandpa x

  Jake made no attempt to stem the flow of tears. He’d learned long ago it was pointless. He laid the letter on the bed before his tears wet the paper and walked into the bathroom. He blew his nose and washed his face, knowing he’d probably have to wash it again before he’d finished his blubbing.

  He went back into the bedroom, clutching a handful of loo roll, lay on the bed and closed his eyes. He was already a wreck after reading the letter. What fresh wounds might be uncovered if he opened the pictures? He definitely wasn’t ready to open the crate yet and look at the paintings.

  After a couple of minutes, he folded the letter in four and slipped it in the top pocket of his camera bag. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while so he went downstairs and switched on the TV to try and blot out his thoughts.

  Chapter 9

  Poppy was woken early by Leo pummelling her stomach with his giant paws. Waking up next to a strange furry beast on the floor of a new place had been weird. What was also weird was finding that she was wearing a strange man’s T-shirt.

  Leo scooted downstairs, so Poppy followed and let him out. He trotted off up the hill towards the row of cottages where Jake said Fen lived.

  Poppy sniffed the air, which was mild and moist with a tang of seaweed. Hazy clouds hovered above the horizon, but it promised to be a lovely day if and when the sun came out. A few people were already about and, from the harbour, the sound of someone trying to start an outboard motor cut through the quiet. Already, she felt how different this spot was, to what she’d left behind and she reminded herself: today was the first day of the rest of her life.

  She dressed quickly, grabbed some toast and decided the priority was to find out when the rest of her stuff was likely to arrive. Winston had said he’d give Jake a bell about the situation, but Jake definitely hadn’t heard from him the previous evening. Poppy was reluctant to come across as an uptight townie, but she also didn’t want to rely on two strange blokes to sort out her worldly possessions. She checked the inter-island ferry schedule on the local website and found a number for the Herald freight boat office in St Mary’s. No one answered, so she crossed her fingers and hoped that meant the crew were already on their way with her stuff.

  She headed down to the quay to see if she could find out more and saw an elderly lady in a bright kaftan and a poncho heading straight for her. Recognising Fen, even from three years previously, Poppy hurried to meet her by the harbourside.

  ‘Hello! You must be Poppy.’ Fen held out her hand. ‘I’m Fen Teague. Welcome back to St Piran’s.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s lovely to meet you again. I remember you,’ said Poppy. She shook Fen’s slim hand and smiled at her warmly. After yesterday’s bleak arrival, she was determined to be positive from the outset and show everyone she was ready to face all the challenges of island life. ‘And if you’re wondering where Leo was last night, he managed to get into the studio and spent the night in the flat. I didn’t like to pick him up and turn him out.’ Poppy didn’t confess she’d been too tired to chase Leo around the place and too wary of his claws and teeth to manhandle him.

  Fen smiled. ‘Ah, that’s where he’d been. When he strolled in this morning, I assumed he’d decided to stay at Archie’s. He doesn’t really belong to me, nor Archie for that matter. He sleeps and eats wherever the whim takes him.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I’d nothing much to feed him, t
hough I put down some water in a dish and found a few Dreamies in a packet in the kitchenette and left them out. They’d gone by morning when I let him out first thing.’

  ‘Thanks for being kind to him. He must like you.’ Fen sighed. ‘I only wish I could persuade him and Jake to get on better. Leo always had the run of the Starfish until Archie’s fall, but I don’t think Jake enjoyed having Leo supervise him when he was clearing it up.’ Her face became anxious. ‘How is the studio? I’ve been so worried about it being closed up while Archie’s away. I have checked it a couple of times, but you know …’ Her voice wavered.

  Poppy felt so sorry for her that she decided to gloss over her disappointment. ‘It’ll be fine with a bit of work,’ she said breezily. ‘I’d expected to make a few changes and, anyway, Jake had already started to sort the place out.’

  Fen’s shoulders relaxed in relief. ‘That’s a weight off my mind. I’m happy to help you all I can, of course. My days of working full-time in there are over, too knackering now, but I’m happy to step in on high days and holidays.’

  ‘Thanks. I plan on being there all the time once I’ve er – done a few small things – but I’m sure I’ll need an extra hand now and again, so it’s great to have some experienced back-up. Actually, I’m so glad we’ve met. I was wondering if you kept a list of all the stock in the studio? And a contact list for the artists who have exhibited their work in recent years? I had a root around yesterday but couldn’t find anything.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Fen put her hand to her mouth, then she brightened. ‘Hold on. There might be a list in the drawer under Archie’s worktable. Have you checked in there?’

  ‘Is that the large table at the rear of the studio?’

  ‘Yes, but the drawer could be locked.’

  ‘It is, and I couldn’t find a key with the main set.’

  Fen’s brow creased. ‘Well, I should have a bunch of keys at the cottage somewhere … At least, I think I do. I’ll try to hunt them out and bring them down later.’